1 The day I was born, the smiles on my parents’ faces froze the moment the nurse handed me to them. Floating just above my bald head, invisible to everyone else, was a line of numbers. 6570 days. Not one more, not one less. Exactly eighteen years. The nurse thought they were just nervous first-time parents. Only they knew the truth—it was my expiration date. While other families in the maternity ward celebrated new life, my parents were already staring at my end. For the next eighteen years, I was the most precious thing in our house. No matter how poor we were, the eggs were mine, the new clothes were mine, the meat was mine. My little brother could only watch with hungry eyes. “Let your sister have it,” my parents would always say. “She doesn’t have much time.” I understood my place from a young age. I never made a fuss, never threw a tantrum. I was just quietly waiting to die. On my eighteenth birthday, I blew out the candles and said a silent, heartfelt goodbye to the world. The next morning, my parents and my brother walked into my room, their eyes red and swollen, dressed in somber clothes. I rubbed my eyes and smiled at them. “Good morning.” The air in the room went still. The grief on their faces slowly morphed into shock, then stiffened into something cold and hard. … The silence stretched for a full ten seconds. “You… how are you…” My brother, Sammy, hid behind my mother, his voice trembling as if he’d seen a ghost. “I’m not dead,” I said. My father’s expression flickered. He forced a smile. “Not dead. That’s good, that’s good…” He nudged my mother. “Go on, make some breakfast.” Mom stared at me, then gave a numb nod. She walked to the door, then turned back, her eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t decipher. For the first time in my eighteen years, I felt that something was deeply wrong in our home. Breakfast was thin porridge and a side of pickles. As usual, Sammy placed the single boiled egg in front of my bowl. I reached for it. Smack. My mother slapped my hand, hard. A bright red mark bloomed on my skin instantly. “You’re a grown girl now, fighting with your brother over an egg! Have you no shame?” I pulled my hand back and just ate my porridge. After the meal, I scrambled to clear the table and wash the dishes. In the past, whenever I tried to help, Mom would gently stop me, a loving smile on her face. “You’re our little princess, you don’t need to do this.” This time, she just shot me a cold look and said nothing. After I washed the dishes, I forgot to wring out the dishcloth, leaving it damp on the edge of the sink. When my mother came in and saw it, her face twisted with rage. “Are you blind? You just leave the cloth like that? You want it to grow mold?” I froze, then quickly reached for the cloth. “I raised you for eighteen years!” she shrieked, following me. “Didn’t we give you the best of everything? The eggs, the meat, the new clothes! Did your brother ever get anything new?! All you know is how to take! You can’t even wash a few dishes properly…” “Mom, I did wash them. It’s just the cloth…” “Don’t you dare talk back to me! Who do you think you are?!” She snatched the cloth from my hand and threw it on the floor. “Look at you! Standing there with that miserable face! You’ve lived eighteen years and you can’t even wring out a dishcloth! What good are you?!” My father walked in then. He glanced at my mother’s contorted face, then at my stunned expression. He waved a dismissive hand, as if trying to end a pointless argument. “What’s all the shouting for? Just get on with your day!” Biting my lip, I asked softly, “Mom, Dad… are you like this because I didn’t die?” Their bodies went rigid. My father took a deep breath and managed a strained laugh. “We’re just… not used to it. We need some time… to adjust.” I watched them walk away, hearing them mutter to each other. “How can she just not die? What kind of mess is this?” I didn’t understand. Wasn’t me being alive a good thing? I looked out the window. The sun was the same as always. But when its light hit my skin, I suddenly felt very, very cold. 2 After that day, the atmosphere in the house changed completely. I was moved into the tiny, windowless utility room. Mom said Sammy was a growing boy and needed the sunnier room. She no longer asked me what I wanted to eat. She’d just set the table in silence, putting out two plates, then glance at me and reluctantly add a third. My father spoke even less. Sometimes he’d come home and see me sitting in the yard, and he’d just stop, turn around, and go in through the back door. Only Sammy would occasionally peek at me through the crack of the utility room door, his eyes filled with a strange curiosity, as if he were observing some kind of freak. Before, I was the treasure they had spent eighteen years doting on. Now, I was the scapegoat for everything that went wrong. The faucet was left dripping. My dad’s brow furrowed, his voice