My husband parked in my assigned parking spot again. The front of his car was angled sharply over the line, obnoxiously taking up two spaces. This was the third time. I didn’t call him right away to come downstairs and move it. Instead, I took a quick video and posted it on my Instagram Story. A second later, the Gen Z intern I was mentoring—a guy who constantly bragged about having eighteen ex-girlfriends—sent me a DM: [Hey boss, based on my experience, this is sketchy as hell. If you still want to make it work with him, call him to come down and move it. If you’re done with him, march straight upstairs, open the bedroom door, and make sure your phone is recording.] My hands and feet went ice cold. I went upstairs with my heart in my throat, only to find my husband calmly sitting on the living room sofa, typing away on his laptop for work. I peeked into the bedroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking I was overreacting. But then I looked at him again, and my stomach dropped. The tie he was wearing when he left the house this morning wasn’t this red polka-dot one. Plus, he only ever worked in his home office… I placed my purse on the entryway console, swapped my heels for slippers, and tried to keep my voice steady: “You parked in my spot again.” “I got an urgent email from a client on my way back and had to revise a pitch deck. I parked in a rush. I was going to move it when you were close to home. Give me a minute to finish this, and I’ll head down.” Declan’s tone was relaxed. He answered slowly, completely unbothered. “Don’t worry about it. I parked in visitor parking.” I suppressed my racing heartbeat and sat down on the armchair opposite him. “Why are you working in the living room?” “The desk lamp in the office is broken. The bulb kept flickering.” Sensing my gaze, Declan stopped typing and looked up. “What’s wrong?” “Where’s your other tie?” He looked down, a sheepish, helpless smile crossing his face: “I had a lunch meeting with a client and spilled some coffee on it. You bought me that tie for our anniversary, so the second I got home, I rushed to hand-wash it.” He gave me a sweet, pleading look. “I was clumsy. Don’t be mad, okay?” I glanced toward the laundry room. Sure enough, a blue striped tie was hanging on the drying rack, dripping water onto the tiles. It all made sense. Every single piece of it made perfect sense. But my mind was a chaotic mess. I subconsciously started biting my thumbnail. “Have you been too tired lately?” I didn’t even notice Declan getting up. He knelt in front of me, gently pulling my hand away from my mouth. He let out a soft sigh, pulled me into a hug, and rested his chin on the top of my head, gently patting my back. He knew. My anxiety was acting up again. “Come on.” “Where?” Declan took my hand and led me into his home office. He flicked the switch on the desk lamp. It flashed twice and died. The desk was spotless. The trash can was empty. There were no suspicious traces anywhere. “Feel better now?” He held my shoulders, his voice incredibly soft and gentle. I nodded, then shook my head. I didn’t know. He didn’t get angry. He led me back to the sofa, went to the kitchen to pour a glass of warm water, and pulled a bottle of pills from the cabinet. Anti-anxiety medication. Prescribed by my psychiatrist three years ago. I had stopped taking them a long time ago, but he always kept a refill handy. He held two pills up to my lips. A violent surge of agitation boiled up inside me. I slapped his hand away. The water glass tipped over, splashing warm water all over his shirt. Declan froze. A flash of utter exhaustion crossed his eyes. My breath hitched. But, true to form, he calmly picked up the glass, grabbed some paper towels to wipe the coffee table, and smiled as he ruffled my hair. “I’ll go make you some pasta.” I pulled my knees to my chest, curled up on the sofa, and watched his back as he moved around the kitchen. My eyes burned. I felt terribly guilty, but I couldn’t stop my brain from spiraling: Is Declan cheating on me or not? Three years ago, I asked that exact question a thousand times. The answer was: No. But the process of proving it almost cost me half my life. And now? Was I going to torture him and myself all over again? I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I tossed and turned, analyzing his explanations about the parking spot and the tie until my head felt like it was splitting open. The next morning, Declan left early. He left breakfast on the counter with a sticky note drawn with a smiley face. I didn’t touch a single bite. I stood in the laundry room, staring at the half-dry tie. I took it down and examined it. It was mostly clean, but on the back of the narrow end, right near the brand tag, there was a tiny, crusty white spot. Coffee stains are brown. Even if it didn’t wash out completely, it would be faint yellow. It wouldn’t be white. The tie was dripping wet yesterday, which meant he washed it in a frantic rush. But if it was just coffee, he could have tossed it in the hamper for the dry cleaners. Why was he so desperate to scrub it out by hand the second he walked through the door? Driven by some dark intuition, I lifted the tie to my nose. Beneath the heavy scent of laundry detergent, there was a faint, distinct smell… The sour-sweet scent of baby formula. Clutching that tie, the last thread of sanity in my brain snapped. I stumbled into the storage closet, digging through dusty cardboard boxes until I found it—the hidden nanny cam. When I finally found the perfect spot to mount it on Declan’s bookshelf, I froze. There was already a sticky residue of double-sided tape right there. Left by me. Three years ago. My fingers were numb. My lips were numb. Three years later, and I had never actually been “cured”… But I wasn’t always this “sick.” Three years ago, Declan was promoted to VP of Sales. He hired a new executive assistant. I didn’t think much of it until a friend who worked at his company sent me a photo from their corporate weekend retreat. It was taken secretly. Declan was manning the barbecue grill, and standing right beside him was a woman with a low ponytail, gently using a tissue to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The body language was intimately blurred. [Chloe, do you know this new assistant?] my friend texted. I zoomed in on the photo and recognized the face. Rachel Dawson. Declan’s college girlfriend. When we started dating, he didn’t hide his past. He was upfront about her, claiming she was his only serious ex. I was actually very calm at the time. That night, when Declan came home, I placed the photo on the kitchen island. He didn’t hide it. He said Rachel had been working as a hotel waitress. He ran into her by chance, saw she was struggling, and since his department needed an assistant, he gave her the job. “Wiping the sweat was a lapse in boundaries on my part. I am so sorry.” His attitude was incredibly sincere. The very next day, he even brought Rachel to me so she could apologize in person. I accepted it. But a thorn remained in my heart. And that thorn finally drew blood the day I found a pair of black pantyhose shoved into the gap between his passenger seat and the center console. “Rachel’s pantyhose snagged and tore on our way to a major client pitch. It was a bad look for the company, so we stopped at a pharmacy and she changed in the car.” Declan’s expression was perfectly normal. He explained it with infinite patience. He said Linda, the Finance Director, was also in the car with them. He said Rachel shoved the torn pair into the seat gap in a rush and forgot to throw them away. Linda actually vouched for him. She even sent me a voice memo confirming the story. But I didn’t believe it. I wanted to rip that thorn out completely. I stormed into his corporate office. When I pushed his door open, Rachel was pouring him a glass of water. I snatched the glass from her hand, threw the water directly in her face, and pointed at her nose, screaming that she was a homewrecking slut. Rachel didn’t say a word back. She just stood there and cried. The entire office floor watched me. That was the first time Declan ever lost his temper with me. He slammed his schedule logs, GPS data, and sign-in sheets from the client pitch onto his desk. “The evidence is all right here! What more do you want from me?!” But I couldn’t hear reason. From that day on, I demanded he report his every move. What time did he leave? What time did he get to work? Who was he eating lunch with? What meeting was he in? If he didn’t answer my call within an hour, I would lose my mind and call him twenty times in a row. I installed cameras in our house. I hid a nanny cam in the study. I needed to watch his every single second at home. Everyone around us pitied him. “Declan has it so rough.” “Rachel is a completely innocent victim in all this.” “Do you think his wife… has mental issues?” I knew what they were whispering. But I couldn’t stop. Until the day I forced him to personally process Rachel’s termination papers. Usually so mild-mannered, he finally snapped. He shattered a coffee mug against the wall and screamed something at me—I can’t even remember the words now. I only remember stepping backward, tripping over the leg of the coffee table, and falling hard onto the floor. Blood… so much blood pooled beneath me. It wasn’t until I woke up in the hospital bed that I found out I had been pregnant. Twelve weeks. The baby was gone. Strangely, the loss brought a terrifying wave of clarity. It was like a blistering fever had finally broken. The doctor said my massive emotional swings were likely exacerbated by pregnancy hormones, especially during the volatile first trimester. Declan fell to his knees by my hospital bed. For the first time, he cried in front of me, gripping my hand like a lifeline. “Chloe, I surrender. It’s all my fault. I just don’t want you to get hurt anymore.” Rachel was fired. Declan swore to God we would never have another crisis of trust. But my heart was a tangled mess of guilt and confusion. When I looked back at the cold, hard facts… had I been the one making a psychotic scene over nothing? I felt a deep, gnawing unwillingness to accept it, but I was too terrified to question it. Declan didn’t cheat. Wasn’t that a good thing? I spent an entire year recovering. Therapy, anti-anxiety medications, rebuilding my life piece by piece to return to normal. Everyone comforted me, saying young couples go through dark phases, and once you get past them, it’s smooth sailing. But today, three years later, I was crouching in the study, staring blankly at the hidden camera in my hand. The green light was on. It was ready to record. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. Three years ago, this was the exact step that started my descent into madness. And now, I was standing at the exact same crossroads. Was the faint smell of baby formula on a necktie enough for me to drive myself insane a second time? I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the edge of the bookshelf. The hard wood dug painfully into my skin. Two voices were going to war in my head. Chloe, how much longer is this nightmare going to last? I left work early and waited in the lobby of Declan’s office building. When I saw him step out of the elevator, laughing and chatting with a few colleagues, I walked up to him. “Declan.” He saw me, and his smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” “We haven’t had dinner together in a while. I came to pick you up.” I linked my arm through his and smiled at his coworkers. “Sorry to interrupt your post-work drinks. I’m stealing my husband for the night.” The coworkers exchanged subtle, awkward glances and politely laughed it off. One person looked down, avoiding my eyes entirely, while a younger guy instinctively took a half-step back, almost as if he were afraid of me. The memory of my hysterical meltdown in this exact building three years ago had probably become legendary office lore. Declan said goodbye to his team, naturally wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and guided me toward the parking garage. At dinner, I asked casually, “Have you been busy lately? Did that project from last week wrap up?” “Yeah, we closed it. This week is mostly following up with new clients. A lot more networking dinners.” “Was Wednesday night a networking dinner too?” “Yeah. Took a client out to play golf.” I nodded, pretending to suddenly remember something. “Oh, right! I heard you had your assistant run to the grocery store for you? What did you have her buy?” Declan’s chopsticks froze in mid-air. He set them down, looking at me, his tone dropping a few degrees. “When were you talking to my assistant?” “When I was waiting for you in the lobby today. The receptionist had her come out to keep me company.” “She’s a fresh grad. She doesn’t know anything,” he said, staring at me as if trying to confirm my mental state. I smiled. “Relax. I’m not a monster. I didn’t give her a hard time.” I looked down, poking at the food in my bowl but not eating it. “I just feel like… the distance between us is getting wider.” Silence stretched over the table for a few seconds. Declan reached across the table, covering my hand with his. His thumb gently stroked my knuckles. “I’ve just been swamped with work lately. I’m sorry.” I shook my head and didn’t push further. When we got home that night, I told him I needed some space and insisted on sleeping in the guest room. Declan stared at me for a long time but didn’t force the issue. I locked the guest room door, leaned against the headboard, and opened my phone. I stared at the screenshots of the store receipts over and over. That afternoon in the lobby, the young assistant had been terrified. She clearly knew my reputation, and her hands were literally shaking when she poured me a glass of water. I didn’t interrogate her. I just made small talk, casually slipping in: “I heard you’re always running errands for Declan. Sounds exhausting.” The poor girl smiled in absolute relief, assuring me it was no trouble, and eagerly showed me screenshots of the grocery lists on her phone to prove it. I asked her to text me one of the screenshots and left it at that. Now, I zoomed in on the image, reading line by line. Bottled water, printer paper, manila folders, espresso pods… all perfectly normal office supplies. Teething biscuits, one box. Organic fruit puree pouches, two packs. I opened an app, searched the brand of the fruit puree, and scrolled through the reviews. Hundreds of moms posting photos, raving about how much their toddlers loved them, saying they bought them constantly. I stared at those reviews until my eyes burned dry. At noon the next day, I showed up at the reception desk of Declan’s company holding an insulated lunch bag. When he walked out of a conference room and saw me, he visibly froze. Colleagues walking by recognized me. They sped up their pace, only whispering to each other once they were a safe distance away. “Why is that woman here again? Mr. Pierce has it so rough being married to her…” “It’s terrifying. Her need for control is psychotic.” Declan frowned at the whispers. He grabbed my shoulders and quickly ushered me into his private office, shutting the door. “Why are you bringing me lunch in the middle of the workday? Aren’t you exhausted?” “I took the day off.” I placed the insulated bag on his desk and unzipped it. “Try the bento I made you.” He looked at me, the crease between his brows deepening. “Chloe…” “Just open it and look.” He stared at me for a few seconds. Unable to talk me out of it, he popped the lid off the bento box. The moment the lid came off, he went rigid. “What is this?” Half a bowl of teething biscuits. Half a bowl of fruit puree. I smiled warmly. “Baby food.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400810”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day the money from selling the house hit the account, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. Almost simultaneously, my phone rang. It was my dad. His voice was hushed, almost a whisper. “Did you get it?” “Yeah, I got it,” I said, staring at the long string of zeros on my screen. My chest felt strangely hollow. “A hundred thousand. Hold onto it for now.” “Dad, this is way too much.” “It’s not. That house was marital property between me and your real mom. Half of that money rightfully belongs to you.” Through the receiver, I could faintly hear my stepmother’s voice yelling from another room: “Arthur! Who are you talking to? Why are you being so secretive?” My dad immediately hissed into the phone, “I have to go. Remember, do not tell a single soul. Especially not Linda.” “Why not?” “You know exactly how she is. Just trust me.” The line went dead. Before I could even process the shock of receiving a hundred grand, a new message popped up in our family group chat. It was from my dad. “I just transferred Emily her five thousand dollars.” My stepmother, Linda, replied instantly: “Finally. Glad that’s settled and out of the way.” Right after that, she sent another text: “If you ask me, she’s going to get married and join another family anyway. Giving her even five grand is too much. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s living on her own in the city, she shouldn’t have gotten a single cent.” The group chat fell completely silent. I gripped my phone, staring at her words. I didn’t type a single reply. That evening at dinner, Linda brought it up again. “Arthur, what did Emily say when she got the five grand?” My dad kept his head down, shoveling rice into his mouth, mumbling, “She was happy.” “Hmph, of course she’s happy. Free money falling into her lap.” Linda picked up a piece of chicken and dropped it onto her biological son’s plate. “That money was supposed to go toward Jason’s future wedding fund. Just giving it away to an outsider makes my stomach churn.” “What outsider? She’s my biological daughter,” my dad snapped, his tone laced with irritation. “So what if she’s your biological daughter? Even blood brothers keep their finances strictly separate! She’s going to marry out of this family eventually. Why are you treating her so well?” “Enough. Let’s just eat.” My dad clearly didn’t want to fight with her. But Linda wasn’t finished. She glared at him, her words loaded with implications. “I’m just worried that some people might be favoring outsiders and funneling our family’s money to them. Arthur, I’m warning you. Our entire future depends on the cash from selling that house. Don’t you dare do anything stupid.” My dad violently slammed his fork down. It clattered sharply against his plate. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Linda shrank back slightly, but her mouth kept running. “I just think people should have a conscience. We took the lion’s share, giving her five grand is already incredibly generous. If she had any respect, she would return the money to us.” “In your dreams!” my dad roared. Jason, my stepbrother, jumped in his seat, dropping his fork onto the table. Linda froze, then immediately started crying. “Oh, so now you’re yelling at me?! You’re yelling at me and my son for the sake of your ex-wife’s brat?! I’m only thinking about what’s best for this family! That five grand could have been a down payment on a car for Jason!” The atmosphere in the room plummeted below freezing. My dad stared at her, his eyes heavy with absolute exhaustion. I knew this was only the beginning. 2 For the next month, Linda complained about that five thousand dollars almost every single day. “The Johnsons next door? Their daughter got married and didn’t ask her parents for a dime. She even brings them expensive gifts every Thanksgiving and Christmas.” “Look at Susan from the HOA. Her daughter gave her younger brother eight grand to help him buy a house. Now that is a daughter who knows her place.” “Ugh, comparing kids just makes you angry. How did I end up stuck with such an ungrateful parasite?” She posted these passive-aggressive rants on her Facebook, specifically adjusting the privacy settings to block me from seeing them. But I always heard about them through other gossiping relatives. I never responded. Not once. I simply took the hundred thousand dollars, put it into a high-yield CD, and let it sit there. My dad would occasionally text me privately. “Don’t take what Linda says to heart.” “I know, Dad.” “Keep the money safe. It’s your safety net. If your mom were still here, she would have made me do the exact same thing.” Seeing the words “your mom” made my eyes sting. My mom passed away when I was twelve. Before she died, she held my hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Emily, study hard. Become someone successful, so no one can ever bully you.” Back then, I didn’t really understand what “bully” meant. Now, I understood it perfectly. I texted him back three words: “You too, Dad.” I didn’t know if he would understand what I meant. I hoped he did. With the money from the house sale in hand, my dad was incredibly energized. He had been a long-haul truck driver for years, always dreaming of opening his own small business so he wouldn’t have to answer to a boss anymore. Now, using that cash, he leased a small storefront on the south side of town and opened a breakfast diner. At first, Linda was fully supportive. She posted photos of the diner on Facebook every day, bragging about how her husband was still in his prime and about to strike it rich. I went to the grand opening. The second Linda saw me, she grabbed my hand, smiling so hard her wrinkles showed. “Emily, look at how successful your dad is! Once the family gets rich, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” She seemed to have completely forgotten how she had spent the last month agonizing over that five thousand dollars. I just offered a mild smile. “It’s great that Dad’s doing well.” “Absolutely.” She puffed out her chest, then pulled me aside, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Emily, look, the diner just opened, and we need cash for everything. That five grand is just sitting in your account doing nothing. Why don’t you… let your dad use it for a bit to help with cash flow?” I stared at her, feeling a cold chill settle in my chest. “Linda, that’s my emergency fund.” “Oh, please. You’re single, how much could you possibly need? Besides, that money originally belonged to our family anyway. Lending it to your dad now is just the right thing to do, isn’t it?” She spoke with such absolute entitlement, as if the money inherently belonged to her. I pulled my hand out of hers and didn’t say a word. Her face instantly darkened. She pulled a long face and muttered under her breath, “Ungrateful parasite.” It wasn’t loud, but I heard it perfectly. For the first few months, business was actually booming. My dad had to wake up at 3:00 AM to prep the dough and start the soups, but he looked incredibly vibrant, like he had reverse-aged ten years. Linda was even more insufferable. She posted on Facebook eight times a day—showing off new designer knock-off bags, fresh manicures, and various “Life of a Boss’s Wife” updates. She started organizing family dinners constantly, always aggressively insisting on paying the bill. At the dinner table, she would always inevitably single me out. “Emily, how much are you making a month now? Is it enough to live on?” “It’s fine,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate. “Sigh, it’s so hard for a young woman to be out there working a corporate job. Look at your dad. Now that the business has taken off, he can support this entire family with room to spare.” She paused, pivoting sharply. “Speaking of which, that five grand you have is barely making any interest in the bank. Why don’t you listen to me and invest it in your dad’s diner? We’ll give you a dividend at the end of the year. Isn’t that better than letting it rot in a savings account?” Under the table, my dad kicked my shin, giving me a warning look. I pretended not to notice and simply said, “I don’t know anything about running a business. I’ll pass.” Linda’s face fell immediately. “Why are you so stubborn? I’m only offering you this investment opportunity because we’re family! Other people would be begging for this chance.” The atmosphere at the table turned painfully awkward. A distant aunt finally chimed in to break the tension. “The kids have their own financial plans, Linda. Don’t worry so much about it.” Linda finally dropped it, but she glared at me for the rest of the meal. On the drive home, my dad called me. “Don’t listen to Linda. She’s just obsessed with money.” “I know.” “If she ever brings up money with you again, just tell me immediately.” “Okay.” I hung up the phone, watching the city lights blur past the window. The truth was, I could already tell that my dad’s business was in trouble. 