stripped of its old warmth. “Did you do this on purpose? Wasting water! Do you have any idea how much the bills are? You’re such a burden!” “Dad, I really didn’t…” “Don’t call me Dad!” he yelled, then turned and walked away. Sammy failed a test by one point. “It’s all your fault, wandering around the house, distracting your brother! We were supposed to have peace, and you ruined everything!” Dinner one night was a little undercooked. My mom slammed her fork down. “It’s because you’re still here! Cursing this house with bad luck! Even the stove is against me now!” I stood there, helpless, my eyes burning as tears streamed down my face. “I thought I was going to die, too,” I whispered. The breaking point came when I flipped a light switch, and the bulb flickered once before dying completely. My mother exploded. “You jinx! Ever since you passed eighteen, everything in this house has been breaking! You’re a curse!” “Eighteen years! Over six thousand days! Your father and I counted every single one of them while we raised you! We gave you everything, and Sammy got nothing! We prepared ourselves to say goodbye, we practiced it in our minds over and over again… but you…” She didn’t finish, but I understood. Their eighteen years of sacrifice, their careful nurturing of a life with a deadline—it had all become a sick joke. It wasn’t that I was alive. It was that they had lost their investment. The sacrifices they made, the things they’d denied my brother, the suffering that was supposed to end with my death… it was all for nothing. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I swallowed my pain and tried to make up for my “mistake,” my parents would soften. They would remember how much they used to love me. I took over all the housework. Laundry, cooking, shopping, cleaning. I was more diligent than any maid, preparing varied meals and keeping the house spotless. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t earn a single kind word or a smile from them. I grew thinner, my face gaunt and pale. The neighbors started to notice. They’d whisper amongst themselves. One of them, Mrs. Gable, tried to reason with my parents. “Don’t be so hard on Annie. She’s your daughter, after all.” But my mother, in front of everyone, spat back with disgust, “We wish we’d never had her. She’s a monster, a bad omen who ruins everything she touches! As long as she’s here, this family will never know peace!” My father stood beside her, nodding. “We raised her for eighteen years. We’ve done more than enough! Now she’s just a leech, dragging us all down!” Their words were like knives, twisting in my heart until I could barely breathe. Every little problem in the house became a reason to attack me, but it was what happened with my brother that was the final blow. 3 One day, it was just Sammy and me at home. I needed to use the bathroom, but the door to the utility room was stuck. It was locked from the outside. Panicked, I pounded on the door. “Sammy! Let me out!” No one answered. All I heard was the sound of crashing from the kitchen, followed by my brother’s sharp cry of pain. The door was finally yanked open by my mother. Her hand came with it, a slap so powerful it sent my head spinning. “You curse! I knew you’d cause trouble!” Her eyes were bloodshot, like a cornered animal. She collapsed to the floor, beating her thighs and wailing. “Why is my life so miserable? I raised a monster for a daughter! She’s ruined our lives!” Just then, my father came home. He saw Sammy on the floor, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. He saw my mother’s hysterical rage, and it was like a sickness that infected him, too. He grabbed me by the collar, dragged me up, and threw me onto my bed. “Annie Reed! You disaster! Why don’t you just die!” My voice was raw from crying as I tried to explain. “Mom, Dad, it wasn’t my fault! Sammy locked me in! He fell because he was trying to steal the candy from the top shelf…” They locked me in the room. No food, no water. I could hear the world outside. My mother cooking in the kitchen, the sound of my father’s footsteps when he came home from work, Sammy crying out that his leg hurt. No one mentioned me. I curled up on the cold mattress, my cheek throbbing and swollen. A fever took hold, my body shivering with cold even as it burned from within. My consciousness began to fade. I guess this is it, I thought. I’m really going to die this time. It’s better this way. Death would be a release. In my delirium, my eighteen years flashed before my eyes like a movie reel. I remembered my parents’ eyes, always filled with a strange mix of pity, helplessness, and sorrow. They looked at me like I was a fragile porcelain doll, one that could shatter at any moment. They never talked about my future. Our whole life was a countdown. When I was five, my brother stole a piece of meat from my plate. My mother caught him and beat him severely. “Why does she get to eat it