3 The diner was located on the south side, in an area with a lot of newly built apartment complexes, but the actual occupancy rate was incredibly low. He had trusted a slick commercial real estate agent and signed a brutal three-year lease at an exorbitant rate. He was waking up at 3:00 AM every day and not getting home until 8:00 PM. He had lost a significant amount of weight, and the bloodshot veins in his eyes were getting worse. But he never complained, and I didn’t want to press him. He was my father. He was the pillar of the family, and he had his pride. Sure enough, the honeymoon phase didn’t last. The occupancy rate in the surrounding neighborhoods never went up, and foot traffic at the diner dwindled day by day. First, they couldn’t afford to pay the prep cooks, so Linda was forced to wake up at 3:00 AM to help. Then, they started buying cheaper, lower-quality ingredients, which drove away their remaining regular customers. Finally, they started falling behind on rent. The vibe on Linda’s Facebook page took a drastic turn. The bragging vanished, replaced by endless shares of inspirational quotes and articles about “Never Giving Up.” She stopped hosting family dinners, and she barely ever sent messages in the family group chat anymore. The atmosphere at their house became incredibly oppressive. One day, I bought some fruit and stopped by to visit them. The moment the door opened, a thick cloud of stale cigarette smoke hit my face. My dad was sitting on the sofa, the ashtray by his feet overflowing with cigarette butts. He looked emaciated, his face covered in stubble, his eyes completely hollow. Linda was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at me with pure, concentrated resentment. “What are you doing here?” she asked icily. “I came to see Dad.” “See him? You came to laugh at him, didn’t you?!” Linda suddenly shot to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at my dad. “Look at him! Look at what he’s become! It’s all your fault! You are a walking curse!” I froze. “If he had just listened to me and left the money safely in the bank, none of this would have happened! But no, he had to open a restaurant! And now it’s all gone! Every last cent!” She whipped her finger toward me. “And you! If you had an ounce of conscience and had coughed up that five grand to help us out when we needed cash flow, we wouldn’t be in this mess! You are a cold-blooded, ungrateful parasite!” She was screaming hysterically. My dad suddenly bolted upright and slapped her hard across the face. “Shut your mouth!” The entire living room fell dead silent, save for Linda’s shocked gasp. She clutched her cheek, massive tears rolling down her face. “Arthur, you hit me? You actually hit me for her?” “I hit you because you can’t keep your toxic mouth shut!” my dad was shaking with rage. “The business failing is my fault! It has absolutely nothing to do with Emily! If you say one more word about her, I swear to God!” Linda collapsed onto the floor and started wailing at the top of her lungs. The sound was piercing, full of despair and absolute grievance. I stood in the doorway, watching the absolute wreckage of their lives, feeling a heavy, sickening knot in my chest. I set the fruit down on the shoe rack and said quietly, “Dad, I’m going to head out.” As I walked down the stairs, the sounds of her screaming and their arguing faded away. But I knew the real storm was just beginning. 4 After that day, my dad didn’t contact me again. I knew he was trying to tough it out alone. He didn’t want me to see him looking even more pathetic. Until one afternoon, an unknown number popped up on my phone. It was Linda. Her voice was hoarse and exhausted, entirely stripped of its usual arrogance. “Emily, where are you?” “At the office.” “Can you… can you come out for a minute? I’m at the coffee shop across the street from your building.” My heart sank. I knew exactly what this was about. I went downstairs and spotted her sitting in a window booth. She looked incredibly haggard. She was wearing a faded, old jacket, her hair was a mess, and she looked nothing like the polished woman from a few months ago. When she saw me, she forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Emily, you’re here.” I sat across from her and didn’t say a word. She stirred her black coffee for a long time before finally forcing the words out. “Your dad… he’s in the hospital.” Her eyes instantly turned red. “A severe heart attack. He needs bypass surgery, and we’re short twenty thousand dollars. I’ve borrowed from everyone we know, I’ve sold everything we own…” She looked up at me, her eyes filled with desperate pleading. “Emily, I know I treated you badly in the past, and I am so, so sorry. But right now, you’re the only one who can help us.” She pulled a crumpled deposit slip from her purse and pushed it across the table. “You still have that money. Your dad told me… he told me he gave you… he gave you a substantial amount.” I looked at her, and everything clicked into place. My dad had finally cracked under the pressure and confessed to her. I just didn’t know how much he had confessed. “Emily, I am begging you. Please, take the money out and save your father’s life! The doctor said if he doesn’t get the surgery soon, it’s going to be too late!” She was practically ready to drop to her knees in the coffee shop. I reached out, steadied her, looked her dead in the eye, and asked slowly: “How much did Dad say he gave me?” Linda froze, her eyes darting away nervously. She stammered, “He… he said… he gave you an extra few thousand… just to round it up…” I let out a cold laugh in my head. Even at rock bottom, he was still trying to protect my secret. He was still guarding against her. He hadn’t told her the truth. Seeing my silence, Linda grew even more frantic. “Emily, your dad is literally dying in a hospital bed, please…” I cut her off, pulling out my phone and opening my banking app. “Linda, give me the account routing number.” Her eyes lit up instantly, like she had just caught a lifeline, and she quickly rattled off the account numbers. I typed them in and initiated a transfer. “I just wired ten thousand dollars.” The expression on Linda’s face completely solidified. The hopeful light in her eyes extinguished in a fraction of a second. “How much?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard me correctly. “Ten thousand.” I turned the phone screen toward her so she could see the confirmation. “That is every single cent of liquid cash I have.” “Ten thousand?!” Her voice skyrocketed in volume. “What is ten thousand dollars going to do?! The surgery costs eighty thousand! We’re still twenty thousand short!” People in the coffee shop started turning their heads to stare at us. She reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instantly exploding. “Your father is lying in a hospital bed waiting for a life-saving surgery! And you think you can just toss us ten grand and wash your hands of it?! Do you have no soul?! After everything your father has done for you?!” I looked at her calmly and put my phone away. “Linda, originally, Dad gave me five thousand dollars. That’s what the entire family was told. I haven’t touched a single penny of that money. Now, I’ve been working for a few years, and I managed to save up an additional fifteen thousand. That’s twenty thousand total. I’m giving you ten thousand, and I’m keeping ten thousand for my own living expenses and emergencies. Is there a problem with that logic?” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word was razor-sharp. Linda choked on her own rage, completely unable to form a rebuttal. Because in her mind, and in the minds of every relative in our family, I only had that original five thousand dollars. How much savings could a single young woman realistically have just a few years out of college? Handing over ten thousand dollars was already going above and beyond. She opened her mouth, her face flushed dark red, and finally squeezed out a sentence: “You… you can’t give more?! Just give us your entire savings, and we’ll pay you back later!” “Linda, I have to survive too.” I stared at her, my gaze unyielding. “I live alone in the city. If I don’t have an emergency fund and I get sick or need surgery, who is going to pay for me?” I was throwing her own words right back in her face. When she used to complain about me, she always talked about how hard and expensive it was for a young woman living alone in the city. Now, I was serving her own logic back to her on a silver platter. Her face cycled through shades of green and white. Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t say a single word. She had completely backed herself into a corner. She had spent months brainwashing everyone into believing I was a useless, broke parasite. How could she possibly demand that a “broke parasite” suddenly produce tens of thousands of dollars? She couldn’t. “Emily, you… you are completely heartless!” She finally found a new angle of attack. “That is your biological father! He’s dying in a hospital, and you’re sitting here doing math over a few thousand dollars!” “I’m not doing math,” I said softly. “I’m just living my life. Like you said, I’ll be part of another family eventually. I have to plan for my own future.” “You!” Linda pointed at me, shaking violently with rage. She probably never expected that the quiet, submissive stepdaughter she had verbally abused for years would suddenly become so articulate and ruthless. And she definitely never expected that the toxic words she used to tear me down would become the very rope I used to hang her. “Fine. Fine. FINE!” She spat out the words, grabbed her purse from the table, and shot up from her chair. “Arthur is the unluckiest man on earth to have a daughter like you! Keep your ten grand and buy yourself a coffin with it!” She turned and stormed out of the coffee shop without looking back. I sat there, slowly finishing my cold coffee. I knew this wasn’t over.

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When we got to my boyfriend’s apartment, I stopped dead in my tracks at the front door. “You need to text your mom for the temporary passcode, right? I can sit here and wait…” Liam expertly punched a string of numbers into the keypad. With a soft click, the heavy door swung open. “Why would I need a temporary passcode to get into my own house? Those are for plumbers and dog walkers.” He cheerfully typed the code into my phone so I’d have it. “From now on, you don’t even need to knock. Just let yourself in!” I stared at the numbers on the screen, and I suddenly broke down. Because my entire life, my mother had told me that the code to our front door changed every single day, and she was the only one who knew it. So every time I came home, I had to beg her to text me a temporary guest PIN. If she didn’t see my text, or if she was just in a bad mood, I had to sit on the concrete outside the door, waiting for her and my brother to get back. If I didn’t make it home before the temporary PIN expired, she would lock me out, claiming the app “only lets me generate one code a day.” It turned out, master codes existed all along. She just never wanted me to have it. Mrs. Carter walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on an apron. She had a naturally stern face. “You’re here? Come on in.” My heart skipped a beat. She looked incredibly intimidating. I forcibly swallowed my tears, took a timid half-step back, and acted as submissive as possible. “Mrs. Carter, do you have any disposable plastic shoe booties?” Her eyes dropped to my feet. She turned around, pulled something out of the shoe cabinet, and dropped it right by my toes. It wasn’t a plastic bootie. It was a pair of brand-new, plush pink slippers. The tags were still on them. “I bought these specifically for you. Whenever you come over, you wear these.” I stared down at the pink slippers, my throat tightening until it ached. At my house, I was only ever allowed to wear cheap, disposable plastic booties. They were paper-thin, squeaking loudly against the hardwood with every step I took. If we ran out, I had to use my own pathetic grocery allowance to buy more. My brother, Tyler, never had to wear them. He was allowed to track his muddy sneakers all over the house. Seeing my frozen expression, Mrs. Carter looked a little impatient. “What’s wrong? You don’t like pink? I don’t have time to run back to Target to buy you another pair!” Liam pouted, about to say something to defend me, but I quickly grabbed his arm and frantically slipped my feet into the shoes. “No, no! I love them!” At the dinner table, I stared blankly at the massive spread of food. Every single dish was my absolute favorite. At my house, Mom only ever cooked the things Dad and Tyler liked. Whenever I asked for something, I was met with a heavy, guilt-tripping sigh. “Anna, I’m just so exhausted. I promise I’ll make your favorite next time…” Mrs. Carter ate her food without paying much attention to me, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her watching my reaction. She leaned over and whispered to Liam. “Are you sure these are her favorites? If you made me cook all this for nothing, I’m going to kill you.” I immediately started shoveling food into my mouth like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. The two of them stared at me in shock. As soon as dinner was over, Mrs. Carter dragged me to the smart lock on the front door. “Give me your hand.” I held my hand out blindly. She grabbed my index finger and pressed it against the biometric scanner. “Fingerprint is registered. From now on, you come over whenever you want. You don’t need to text me first.” Liam sneakily leaned into my ear and whispered, “This means my mom loves you. She basically considers you her daughter-in-law already!” I stared blankly at the heavy wooden door. I opened my mouth to say thank you, but the tears rolled down my cheeks first. Mrs. Carter jumped in surprise, then delivered a swift kick to Liam’s shin. “You little brat, did you bully her in the car on the way over?!” Liam winced in pain. “I didn’t do anything!” As I cried, I felt even more confused. She looked so intimidating, yet she wasn’t mad at me for crying. My own mother, who always put on the face of a gentle, long-suffering saint, would look at my tears and sigh. “Anna, you give me such a headache when you cry. Can’t you just be a little more mature?” Right at that moment, my phone buzzed. It was my mom. “Your curfew is almost up, Anna. Better run.” The call disconnected. A screenshot popped up in my texts: A six-digit temporary PIN. Below it, an active countdown timer: 29 minutes and 47 seconds. Ever since I was old enough to understand what a door was, getting inside my own house had been a battle. When I was little, we had a regular deadbolt. Mom, Dad, and Tyler all had keys. I didn’t. When I asked why, Mom patted my head with a look of deep, sorrowful apology. “You’re so clumsy, sweetie. If I gave you a key, you’d definitely lose it. It costs five dollars to cut a new one! That’s such a waste.” But Tyler was the one who constantly lost things. He lost his house key three times in the sixth grade alone. Every single time, Mom went to Home Depot the very next day to get him a new one, complete with a brand-new Marvel keychain. Tyler would dangle the shiny key right in my face. “Look, Anna! I’ve got a key! Now I can sneak out to the arcade at night and come home whenever I want!” I didn’t have a key, so I couldn’t leave the house. If I did, I might never get back in. When I was in high school, my parents upgraded to a digital smart lock. It had a keypad and a fingerprint scanner. Mom only called Tyler over. “Tyler, come register your thumbprint so you don’t have to memorize a code.” I stood to the side, my eyes full of hope. She noticed me looking. “Oh, Anna. The scanner only holds one fingerprint. Your dad and I can’t even use it.” I refused to give up. “Then what’s the master code?” Mom awkwardly looked away. “There is no master code. They generate randomly. It’s for security. If I gave you a permanent code, you might accidentally tell your friends, and what if we get robbed?” But Tyler was the one who lost keys! Tyler was the one who brought random friends over! I swallowed the words I wanted to scream, and gave a weak, pathetic nod. Mom was already abused by Dad and disrespected by Tyler. She had it hard enough. I needed to be the easy child. From that day on, every time I wanted to come home, I had to beg her to text me a temporary PIN. I tried to beg them to let me live in the dorms for college. When Mom heard that, her eyes turned red. “Dorms cost thousands of dollars extra a semester! Your father will beat me if I ask for that kind of money! The campus is only thirty minutes away… Anna, can’t you just run a little faster?” I felt incredibly guilty. I never brought it up again. But the temporary PIN was only valid for thirty minutes, and the countdown started the exact second she texted it. My campus was thirty minutes away on a good day. It meant I had to sprint like my life depended on it. When my last class ended, I was the first one out the door, sprinting to the bus stop. If I missed the bus, I ran the entire way home. I ran until my lungs felt like they were bleeding, my clothes soaked in sweat. Even then, there were times I didn’t make it. When the code expired, I would stand on the porch and ring the doorbell. Mom was always conveniently “not home.” Dad and Tyler were inside, but they would never open the door for me. So I would sit on the concrete porch doing my homework. When I got too tired, I would drape my jacket over my shoulders, curl into a ball, and sleep outside for the night. For all these years, I had been lying to myself. What if the person who wanted to keep me locked out… was my mother all along? I decided to stay the night at Liam’s apartment. Mrs. Carter specifically set up the guest room for me. The sheets were brand-new, powder-blue Egyptian cotton, incredibly soft to the touch. The pajamas were new, too. Simple, but the fabric felt like a cloud. It was a violent, jarring contrast to my home, where I slept in scratchy, faded clearance-rack pajamas on a mattress with torn bedsheets. I sat on the edge of the plush guest bed, staring at the wall. Thirty minutes had passed a long time ago. Mom didn’t reach out. No missed calls. No texts. I opened Instagram and posted a photo dump. The massive, beautiful dinner Mrs. Carter cooked, the pristine guest room, and a mirror selfie in my brand-new pajamas. Less than five minutes after I hit post, my phone exploded. It was Mom. “Anna, what the hell is that post?! Where are you?!” “At a friend’s house.” “Which friend?! A boy or a girl?! A young woman staying out overnight?! Get your ass home right now!” Her tone was shockingly frantic. It sounded like something had finally slipped out of her absolute control. I spoke completely flatly. “Didn’t my curfew expire? You want me to come back and sleep on the concrete porch?” “Then sleep on the concrete! That’s your punishment for missing curfew!” The moment she said it, she realized she had slipped up. She quickly pivoted back to her usual act. “I mean, it’s dangerous for a girl to be out all alone at night! Mommy is just worried about you!” “Hurry up and come home! I’ll make an exception and send you one more passcode today. If your dad yells at me, I’ll just take the blame…” I cut her off. “Mom. When I was in high school, there was a serial assaulter roaming our neighborhood. Do you remember?” She froze. “…Why are you bringing that up?” “I was late getting home from school that day. The passcode had already expired. No one would open the door for me. I was so terrified of being seen on the porch that I slept behind the community dumpsters all night.” The line went completely dead silent. “Were you really worried about my safety?” “Weren’t you afraid I was going to be murdered right outside our front door?” Silence. My heart turned to absolute ice. I was about to hang up. But suddenly, I heard the sound of plates violently shattering in the background. Then, Dad’s muffled, enraged roar: “What the hell are you doing?!” Mom’s voice broke into a terrified sob. “Anna, please, help me…” The call was violently disconnected. I shot up from the bed. Liam jumped in surprise. “Anna, what’s wrong?” I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. “I have to go back. I think my mom is in trouble.” Liam immediately grabbed his keys. “I’m coming with you!” “No. This is my family’s mess.” The entire Uber ride home, my heart hammered against my ribs. Childhood memories of Dad beating Mom until she sobbed flashed before my eyes. She used to hold me in the dark, whispering, “Anna, you’re all Mommy has left,” and “As soon as I save up enough money, we’re leaving him.” I believed those words for a decade. Even if I was cutting ties with her, I had to make sure she was okay first! I sprinted from the drop-off point to my familiar front door and pounded on the wood. No response. Not a single sound from inside. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. It rang fifteen times before she finally picked up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded incredibly relaxed. She was actually laughing. I froze. “Mom, are you… are you okay?” “Oh, I’m perfectly fine! I just accidentally dropped a plate earlier and your dad yelled at me.” I gripped my phone. My throat went completely dry. A wave of profound, suffocating exhaustion washed over me. I had been played for a fool. “Are you at home right now?” Her next sentence completely shattered my reality. “No… we’re heading out for a family vacation! Your dad said he’s been super stressed at work and needs to unwind.” “We already bought the plane tickets. We’re in the Uber heading to the airport right now! Oh, and I have your debit card with me, so don’t worry, it’s safe.” The very next second, my phone vibrated. Push notifications from my banking app. Charge: Delta Airlines. Charge: Marriott Hotels. Charge: Uber. I made a decent salary at my corporate job. Over the last two years, I had saved up nearly twenty thousand dollars. Because Mom constantly played the victim, crying about how Dad controlled all the finances and wouldn’t give her a dime, I had secretly given her my debit card so she could buy groceries and things for herself. I never, ever intended for Dad and Tyler to touch a single cent of it. Let alone fund their luxury vacation! I needed to call the bank and freeze the card immediately. But my driver’s license and passport were locked inside my bedroom. I stared at the banking alerts. My breathing grew heavy. “When are you coming back?” “Next week! Gotta go, we’re boarding!” “Wait!” I yelled frantically. “I need to get into the house to grab my ID! Give me the master code!” Mom paused. “Code? What code?” “The front door code!” Mom’s voice instantly morphed back into that pathetic, helpless, victimized tone. “I told you, the smart lock generates random codes. I gave you one yesterday, but the app is glitching today and won’t give me a new one.” “You’re lying! Liam’s house has a permanent master code! Why doesn’t ours?!” Mom’s voice cracked into a fake sob. “Other people’s houses are different from ours!” “Anna, have you been listening to outsiders poisoning your mind against me? Have I not been a good mother to you? I raised you from a baby…” I had heard this exact speech hundreds of times. Right now, I felt nothing but absolute disgust. “Enough. Give me the code.” She snapped, dropping the act entirely. “If I say there isn’t one, there isn’t one! We won’t be back until next week! Figure it out yourself! You have someone else giving you a bed anyway!” With that, she hung up. Listening to the dead dial tone, standing outside the house I grew up in, I felt every ounce of strength drain from my body. For my entire life, I had been lying to myself. Lying to myself that my mother loved me, she just didn’t know how to show it. Lying to myself that she was a helpless victim who needed my protection. But now, the final, pathetic illusion had been completely ripped away. She didn’t love me. She never did. I wiped my face aggressively, pulled out my phone, and Googled local 24-hour locksmiths. A guy in a heavy canvas jacket arrived twenty minutes later. In less than five minutes, the smart lock that had kept me prisoner for a decade was easily bypassed. I walked in, grabbed my ID from my drawer, proved my residency to the locksmith, and handed him a massive cash tip. “Please wipe all the existing passcodes and fingerprints from the system.” “Then, re-program it. Register my fingerprint only, and set a brand-new master code.” The locksmith saw the dead, hollow look in my eyes. He hesitated for a second, but did exactly as I asked. Ten minutes later, the lock was completely wiped and reset. I registered my thumbprint. I set a brand-new master code. A code that only I knew. Next stop: The bank. Freezing the debit card and ordering a replacement was quick. The bank teller noticed how incredibly pale I was and gently asked if I needed any help. I shook my head, signing the final piece of paperwork. By the time I walked out of the bank, the sun had set. I stood on the bustling city street, watching the headlights blur into traffic, and suddenly had absolutely no idea where to go. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Liam: “Anna, how are things? Do you need me to come pick you up?” I stared at the text. My eyes burned. So there was still someone in this world who cared if I had a place to go. When I got back to Liam’s apartment, the dam finally broke. I collapsed into his arms and sobbed hysterically. Mrs. Carter handed me a glass of warm water, while Liam gently rubbed my back. Neither of them interrupted. They just sat with me and let me cry. I don’t know how long I cried, but I didn’t stop until my voice was completely hoarse. Right at that moment, my phone rang. It was Mom. I took a deep breath, hit accept, and put it on speakerphone. “ANNA!” Mom’s voice blasted through the speaker. It wasn’t relaxed anymore. It was vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage. “What the hell did you do?! Why is the card declining?!” “Go to the bank and unfreeze it right now! Your brother wants to buy souvenirs! He found a crystal sculpture he wants, it’s three grand! Wire the money to my account immediately!” I spoke with eerie, absolute calmness. “I reported the card stolen.” The line went dead silent for three seconds before exploding into a hysterical scream, laced with the panic of losing absolute control. “STOLEN?! How did you report it stolen?! Your ID is locked inside the house!” “Want to know how? Come home and find out.” I hung up the phone. I opened my contacts list and permanently blocked all three of their numbers. When I was done, I looked up at Liam and Mrs. Carter. They were both staring at me, their expressions incredibly complex. I forced a bitter, broken smile. “Mrs. Carter. Liam. You’ve seen what a disaster my family is.” “A family that worships their golden-boy son and treats their daughter like trash. If I stay tied to them, my future is just going to be bleeding myself dry to pay for my deadbeat brother’s life.” “If this is too much drama for you guys, I completely understand. I can pack my things and leave right now. I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess.” I lowered my head, biting my lip to stop it from trembling, waiting for the inevitable rejection. Suddenly, Mrs. Carter stood up and marched right up to me. Her normally stern face was flushed red with fury. But it wasn’t directed at me. “What kind of mother treats her own flesh and blood like that?! ‘Temporary passcodes’ my ass! What absolute bullshit!” She pointed a furious finger at my phone, her voice shaking with rage. “Stealing her daughter’s hard-earned savings to fund a luxury vacation, while literally locking her child out on the street like a stray dog?! What kind of psychopathic monsters are they?!” I was stunned. Liam pulled me into his arms, patting my head like I was a startled kitten. “Mom, you’re scaring Anna.” Mrs. Carter got even angrier. “I am furious! Such a sweet, hardworking girl, being tortured by those leeches! It’s a miracle she survived this long!” She glared at Liam. “What the hell are you standing around for?!” Liam let out a quick “Oh!” and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He slid a sleek debit card out and pressed it directly into my palm. I was completely bewildered. “What is this…” Liam looked at me with absolute sincerity. “My debit card. The PIN is your birthday.” “From now on, my money is your money. And your money is your money.” Mrs. Carter chimed in from the side. “My son makes a very solid salary. Adding his income to yours, you guys can easily save up a down payment for a condo in two years. We’ll put the deed entirely in your name. Then you’ll finally have a home that’s truly yours.” I held the plastic card in my hands, looking at the mother and son in front of me. The tears surged up again. So this is what a real family looks like. Mrs. Carter saw me crying and immediately put her stern face back on. “Stop crying! Wipe your tears! Your psychotic parents are definitely not going to let this go. We need to prepare for war.” I nodded heavily and wiped my face. The next day, Liam and I hired a moving company and drove back to the house I had lived in for over twenty years. The master bedroom belonged to my parents. The massive guest room belonged to Tyler. I lived in a makeshift, windowless storage space partitioned off from the living room. It held a twin bed and a cheap canvas wardrobe. Liam looked around the claustrophobic space, his jaw clenching. “You slept here?” I nodded casually. “Yeah. Since middle school.” He clenched his fists, saying nothing. I started packing, but I owned almost nothing of value. I took a few stacks of books, my diplomas, my birth certificate, birthday gifts from my friends, and the very first expensive lipstick I bought with my own paycheck. Everything I owned in the world fit into two suitcases. The movers took my things to Liam’s apartment for temporary storage until I could find my own place. That night, Liam and I sat on his couch, excitedly scrolling through Zillow listings. But right after dinner, a violent, aggressive pounding echoed from his front door. Liam and I exchanged a tense look. A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. I told him to call the building security immediately. Sure enough, a familiar, shrill voice screamed from the hallway. “ANNA! GET OUT HERE! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” When we opened the door, Mom was standing there, radiating fury. Dad and Tyler were nowhere in sight. “Anna! What the hell did you do to the smart lock?! Why did my master code of ten years suddenly stop working?!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Ten years? Mom, didn’t you swear to me that the lock didn’t have a master code?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400808”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was 3:00 AM, and I was getting ready to head out for my night shift at the convenience store. Suddenly, a notification from a short-video app popped up on my phone. The headline read: [Show off the most bizarre gifts your significant other has ever given you] The comment section was on fire. People were roasting their partners for sending everything from live goldfish to ugly Christmas sweaters. But one comment stuck out like a sore thumb: “My wife’s gift is pretty unique. She got me my own exclusive Black Card~” Unlike the handmade photo albums or custom pillows others were posting, the card in the photo was matte black metal. Engraved in small gold letters were the words: “Baby’s Exclusive VIP,” “Unconditional Love 24/7,” “Present Card to Summon Wife.” I couldn’t help but shake my head. Are rich people really this competitive about showing off their relationships now? I was about to exit the app, but amidst a sea of rowdy comments, the user posted a video screenshot taken inside a bar. My finger froze mid-air. It felt like all the blood had been drained from my body. Under the dim, hazy lights, a woman was leaning back in a booth, holding a cocktail glass, her head turned slightly as she smiled. I would know that face anywhere, even if it were burned to ash. It was my wife, Sarah, who was supposed to be working the night shift at the hospital right now. Chapter 1 The replies in the comment section were still scrolling wildly. “Holy sh*t, is this card real? That is insanely loaded.” To prove it, the boy quietly started a live stream. In the frame, the woman, wearing a form-fitting knit dress, was behind the bar mixing a drink. Seeming to notice someone was filming, she turned back and smiled gently. Revealing Sarah’s familiar face. The boy sounded triumphant, keeping his voice low: “See that? My wife not only gives me a black card, but she also mixes drinks for me personally. Her friend owns this bar, so it’s basically our private date spot~” “Okay, I’m gonna go drink my wife’s special ‘Love Potion’ now~” The stream cut abruptly, leaving netizens howling that they hadn’t seen enough. Only my fingers grew colder, inch by inch. I picked up my phone, set it down, and picked it up again. Finally, unable to help myself, I dialed the familiar number. It rang for a long time before connecting. Sarah’s voice sounded slightly exhausted: “Liam? What’s wrong?” “Nothing… just wanted to ask, what are you doing?” Sarah let out a soft sigh: “What does it sound like? I’m on the night shift. Just finished rounds, I’m exhausted.” “Is Maya asleep? Remember to bolt the door when you leave.” “Oh, right, today is our third anniversary since we signed the papers. Once money isn’t so tight, I’ll make it up to you with a real gift.” I glanced at the time on my phone. 3:17 AM. Just as I was about to speak, a boy’s whining voice came from her end: “Honey, you promised to focus on me tonight. Why are you picking up calls again?” Sarah’s breath hitched. Her tone turned frantic: “There’s… there’s an emergency patient. The family keeps cornering me to ask about his condition. I have to go.” “And… try not to call when I’m on night shifts in the future, it’s not convenient.” With that, she hung up in a hurry. A bitter smile twisted my lips. Was it inconvenient, or was she afraid of making someone unhappy? Putting down the phone, I looked around this small, dilapidated rented apartment. After three years of marriage, this was our entire “marital home.” The paint was peeling in places, the sofa was sourced from a secondhand market, and the springs had collapsed. When I married Sarah, she had just lost a massive amount of money due to a malpractice lawsuit, burying herself in debt, and she was already saddled with a three-year-old daughter left by her ex-husband. She worked at the hospital during the day and took night shifts, wishing she could be on the clock twenty-four hours a day. Because I had to take care of the child, I couldn’t hold down a full-time job, so I took on piecemeal freelance gigs. Every night, after the child fell asleep, I went to work the night shift at the convenience store, thinking I could earn a little more, bit by bit. The jacket I was wearing was three or four years old, the collar washed out until it was white, but I couldn’t bring myself to replace it. Thinking of that high-end bar in the video, that exquisite cocktail, and the tenderness Sarah showed while mixing drinks for someone else. It felt like my chest was stuffed with waterlogged cotton. Heavy. Suffocating. “Ugh, this is so annoying. It’s the middle of the night, why aren’t you sleeping? What are you just staring at?” My stepdaughter, Maya, suddenly poked her head out of the bedroom, frowning at me. “My mom works so hard to make money for this family, and all you know how to do is slack off? You won’t even sleep properly?” “The food you make tastes awful, and you’re so poor and trashy. You don’t compare at all to—” I’ve asked myself over these past three years if I’ve done enough. I’ve been utterly submissive to her. But I don’t know when it started, this child’s eyes became filled with disdain whenever she looked at me. I always assumed she missed her biological father. But at this moment, I caught the anomaly in her words. “Compare to what?” Maya rolled her eyes, refusing to say more. She slammed the door shut, leaving behind only, “Anyway, he’s better than you.” Seeing I was about to be late, I could only tell her to lock the door and rushed out. The night shift at the convenience store was grittier than I imagined. Shelves needed stocking, expired food needed removing, and I had to deal with drunks coming in at midnight to buy beer. By the time the hand-off was done, the sky was growing pale. I was so tired I could barely straighten my back, ready to clock out. The store manager suddenly walked over with a dark expression: “Liam, I looked at your inventory sheet from last night. The numbers don’t match. Don’t leave yet. Re-count the whole thing.” I froze. I had clearly double-checked every item three times. But to avoid having my wages docked, I had to suppress my sleepiness and start counting again. Halfway through, I went to the back warehouse to get stock and heard the manager on the phone: “Mrs. Vance, don’t you worry. I did exactly as you said. I’m making him count slowly, he won’t be leaving anytime soon.” “Guaranteed that young master will get a good night’s sleep without being disturbed.” “Of course, of course. That thirty thousand is enough to cover my son’s wedding.” I leaned against the shelf, my legs heavy as lead. But no matter how heavy they were, they couldn’t compare to my heart, which was growing icy, piece by piece. Subconsciously, I opened my phone and pulled up the home security camera feed. In the frame, that boy from the photo last night was walking out of our bedroom wearing a bathrobe. Hickeys were dotted all over his neck. He wrapped his arms around Sarah’s waist from behind, whining: “Did you drop Maya off at school?” “Honey, since nobody’s here right now, come back to sleep with me for a bit~” “Stop it, I need to send you back. If Liam comes back and sees…” Sarah said no, but she didn’t push him away. The boy curled his lip disdainfully: “So what if he sees? Isn’t that loser just a free nanny you found to take care of Maya? Even your marriage certificate is fake.” “Right now, I’m not your brother-in-law. I’m your legally protected husband~” “When are you finally going to kick him out? I want to live with you in the open.” Sarah paused, then gently stroked his head: “Taking care of a child is too tiring. Liam is used to suffering since he was a kid; he’s better suited for this than you.” “You only need to be responsible for being spoiled by me. Just be a carefree kid.” My head buzzed. The phone almost slid out of my hand. Looking at that young, arrogant face, I finally remembered who he was. Sarah’s ex-husband’s younger brother—Tyler. When Sarah and I got married, because we had no money, we just got the certificate; we didn’t have a reception. Tyler came over once, saying he was checking in on behalf of his brother. He held his chin high, speaking to me in a commanding tone: “Take good care of my sister-in-law and Maya from now on. Don’t let them suffer.” At the time, I thought it was only natural for a brother-in-law to care about his brother’s widow. Now I understood that the arrogance in his eyes was the look a master gives a servant. I stumbled home in a daze. The door was unlocked. Sarah was sitting on the sofa. Standing next to her was a woman dressed professionally in a suit, speaking respectfully: “Mrs. Vance, I’ve already sent Master Tyler back.” “It’s just… yesterday was at least your wedding anniversary with Liam. Are you really not sending him anything?” “For Tyler’s birthday, you sent a sports car.” Sarah shook her head casually: “No need. Liam is someone who came up from poverty. If he finds out I have money, he’ll inevitably get greedy and try to funnel money to his family back home.” “Didn’t I choose him in the beginning because he knows how to raise a child, has no background, is easy to control, and won’t abuse Maya?” “As long as he honestly raises Maya until she’s an adult, I’ll give him a sum of money, enough for him to retire back to his hometown.” “As for Tyler, I promised his brother I’d take care of him. Naturally, I can’t let him suffer.” Sarah and I met because of an accident. That year, I was dragged back by my family to an arranged matchmaking. The other party was a woman in her late fifties who said she’d spend hundreds of thousands to make me her live-in son-in-law. I refused, and was pinned to the ground by the bodyguards she brought, getting beaten. Sarah was passing by and shouted at them to stop. She shielded me behind her, looking coldly at that gang: “He is a human being, not merchandise for you to buy and sell.” At the time, she was newly widowed, depressed all day, and didn’t know how to raise a three-year-old child on her own. She would frequently ask me, someone who came from a large family with many siblings. And I, having been used as free labor by my family since childhood, was indeed the best at raising children. To repay her, I often helped her take care of Maya. The oppression from my parents, the cold eyes of relatives. It left me insecure and starved for love down to my bones. Sarah was the first person to respect me, to protect me. Knowing full well she carried debt and still had her late husband in her heart, I married her anyway. I even quit the job I loved to better take care of the child. But I never imagined that after three years of devotion. In her eyes, I was just a free nanny. I couldn’t even compare to her late husband’s brother. I… was just an outsider. “Liam? When did you get back?” Sarah’s voice suddenly rang out, carrying a hint of panic. She gave a look to the woman in the suit, signaling her to leave. Then she managed a smile: “This is a colleague from the hospital. Shift just changed, she came by for a glass of water.” I didn’t speak. I just found it laughable. What hospital colleague would be wearing a custom suit worth tens of thousands of dollars? Sarah, seeing me silent, walked over to support me: “How are you this exhausted? Did the manager make trouble for you again?” She stuffed a breakfast burrito into my hand, her tone carrying guilt: “I’m sorry, Liam. It’s all my fault, dragging you into this kind of life.” “This is something you usually can’t bring yourself to buy. Consider it my belated anniversary gift to you.” “Once the debt is paid off in the future, I’ll make it up to you properly.” She was right. Over these three years, the money I earned went either to her “debt repayment,” or to buy Maya clothes and sign her up for tutoring classes. I couldn’t bring myself to buy even a bottle of water for myself. But after watching the security footage this morning, I knew. The moment I sent Maya to her tutoring class, she and Tyler picked her up right after, and the three went out for sushi and shopping. There was even one time she said she was taking Maya to her hometown to visit graves, but she actually went on vacation to Miami with Tyler. For Tyler’s birthday, she could casually send a sports car. And I, I only deserved a breakfast burrito. Perhaps in her heart, this was exactly what I was worth. I suddenly felt very tired. “Sarah, we…” Before I could finish, her phone suddenly rang. She glanced at it, violently shot to her feet: “Liam, eat something yourself. I have an emergency, I have to go.” A short while later, Tyler’s social media account updated. In the frame, Sarah was kneeling by the bed, gently rubbing his stomach for him. Her eyes were tender, like she was another person. “Hee hee, I just ate too much this morning and got a little bloated, and this woman got all nervous and rushed over to rub my belly~” He once again showed off that black gold membership card. An extra line of small text was added: The most precious little ancestor. My stomach suddenly churned violently. I rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved for a long time. The phone rang; it was the school: “Hello, is this Maya Vance’s parent?” “Kindergarten is having a parent-child sports day today. Can you make it on time?” I froze for a moment. Sports day? Maya didn’t tell me. But in the end, this was a child I had raised with my own hands. I went. Arriving at the school, as soon as I stated my identity, the homeroom teacher was stunned: “You’re saying you’re Maya’s father? Then who is that gentleman inside?” I followed her gaze to the playground. Tyler was crouching next to Maya, helping her tie her shoelaces. A few little kids crowded around, sizing up my washed-out hoodie, asking disdainfully: “Maya, didn’t you say your handsome older brother was your dad? Who is this trashy, ugly old guy?” “Which one is real? We don’t play with liars!” Maya looked at Tyler’s branded streetwear, then looked at my old clothes. Her face flushed dark red. She ran over in a huff, giving me a violent push: “Who told you to come?!” “You’re just our nanny, you’re not worthy of coming to my sports day! My daddy is over there! Get out of here right now!” “Or else I’ll make my mom fire you!” Tyler, as if he had expected this long ago, curled his lip in a triumphant smile. I looked down at Maya. When she was three, her body was weak. She often had fevers in the middle of the night. The doctor said it might be because she missed her father. My heart ached for her endlessly. I held her all night long, telling her stories, coaxing her to sleep. When she was sick, I wouldn’t sleep or rest, guarding her, finding new ways to cook things she liked to eat. It could be said this child grew up in my arms. But this child, whom I regarded as my own, along with her mother, played me for a fool. Three years. I never got a single call of “Daddy,” yet Tyler got it easily. Yesterday wasn’t his first time spending the night. Otherwise, Maya wouldn’t have been in such a rush to usher me out. Perhaps, the bond of raising a child really cannot compete with bloodlines. It felt like a hole had been punctured in my chest. I spoke softly: “No need to kick me out. I’ll leave on my own.” Finishing, I didn’t acknowledge Maya’s slightly changing expression, and turned to leave. Walking to the stairwell corner, Tyler caught up. He walked up to me with a smirk, raised his hand, and slapped me right across the face: “What do you think you are? You dare come here to mark your territory?” “You heard Maya, right? You’re just a free nanny. Even the marriage certificate is fake.” “I am her legal husband.” “Sarah and I have known each other for over a decade. Maya is my brother’s child; she has Vance blood in her.” “Our bond is something you can never compare to. You only bring them shame.” Tyler got closer, lowering his voice: “You don’t actually think that child Sarah miscarried years ago was an accident, do you?” My eyes violently went wide: “What did you say?” “Sarah planned that herself. She originally could have saved her fertility, but she told the doctor to remove it.” “Because I told her, if she had your child, you would abuse Maya and fight over the estate in the future.” “Had to eliminate future trouble. She heard that, and she meekly complied.” He looked at me triumphantly: “But I’m different. I’m her late husband’s brother. Our child will have Vance blood.” “That’s why she was willing to get a certificate with me. She was thrilled when she found out I got her pregnant.” “She said we are a real family. As for you, and that dead child, you’re both outsiders.” “I heard you worked all kinds of gigs over these years to support the household? Tsk. Calling it ‘free’ is flattering you.” “Talk to a pathetic loser like you actually makes me feel dirty.” “If I were you, I’d get lost sooner rather than later, and stop getting in the way of our family’s life.” My hands were clenched and shaking. That miscarriage. That child. It was the deepest pain of my life. I held the Sarah who had just miscarried, crying my heart out, saying over and over that it was my fault. Three years of companionship. I thought we were the closest people in the world. But she set up barrier after barrier, guarding against me like I was a thief. For what? Why did my sincerity have to be trampled on like this? I raised my hand, but before it could fall, I was violently shoved aside from behind: “What are you doing?!” My knee already had an old injury; I didn’t keep my footing and rolled all the way down the stairs. Sharp pain shot through my elbow, and a warm stream flowed down from my forehead. Blood covered my face. Sarah’s eyes went wide in shock: “Liam! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to…” She wanted to come help me, but Tyler grabbed her arm tightly, saying pitifully: “Maya had her sports day today, and the teacher couldn’t get in touch with Liam no matter what. Those kids were calling Maya a fatherless bastard, so I came for her sake!” “But he came and started yelling at me for minding other people’s business, said I was an outsider, told me to get lost, and wanted to hit me!” “My brother is in heaven. If he saw me being bullied like this, how heartbreaking would that be…” Sarah’s face instantly darkened. She looked at me coldly: “Tyler is Maya’s biological uncle, they have a blood relation. If he’s an outsider, what are you?” “I don’t know what you’re busy doing all day that you can’t even attend your child’s sports day. Do you even deserve to be a parent?” “Tyler was kindly helping out, and you have the nerve to hit him?” I stumbled to my feet, wiping the blood from my face. I let out a cold laugh: “Sarah, is playing me this fun?” “If I’m not worthy of being a parent, then a lying cheat like you, who tricks people’s emotions…” “An animal who personally murders her own child, deserves to be a mother even less!” Sarah’s expression changed, just about to speak. Tyler tugged at her sleeve: “Maya is still waiting for us, don’t keep the child waiting alone. She’s wearing new shoes today; standing too long hurts her feet.” Sarah nodded, leaving behind one sentence: “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Tyler is much more sensible than you.” “Since you dislike going to Maya’s sports day so much, you don’t need to come in the future. Tyler will go.” “In the end, she’s not your biological child; you can’t compare to blood relation.” Finishing, heartbroken that Tyler’s feet might hurt. She helped him up and walked away without looking back. The glass window nearby reflected my pathetic appearance. Dried-out hair, gaunt face. Because of chronically staying up late, my skin was rough as sandpaper. But I never complained. In the end, it only bought me a scam, and the status of an “outsider.” It needs to end. I used the money saved from my freelance gigs to get my wound bandaged at the hospital. Went home to pack my bags—actually just a few old clothes. Booked a ticket on the nearest train. Sarah, I’m not playing your “pretending to be poor” game anymore.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400807”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the tenth year after my death, my husband—a high-profile, undefeated defense attorney—received a phone call from a kidnapper. The man on the other end gave him exactly twenty-four hours to overturn my criminal conviction. If he failed, his beloved protégée and junior partner, Chloe, would be killed. In a blind panic, he kicked open the front door of our old house. “This is you, isn’t it?! I know you’ve always resented me for forcing you to take the fall for Chloe!” “If you’re mad at me, take it out on me! Why would you kidnap her?!” Seeing the house completely empty and covered in dust, he dialed my old cell phone number. A gruff voice answered. It was the groundskeeper at the local cemetery. “Evelyn Hayes was buried here ten years ago. Who is this?” My husband let out a cold, mocking scoff, hung up the phone, and drove straight to the police precinct. After hearing his frantic story, the desk sergeant looked at him in total confusion. “Evelyn Hayes? She was executed by lethal injection ten years ago!” My husband froze instantly, violently shaking his head. “Impossible! She was sentenced to ten years in prison!” “She got out on parole three years ago! Why would she… I don’t believe you!” The sergeant turned to his computer and pulled up the federal database. [Inmate: Evelyn Hayes. Convicted of the murder of Mia Foster.] [Sentence carried out via lethal injection on February 6, 2014.] Liam froze for a fraction of a second before violently slamming his fist on the precinct desk. “IMPOSSIBLE!” “She must have hacked your system! The lengths she’s willing to go to just to trick me… it’s pathological!” The sergeant looked at him like he was a psychiatric patient. “This is the secure federal law enforcement database. Who the hell could forge this?” Hearing this, Liam let out a dark, cynical laugh. “Evelyn used to be one of the top cybersecurity hackers in the country. You think altering a database file is hard for her?” “I busted my ass on the outside trying to negotiate her early release! And instead of being grateful when she got out early, she’s been hiding from me for three years, and now she actually has the nerve to kidnap Chloe?!” “Open a case right now! Track her down and throw her back in a cell! I’ll make sure she rots in there for the rest of her life!” The sergeant just shook his head in exhaustion. Just then, Liam’s phone buzzed with a text from the kidnapper. [You have 12 hours left.] Seeing that the police still didn’t believe him, he stormed out, got into his car, and drove straight to the orphanage on the outskirts of the city. But when he arrived, all he saw was a charred, blackened wasteland of rubble. He violently kicked a piece of burnt brick across the asphalt, screaming into the empty air: “Evelyn! You are a ruthless, psychotic bitch! Just to hide from me, you burned down the place you grew up in?!” I floated in the air a few feet above him, watching him lose his mind in a fit of rage. The day after I was executed, Chloe sneaked onto the orphanage grounds and set it on fire. Over thirty children and a dozen teachers were burned alive. Every single one of those people had treated Liam like family when we were young. But in this exact moment, his mind was entirely focused on worrying about the woman who murdered them. Unable to find me, Liam got back into his car. He drove straight to the home of Mr. Davis, the old orphanage director. Mr. Davis had barely survived the fire. He had suffered catastrophic third-degree burns over most of his body, and the trauma had completely shattered his mind. The second Liam burst through the front door, he charged into the bedroom and violently grabbed the old man by the collar of his pajamas. “Where is Evelyn?! Tell her to get the hell out here right now!” The frail, burned old man trembled violently in his hospital bed, whimpering and trying to hide under the thin blankets. Liam grabbed a fistful of his thinning white hair and delivered several brutal slaps across his scarred face. “Stop playing dumb with me! If Chloe loses a single hair on her head, I will make you suffer!” “I know you’re the only family Evelyn cares about! I’ll beat you to death right here! Let’s see if that drags her out of hiding!” I lunged forward, desperately trying to stop him, but my hands phased uselessly right through his solid chest. All I could do was scream at him: “STOP IT! I DIDN’T KIDNAP CHLOE! I’M ALREADY DEAD!” But he couldn’t hear a single word. Mrs. Davis heard the commotion from the kitchen and ran into the room. She forcefully shoved Liam away from the bed, screaming at the top of her lungs: “What the hell are you doing?! He’s an old, sick man! How dare you lay a hand on him! I’m calling the police!” Liam just crossed his arms over his chest and let out a cold, arrogant laugh. “Go ahead! Call them!” “You two conspired with Evelyn to kidnap Chloe! Let’s see who the cops arrest first when they get here: me, or you!” Mrs. Davis stared at him in absolute, horrified disbelief. “Are you insane?! Evelyn is dead!” The mocking sneer on Liam’s face deepened. “Still trying to play me? She was only sentenced to ten years! I literally read the sentencing documents with my own eyes!” Hearing those words, Mrs. Davis’s entire body began to tremble violently. “A brutal murder conviction like that… how could she possibly have only gotten ten years?!” “Right before her execution, the prison called your cell phone over a dozen times. You declined every single call. Finally, out of desperation, they called our house.” “The warden told me that in the very last second before she died, Evelyn was screaming your name, begging you to save her!” A momentary flash of profound shock crossed Liam’s face. He muttered under his breath: “That’s impossible…” He immediately pulled out his phone and texted his paralegal. A minute later, his assistant sent over the official case files from back then. It clearly stated: [First Instance Verdict: Sentenced to Ten Years in Federal Prison.] Liam let out a dark, furious laugh. The rage in his eyes looked ready to ignite the room. “Evelyn. Did you honestly think orchestrating this pathetic ‘faking your own death’ drama was going to fool me?” Floating in the air above him, my heart felt like it had turned to ash. During my first trial, with him aggressively defending me, I had indeed avoided the death penalty. But right before my appeals trial, Chloe orchestrated a car accident that left Liam hospitalized and unable to appear in court. While he was recovering in a hospital bed, Chloe eagerly volunteered to take over my case as my lead defense attorney. During the trial, she intentionally fed me leading questions and manipulated me into giving testimonies that directly incriminated me. Because of her deliberate sabotage, my sentence was upgraded to the death penalty! When I was sent back to death row, she paid off the other inmates to brutally beat me. They stomped on my legs until both my tibias were snapped in half! I passed out from the excruciating pain. When I woke up, the guards told me I had one final opportunity to make a phone call to my family before the execution. Dragging my shattered, useless legs and my bruised, broken body, I begged the guards to let me call Liam. One call. Two calls. Three calls… Over a dozen consecutive calls were ruthlessly declined. Finally, he blocked the prison’s number entirely. I was forced to walk to the execution chamber drowning in absolute, bottomless despair… Ring… The kidnapper suddenly initiated a FaceTime call on Liam’s phone. He scrambled to answer it. On the screen was a figure wearing a black mask. A distorted, robotic voice came through the speaker: “You have 9 hours left.” The camera panned, focusing on Chloe, who was bound tightly to a metal chair in a dark, grimy room. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression twisted in pure terror as she screamed: “Liam… Liam, please! You have to save me!” Liam frantically tried to comfort her. “Chloe, don’t be scared! I promise you, I will get you out of there!” Chloe’s tears fell continuously as she sobbed into the camera: “I know Evelyn is still holding a grudge against me for what happened at the trial ten years ago.” “But I swear, I tried everything I could to help her! Please, talk to her for me! Tell her she can have whatever she wants—any compensation she demands! As long as she doesn’t kill me, I swear to God I will never show my face in front of you ever again…” Click! The video feed was abruptly cut. Liam stared at the black screen, roaring in absolute fury: “EVELYN HAYES! I KNEW IT WAS YOU! I KNEW YOU WEREN’T DEAD!” “When I drag you out of whatever hole you’re hiding in, I am going to make you drop to your knees and beg for Chloe’s forgiveness!” He violently whipped his head around to glare at Mrs. Davis. “Talk! Where is Evelyn hiding right now?! Why the hell are you helping her do this?!” “As a former teacher, hiding a convicted felon… do you have even a shred of a conscience left?!” Mrs. Davis was shaking with apocalyptic rage. She shoved him forcefully toward the front door. “I don’t know who the kidnapper is, but it is physically impossible for it to be Evelyn! She is dead! Stop pouring your filthy lies over her grave!” Liam looked at her with pure, unadulterated disgust and violently swatted her hands away. Mrs. Davis was elderly. Caught off guard by the violent shove, she lost her balance and crashed to the floor, her forehead slamming brutally against the sharp edge of the coffee table. Blood instantly gushed from the wound. She clutched her head, crying out in agony: “Why did Evelyn ever have to meet a monster like you?! To keep your precious little protégée out of prison, you forced Evelyn to take the fall! You sent her to death row, and in the end, she didn’t even have anyone to claim her body!” “And now you have the audacity to come into my home and ask me where she is?! Are you even human?!” Hearing the commotion, the neighbors gathered in the hallway, pointing and whispering at the gruesome scene. Looking at the blood pouring down Mrs. Davis’s face, a microscopic flicker of hesitation crossed Liam’s eyes. “What exactly did she promise you to make you go this far?” “Let me remind you, conspiracy to commit kidnapping is a federal crime. You’ll be looking at a minimum of ten years in prison!” Before the words fully left his mouth, Liam’s phone buzzed again. He unlocked it, and his face instantly turned deathly pale. It was another video call from the kidnapper. He stepped out into the hallway to answer it. On the screen, blood was trickling from the corner of Chloe’s mouth. Her face was covered in fresh, dark bruises. It was glaringly obvious she had just been brutally beaten. She stared into the camera, crying out with a mixture of terror and tragic resignation: “Liam… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said bad things about Evelyn. I deserve to die!” “Please don’t be mad at her anymore. I don’t want you two to turn on each other because of me…” Liam was so furious his eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. He screamed into the phone: “EVELYN! YOU SICK, TWISTED BITCH!” “I was the one who forced you to take the fall! Beating Chloe proves absolutely nothing! If you want revenge, come after me!” Then, he forcibly softened his voice, trying to project strength for Chloe: “Chloe, hang in there! I swear to God, I am going to save you!” Chloe shook her head tragically on the screen, her tears mixing with the blood dripping onto the dirty floor. “If my death is what it takes for you and Evelyn to reconcile, I am willing to pay her with my life.” “I just want you to promise me you’ll take good care of yourself. Please don’t let anyone hurt you ever again…” Liam’s eyes flooded with burning red tears. He ordered fiercely: “Stop talking like that! I will absolutely not let anything happen to you!” He wanted to offer more comfort, but his phone vibrated with an incoming notification. It was his paralegal, sending over the complete, unredacted transcripts and verdicts from the appeals trial ten years ago. But Liam didn’t even have the patience to open the file. He was just about to swipe the notification away when his paralegal sent a frantic, stuttering voice memo: “Mr. Pierce… Ms. Hayes… During her appeals trial, her sentence was upgraded to the death penalty! She really is dead!” Liam’s heart slammed violently against his ribs. On the video call, Chloe clearly heard the voice memo as well. Her face instantly lost all its color, turning completely ashen. She nervously glanced sideways at the kidnapper standing just off-camera, testing the waters: “Evelyn, you must really hate me. You actually forged federal documents to make Liam think I killed you?!” “How is that possible?! She’s been locked up in this facility for seven years!” “I’ve called the prison dozens of times trying to request visitation rights, but the guards always told me she refused to see me!” Floating in the air above him, a wave of profound, icy sorrow washed over my soul. He tried to visit me because he still had feelings for me? Maybe he did. But whatever feelings he had for me were completely, utterly worthless when compared to his devotion to Chloe. Ever since Chloe became his junior associate, the two of them had quickly developed a magnetic, undeniable chemistry. I had confronted him and asked for a divorce, but he had looked at me with tears in his eyes, swearing on his life that he would cut Chloe off completely. But the very next day, all it took was one phone call from Chloe, and he went running right back to her side. His trust in Chloe was absolute. It was buried in his marrow. He never even noticed when Chloe installed intercept software on his phone. For years, any calls he made to the prison were automatically rerouted to a group of paid actors Chloe had hired to play the prison guards. In the present, the warden’s face darkened. He tapped his pen aggressively against the desk. “There is absolutely no record of her in our system. And there are certainly no logs of any visitation requests.” “If you don’t believe me, I suggest you go to the maximum-security facility where she was actually held and ask them.” Hearing this, Liam gritted his teeth in sheer, manic denial. “Evelyn. You actually have the audacity to hack a federal prison database. Your arrogance knows no bounds!” SMACK! The exact second the words left his mouth, a brutal, echoing slap struck Chloe across the face on the video feed. A cold, robotic voice followed immediately after: “You have 5 hours left.” The video feed was abruptly severed again. Liam screamed in frustration, violently hurling his phone against the precinct wall. A few seconds later, as if a terrifying realization had suddenly struck him, he sprinted down the stairs, jumped into his car, and drove like a maniac. He sped all the way to the state women’s penitentiary and barged into the warden’s office. “I need to see Evelyn Hayes’s release records! Give me the forwarding address she listed!” The warden typed her name into the federal database, his brow furrowing deeply. “This individual was never incarcerated at this facility.” Liam slammed his hands onto the warden’s desk, panicked and furious. “Maybe she was held at the county jail after the sentencing and never transferred to state! Check again!” Liam completely refused to believe it. But with absolutely zero leads, he had no choice but to drive to the county maximum-security detention center. The veteran corrections officer who had been assigned to my cell block ten years ago listened to Liam’s frantic story. His face instantly darkened into a furious scowl. “Mr. Pierce, I assure you, this kind of joke is not funny in the slightest.” “After Evelyn Hayes’s sentence was upgraded to the death penalty during the appeals trial, the Supreme Court review was expedited. She was executed on the third day.” The final, absolute sliver of denial in Liam’s eyes shattered, replaced by profound, paralyzing shock. “Impossible… that’s impossible!” “I was her husband! If she was really sentenced to death, why wasn’t I notified during the review phase?!” The corrections officer frowned deeply, opened a heavy metal filing cabinet, and pulled out a faded manila folder. “The official Notice of Execution Review was sent to your home via certified mail. Is this not your signature acknowledging receipt?” Liam stared down at the signature line. His entire body felt as though it had been struck by lightning. He froze completely solid. It was undeniably his handwriting. But he had absolutely zero memory of ever signing a document like this. A freezing, terrifying dread began to crawl up from the very depths of his soul. He frantically dialed the kidnapper’s number again, but it went straight to voicemail. He immediately called his paralegal, ordering him to file an emergency motion with the courts to obtain the raw, unedited video recordings of the appeals trial. Then, he demanded the entire physical box of case files from the original murder trial and began frantically reviewing every single microscopic detail. While examining the crime scene photos, he noticed something. On the back of the victim’s phone case, there were several deep, erratic scratches that looked like they had been gouged by fingernails. Ten years ago, the police had officially ruled those marks as standard scuff damage from the phone hitting the pavement. But Liam’s brow knotted tightly. He remembered that the victim—my younger sister, Mia—had been learning Braille. He pulled up a Braille alphabet chart on his computer. He meticulously traced the erratic scratches against the chart. His blood ran cold as the translation formed in his mind: “Chloe killed me.” I floated beside him in the air, watching as every drop of blood completely drained from his face. Ten years ago, for my sister Mia’s seventeenth birthday, Liam had invited Chloe to our house to celebrate. That night, Chloe had cornered Mia at the top of the stairs and began viciously bullying her. When Mia fought back, Chloe flew into a violent rage and literally shoved my sister down the massive, marble staircase. Afterward, Chloe fell to her knees in front of Liam, sobbing hysterically. She swore on her life that she was just drunk, and that she had accidentally bumped into Mia, causing her to fall. To save Chloe from a murder charge, Liam actually used extortion to force me to take the fall for her. “I have the city planning reports proving your childhood orphanage was expanded illegally. If I submit them to the zoning board, the entire facility will be bulldozed immediately. Dozens of orphans will be thrown onto the streets.” “All you have to do is confess to involuntary manslaughter. I promise you, with my defense, you’ll be out in three to five years max!” Backed into a corner with the lives of those children hanging over my head, I had no choice but to agree. But I never, in my wildest nightmares, imagined that this decision would cost me my life. At that exact moment, the kidnapper’s video call rang again. “Two hours left!” Chloe was sobbing hysterically, her voice raw and shredded: “Liam! Please, you have to save me… I’m still so young, I can’t die like this…” “I know I was a coward back then! I never should have let Evelyn take the fall for me…” Liam stared at her on the screen. But the deep, profound tenderness that usually filled his eyes was completely gone. “Ten years ago. Did you really just ‘accidentally’ push Mia down those stairs?” “And that Notice of Execution Review… did you forge my signature on it? Did Evelyn really…” Liam’s voice choked on the words. He couldn’t finish the sentence. Chloe’s eyes darted nervously in a micro-expression of panic, but she quickly masked it, crying even harder. “Liam, I’ve been by your side for over a decade! Don’t you know my character by now?! How could I ever intentionally murder someone?!” “Evelyn forged all those documents because she knew you had a soft heart! She wanted to manipulate you into feeling guilty for the rest of your life…” SMACK! The video feed was abruptly cut off again. Liam lost his mind. He violently swept his arm across his desk, sending files, laptops, and coffee mugs crashing to the floor. “EVELYN HAYES! Do you think I’m a complete fucking idiot?!” Just then, a memory flashed into his mind. The gruff voice of the cemetery groundskeeper from earlier today. He immediately pulled up his recent calls and dialed the number. The municipal cemetery on the outskirts of the city was desolate and bleak. The groundskeeper led Liam down a long, overgrown path, finally stopping in front of a massive, communal gravestone. “She’s buried right here. We found that old cell phone in the dirt when we were repairing the plot a few years ago. I kept it charged in the office, figuring someone might eventually come looking for it.” Liam’s eyes widened in horror. Carved deeply into the cold granite headstone were the words: [Here Lies the 37 Victims of the Sunlight Orphanage Fire, and Evelyn Hayes.]