and I can’t?” he sobbed. My mother didn’t answer. She just kept hitting him. Afterward, she hid in the kitchen and cried for a long time. Later, Sammy whispered to me, “Annie, are you going to die?” “Mom said you’re going to die. I don’t want you to die, Annie. You can have all my meat from now on.” The memory of their faces, twisted with a love born from impending loss, merged with the cold, hate-filled faces of the present. My head throbbed. Did they love me? Yes, they did. But their love had an expiration date. It was built on a countdown. It was a love meant for goodbyes. Eighteen years. The countdown ended, and so did the love. If I had died on schedule, their love would have been preserved in memory, forever gentle. Mom would be lovingly stroking my hair, telling me I was the prettiest princess in my new dress. Dad would be lifting me high, promising to show me the world. Sammy would be secretly saving his yogurt for me. Those memories felt so close, yet impossibly far. I managed to force my eyes open. I was still in the dark utility room. No light, nothing. I twitched my fingers, trying to feel for the letter under my pillow. A letter to my parents and brother. I’d written it a long time ago. A bitter smile touched my lips. I just hadn’t died when I was supposed to. There was also a small pink piggy bank. It didn’t have much, but it was enough to buy Sammy a small toy. I fell asleep again. I hoped when they found me, they’d see these things and maybe they wouldn’t be so angry anymore. This time, my sleep was deep and dreamless. I could hear my own heartbeat. One beat, then another, then another. Then, slowly, slowly… it stopped. The utility room fell completely silent. No one knew. No one came. The little girl who was always waiting to die didn’t have to wait anymore. 4 The moment I left my body, I felt weightless. I floated in the air, looking down at my own stiff form on the bed. So, I thought, people really do have souls after they die. I passed through the wall, finally free from that cramped little room. Lunch was on the table. Three sets of plates and forks. My mother served the food, my father dished it out, and Sammy sat waiting. I took my usual seat, waiting for one of them to ask, “Where’s Annie?” But they didn’t. After they ate, Sammy limped toward the utility room. My spirit soared. Open the door, Sammy! I cried out silently. I won’t bother you anymore! But before his hand could touch the doorknob, my mother’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Sammy! What are you doing?! Get away from there! Does your leg not hurt anymore?!” He flinched and hurried away. That afternoon, our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, came over to borrow some salt. “Where’s Annie? I haven’t seen her for a couple of days.” My mother’s face tightened for a second before she smoothed it over. “She’s not feeling well. Resting in her room.” “Is it serious? I have some medicine…” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. No medicine can help me now, Mrs. Gable. “No, thank you!” my mother said, a little too quickly. “It’s nothing. She’ll be fine after a day or two.” Mrs. Gable didn’t press further. Another chance to be found, lost. After she left, my mother glanced towards the utility room several times, but she never walked over. That evening, my father came home. I spread my arms to block his path. Dad! Please, go check on me! I promise I’ll never make you angry again! The countdown is really over this time! But he walked right through me. “Is she still locked in?” he asked. Mom didn’t answer. “Open the door,” he said. I almost wept with joy. Was I finally going to be discovered? Would they be sad? Would they finally say I was a good daughter? Just as my mother started walking towards the utility room, the phone rang, shrill and urgent. My father answered it. His face went pale, and he swayed on his feet. My mother rushed to his side, steadying him. I sighed. So close. So close to being found. “Let’s go! Back to the old town!” he choked out. “The village called… they said Mom is fading fast!” They grabbed Sammy and rushed out, frantic. The door to my room remained closed. I was forgotten again. Even without a heartbeat, the news about my grandmother pierced me with pain. In all my eighteen years, she was the one who loved me most. Knowing I was on a timer, she’d had countless sleepless nights. I followed my parents back to my grandmother’s house to see her one last time. She lay on her bed, frail and skeletal. She gripped my father’s hand, her words a struggle. “Mark… where’s Annie? I don’t see her.” My father looked away, guilty. “She… she’s at home. She didn’t come…” Grandma’s eyes flew open. “You fool. What did you do?” Startled, my father confessed. “Annie misbehaved. I… I grounded her, wouldn’t let her eat…” Hearing this, my grandmother’s strength seemed to vanish. She mumbled something. “Mom? What did you say? I can’t hear you,” Dad said, leaning closer. “What about Annie? What do you mean she didn’t die?” He pressed his ear almost to her lips. I was too far away to hear what she whispered. But I saw my father’s body go rigid, as if struck by lightning. A look of pure, uncomprehending horror spread across his face. He forgot to even blink. “ANNIE!” His scream was so full of terror it startled me. His face was ashen. Ignoring my mother’s confused questions, he started running back towards our house, chanting, “It was a mistake… a mistake…” What was a mistake? CRASH! The utility room door was thrown open. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the scene inside. My father’s legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed. Floating above, I looked down at myself, curled on the bed. Shockingly thin, my cheek still bruised, my hair a tangled mess on the pillow. I was so quiet. Quieter than I had ever been in life. “What is it?” my mother panted, finally catching up. When she saw my small, stiff body, a terrified shriek tore from her throat. “Oh, God! Annie!” My father reached out a trembling hand to check for my breath, and his face crumbled with utter despair. “What happened? How did this happen?!” my mother screamed, shaking him as she collapsed to the floor. Dad just stood there, frozen, a roaring in his ears. But my grandmother’s faint words echoed like thunder. “Mom said…” He swallowed hard. “She said we were fated to be childless. She… she traded her remaining years of life for Annie… The countdown was hers. The death date was hers…”

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1 The day we finally paid off the mortgage, I cooked a lavish dinner to celebrate. With the paid-in-full notice in my hand, I sat by candlelight and waited for my husband, Mark, for three whole hours. When he finally came home, he reeked of cheap, cloyingly sweet perfume. There was no surprise, no hug. He pulled out a chair and sat, his eyes darting away from mine, but his tone was firm. “Raina, you need to move out of the master bedroom.” The wine glass in my hand froze. I thought I’d misheard him. “What did you say?” He loosened his tie, his voice laced with irritation. “Serena’s back. She’s been diagnosed with severe depression, and she’s in a really bad state.” Serena? Mark’s first love? “She’ll be living with us from now on. I need to spend time with her after work every day. The master bedroom gets the best light; it’s better for her recovery.” A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. A chill ran down my spine. “When did you get back in touch?” He looked up at me then, his eyes holding no guilt, only exhaustion. “Remember last year when you were in the hospital, and I went back to my hometown for money?” “We ran into each other at the station. She was so thin she was unrecognizable, just shivering on a bench. The moment I held her again, I knew. I knew I’d never gotten over her.” … I laughed, a laugh so bitter it brought tears to my eyes. For seven years, I, a senior actuary, had calculated every cent of our mortgage. I’d factored in compound interest, inflation, and every single penny we could save by paying it off early. But I had missed one crucial variable: Mark’s conscience. Or lack thereof. I had been with him since we had nothing, eating the cheapest instant noodles, living in a dark, damp basement apartment. I poured every bonus I ever earned into this house, working myself into the ground until my body gave out. And now, on the very night our mortgage was paid, he was telling me he was moving his ex-girlfriend in. “Mark, what do you take me for?” My voice trembled. “I was the one who worked until I was hospitalized with a bleeding stomach. Don’t you remember that I was in a bad state?” He avoided my gaze, his eyes fixed on the pattern of the rug. “Raina, don’t bring up the past. You were young then, you were strong. You pushed through it.” “But Serena’s different. She’s had a rough few years. She just got divorced, walked away with nothing. She doesn’t even have a place to stay.” He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped back, his voice turning cold and hard. “Raina, for years, what I’ve felt for you is gratitude. I owe you. I know that.” “We were poor back then, but all our friends and family knew we’d made a life for ourselves in the city. I admit, I was vain. I thought I could just… settle, and spend the rest of my life with you. But then she got sick.” “I can’t just watch her die. Don’t you understand?” As he spoke, he walked towards our bedroom and began yanking my things out with brutal efficiency. My skincare products, the scented candle we made together on our seventh anniversary—he tossed them into the hallway like garbage. A bottle of expensive face cream rolled away, the lid popping off and splattering its contents across the floor. “Are you insane?!” I lunged forward to stop him. Just then, the doorbell rang. Mark’s