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On National Doctors’ Day, March 30th, I boarded an Amtrak Acela express train heading back to Washington D.C. for work. I never expected that the moment I boarded, I would find a strange man sitting in the seat I had paid for. At first, I politely asked him to move. But he decided to act like a creep, spouting some nonsense about “waiting for destiny to bring him the right person.” After several failed attempts to reason with him, I had no choice but to find the train conductor. Instead of helping, the conductor accused me of having “Princess Syndrome” and actually took the seat-stealer’s side. I stared at their ugly, smug faces in absolute shock. I pulled out my ticket confirmation and refused to back down. Suddenly, the seat-stealer exploded into a violent rage. He snatched the medical sample box out of my hands and smashed it onto the floor. “You crazy bitch! You steal my stuff and then act like a victim?! Let’s see how you like this!” He had absolutely no idea. What he just smashed was the only existing vial of KD-1 antibody serum in the entire country, specifically synthesized for pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia. During the struggle, I accidentally caught a glimpse of the man’s train ticket. I couldn’t help but smile. Since you love stealing seats and smashing things so much, you’d better be ready to face the absolute devastation coming your way! 1 I am a senior researcher at a National Laboratory. Shortly after the holidays, I received an urgent directive to personally transport a highly classified medical sample back to the D.C. headquarters. Because the timeline was so tight, the only ticket I could secure was a standard coach seat on the Amtrak Acela. Before I left, my department head explicitly warned me: “This sample is of paramount importance. You must bring it back intact. I have already arranged for personnel to coordinate with you along the route.” But when I boarded the train and found my assigned seat—Car 3, Seat 4A—there was a strange man sitting in it. After double-checking my ticket on my phone, I politely spoke up: “Excuse me, sir, I believe you might be in the wrong seat.” The man shot me a sideways glance, shifted his weight, and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. I assumed that because the train was packed with people returning to work after the holidays, it was just too loud and he hadn’t heard me. So, I repeated myself a little louder. The moment the words left my mouth, he didn’t even bother lifting his head. He just grunted, “Waiting for destiny!” and squeezed his eyes shut again. Seeing that he had absolutely zero intention of moving, my patience snapped. I lowered my voice and said sternly: “Sir, refusing to vacate an assigned seat on federal transit is a violation of Amtrak policy and constitutes a public disturbance. Please move immediately!” “Who the hell are you trying to scare?” The man finally opened his eyes, letting out a mocking scoff. “You buy a coach train ticket and suddenly think you’re a princess? You say this seat is yours, so it magically belongs to you? Is your name carved into the cushion?” I shoved my digital ticket screen right in his face: “Read it. Car 3, Seat 4A. My seat.” I looked him up and down. “Where’s your ticket?” The man pulled a crumpled ticket from his pocket, glanced at it, and then guiltily slouched back against the headrest. “Why are you yelling? This is a quiet car!” He then puffed out his chest, acting incredibly self-righteous: “Fine, the seat is yours. But I never said I wasn’t going to give it back! Do you know why I’m not moving?” He answered his own question: “Because your attitude was terrible! You were extremely disrespectful to me!” I actually laughed out of sheer disbelief. I set my suitcase down in the aisle. Just as I opened my mouth to argue with this absolute clown, a chorus of impatient groans erupted from the passengers bottlenecked behind me. “Hey, are you guys done up there?!” “Can you let us get to our seats before you start a screaming match?” “You’re blocking the whole aisle, what is your problem?!” The moment he heard the crowd, the man instantly switched masks. He waved his hands placatingly at the people behind me: “Sorry folks, no need to rush, take your time—” Then he turned his head and began “advising” me in a loud, patronizing tone: “Jeez, lady, look at yourself. You have a whole line of people waiting on you, aren’t you embarrassed? Even if you want to throw a hysterical tantrum, learn to read the room!” As soon as he spun the narrative, the ignorant bystanders immediately pointed their frustration at me: “Seriously, the guy is being so polite about it, why are you being so aggressive?” “It’s a morning train, everyone’s stressed. Just show a little grace!” “I’m going to be late for work! Can you stop wasting everyone’s time?!” In the chaos of people pushing past us, someone violently shoved me from behind. The force knocked the sample box off the top of my suitcase, sending it crashing to the floor. My heart stopped. This was the only existing vial of the KD-1 antibody serum in the United States. It was engineered specifically for a highly aggressive, historically untreatable strain of pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Three years of grueling research. Over a thousand rounds of synthesis. Methodically eliminating over two thousand candidate strains until this single, viable culture remained. This trip to D.C. was specifically to deliver it for immediate, Phase 1 clinical trials. If successful, this serum would save the lives of thousands of children who had been issued a death sentence by their doctors. I frantically dropped to my knees, snapped the box open, and checked the structural integrity of the vials. Seeing that the vials were intact, I let out a massive breath I didn’t know I was holding. Clutching the box to my chest, I stood up and screamed at the man: “MOVE! I am telling you for the absolute last time, get out of my seat!” “Why the hell are you screaming at me?! I didn’t knock your stupid box over!” The man remained glued to the seat, utterly shameless. He even rolled up his sleeves in a blatant display of provocation. “Wow, with that kind of psychotic attitude, I really don’t feel like moving now!” My anger ignited into a roaring inferno. Just as I was about to unleash on him, a man in an Amtrak conductor’s uniform pushed his way through the crowd. “What’s all this shouting about? What’s the problem here?” The man leaped out of his seat before I could even blink, rushing up to the conductor with a face full of exaggerated grievance. “Oh, officer, thank god you’re here!” “This woman is completely unhinged! She’s been screaming at me over a seat for ten minutes! Absolutely zero class!” I didn’t have the energy to argue with his delusions. I shoved my phone with the digital ticket directly under the conductor’s nose. “He is occupying my assigned seat. Please remove him.” The conductor took my phone, stared at the screen, swiped it back and forth a few times, and frowned deeply. “Ma’am, this ticket… why is the seat number completely distorted?” I froze. I looked down at the screen. The previously crisp “Car 3, Seat 4A” was now a pixelated, corrupted blur. I suddenly remembered that when I shoved the phone in the man’s face earlier, he had grabbed it for a second, his thumb swiping aggressively across the screen. I looked up, locking eyes with him. He was wearing a sickeningly smug smirk. “Sir, may I see your ticket?” The conductor turned to the man. The man slowly pulled a paper ticket from his pocket and beckoned the conductor closer. The two of them huddled together, whispering furiously. I watched the conductor’s expression shift from confusion, to shock, and finally, to extreme deference. He nodded frantically: “Understood! Absolutely, sir! I will handle this immediately.” Before I could even process what was happening, the conductor spun around and addressed me in a cold, bureaucratic tone: “This seat has been confirmed to belong to this gentleman. Your digital ticket is corrupted and cannot verify your seating assignment.” I stared at him, my eyes wide with sheer disbelief. “Are you serious?! Every single person in this aisle just heard him admit he was sitting in my seat! He confessed to it out loud!” The conductor replied with chilling calm: “The gentleman just explained the misunderstanding to me. Currently, your digital ticket cannot prove 4A belongs to you. Do you have any other witnesses who can verify your claim?” I looked around. The passengers who had been so self-righteously indignant just moments ago were now universally staring at their phones or their shoes, completely unwilling to get involved. I let out a harsh laugh and pulled up my Amtrak app. “Fine. You can look at my purchase history in the app database—” The conductor barely glanced at it before aggressively pushing my hand away, smiling condescendingly: “Ma’am, with how advanced Photoshop and spoofing apps are these days, a screenshot on your phone doesn’t prove anything.” Before I could respond, the automated chime signaling the doors were closing echoed through the car. The conductor smirked, pointing to the only empty seat left in the entire car—the one directly next to the man. “Ma’am, I suggest you realize you made a mistake. Your seat is clearly 4B. Sit down immediately, and stop delaying the train’s departure.” “Yeah, little lady,” the man drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “I understand you women get a little emotional sometimes. I’ll be the bigger man and let this slide.” “Sit your ass down, and stop keeping this man from doing his job!” Little thing? When standing up for my legal rights was branded as a “hysterical tantrum,” and the victim was painted as the aggressor. No matter how small the issue, I was going to fight for what was mine! “I demand you pull up the central passenger manifest on your tablet and verify exactly who purchased Seat 4A!” “Are you out of your mind?” The conductor scoffed loudly. “This is an express train, I am incredibly busy, and I have five other cars to patrol.” “If I waste my time checking the system for your ego trip, and someone in another car gets robbed or has a medical emergency, are you going to take responsibility for that?!” The moment he said that, the “champions of justice” in the car immediately found their voices again: “The conductor works so hard, we’re all just trying to get through the day. Why are you making his life miserable?” “Seriously, keep your Princess Syndrome in check. If everyone was as selfish as you, how is the train staff supposed to do their jobs?” Facing a train car full of people actively villainizing me, I felt my blood pressure spike dangerously high. I grabbed my phone, ready to dial 911. But as I did, my gaze accidentally fell on the paper ticket the man had casually tossed onto his tray table. Train K1127. Unreserved Standing Room. That was… That was the regional commuter train boarding on the opposite platform! I stared at that line of text for three full seconds. Then, I lowered my phone and smiled brightly at the conductor. “You know what? Fine. He can keep it. I’ll just wait.” I clutched my sample box and sat down heavily in the seat next to the stunned, triumphant man. “See? That wasn’t so hard! You should have just done this from the beginning instead of fighting a losing battle!” He leaned back into the plush headrest, immensely satisfied, and closed his eyes. As the Acela Express smoothly accelerated out of the station, I watched the scenery blur past the window, practically biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Since you love stealing seats so much, don’t blame me for not telling you that you’re on a non-stop train heading in the exact opposite direction of your destination! 2 The train hummed along the tracks. I kept my eyes closed, just wanting to survive this agonizing ride in peace. But the man next to me was relentless. One minute he was manspreading, driving his knee into my space. The next minute he was violently bouncing his leg, shaking the entire row of seats. And every few minutes, he would let out a deafening, wet snore that made it impossible to relax. Driven to the edge of my sanity, I finally grabbed my sample box and fled to the café car to find some quiet. As soon as I found an empty booth, my phone rang. It was the Director of the National Laboratory. “Dr. Vance, is your transit proceeding smoothly?” I gave him a brief rundown of the absolute circus I had just experienced. When I mentioned the sample box being dropped, the Director’s voice turned lethal. “Hold your position for another hour and a half. I am dispatching a federal security detail to meet you directly at Union Station to escort you to the lab.” “I will handle the situation with Amtrak administration. Your only priority is protecting that sample!” “Understood!” I had just hung up when a terrifying, guttural howl echoed from the direction of Car 3. Remembering my suitcase was still at my seat, I clutched the sample box and sprinted back. As I entered the car, I saw the seat-stealing man standing in the middle of the aisle, looking absolutely frantic: “Where is my bag?! Did anyone see my bag?!” “That bag has the medicine to save my kid’s life! I fell asleep, and now it’s gone!” He grabbed the arm of the conductor, who had just rushed over: “Officer, you have to help me find it! My kid is waiting for me!” A wave of panicked murmurs swept through the car. Passengers immediately started checking under their own seats and in the overhead bins, but the man’s bag was nowhere to be found. In the midst of his panic, the man’s eyes locked onto the metal sample box I was clutching to my chest. “It was you! You stole my medicine to get back at me, and you hid it in that box!” He charged at me like a raging bull, reaching out to snatch it from my arms: “Give me my stuff back!” I scrambled backward, instinctively shielding the box with my body. “Your things are not in here!” “Bullshit!” The man’s eyes were completely bloodshot. “You’ve been holding onto that metal box like your life depends on it since you got on!” “You were conveniently gone exactly when my bag disappeared! You definitely stole my medicine while I was asleep and hid it in there!” The conductor marched up to me, his face a mask of severe authority: “Ma’am, return this gentleman’s property immediately, or I will be forced to place you under arrest!” I stared at the conductor, absolutely appalled: “Which one of your eyes saw my box magically swallow his bag?! You can’t accuse someone of theft without a shred of evidence!” The conductor frowned, leaned in close to my ear, and hissed menacingly: “Do you have any idea who this man is?” “He is a senior researcher for the National Laboratory! He is on a highly classified federal mission to D.C.! You stole from him—are you trying to get yourself thrown in federal prison?!” My brain completely short-circuited. He was the researcher? Then who the hell was I? While I was paralyzed by shock, the conductor violently ripped the sample box from my grasp. He spun around, holding it out to the man with both hands like he was presenting a sacred artifact: “Sir, please inspect the contents. Is your property inside?” “DO NOT OPEN THAT!” I screamed. If the internal climate seals were violently breached, the consequences for the biological sample would be catastrophic! But the man ignored me completely. He grabbed the heavy latch and violently ripped the lid open. Seeing the contents, his face froze. “It’s not in here!” He glared at me, and with a roar of frustration, he hurled the metal box directly onto the hard floor. “Where the hell did you hide my stuff?!” CRASH. My heart completely stopped beating. I watched in slow motion as a splash of pale golden liquid erupted from the shattered glass inside the casing. The sound of that shattering glass felt like the sound of thousands of dying children taking their final breath. I shoved my way through the panicked crowd, dropped to my knees, and stared at the glittering shards and the golden liquid rapidly seeping into the floor mats. I was shaking so violently I couldn’t breathe. “Do you have any idea what you just did?!” I lunged upward, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. He didn’t back down. His eyes looked like a rabid animal’s: “You have the nerve to yell at me?! So I broke a stupid glass tube! I lost the medicine that’s going to save my child’s life!” “Are you completely insane?! That is federal—” Before I could finish the sentence, a massive force wrenched my arm behind my back, and I was violently shoved face-first into the passenger seat. As the pain of a dislocated shoulder blinded me, I heard the conductor screaming into his radio: “Car 3 needs backup! Car 3 needs immediate backup! We have an active assault on a protected federal target! Get here now!” The agonizing pain radiating from my shoulder made my vision swim, but I didn’t care. I just stared at the puddle of golden liquid on the floor, my eyes burning with tears of absolute devastation. “Open your goddamn eyes and look at me—” I screamed at the conductor with every ounce of strength left in my lungs: “I AM THE RESEARCHER FROM THE NATIONAL LABORATORY!” The backup security officers who had just rushed into the car froze, looking at each other in confusion.

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The first major case I took over after transferring back to the precinct in the city was a prostitution bust. And the suspect was my husband. The case file was spread open on the desk. The stark black ink on the white paper made my eyes sting. Seeing me zone out, my subordinate gently reminded me, “Captain Hayes, you just transferred back, so you might not be fully up to speed. The suspect is the wealthiest man in the city, Arthur Sterling. And the girl with him is his young girlfriend.” “Those two are practically internet celebrities around here. It’s the classic ‘billionaire CEO and his sweet little princess’ trope. There’s a massive age gap, but their followers eat that drama up.” He lowered his voice, a knowing, slightly amused smirk playing on his lips. “Word on the street is the girl got upset because Mr. Sterling hasn’t been spending enough time with her. She threw a tantrum and called the cops on him just to prove a point. It’s basically just a rich couple’s foreplay. They’re just messing around.” I didn’t say a word. I stood up and walked toward the mediation room. The door was slightly ajar. With one glance, I saw Arthur Sterling bent over, half-kneeling beside the sofa. He was using the sleeve of his multi-thousand-dollar bespoke suit to gently, meticulously wipe a splash of milk tea off her designer sneaker. He handled it like he was polishing a priceless artifact. The girl kicked her legs playfully, her voice a mix of a whine and a pout. “Arthur, are you an idiot? I literally called the cops to arrest you, and you’re still treating me like this?” Arthur looked up at her, his eyes overflowing with a profound, tender adoration. A look I had never, ever seen directed at me. “My little star. As long as you’re happy, you can have my life.” The fluorescent lights overhead flickered. My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss. If you two love using 911 as foreplay, then as your legal wife, I’ll personally escort you to a holding cell. I tightened my grip on the official summons in my hand, turned back to Officer Miller, and said, “Take them to the interrogation room. Process them completely by the book. No skipped steps.” Officer Miller hesitated, a look of deep discomfort crossing his face. “Captain Hayes, this… are you sure we need to go that far? You just got back, so you might not know, but Mr. Sterling is a major player in this city. Even the Chief of Police treats him with kid gloves…” “I don’t give a damn how big his name is,” I cut him off, my tone turning to steel. “Filing a false police report is a crime. Wasting police resources is a crime. This is a law enforcement agency, not his private playground. He gets no special privileges here.” Rendered speechless by my absolute resolve, Officer Miller simply lowered his head, mumbled a “Yes, Ma’am,” and pushed open the door to the mediation room. Immediately, there was a commotion inside. Chloe’s voice was shrill and dripping with impatience. “On what grounds are you detaining us?! I didn’t actually mean to report him, it was just a joke!” Closely followed by Arthur’s voice. It wasn’t rushed or angry; in fact, it was incredibly indulgent. “Stop making a fuss, babe. Just listen to the officers and cooperate. It’ll be fine.” Footsteps approached, and the two of them walked out. Chloe stormed ahead, her face completely sour, dragging her feet like a petulant child. “This is all your fault! I wanted you to take me to the mall yesterday, but you absolutely had to go to some stupid board meeting! That’s why I jokingly said I was going to call the cops on you!” Arthur trailed closely behind her, practically jogging to keep up, his tone entirely placating. “Next time, I’ll clear my entire schedule just to take you shopping. Whatever clothes you want, I’ll buy the entire boutique and have it moved to our house.” Chloe turned and glared at him. It was then that I finally got a clear look at her face. Small face, bright eyes, cherry-red lips. She was undeniably, strikingly beautiful. The most eye-catching thing about her was her platinum blonde hair. Her skirt was so short that if she walked any faster, you’d see her underwear. She looked to be in her early twenties, radiating a flashy, attention-seeking energy. She looked like someone who lived for the spotlight. We were completely, fundamentally different. I was someone who wore a uniform every day and buried myself in police files. We didn’t exist in the same universe. A heavy, suffocating weight suddenly pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Who was Arthur Sterling? He was the apex predator of the city’s elite circles. Countless people lined up just for a chance to kiss his ass. But right now, here he was, bowing his head, bending his knees, coaxing her like a teenage boy who had just made his high school girlfriend mad. “Don’t be angry anymore. I’ll cancel all my meetings. I’ll go shopping with you, I’ll take you to dinner, whatever you want. Okay?” Chloe let out a cold hmph and didn’t answer, but her pace noticeably slowed down. I watched them walk into the interrogation room. With a sharp click, the heavy door shut, locking their nauseatingly sweet conversation inside. Officer Miller walked over and asked, “Captain, who’s conducting the interview?” “You do it personally,” I said, my voice slightly raspy. “Ask every single detail. Especially the exact reason for the 911 call. Don’t leave a single word out.” Miller nodded and went inside. A few minutes later, Chloe’s voice drifted out from behind the door. You could hear the smugness dripping from every word. “Officer, I swear I was just playing around. He’s always so obsessed with his company. Getting him to take me dress shopping is harder than pulling teeth.” “What’s the point of giving me an unlimited black Amex? No matter how much money is on it, the card can’t stand next to me in the mirror and tell me which color looks better, right?” Officer Miller likely followed protocol and asked about the prostitution allegation, because the room went quiet for a few seconds. Then, Chloe’s voice returned, laced with a giggling smirk. “Oh, I only said that to piss him off. A few days ago, he used his tie to bind my wrists, saying he wanted to try something new… I was just mad that he only cared about his own pleasure, so I intentionally threatened to tell the cops he was paying for it.” She paused, clearly showing something off to the officer. “If you don’t believe me, look at my wrists. You can still see the red marks. He looks like such a refined gentleman on the outside, but behind closed doors… hehe…” The details were getting progressively more sickening. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned around and leaned against the wall. My mind was an absolute mess. Arthur and I had been married for three years. His family was old money in this city. My family had deep, sprawling political roots in the state capital. When we got married, the elite circles hailed it as the textbook definition of a perfect, equal-status power couple. A match made in heaven. And we certainly played the part flawlessly. We attended all the required holiday galas together. He bought me expensive, thoughtful gifts. I handled the aggressive, politically complex social networking for him. But I was the only one who knew how freezing cold this marriage actually was. He was always calm, detached. He rarely spoke, and he almost never smiled. Even during our most intimate moments, he acted like he was executing a corporate merger. Last year, I made the agonizing decision to transfer back to this city, giving up a highly coveted position at the state headquarters to become a Captain at this local precinct. On paper, it was a promotion. In reality, everyone knew it was a career detour. But I came back anyway. I stupidly believed that if I was closer to him, maybe, just maybe, I could thaw his frozen heart. Thinking about it now, it’s absolutely hilarious. I sacrificed my career trajectory to come back, and this was my welcome gift. Watching my husband look at another girl with a burning, passionate tenderness that he had never, ever shown me. In the end, the arrest warrant wasn’t issued. The Chief of Police rushed down to the precinct personally, rubbing his hands together, playing the ultimate peacemaker. “Captain Hayes, regarding Mr. Sterling… his corporation is critical to the city’s economic infrastructure. Let’s just let this go, alright? No need to blow it out of proportion.” I didn’t say a word, which the Chief took as silent agreement. Given the Sterling family’s massive influence, a false police report was never going to leave a scratch on Arthur. I watched Arthur carefully, protectively guide Chloe into his car. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my mother-in-law. [I just saw Arthur at the precinct. He was brought in on suspicion of soliciting a prostitute.] Arthur’s mother replied almost instantly: [Evelyn? You’re back in the city? I’m sending my driver to pick you up right now. Don’t worry, I absolutely will not let you suffer this indignity.] Half an hour later, I stepped into the Sterling family estate. I could immediately hear Arthur’s father roaring in fury, tearing into Arthur so aggressively that the man couldn’t even lift his head. It wasn’t that his parents were unaware of Chloe’s existence. They usually just couldn’t be bothered to intervene in his personal life. But this time, the drama had spilled over into a police precinct, officially involving law enforcement. The nature of the scandal had completely changed. The Sterling family’s dominant position in the city relied heavily on the political backing of my family in the state capital. Not to mention, to secure our marriage, Arthur’s mother had practically lived in the capital for years, treating me better than her own biological daughter. The moment I walked through the door, Arthur’s mother instantly plastered on a warm, loving smile, grabbing my hands tightly. “Evelyn, my dear, you’ve been so wronged. I am going to teach this useless boy a lesson today, I promise you.” Arthur instantly realized what was happening—I was the one who ratted him out. He glared at me, his eyes burning with absolute fury. Before he could even open his mouth, his father barked a low, commanding order: “Apologize to Evelyn immediately! And cut all ties with that Chloe girl, do you hear me?!” Arthur’s head snapped up. His eyes were completely bloodshot. “I WILL NOT!” “Chloe is the only woman I am ever going to love! No one is going to tear us apart!” His father was so enraged his hands were shaking violently. “Say that again?!” “If it weren’t for Evelyn’s family protecting us in the capital, do you think the Sterling Group would be where it is today?! If you dare betray Evelyn, you are no longer my son!” Arthur ground his teeth together. In the end, he didn’t talk back, but he didn’t offer a single word of apology either. He just kept his head down and stormed out the door. His father turned to me and gave a heavy nod. “Evelyn, go home with him. Talk some sense into him.” I gave a slight nod and followed Arthur outside. Just as we reached the front steps, Arthur suddenly spun around, grabbed my arm in a vice grip, and violently dragged me toward his car without saying a word. The car door slammed shut with a deafening SLAM. Before I could even buckle my seatbelt, he slammed his foot on the gas. The car shot forward like a rabid animal. His eyes were burning red. He gritted his teeth and spat out: “Evelyn Hayes, you are unbelievable.” “You transferred back here just to spy on me? The arranged marriage wasn’t enough to chain me down, so you had to use the police to intimidate me?” I rubbed my arm where his fingers had dug in, not saying a single word. Seeing my silence, he shot me a sideways glare dripping with pure, venomous mockery: “Don’t blame me for finding someone else. Take a look in the mirror. You wear those depressing, rigid uniforms every single day. Your face is colder than a corpse.” “And let’s not even talk about us in bed. Every single time, it’s exactly the same. You just lie there with your eyes closed, like a dead piece of wood.” “Chloe is younger than me, but she knows exactly how to please a man. Being with her is the first time I’ve ever felt my heart race. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt alive!” He was likely furious that I had him arrested, so every word he threw at me was designed to cause maximum psychological damage. Every sentence felt like a serrated knife carving into my chest, leaving me bleeding and raw. For three years of marriage, I had stupidly believed that if I was just patient enough, I could eventually warm his frozen heart. Instead, all I got in return was absolute humiliation and freezing indifference. While I was sitting there paralyzed, his phone suddenly rang. I glanced down. The name flashing on the screen was: “Little Star.” The moment I saw those two words, my nose stung sharply, and tears threatened to spill over. He quickly answered the call. A sobbing, fragile voice instantly came through the speakers: “Arthur… I cut my finger… it hurts so badly… please come here…” Arthur’s face drastically changed. The vicious hostility he had aimed at me vanished instantly, replaced by a voice so soft and tender it didn’t even sound like him: “Don’t cry, baby, don’t be scared. I’m on my way right now. Be a good girl, wait for me.” He hung up the phone, violently wrenched the steering wheel, and slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the road. He threw out two freezing words: “Get out.” “We’re at least ten miles from the city center. How am I supposed to…” Before I could finish, he aggressively leaned over, unbuckled my seatbelt, violently shoved the passenger door open, and roared: “GET THE FUCK OUT!” I was brutally shoved out of the car. My foot caught on the curb, and I nearly face-planted onto the asphalt, stumbling several steps before I caught my balance. The next second, the car door slammed shut. The black Maybach kicked up a massive cloud of dust and sped away, completely abandoning me on the side of the road. The biting wind cut through my clothes. I stood completely alone on the edge of the deserted highway. My phone battery was at exactly 5%. I gritted my teeth and dialed the precinct’s dispatch number. But before the call could even connect, the screen went completely black. My phone had died. I dragged my freezing, trembling legs down the highway for what felt like hours. My vision started to blur. Finally, my body gave out entirely, and I collapsed onto the freezing asphalt. When I woke up, the overwhelming stench of hospital antiseptic filled my nose. I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV drip taped to the back of my hand. A doctor walked over, his expression grim and complicated. “You’re awake?” “You suffered a miscarriage. The pregnancy was already high-risk, and walking in the freezing cold for that long…” Miscarriage? I froze. My fingers subconsciously drifted down to rest on my flat stomach. So… there had been a tiny life growing inside me… It didn’t even give me the chance to realize it was there before it slipped away. The doctor let out a heavy sigh. “Get some rest. You need to recover.” After the door closed, I plugged my dead phone into the wall charger. The second it booted up, a breaking news alert popped up on my screen: [Billionaire CEO Arthur Sterling Summons City’s Top Surgeons at Midnight Because Young Girlfriend Suffers Minor Papercut!] In the attached photo, Arthur was holding Chloe tightly in his arms, his face etched with profound, agonizing concern. Chloe’s hand was zoomed in on, clearly showing a microscopic, superficial scratch near her cuticle. My heart was brutally impaled all over again. While he was holding another woman, terrified over a papercut, I was lying unconscious on the side of a highway, losing our child… I ripped the IV needle out of my hand. Like a sleepwalker, I stumbled out of my hospital room. But as I rounded the corner of the hallway, I ran straight into Arthur and Chloe. Arthur’s brow instantly furrowed, his eyes filling with absolute, unadulterated disgust. “Evelyn, are you completely insane? You followed us to the hospital and faked an illness just to stalk me? Weren’t you supposed to be the proud, untouchable career woman? How could you stoop to something this pathetic?” I looked at him, my voice trembling so violently I could barely form words. “I had a miscarriage.” Chloe’s eyes widened in shock. She violently grabbed Arthur’s arm. “Arthur! Didn’t you swear to me that you hadn’t touched her in years?! Whose baby is that?!” “You lied to me! We’re done!” Arthur’s face panicked. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, desperately coaxing her, “Don’t listen to her psychotic lies! I see her exactly once a month for a mandatory dinner, and I haven’t laid a single finger on her!” “Baby, you exhaust me every single night. I don’t have an ounce of energy left to give to anyone else, I swear!” After placating Chloe, he turned back to glare at me, his tone turning vicious and cruel. “Evelyn Hayes, who the hell do you think you are? You think you can get pregnant from sitting across a dining table from me? Have you looked in a mirror lately?” A crowd of patients and nurses had gathered in the hallway, their whispers drilling into my ears. “Who is that woman? She’s wearing a police uniform, but she’s harassing Mr. Sterling?” “Did you hear her? She’s claiming she had a miscarriage. She’s probably trying to trap him with a fake pregnancy to extort him.” “Everyone knows Mr. Sterling is completely obsessed with Ms. Chloe. This cop is delusional.” Those judgmental stares felt like razor blades slicing my skin. There was nowhere to hide. My body went completely numb, but my brain suddenly exploded with a realization. Last month, Arthur flew to the state capital to visit me. During dinner, he had a few too many drinks. That night, he didn’t sleep in the guest room. He held me tightly in his arms, refusing to let go, constantly whispering “Baby” and “Little Star.” His voice was so burning and passionate it made my heart race. I thought he had finally dropped his guard. I thought our relationship was finally changing. It was because of that exact night that I made the definitive choice to transfer my career back to this city, hoping we could finally build a real home. But now… seeing the contact name he used for Chloe on his phone—”Little Star”… Hearing him call her that exact nickname over and over again… I finally understood everything. That night, he wasn’t calling my name. He had hallucinated that I was her. That night of overwhelming tenderness, that embrace that made my heart pound… It was nothing but a humiliating case of mistaken identity. A violent, agonizing cramp twisted my stomach. I leaned heavily against the wall just to keep from collapsing. Arthur was still whispering sweet nothings to Chloe, his voice so soft and gentle it dripped with honey. It was a terrifying contrast to the freezing, venomous hatred he had just aimed at me. Chloe finally stopped fake-crying. She plastered a condescending, fake smile on her face and sauntered slowly over to me. “Evelyn, you really shouldn’t take things so seriously.” “Love can’t be forced. Arthur doesn’t have a single shred of feelings for you. The harder you try to hold on, the more pathetic you look.” I stared at her with dead eyes, not saying a single word. She acted like she didn’t even notice my silence, continuing her arrogant monologue. “To put it bluntly, the person who isn’t loved is the third wheel. If you just let go now, it would be a lot easier for everyone.” Saying that, she suddenly pulled up the hem of her designer crop top, revealing a blue tattoo on her waist: Arthur’s Little Starlight. Then, she violently yanked the hem of Arthur’s shirt up, intentionally showing me the exact same spot on his waist. On Arthur’s waist, there was indeed a line of small, tattooed text: Chloe’s Protector. Seeing those words, I wanted to laugh hysterically, but I also wanted to vomit. The ruthless, cutthroat CEO of the Sterling Group, a man whose gaze was as cold as a butcher’s knife in the boardroom… willingly tattooed that nauseating, cringey garbage onto his body. It felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to my chest, pounding it until it was completely numb. So he was capable of going insane for someone. It just wasn’t me. Chloe proudly dropped his shirt. Her fingers lightly traced his waistline as she pouted playfully. “Arthur said I was the only woman in the world who could make him do something like this. Evelyn, could you ever make him do that?” A violently nauseating wave of bile rushed up my throat. I turned to walk away. Chloe suddenly reached out to grab me. The very second her manicured fingertips brushed the sleeve of my uniform, she dramatically threw her body weight backward, shrieking as she collided with a metal medical cart. CRASH! Glass IV bottles shattered all over the floor. Chloe sat amidst the broken glass, clutching her arm. A tiny trickle of blood seeped through her fingers. “Arthur!” she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath. Arthur’s eyes instantly turned demonic. He lunged forward and grabbed me violently by the collar of my uniform. “EVELYN HAYES! ARE YOU ASKING FOR A DEATH WISH?!” “APOLOGIZE TO HER. RIGHT NOW!” I shoved his hands off my collar, acting on pure instinct. “I didn’t even touch her! Why the hell should I apologize?!” His face turned an apocalyptic shade of purple. He roared at his bodyguards standing nearby. “Hit her! Slap her until she begs for forgiveness!” Two massive bodyguards instantly tackled me. One pinned my arms behind my back in a vice grip, while the other raised his hand and delivered a brutal, full-force slap to my face. SMACK! The sound echoed through the hospital corridor like a gunshot. My cheek burned with agonizing, blinding pain. “Are you going to apologize?” Arthur glared at me, his eyes colder than the Arctic. I gritted my teeth, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. “No.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The slaps rained down on me, each one heavier than the last. My head was violently whipped to the side by the force of the blows, only to be forcibly yanked back to face forward, helpless as I watched the hand strike me over and over again. The crowd of onlookers was completely paralyzed by terror. Not a single person dared to intervene. Chloe was nestled safely in Arthur’s arms, covertly peeking out from behind his shoulder, a twisted, victorious smirk hiding on her lips. After more than a dozen brutal slaps, my face was swollen, bruised, and burning. My vision was swimming. Arthur raised his hand, signaling the bodyguards to stop. He spoke with a terrifyingly calm, dead voice. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to apologize?” I shook my dizzy, throbbing head. Blood dripped steadily from my chin onto my uniform. “I… didn’t… push her.” His eyes turned to absolute ice. He bent down, picked up a jagged shard of broken glass from the floor, grabbed my arm, and viciously slashed a deep, bleeding gash into my skin, in the exact same spot Chloe claimed she was injured. “Then remember this pain! Let’s see if you ever dare to touch her again!” Blood instantly erupted from the wound, pouring rapidly down my arm. He didn’t even spare me a second glance. He scooped Chloe up into his arms and walked away. The hallway emptied out. I leaned heavily against the wall. My face was throbbing, my arm was bleeding, but none of it compared to the apocalyptic, freezing cold inside my heart. He never believed me. Never. My words were completely worthless compared to a single fake tear from Chloe. Since he had made his choice, he couldn’t blame me for being ruthless! Gripping the crumpled ultrasound report in my hand, I stood silently in the hallway for a few moments. Then, I dialed two numbers I had memorized by heart. That night, squad cars surrounded the hospital.

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My younger brother, Tyler, wanted to buy a new car and asked me to help him look. I specifically took half a day off work to drive him around to three different dealerships in the city. That evening, I posted a quick status on Facebook: “Car shopping with my little brother. That Audi A3 we looked at seemed like a solid choice.” Less than ten minutes later, Tyler’s girlfriend, Chloe, called me. “Emily, buying a car is between me and Tyler. What are people supposed to think when you post stuff like that? That I can’t afford it myself?” Her voice was cold enough to freeze water. Before I even had a chance to explain, I saw that she had just updated her own Facebook status: “Some people just love to perform. So old and still desperate for attention from her little brother. Maybe check your own bank account before you start bossing us around on what car to buy?” She attached a photo of me and Tyler looking at cars at the Audi dealership. Even though she blurred my face, our relatives would instantly recognize it was me. A text from Tyler popped up right after: “Em, can you just delete that post? Chloe is really sensitive about this stuff.” I let out a dry laugh and deleted my post. And while I was at it, I also “deleted” the $40,000 I had set aside to help them pay for the car. The next day, Tyler panicked and called to ask what happened. I only replied with six words: “If she’s sensitive, don’t take it.” 1 My phone rang. It was Tyler. I could hear the suppressed anger in his voice: “Em, what is your problem? If Chloe made you mad, take it out on me! Why the hell are you holding back the money for the car?” I replied, my voice completely flat: “The money is in my bank account. I’m choosing not to give it to you.” Less than ten minutes later, someone started pounding on my front door like they were trying to break it down. The second I unlocked the deadbolt, Tyler shoved his way inside. His muddy sneakers left two dark streaks on the living room rug I had just vacuumed. Chloe trailed closely behind him, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin tipped up in a textbook display of arrogance. “Emily, are you done throwing your little tantrum?” Tyler yelled, his voice so loud spit was literally flying from his mouth. I stared at the muddy footprints on my rug and fired back, “What exactly am I throwing a tantrum about?” “You’re holding the forty grand hostage! How the hell are we supposed to go pick up the car today?” He lunged forward and grabbed the sleeve of my shirt. I violently yanked my arm out of his grip. Chloe stepped forward, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “Emily, are you trying to use money to manipulate me? Let me tell you right now, I don’t play those games. If you didn’t want to give us the money, you shouldn’t have pretended to be so generous in the first place.” I picked up the glass of water from the coffee table, took a slow sip, and said calmly, “I wasn’t pretending. I just simply don’t want to give it to you anymore.” The moment the words left my mouth, Chloe aggressively slapped the glass out of my hand. It smashed against the hardwood floor. The glass shattered. Scalding hot water splashed directly onto my calves, the skin instantly turning a furious, stinging red. “You think having a little bit of money makes you special?! I can buy a car with Tyler just fine without your forty grand!” she screamed, pointing her finger inches from my nose. I looked down at the burning red patches on my legs. Whatever warmth was left in my heart for them instantly burned away, leaving a gaping, cold hole. “Get out.” “Em, Chloe is just stressed…” Tyler quickly stepped in front of her, trying to play peacekeeper. “Let’s just forget this happened. Just wire the forty grand to my account right now.” I walked over to the entryway and pulled the front door wide open. “Get the hell out of my house.” Chloe didn’t move an inch. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Emily, Tyler already told me. Half of your assets legally belong to him anyway. He has a right to this condo. Who the hell do you think you are to hoard it all for yourself?” I stared dead into her eyes. “The deed is in my name only. I paid the mortgage. I paid for the renovations. Every single cent came from my pocket. Where do you get the absolute audacity to claim any of this?” Tyler took a step toward me, his face hardening. “Em, Chloe is right. Mom’s life insurance and inheritance were supposed to be split. You need to sell this place and give me my half, so I can buy my own house.” I looked at this boy—the brother I had fiercely protected since we were kids—and the last shred of familial love I had for him completely evaporated. “When Mom got sick, the hospital bills drained every single penny of her savings. I bought this condo years later, entirely with my own money and loans I took out myself. It has absolutely zero connection to you.” Chloe flipped her hair over her shoulder, her tone dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Emily, as a woman, I honestly feel sorry for you. You’re pushing thirty, you’re single, and your entire pathetic life revolves around obsessing over your little brother. You have zero self-worth. You’re holding the car money hostage right now because you want to keep controlling Tyler so you can keep leeching off his life, right?” I glared at her with absolute, freezing contempt. “I’m not leeching off him. And I’m certainly not giving him a dime. Both of you, leave.” Tyler’s face flushed a dark, angry red. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Fine. Em, you’re going to regret this!” He grabbed Chloe by the wrist and stormed out the door. Chloe stopped right at the threshold, turning back to shoot me one last look: “Emily, if you don’t cough up that car money, Tyler is done with you. He won’t even acknowledge you as his sister. When you finally manage to trick some guy into marrying you, don’t expect us to be there to support you.” I slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt. A second later, a heavy kick rattled the door frame. “You shameless, selfish bitch! Just you wait!” Tyler’s muffled scream echoed through the heavy wood. I walked to the kitchen to grab a broom to sweep up the shattered glass. My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. In our extended family’s WhatsApp group, Tyler had posted a massive paragraph: “I need the elders in this family to weigh in. My sister is intentionally withholding the money she promised for my car just to control my life. Chloe just posted the truth on Facebook, and now Emily is trying to force us to break up. She’s also hoarding the condo Mom left behind and trying to kick me out on the street.” Immediately below his rant, Chloe posted a screenshot. It was a screenshot of the photo I had originally posted of us looking at cars at the dealership. Aunt Susan was the first to reply: “Emily, this is completely out of line. Your brother buying a car is a major milestone. Why are you interfering and causing drama?” Uncle Robert chimed in right after: “Em, Tyler is your only brother. Just give the kid the money. Don’t tear the family apart over something this petty.” I stared at the screen, reading line after line of their “helpful” advice, and without a second thought, I permanently exited the group chat. 2 The next morning, I left for work as usual. The moment I stepped out of my apartment building’s main gate, Tyler jumped out from behind a concrete pillar, blocking the sidewalk. “Em, what was that stunt leaving the group chat? Are you scared?” When I didn’t answer, he doubled down. “If you’re scared, then wire me the money right now.” He kept aggressively demanding the transfer while pulling out a brand-new iPhone 15 Pro to check his banking app. That iPhone was bought and paid for entirely by me. He told me he just wanted to “borrow it for a couple of days to play with the camera,” but he never gave it back. I sidestepped him and kept walking. “Move. I have to go to work.” He reached out and violently grabbed the strap of my purse. “You are not leaving until you wire me that money.” A few neighbors walking their dogs stopped and started staring at us. I yanked my purse back with all my strength. “Tyler, if you keep this up, I’m calling the cops.” He let out a loud, mocking scoff. “Call them! Are the cops going to get involved in a family dispute? You’re stealing my money, and now you want to silence me?” Chloe, wearing a brand-new cashmere coat and holding a Venti Starbucks cup, looked me up and down with obvious disgust. “Emily, everyone is watching. Do you really want to make a scene and embarrass yourself? Just wire the money, and we’ll leave.” I stared at the coffee cup in her hand. “That coffee cost seven bucks. The coat you’re wearing cost eight hundred. Both of those were bought using my secondary credit card, weren’t they?” Chloe’s smug expression instantly cracked. “What the hell are you talking about?! Tyler bought these for me!” I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. “I canceled the secondary card this morning. Oh, and the iPhone you’re holding is mine too. Make sure you give it back.” Tyler’s eyes bulged in shock. “Em! Are you psycho?! You’re taking back a phone?!” I held out my hand, palm up. “Yes. Give it back.” Tyler took a rapid step backward. “No way in hell! I’m using it, which means it’s mine!” He grabbed Chloe’s hand, frantically hailed a passing taxi, and the two of them dove into the backseat and sped off before I could say another word. I watched the taxi disappear into traffic, then turned and walked toward the bus stop. The bus rattled its way downtown, eventually dropping me off outside my office building. I swiped my badge, walked through the glass doors, and sat down at my desk. Before I could even log in, my department manager walked over. “Emily, can you come to my office for a minute?” I followed him inside. He closed the door, his expression looking incredibly strained and awkward. “Is… is everything okay at home? Any major issues?” “No.” The manager sighed heavily, opened his desk drawer, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. “This morning, reception received a local courier package. It was a stack of these flyers.” I took it. Printed dead center was a photo of me, surrounded by bold, aggressive block letters: [EMILY CHEN: TOXIC, CONTROLLING SISTER. STEALS BROTHER’S INHERITANCE, TRIES TO FORCE BROTHER’S GIRLFRIEND TO GET AN ABORTION. MORALLY BANKRUPT. DO NOT TRUST HER!] It was printed on cheap, flimsy printer paper, the edges ragged. I stared at the words, my fingers slowly clenching into tight fists. “Reception intercepted the package,” the manager said, watching me closely. “But… someone took a photo and posted it in the general company Slack channel. Now… the entire office has seen it.” I pulled out my phone and opened the company Slack. The general channel was dead silent. Nobody was typing a word. But the photo of that flyer was sitting right there as the most recent message, glaringly obvious and humiliating. I placed the flyer back onto his desk. “I understand. I’ll handle it.” I turned and walked out of the office. In the hallway, several coworkers were walking toward me. The moment they saw me, their eyes darted away. They lowered their heads and hurried past without a word. I walked back to my desk, grabbed my purse, and turned to my cubicle mate. “I’m taking a half-day. If anything urgent comes up, text me.” As soon as I walked out of the revolving doors of my office building, I saw them. Standing on the sidewalk across the street, Tyler was holding a thick stack of flyers, and Chloe was aggressively shoving them into the hands of passing pedestrians. I marched across the street and stopped right in front of them. Chloe held out a flyer toward me. When she realized it was me, she froze for a second, then quickly pulled her hand back. “Well, well. Emily, leaving work early today?” I kept my eyes locked on Tyler. “You printed these?” Tyler looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. “Chloe said this was the only way to make you back down. Em, just give me the money, and we’ll leave right now.” I reached out and snatched the stack of flyers out of his hands. With one swift motion, I ripped the entire stack in half, letting the shredded paper flutter to the sidewalk. “Tyler, you are twenty-four years old. You graduated two years ago, and you’ve already quit or been fired from six different jobs. You don’t even make enough to pay your own rent.” I stared directly into his eyes. “The money you were going to use for that car? I saved it. The hoodie you’re wearing right now? I bought it. Even the money you use to buy her coffee every morning comes off my credit card.” Chloe lunged forward and violently shoved me in the chest. I stumbled back half a step, catching my balance. “Stop acting like a pathetic victim! Tyler told me you make over ten grand a month! Why shouldn’t you spend it on him?! You’re just a selfish, greedy bitch!” I looked at Chloe, my voice ice cold. “My money belongs to me. I will give it to whoever I want. And since I don’t want to give it to you, you won’t see a single red cent of it.” Tyler’s face flushed a furious, dark red. “Em! Are you seriously trying to ruin my life?! Chloe said if I don’t get a car, she’s breaking up with me! Do you really want to destroy a four-year relationship?!” I stared at him, completely deadpan. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” I turned and walked toward a nearby trash can, tossing the shredded flyers inside. Tyler charged at me, grabbing my arm in a vice grip. “You are going to give me that money today! Or I swear to God, I will stand outside your office every single day handing these out!” I violently ripped my arm away from him. “Touch me again, I dare you.” In the same fluid motion, I snatched the iPhone 15 Pro right out of his hand. Tyler stood there, totally stunned. Chloe immediately rushed forward to grab his arm. “Tyler, stop wasting your breath! People like her won’t learn until you destroy them completely!” I pulled out my own phone and dialed a local electronics recycling service I had used before. “Hi, I have an iPhone 15 Pro I want to sell. Latest model, mint condition. Can you send someone to pick it up right now?” The voice on the other end was enthusiastic: “Absolutely! Text me the address, we’ll be there in ten minutes.” Tyler lunged forward, trying to wrestle the phone out of my grip. “Emily! Are you fucking insane?!” I ended the call and shoved both phones deep into my purse, stepping back out of his reach. Ten minutes later, a white commercial van pulled up to the curb. A guy in a blue polo shirt hopped out. “Ms. Chen? You have the phone?” I pulled the iPhone 15 Pro out of my purse and handed it to him. Tyler charged the guy, grabbing him aggressively by the shoulder. “Don’t you dare buy that! That is my phone!” I pulled up the digital receipt on my own phone and held it out to the tech. “Hi, here is the proof of purchase and the serial number. The physical receipt is at my apartment; I can go get it if you need it.” The tech carefully checked the screen against the phone’s settings, nodded, and forcefully shoved Tyler’s hand off his shoulder. “Buddy, the phone legally belongs to this lady. We only care about who holds the receipt.” Tyler stood frozen on the sidewalk, his face turning a mottled, furious purple. “Emily! You’re actually selling your own brother’s phone?! Are you even human?!” “I bought this phone with my own money. I can sell my own property whenever I want. What does that have to do with you?” The tech pulled a thick wad of cash from his bag, counted out eight hundred dollars, and handed it to me. “Here you go, ma’am. Count it to be sure.” I took the cash, counted it right in front of their faces, and slipped it into my purse. “It’s all here. Thanks.” The white van drove off. Tyler glared at me with absolute, unfiltered hatred and roared: “Emily! As of today, you are dead to me! I don’t have a sister!” I didn’t even bother turning around. “Good.”