expression instantly softened, his eyes filled with a tender, almost desperate urgency. He shoved past me and strode to the door. Standing on the threshold was a woman in a long white dress, her face pale, a battered suitcase in her hand. This was Serena. The one that got away, the ghost he’d cherished for a decade. She leaned weakly against the doorframe. “Mark, is Raina angry? Maybe I should just go. I can find a spot under a bridge or something. I don’t want to ruin your relationship.” Her voice was as faint as a whisper, but it was enough to make Mark’s face darken. Right in front of me, he swept her up into his arms. He carried her toward the bed we had spent three months choosing together. Our marital bed, where I hadn’t even had the chance to enjoy a single night’s peaceful sleep, free from the weight of our mortgage. Without a backward glance, he carried her into the master bedroom and slammed the door shut. I stood alone in the empty living room, surrounded by the wreckage of my life, a piercing pain in my heart. I gathered my scattered belongings, my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave. But then I stopped. I had bled for this house. Why should I be the one to run away? I wasn’t going anywhere. I would not surrender my home. I was going to see just how shameless they could be. 2 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the acrid smell of medicinal herbs. I opened my eyes on the narrow sofa, my entire spine aching as if it had been twisted out of place. The sound of clattering came from the kitchen. I pushed myself up and walked over. The sight that greeted me made me tremble with rage. Serena was wearing my silk nightgown—the one I’d never even brought myself to wear. She was casually stirring a dark concoction in a pot. “Who said you could wear my clothes?” I snapped. She jumped, startled. The spoon slipped from her hand, splattering black droplets of the brew. “Raina, Mark said you had so many clothes, and I didn’t bring anything to change into. I just grabbed one. It looks pretty old, so I thought you wouldn’t mind.” I stared at her pathetic act, strode over, and snatched the spoon from her hand. “Take it off. And get out.” Her eyes welled up, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Raina. I’ll change right now. Please don’t be angry. My heart starts to hurt whenever I get stressed…” As she spoke, she deliberately nudged the bowl of medicine on the counter. It tipped, and the dark, thick liquid spilled all over the designer handbag I had sitting there—the bag I’d saved for six months to buy as a reward for a promotion. My heart ached. I grabbed the bowl and, in one swift motion, flung the remaining liquid at her feet. “Ah!” she shrieked, collapsing to the floor. The master bedroom door flew open. Mark rushed out, not even bothering to put on shoes. He shoved me aside with such force that I slammed into the corner of the refrigerator. “Raina, have you lost your mind?! You know she’s sick!” He turned and frantically checked Serena’s feet, even though the skin was only slightly red where the liquid had splashed. “Mark, it was my fault. I was clumsy,” Serena sobbed, leaning into his arms. “I accidentally dirtied Raina’s bag… She has every right to be angry with me…” Mark shot to his feet and slapped me across the face. The blow was heavy. My ear rang, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Where are your manners? She’s severely depressed! Are you so cruel you have to bully a sick woman?” I stared at the man I had known for seven years. The man who had warmed my hands and cooked me porridge in our freezing basement apartment now wore the face of a complete stranger. Mark bent down, lifted Serena into his arms, and carried her back to the bedroom, tossing a final, sneering remark over his shoulder. “Wipe that calculating look off your face. It’s disgusting.” I leaned against the wall to steady myself and let out a hollow laugh. I opened my banking app and checked our recent transactions. The five-thousand-dollar bonus that was supposed to go into our joint account was gone. Mark had withdrawn it. I pushed open the bedroom door. He was gently dabbing at the stains on Serena’s feet. “Where is it? What did you do with my five-thousand-dollar bonus?” Mark didn’t even look up. “Serena needs money for her treatments and some supplements. Your bonus was for the emergency fund.” His voice was casual, entitled. “And on your way home from work, pick up some premium nutritional supplements. She’s weak and needs to build up her strength.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. He was using my hard-earned money to support his long-lost love. And now he was treating me like an errand girl. What a perfect plan. I looked at the woman on the bed, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips, and my fists clenched. 