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To murder my husband, Richard Vance, I spent an entire year preparing. I smiled as I saw him off on his mountain expedition. I had secretly swapped his GPS for a dummy model that would never emit a signal, ensuring he would vanish forever in the treacherous, uninhabited wilderness. I coldly calculated the timeline of him getting lost, succumbing to hypothermia, and eventually dying of sheer exhaustion. The plan was flawless. I had even prepared my eulogy for his funeral. Ten days later, the search and rescue team called. The voice on the other end was bone-chilling: “Mrs. Vance, we found your husband. However, there is another body right next to him.” When the phone rang, I was trimming a dying pothos plant in the living room. It was Richard’s favorite plant. He used to say green represented vitality and brought good luck to his business. What he didn’t know was that every single day, I watered its roots with boiling water. I watched it wither day by day, just as I imagined Richard’s life slowly draining away in the snowy mountains. The caller ID showed an unknown number from the state where Richard had gone climbing. It’s time. My heart started to pound—not out of fear, but from a suppressed, overwhelming ecstasy that was about to burst out of my chest. I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to sound perfectly hoarse and trembling, like a woman who had spent countless days and nights washing her face with tears. “Hello?” The voice on the other end was steady and cold, carrying a sort of official detachment. “Is this Harper Evans, Mrs. Vance? We are calling from the Mountain Search and Rescue Team.” I covered my mouth, squeezing out broken sobs, perfectly mimicking a wife anxiously awaiting news of her husband. “Yes… it’s me! Is there… is there news about Richard?” The man hesitated for a moment, seemingly choosing his words carefully. “Yes, Mrs. Vance. We found your husband.” Found. That word was like a key, instantly unlocking the dark cellar in my heart. Countless fireworks exploded in my mind, every single one spelling out the word “Freedom.” I almost laughed out loud, quickly covering it up with more violent sobbing. “Is… is he okay?” I asked the question knowing the answer, relishing this final, cruel game. The line went silent again, this time for a little longer. “Mrs. Vance, I am so sorry for your loss. Mr. Vance has no vital signs.” My body went limp, and I allowed myself to slide down onto the carpet. The phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. I let out a gut-wrenching wail into the empty air. If you’re going to act, you have to commit to the bit. My neighbors had likely heard my continuous crying over the past few days. Now, this wail was the grand finale of the show. I picked up the phone, continuing my performance with a voice ragged from crying: “How… how could this happen… He said the route was perfectly safe…” “Mrs. Vance.” The man interrupted my performance, a strange undertone in his voice. “The situation at the scene is… a bit complicated.” “There is another body next to him.” My heart plummeted. The blood in my veins seemed to freeze instantly. A body? That bastard! Richard actually took his mistress out there to fool around! A sick sense of satisfaction washed over me, mixed with the humiliation of betrayal and the thrill of revenge. Good riddance! They deserved to die! That cheating pair deserved to be buried together in the freezing snow, never to return! I suppressed the upward twitch of my lips, asking with a trembling voice, blending the humiliation and pain of a “victim wife”: “Is it… is it a woman?” The man on the phone—who I later learned was Detective Miller—fell silent once more. This time, his voice was colder than a Siberian blizzard. “It’s a male.” Boom— My mind went completely blank. Every pore on my body stood on end from sudden, sheer terror. Not a mistress? A man? Who could it be? There was never a second man in my plan. From scouting the route and tracking the weather, to researching Richard’s physical limits and swapping the GPS, every step had been simulated thousands of times in my head. It was supposed to be perfect. Foolproof. This extra man was like a nuclear bomb dropping out of nowhere, threatening to obliterate my entire world. Who was he? A hiking buddy Richard made plans with? Impossible. Richard was arrogant and selfish; he never hiked with others. He loved the thrill of conquering nature alone. A random hiker who had an accident? Then why would he die right next to Richard? Or… or did he know about my plan? That thought made my blood run cold. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. My brain raced through the storm of panic, running through a million possibilities. Every single one pointed to a fatal, unpredictable flaw in my scheme. I forced myself to maintain my composure, asking with a trembling voice: “Who is he? Why would he… why would he be with my husband?” Detective Miller’s voice betrayed no emotion: “His identity is currently unknown. We need family members to come down and identify the remains. Also, Mrs. Vance, it’s best if you come here immediately. Certain circumstances are quite… unique.” He emphasized the word “unique.” Hanging up the phone, I rushed to the bathroom, staring at my pale face in the mirror. On that face, the shell of grief I had carefully constructed over the past ten days showed its first hairline crack. Fear crawled up from the depths of my heart like ivy, wrapping tightly around my throat. I turned on the faucet, splashing freezing water on my face over and over, trying to force myself to calm down. Harper, pull yourself together. You planned this for a year. You cannot fall apart now. No matter who that man was, he was already dead. Dead men tell no tales. As long as I kept my mouth shut, no one would know about the GPS. Richard’s death would just be a tragic hiking accident. Yes, an accident. I repeated those words to myself in the mirror until the fear on my face was replaced by a dull numbness. I changed into a simple black outfit and wore no makeup. My pale, exhausted appearance would be my best disguise. Before I left the house, I took one last look at the pothos plant I had killed with my own hands. Its leaves were completely yellow and lifeless. How nice, I thought. It finally doesn’t have to pretend to thrive anymore. Just like me. By the time I arrived at the city where the rescue team was headquartered, it was the afternoon of the next day. The air smelled strangely of bleach mixed with the scent of death. Detective Miller was waiting for me at the entrance. He was a tall man in his forties, with tanned skin and eyes as sharp as a hawk’s—eyes that looked like they could pierce straight into the darkest corners of a person’s soul. He skipped the pleasantries, simply looking me up and down before leading me toward the morgue. “Mrs. Vance, my condolences,” he said, his voice even harder than it was on the phone. “What’s inside might be disturbing. Please prepare yourself.” I nodded, lowering my eyes to let my long lashes hide my emotions. The lighting in the morgue was a sterile, freezing white. The chill seeped into my bones from all directions. In the center of the room, two gurneys covered in white sheets lay side by side. My heart began to pound wildly. Detective Miller walked over to one of the gurneys and looked at me blankly. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. The moment the white sheet was pulled back, Richard’s frostbitten, purplish face, contorted in agony, appeared before my eyes. His eyes were still open, filled with terror and bitterness, as if he had seen something unspeakably horrifying right before he died. My stomach churned, a strong wave of nausea rushing up my throat. It wasn’t out of grief, but out of visceral, biological disgust. This face had appeared in my deepest nightmares countless times. He would smile and say the most vicious things in the gentlest tone. “Harper, you put too much salt in the fish today. So stupid.” Then he would pour the scalding hot broth right over the back of my hand. “Harper, look at you. You can’t even mop the floor right. What use was marrying you?” Then he would kick me hard in the stomach. “Harper, are you thinking about that broke ex-boyfriend of yours again? You’re nothing but a cheap whore!” Then he would press a lit cigarette to my wrist, leaving behind brand after brand of shame. And now, he was finally dead. He died a miserable, ugly death. I should be thrilled. But I had to look devastated. I threw myself over his body, letting out a harrowing wail. My body trembled violently as I dry-heaved. The tears were real. They were tears of relief, pent up for five long years, finally breaking free. Detective Miller didn’t comfort me. He just stood coldly to the side, waiting until my emotions settled slightly before pulling me away from Richard’s corpse. Then, he walked over to the other gurney. “Mrs. Vance, I need you to identify this man as well.” My heart jumped into my throat. The white sheet was pulled back, revealing a face I completely didn’t recognize. It was a man in his thirties, thin but with sharp features. His face was also a frostbitten purple. What was bizarre was that the corners of his mouth were turned up into a smile—a look of relief, almost satisfaction. I scrambled through my memories, but I was absolutely certain I had never seen this face before. I shook my head, my voice trembling with genuine fear: “No… I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.” This time, the fear was real. A stranger dying with a smile on his face, right next to my husband who died in absolute terror. The scene was too bizarre, like the opening of a cheap horror movie. Detective Miller didn’t seem surprised by my reaction. He just nodded and signaled the medical examiner to cover the bodies back up. He led me out of the morgue and into an office. He poured me a cup of hot water. Then, from a locked cabinet, he pulled out a clear evidence bag and pushed it across the desk toward me. Inside the bag sat a black device I was far too familiar with. The dummy GPS tracker I had swapped out—the one that could never send a distress signal. My heart skipped a beat, the blood rushing straight to my head. My fingers tightened around the paper cup, but the scalding water couldn’t chase away the ice in my palms. Still, I maintained my facade, looking at him with innocent confusion. “Detective Miller, what is this?” “Richard’s personal effects.” Detective Miller stared unblinking into my eyes, every word hitting like a hammer. “A dummy GPS model. It can’t emit a single signal. Mrs. Vance, do you know what that means?” I played the role of the naive, innocent wife who knew nothing about outdoor gear. “I don’t know… He loved buying this kind of outdoor stuff. We have a lot of it at home. I really don’t understand it.” My voice sounded clueless and lost. Suddenly, Detective Miller let out a cold laugh. It was filled with undisguised mockery. From the cabinet, he pulled out a second, identical evidence bag, slamming it down heavily next to the first. “Is that so? What a coincidence. We found the exact same thing on the other victim.” Boom— I felt the entire world spinning and collapsing in front of me. Two identical dummy GPS models. Two identical “murder weapons.” My “trademark,” my supposedly perfect murder method, had been duplicated. In a split second, I went from a mastermind controlling the board to a trapped participant in a bizarre mystery I couldn’t explain. This was no longer a flawless murder. It was a chilling, inexplicable puzzle. My hands and feet went numb. My mind was completely blank. The psychological fortress I had so carefully built crumbled the moment I saw that second dummy GPS. The fluorescent lights in the interrogation room were blindingly white. They stretched my shadow long across the floor, making me look like a silent sinner. Detective Miller sat across from me. He didn’t slam his hands on the table. He didn’t yell. He just looked at me calmly with those sharp eyes. But every question he asked acted like a precision scalpel, peeling back my disguise layer by layer until he hit my deepest secrets. “Mrs. Vance, you used to enjoy mountain climbing too, didn’t you?” He asked it casually, like making small talk. Alarm bells rang furiously in my head. I had never mentioned this to anyone, especially not after marrying Richard. How did he know? I steadied myself and admitted it: “Yes, I was into it back in college. But… I stopped after we got married.” I tried to project the image of an ordinary woman bound by domestic life, someone who had abandoned her hobbies. Detective Miller nodded, seemingly accepting my answer. “So, you must know a fair bit about GPS and outdoor equipment, right?” There it is. His real target. My defense sounded weak: “Just the basics. I haven’t touched the stuff in years. The gear updates so fast, I wouldn’t know how to use the new models.” I knew my background was already my first red flag. No matter how much I denied it, in the eyes of the police, I possessed the technical knowledge required to commit the crime. Detective Miller didn’t linger on the topic. He smoothly transitioned and dropped his second bombshell. “We discovered that last month, you added a five-million-dollar accidental death policy to Richard’s life insurance. You are the sole beneficiary.” My heart sank to rock bottom. That insurance policy was a crucial part of my plan. It was my safety net and the capital for my new life. But now, it was a blade pressing against my throat. “It… it was Richard’s idea.” I forced myself to stay calm, searching for the most reasonable excuse. “He loves extreme sports. He said it was just adding an extra layer of security for our family.” I pushed the blame onto the dead man. Dead men can’t argue. Detective Miller smiled. It was a knowing, profound smile. “Really? But we spoke to the insurance agent. He said you reached out to him, and you handled the entire process. He also mentioned that Mr. Vance didn’t seem to know the specific details of the policy.” I went freezing cold. It felt like all my blood had been drained. I never imagined that bastard Richard would complain about the insurance to an outsider. Or maybe this was just a bluff. Detective Miller was testing me. But I couldn’t risk it. To Detective Miller, my silence was an admission of guilt. The fatal blow was yet to come. A young officer walked in and handed a file to Detective Miller. He glanced at it, then tossed it heavily onto the table in front of me. “Mrs. Vance, our cyber division recovered the last three months of browsing history from your home computer.” My eyes fell on the document. Printed on the pages were the keywords I feared the most. “Remote hiking trails” “How long does it take to die from hypothermia” “How to block GPS signals” “How are hiking accidents classified” … Every keyword was a glowing red chain, binding me tightly to the suspect’s chair. My supposed brilliance, the tracks I so carefully erased in the dead of night… in the face of professional forensic technology, it was all a joke. They had become the noose around my neck, and the knot was tightening. Detective Miller leaned forward, resting his crossed hands on the table. His gaze was as sharp as a razor. “A massive insurance payout, specialized knowledge, a clear motive, and now two inexplicable dummy GPS trackers. Mrs. Vance, is there anything else you’d like to share?” My mind was a complete blank. All my defenses and lies were laughable and futile against this mountain of ironclad evidence. I was finished. My plan, my freedom, the new life I dreamed of—all of it was bursting like a soap bubble. Despair washed over me like a tidal wave. I could feel the freezing water rising above my head, stealing my last breath. The interrogation hit a dead end. I was like a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web; no matter how I struggled, I couldn’t break free from the layers of damning evidence. I gave up defending myself. I chose silence. Because I knew the more I spoke, the more mistakes I’d make. Just as I was hovering on the edge of despair, ready to accept this absurd fate, someone knocked on the interrogation room door. The young officer hurried in, whispered something in Detective Miller’s ear, and handed him a folder. Detective Miller took the file and scanned it quickly. His furrowed brow slowly smoothed out, his expression turning incredibly complex. He looked up at me. His eyes held scrutiny, confusion, and something else… something hard to detect. He remained silent for a long time. So long I thought time had stopped. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and clear. “We’ve identified the second victim.” My heart jumped, and my body involuntarily sat up straighter.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400802”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The seventh time Arthur Vance locked me in the estate’s freezing attic to “reflect on my sins,” the long-delayed System finally spoke to me: As long as you die, you can return to your original world. And so, I became the perfect, emotionless high-society wife. I stopped caring that Arthur frequently spent his nights in his widowed sister-in-law’s bedroom. I stopped fighting for his broken promise of monogamy, and I stopped fighting for control over the estate’s finances. When my own son knocked over the meal I had spent hours cooking for him in absolute disgust, I didn’t scold him. I simply had the maid wipe his hands and calmly told him I would never cook for him again. Even when the head butler brought me that cup of abortifacient tea—even knowing I was already pregnant—I drank it down without a single second of hesitation. By the time Arthur rushed into the room, all he saw was a blinding pool of crimson on the floor. He drew his tactical blade, pointing it directly at my throat. His usually calm, authoritative voice was trembling with a total mental breakdown. “Claire Bennett, do you really hate me this much?!” “You grew up studying medicine! You knew how lethal that drug was, yet you’re so vicious you couldn’t even tolerate our own flesh and blood?!” Looking at the gleaming edge of the blade, I let out a relieved smile. And then, I thrust my body directly onto the knife. …… The exact second the blade pierced my flesh, Arthur’s pupils violently shrank. He desperately yanked the knife back. But he was a fraction of a second too late. The razor-sharp edge sliced across my neck. Beads of crimson blood rolled down, staining the pure white collar of my dress. With a loud clatter, the blade dropped to the floor. Arthur fell to one knee, frantically pressing his hands against my neck to stop the bleeding. “Claire! Have you completely lost your mind?!” I sighed internally. What a shame. Seeing that I hadn’t managed to kill myself, I finally answered his first question. “Mr. Vance, you told me yourself that having one son was more than enough.” “If I were to give birth to another child, wouldn’t that make your widowed sister-in-law—who only managed to give you a daughter—look bad?” Arthur’s breath hitched violently in his throat. “What did you just call me?” I fell silent. It was only then that I realized just how incredibly estranged Arthur and I had become. After we got married, I always loved calling him by his first name. Because of that, his elitist mother constantly ridiculed me for being a low-class commoner with no respect for authority. But I had always stubbornly refused to change. Now, I had finally learned my place. The fingers pressing against my neck suddenly tightened. I let out a gasp of pain, and only then did he loosen his grip slightly. Arthur’s voice, grinding through clenched teeth, echoed in my ear. “I told you. My older brother dying in that accident was a tragedy. Me stepping in as a surrogate to provide his widow with an heir was an absolute, desperate necessity to secure her portion of the family trust.” “As soon as my brother’s line has a male heir, I swear I will never touch Serena again.” “I am begging you, just wait a little longer. Please?” That single word—wait—kept me sleeping in an empty, freezing bed for three entire years. From visiting her once a month, it escalated to him spending almost every single night in her room. My only companions were burnt-out candles and endless, exhausted tears. When Serena finally got pregnant, I thought the nightmare was over. But Arthur used the excuse of “taking care of his fragile sister-in-law” to permanently move his belongings into the West Wing. I waited through another agonizing year of seasons changing. But the child Serena gave birth to was a daughter, Mia. Seeing that Arthur was preparing to continue sleeping in her room to try again, I couldn’t wait anymore. I started throwing tantrums. I forbade him from stepping foot in the West Wing. I acted like a hysterical, screaming lunatic, sobbing and threatening to end my own life. I did all of those things because I just wanted a husband who belonged solely to me. But in Arthur’s eyes, my desperation morphed into the unforgivable, toxic actions of a jealous, petty woman. Yet, when he proposed to me years ago, he swore that what he loved most about me was my fiery, unapologetic personality. He promised me that after we married, I would be his only woman. He