3 Before the sting of the slap had even faded, my mother-in-law burst through the door, carrying bags of groceries. Mark had never told me she was coming. She walked in with a wide smile, but it wasn’t for me. It was for Serena, who was just emerging from the master bedroom. “Oh, my poor, dear daughter-in-law! You’ve suffered so much.” She threw her arms around Serena, her voice dripping with affection. I stood to the side, invisible. An outsider in my own home. “Mom, what are you doing here?” I asked coldly. Her head whipped around, and her smile vanished. She pointed a finger in my face. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? If I didn’t come, my grandson would be cursed to death by a wicked woman like you!” She stomped over to me, spitting as she yelled. “Raina, don’t think you’re so special just because you make a little money. You’re just a useless, barren hen who can’t even lay an egg! Mark should have gotten rid of you years ago!” I was shaking with fury. “I made the down payment on this house! And I paid the bulk of the mortgage!” I turned to Mark. “Tell your mother to be clear. Who’s the barren hen?” Mark just scowled, shielding Serena behind him. “That’s enough. Mom’s just looking out for me. Does it really matter who paid for the house?” “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a foothold in this city! Stop making everything about money. It’s so crass.” Looking at the ugly faces of this family, the last flicker of warmth in my heart died. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice flat. Mark froze for a second, then sneered. “Fine. Get out. You won’t get a single penny.” He was sure I wouldn’t dare leave him. In his eyes, I had nothing and no one but him. I didn’t say another word. I walked into the study and locked the door. With trembling hands, I turned on Mark’s old phone, the one I’d given him when I upgraded. He hadn’t logged out of his social media. Message after message popped up from his family group chat. Skimming through, my blood ran cold. Mark had posted a photo of Serena with a slightly rounded belly. The caption read: We’re finally going to be parents. Below, a chorus of relatives cheered. His mother had sent several large digital red envelopes. So-called severe depression. It was all a lie to cover up a three-month pregnancy. They wanted me to keep slaving away, to pay for the upbringing of their illegitimate child. Just then, a violent wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and was violently sick. A strange, sinking feeling washed over me. I put on a mask and went to a nearby private clinic alone. Two hours later, the doctor looked at my test results. “Ms. Reed, you’re two months pregnant. Your hormone levels are a little unstable, though. You’ll need to rest.” I walked out into the long hospital corridor, the flimsy piece of paper clutched in my hand. And there, just down the hall, outside the obstetrics clinic, I saw him. Mark was tenderly peeling a grape and placing it in Serena’s mouth. His mother sat beside them, beaming. “Once we get that Reed woman out of the picture with nothing, we’ll have the wedding,” she schemed. “We need to do it soon. Serena’s belly will be showing, and it won’t look good in a wedding dress.”

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My parents and my brother, Finn, had once again taken Aurora on a trip—this time, to a ski resort in Aspen—and left me at home alone. Just before they left, Aurora had feigned a sigh of regret. “It’s such a shame Ivy doesn’t even know how to ski or rock climb. If I had known, I wouldn’t have picked a mountain resort.” My family immediately rushed to console her, turning to blame me for being so unadventurous. I watched them go, a bitter thought twisting in my gut: I wish she would never come back. I never imagined I would speak it into existence. There was a real avalanche in Aspen. That evening, my parents and Finn stumbled back into the house, looking like ghosts. “Ivy, Aurora didn’t make it out!” My mother threw her arms around me, her body wracked with sobs. “You’re our only daughter now!” But a deep, icy chill spread through me, and I couldn’t feel a shred of happiness. Because just a second before they walked through the door, Aurora—who was supposed to be dead on that mountain—had sent me a WhatsApp message: “Sis! Mom, Dad, and Finn are all dead!” 1 My mother sensed my stiffness and slowly let go. “What’s wrong, Ivy? We’re back now. Don’t be scared.” Her voice was so gentle it felt alien. She only ever spoke that way to Aurora. With me, her tone was always as cold as ice. I stared at the three people standing in the doorway. Though their faces were bruised and their clothes were stained with blood, they were unmistakably my parents and my brother. But why would Aurora say they were dead? No, wait. According to my mother, Aurora was the one who hadn’t escaped the avalanche. So who sent me that message? “Mom, let’s get you out of those dirty clothes. Ivy needs some time to process