swore he would never take a mistress, and that he would never lock me away in a gilded cage. But in our seventh year of marriage, in order to establish absolute authority for the widowed Serena, Arthur locked me in the freezing attic in front of the entire household staff. Over and over again. He told me I needed to learn to be as gentle and magnanimous as Serena. He told me I needed to learn how a true high-society matriarch behaved. My knees were bruised black and blue from kneeling on the hardwood. My hands shook in agony from being forced to transcribe hundreds of pages of etiquette manuscripts and apologies. And all I got in return was his disappointed sigh: “Claire, when are you finally going to grow up and be reasonable?” Even the child currently bleeding out of my womb was an accident. It happened after Mia’s one-month milestone party, when a blackout-drunk Arthur stumbled into the wrong bedroom. At the time, I foolishly thought he had come to make peace, and I allowed him to have his way with me. But right as he reached his climax, he slurred the name of his sister-in-law. The suffocating agony of the past surged up my throat. I swallowed it down along with the metallic taste of blood. I looked up at him, enunciating every single word: “Mr. Vance, you no longer need to feed me these fake promises to placate me.” “From this day forward, wherever you want to go, go. Whoever you want to sleep with, sleep with them. I will not utter a single word of complaint.” “And if you are still dissatisfied, I am perfectly willing to sign the divorce papers and step aside so you two lovers can finally be together.” Arthur’s chest heaved violently, the veins in his neck bulging. “Claire Bennett, how much longer are you going to torture me?!” “Serena and I are strictly family! There is absolutely zero romantic affection between us!” Listening to those words, one might actually believe he loved me to death. Yet he addressed me, his legal, lawfully wedded wife, by my full, cold name—Claire Bennett. But he affectionately called his sister-in-law “Serena.” I shook my head. “You’re overthinking it, Mr. Vance. I am being entirely sincere.” I don’t know which of my words triggered his fury again. Arthur violently let go of me. The back of my head slammed hard against the sharp edge of a wooden stool. I gasped as a blinding spike of pain shot through my skull. Panic flashed across his face, and he reached out to help me up. A freezing, mechanical voice echoed in my brain. [Host’s vital signs dropping rapidly. Estimated time until death countdown: 24 hours.] It turned out that the abortifacient tea, combined with the blood loss from the blade, had struck a fatal blow to my core. I shoved Arthur’s hand away, bracing myself against the floor as I shakily stood up. “Please leave, Mr. Vance. I am tired.” I walked right past him, heading toward the inner bedroom to rest. With every step I took, the blood dripping from beneath my skirt left a winding, horrific trail on the floorboards. Right at that moment, seven-year-old Noah burst through the doorway. He violently hurled his wooden toy sword directly at me. The jagged wood slashed across my cheek, leaving a stinging, bleeding scratch. Arthur was completely paralyzed by the sudden chaos for a second. Then, he aggressively snatched Noah up by the collar and delivered a harsh smack to his backside. “You little brat! What the hell are you doing?!” Noah wailed at the top of his lungs, but he stubbornly refused to admit he was wrong. “Dad, I don’t want this evil woman as my mom!” “Why can’t she just stay locked in the attic and never come out for the rest of her life?!” Arthur’s face turned livid. He barked coldly: “Who taught you to say such disrespectful things?!” Noah struggled out of Arthur’s grip, puffing out his cheeks in fury. “Dad, you told me yourself that you hate her!” “If she hadn’t saved your life at the bottom of that mountain, you never would have married a cheap, common doctor!” “Plus, she’s a petty, jealous witch who’s always bullying Aunt Serena! She doesn’t deserve to be the mother of this family at all!” Noah grew more energized the more he spoke. He pointed a tiny finger directly at my nose, his young, childish face contorted with absolute disgust. “You evil witch! Dad and I both hate you! Just disappear already!” They say children speak the unvarnished truth. His words acted like a meat grinder, taking the very last, microscopic shred of hope in my heart and shredding it to dust. Years ago, Arthur’s private military convoy was ambushed and pinned down in a lethal cartel zone in the valley. Ignoring the fact that I was seven months pregnant, I led a heavily armed extraction team to rescue him. We barely survived the bloodbath. I took dozens of knife wounds during the extraction. The trauma triggered premature labor. As I bled out on the delivery table, Arthur gripped my hand, his eyes burning red as he begged me: “Claire, please don’t leave me.” “If you die and leave me alone in this world, I’ll put a bullet in my own head and follow you.” Just to honor those words, I bit down on my lip and fought through the agony. Basin after basin of bloody water was carried out of the room. I miraculously survived the gates of hell. But because Noah was born so severely premature, the estate’s top pediatricians declared he wouldn’t live past three days. They told me to prepare a tiny coffin. I refused to believe them. Dragging my broken, unhealed body out of bed, I took care of him day and night. During that time, I read until the bindings of my medical textbooks fell apart, searching the world for the rarest, most potent medicines. Yet Noah’s cries only grew weaker and weaker. Driven to absolute desperation, I placed my final hope in a higher power. I did a grueling, agonizing pilgrimage to the St. Jude Mountain Sanctuary. Three steps, one bow. Five steps, one prostration. To this day, the five thousand stone steps leading up to the sanctuary still bear the faded stains of the blood from my knees and forehead. Perhaps the heavens were moved by my sincerity. After that day, Noah’s health miraculously began to stabilize. However, his immune system would always be significantly weaker than a full-term child’s. Whenever the temperature dropped, I would strictly confine him to his heated room to read and study. Serena, on the other hand, constantly indulged his every whim. Even in the dead of a freezing winter, she allowed him to gorge himself on bowls of ice cream. Within three days, Noah spiked a terrifyingly high fever, coughing so hard it sounded like his lungs were tearing. Arthur was busy with corporate warfare. Serena avoided the boy like the plague, terrified of catching whatever virus he had. I was the one who sat by his bedside for days without sleeping a wink. I sponge-bathed him over and over to lower his temperature, constantly inventing new, creative ways to brew foul-tasting medicines so he could keep them down. When he finally recovered, Noah blamed the entire miserable experience entirely on me. He threw tantrums, violently knocking over the bowls of medicine I had stayed up all night brewing for him. The boiling hot liquid splashed onto the back of my hand, leaving a massive, blistering burn scar. He grew to passionately hate me—the woman who forced him to drink bitter medicine. Yet he absolutely adored Serena, the woman who only ever gave him sweet treats and was the literal reason he got sick in the first place. Arthur’s face instantly darkened, and he aggressively shouted Noah down. “Noah, shut your mouth! Stop speaking nonsense!” Then, he looked at me with frantic panic, desperately trying to explain. “Noah is just a kid, he definitely heard the maids gossiping…” In the past, hearing those words would have shattered my heart. I would have put on a stern face and tried to teach Noah right from wrong. And every single time, all I got in return was a glare filled with pure, unadulterated hatred. Now, I was just so incredibly tired. I didn’t care to parent him anymore. Arthur also sensed that something was fundamentally wrong with my reaction. He frowned, studying my face, before stubbornly concluding that I was just playing hard to get. “Claire, what exactly are you trying to pull now?” “Putting on this ‘dead inside,’ indifferent act is just a pathetic, cheap imitation. You’re making a fool of yourself.” “Since the baby is already gone, you will stay confined to your quarters and rest your body. Stop constantly plotting against Serena and her daughter!” He grabbed Noah’s hand and stormed out of the room, violently flicking his coat. The exact second they crossed the threshold, the father and son began cheerfully discussing the widow and her daughter. Arthur mentioned he was going to buy Serena a breathtaking vintage diamond necklace at an exclusive auction. Noah said he was going to use his allowance to buy a solid gold locket for his new little sister. Meanwhile, pinned in my own hair, was the simple, cheap silver clip Arthur had given me when we first got engaged. Back then, he had looked at me nervously, telling me he crafted it with his own hands and begging me not to despise it. He swore that one day, he would buy me the most expensive, beautiful jewelry in the world. Back then, my heart was overflowing with sweet joy. I genuinely believed I had married the perfect man. But ten years had passed. The delicate plum blossoms carved into the silver clip had long since been worn completely smooth. And I had yet to see a single piece of the “new jewelry” Arthur had promised me. At the elite high-society galas, I was always the most poorly dressed, pathetic-looking wife in the room. Whenever I finally gathered the courage to ask for a budget to buy some jewelry, Arthur would instantly reject it, citing the estate’s massive overhead costs and the need for me to be frugal and responsible. Yet he would turn around and drop hundreds of thousands of dollars on imported, ultra-rare skincare serums just to make Serena smile. Looking back on it now, all my blind, desperate devotion had been thrown into a black hole. The freezing, mechanical voice echoed in my mind once again. [Detecting Host’s severe emotional depression. Countdown to world detachment: 10 hours.] I sat at my vanity, staring at the woman in the antique bronze mirror. Her face was haggard, her eyes swimming in a deep, lifeless exhaustion. I pulled the worn-out silver hair clip from my hair. My fingertips gently traced the faded, smooth lines where the plum blossoms used to be. Then, with a sharp twist of my wrist. SNAP. The silver clip broke into two pieces. I casually tossed them into the burning fireplace in the corner of the room. After dealing with that, I forced my failing body up and began cleaning the bedroom. I dug out all the custom ties, the hand-knitted scarves I had made for Arthur over the years, and all the tiny, handmade clothes I had sewn for Noah. Two massive, overflowing trunks. Every single stitch was woven with my desperate hopes for this family. But right now, I just wanted to watch it all burn. The roaring flames illuminated my body, bringing a profound, comforting warmth that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I waited until the very last ember disintegrated into ash. Then, I laid down on my bed, quietly waiting for the System’s countdown to reach zero. Suddenly, the bedroom door was violently kicked open. Arthur had returned. He stormed into the room, his face a mask of pure fury, and violently dragged me off the mattress. “Claire Bennett, I knew you couldn’t just sit quietly and behave!” A Voodoo doll, completely covered in long, silver sewing needles, was hurled directly at my feet. Serena was standing in the doorway, clutching her infant daughter to her chest, looking as if she were about to pass out from crying into Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, I refuse to believe Claire would do something this evil.” “But this doll has so many needles shoved into it, and Mia’s exact birth date and time are written on the back… I can’t help but be terrified…” Before she could even finish her sentence, Arthur’s face had darkened to the color of a thundercloud. He raised his heavy boot and delivered a brutal, full-force kick directly to my chest. “Claire, I tolerated your petty jealousy and your tantrums!” “But I never imagined you were malicious enough to use disgusting, dark magic curses on an innocent baby!” A massive mouthful of blood exploded from my lips, splattering across the floor. The wound on my neck violently ripped open again. Arthur looked down at me with absolute, towering superiority, his eyes filled with overwhelming disappointment. “What? Too terrified to even try and explain yourself now?” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. My gaze swept over the supposed “evidence,” and I let out a low, dark chuckle. “The fabric used to make this doll is exclusive Parisian haute couture silk. Even the A-list celebrities in Hollywood are waitlisted for months just to get a single yard of it.” “Mr. Vance, your heart bled so deeply for your sister-in-law that you took every single roll of that silk in the estate’s vault and had it delivered directly to the West Wing.” “So please, enlighten me: how did it magically turn into evidence of me cursing your niece?” Hearing this, Arthur’s face drastically changed. His eyes remained glued to the Voodoo doll on the floor for a very long time. Serena’s face, which had just been a masterpiece of tragic, weeping beauty, instantly turned as white as a sheet of paper. “What are you implying? Are you accusing me of framing you?!” “I did use that fabric to make dresses, but I lost the scraps a few days ago…” “ENOUGH!” Arthur barked, violently cutting her off. It was glaringly obvious he had absolutely no desire to investigate the gaping plot holes in this setup. In his heart, Serena was a fragile, gentle angel who would never lie or harm another living soul. Therefore, I had to be the one who was wrong. “Claire, how much longer are you going to twist the truth and argue?!” “Mia was just born, and Serena’s health is incredibly fragile. How could she possibly withstand your toxic, psychotic scheming?!” “Since you cannot tolerate the people in this house, this house will no longer tolerate you.” He waved his hand with absolute, dictatorial finality. “Guards! Drag her to the cellar and force her to her knees!” “Without my explicit permission, do not give her a single drop of water or a single grain of rice!” “When she finally admits she’s wrong, you can let her out!” I didn’t bother defending myself again. I had pointed out the massive, glaring holes in the evidence, and Arthur had deliberately chosen to play blind. Honestly, the cellar was quiet. It was the perfect place to sit and wait for death. But as the rough, brutish guards began aggressively dragging me across the floor, Arthur’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat. “Wait!” I paused my steps, but I didn’t turn around. “Does Mr. Vance have any further instructions? Are you going to divorce this evil, toxic woman, or are you going to demand I pay with my life?” Arthur opened his mouth, but he had absolutely no idea what to say. Finally, he waved his hand in deep, agitated frustration, barking an order to the butler standing nearby. “Make sure the private trauma surgeon takes a look at her wounds. I don’t want any ugly rumors spreading to the press.” I let out a mocking, cynical laugh. A brutal beating, followed by a piece of candy? It was a tragic shame. Even if God Himself descended from heaven, He wouldn’t be able to save my life now. That brutal kick from Arthur had completely shattered the remaining fragile arteries around my heart. The System whispered: I had exactly three hours left to live. The cellar was pitch black. The agonizing physical pain in my body was slowly mutating into a heavy numbness. For some reason, I started thinking about all those days and nights I had spent locked in the attic. In the beginning, I knelt and prayed with absolute devotion, begging for nothing but Noah’s safety and health. Later, when I was locked up as a punishment, my heart was filled with nothing but suffocating injustice. Back then, I always prayed for the time to pass quickly. I wanted to get out so I could see Arthur, so I could desperately explain myself and clear my name. I wanted time with Noah, terrified that if we were apart too long, my son would become estranged from me. Right now, I was still praying for the time to pass quickly. So I could die faster, and finally return to the modern, equitable era where I truly belonged. I don’t know how much time passed, but a blistering fever consumed my body. In my hazy, delirious state, I heard a massive, chaotic commotion exploding outside the cellar. I fought with everything I had to force my eyes open. Through the cracks in the rotting wooden door, I saw my father. He looked exhausted, having clearly rushed straight here. He was clutching his medical bag, but he was being physically blocked in the courtyard by a wall of estate guards. Serena was standing safely under the covered walkway, her eyes dripping with pure, unadulterated malice. “Mr. Vance has given absolute orders. No one is permitted to visit.” Arthur rushed to the scene upon hearing the noise, his brow furrowing deeply as he took in the standoff. Before my father could even open his mouth to explain, Serena threw herself dramatically into Arthur’s arms, violently shaking in fake terror. “This man just trespassed into the private family quarters! He tried to sexually assault me!” “Arthur, you have to get justice for me!” My father trembled with apocalyptic rage. “You lying, venomous snake!” “I am an old man! Why on earth would I do something so repulsive?!” Arthur’s face turned to absolute ice. “Claire is locked in solitary confinement because she committed a severe crime.” “And you come bursting in here with absolutely zero respect for the law. If the press gets ahold of this, her reputation will be completely destroyed.” “Guards! Give him thirty strikes with the cane! Let this be a warning to anyone else who tries to break my rules!” Thirty strikes with a heavy cane. That was more than enough to literally beat an elderly man to death. “DAD—!” I desperately, frantically pounded my bleeding fists against the wooden window frame. Arthur shot a glare toward the cellar, but then coldly, indifferently looked away. The old man who had protected me from every storm my entire life was brutally shoved face-down into the freezing snow. The heavy, sickening THWACK of the wooden cane hitting flesh and bone slammed into my heart over and over again. Arthur Vance. You are a heartless, psychopathic monster. [Host’s vital signs are in catastrophic failure. You have exactly three minutes remaining.] A thin, fragile silhouette came stumbling frantically toward the cellar. It was Sarah. The loyal maid who had accompanied me into the Vance estate on the day I married. She had waited until the guards were distracted, stolen the heavy iron key to the cellar, and sprinted here. But just as she managed to unlock the heavy door, a guard noticed her and brought a tactical machete down in a brutal arc, completely severing her right hand. That was the exact hand that had embroidered handkerchiefs for me. The hand that had held my medicine bowls when I was sick. Sarah’s face went ghastly white from the sheer, incomprehensible agony, but she used her remaining left hand to fiercely grip the doorframe. “Ms. Claire, run! Go to the back gate, I already have a car waiting for you…” Before she could finish her sentence, the guard drove the blade brutally through Sarah’s chest. Sarah’s entire body collapsed backward onto the snow. By the time I dragged my broken body out of the cellar and collapsed beside her, Sarah… wasn’t breathing anymore. An apocalyptic, towering inferno of hatred exploded in my chest. I ripped the bloody blade from the guard’s hands and stumbled wildly into the courtyard. In the center of the estate, Arthur was standing with his arms crossed, watching my father being beaten half to death with cold, dead eyes. Hearing the commotion, he whipped his head around and barked aggressively: “Claire Bennett! Who the hell let you out?!” I threw my body over my father’s fading, bloodied form, shielding him from the blows. “ALL OF YOU, STOP IT RIGHT NOW!” A dark, dangerous fury began to pool in Arthur’s eyes. “Claire. Are you genuinely so arrogant that you think I won’t severely punish you?” Right in front of his eyes, I pulled the heavy, blood-soaked blade from the folds of my ruined dress. Arthur let out a cold, mocking laugh. “What? Threatening suicide again?” “You’ve used this pathetic trick a million times. I’m completely sick of looking at it.” “If you actually have the guts, then go ahead and…” [Detachment from current world countdown: 10 seconds.] [9, 8, 7…] Before he could finish his sentence, I drove the heavy steel blade brutally and flawlessly directly into my own heart. “Thirty strikes with the cane. I am paying you back, with interest, using my own life!” Crimson blood erupted like a geyser from my chest, violently splattering directly across Arthur’s face. The arrogant, mocking superiority in his eyes instantly shattered, replaced by a massive, apocalyptic tidal wave of absolute terror.

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