this,” Finn said, helping our weeping mother into the living room. As they passed me, a bone-deep cold emanated from them, making me shiver. A comment I’d seen under the news report about the avalanche flashed in my mind. “A tourist caught in an avalanche that big is almost certainly a goner. If your loved ones come home safe, you should take a good, long look and make sure they’re… human.” The commenter, who claimed to be a mountain guide, had explained that sometimes victims of a disaster don’t realize they’re dead and will stubbornly try to go home. He was ridiculed until he deleted the comment. Something that bizarre… Was it happening to me? At that exact moment, the last rays of sunlight vanished, plunging the living room into shadow. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but the temperature in the house seemed to drop several degrees. “Ivy, what are you doing standing by the door? Close it,” my father said, his voice raspy. His face was lost in the gloom. The way he turned his head was strange. He didn’t just turn his neck; his entire torso swiveled with his head, stiffly, as if frozen solid. The hair on my arms stood on end. I instinctively took a step back, reaching behind me for the doorknob. My phone buzzed in my palm. It was Aurora. She’d sent a series of photos. Three black body bags, laid out in a neat row. “They just flew Mom, Dad, and Finn’s bodies back. Where are you, Ivy Reed? Didn’t I tell you to call a car to pick me up?” Bang! An arm slammed the door shut behind me. I jerked my head up and met my brother’s gaze as he looked down at me. “Ivy,” he said softly, “who are you texting?” 2 Finn took another step forward. I hadn’t noticed before, but his skin had a strange, grayish pallor, like meat that had been in a freezer for too long. My back was already pressed against the door; there was nowhere left to retreat. I frantically locked my phone and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Grandma and Grandpa were asking if I’d heard anything. I was just letting them know you’re safe.” Finn paused, then nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “Ah. It’s a shame Aurora was too weak to hold on until the rescue team arrived. You should break the news to them gently.” “Oh, right. I need to let the rescue team know we’re okay, too. I lost my phone. Let me borrow yours.” He snatched my phone and held it up to my face to unlock it. Panicked, I lunged for it. He clearly wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. The phone flew from his grasp and shattered against the wall. “Ivy, are you okay?” he said, scrambling to his feet. Instead of scolding me, which would have been his usual reaction, he anxiously checked to see if I was hurt. “It was my fault. I’ll buy you the newest iPhone in a few days to make up for it.” A pang of emotion hit me. A ridiculous thought surfaced: If they could always be this kind to me, what does it matter if they’re human or not? “I’m fine, Finn. It’s just too dark in here. I’ll turn on the lights.” I took a deep breath and flipped the switch. They say ghosts don’t have shadows, I thought, closing my eyes for a second, praying my fears were just that—fears. Click. The chandelier flooded the opulent living room with stark white light. All three of them had faint shadows stretching out behind them. I felt a wave of relief. My mother warmed some milk for my father and Finn and poured me a glass of juice. “You’re lactose intolerant. You drink this.” Stunned, I accepted the glass. It was cherry juice, my favorite. She used to call my lactose intolerance a “poor person’s disease” and force me to drink milk until I was sick, telling me I just had to “get used to it.” “Ivy, you should move into Aurora’s big bedroom now,” my father said, a trace of guilt on his stern face. Finn looked at me apologetically and ruffled my hair with his large hand. “And remember to lock all the doors and windows. Be especially careful on the first floor.” I kept my head down, sipping my juice. Its sweetness spread from my mouth to my heart. I almost didn’t want to think about Aurora’s messages anymore. Finn was still talking. “Especially tonight. Don’t open the door for anyone. No matter who it is. Especially not for Aurora.” “Who?” I asked, thinking I’d misheard. Just then, the chandelier flickered. And then went out, plunging us into silence and darkness. I could feel three wooden faces turn toward me in the gloom. Three voices spoke as one. “Don’t open the door for Aurora.” 3 “What happened to the lights? Another power outage in the community?” my father muttered, getting up to check. The sudden darkness was unnerving, but their last words echoed in my mind. I forced myself to ask, “Aurora? Why would she be at the door? I thought she was… gone.” There was a moment of silence at the table, followed by my mother’s soft sobbing. “She is,” she choked out. “But before she… passed, she kept asking why. Why it wasn’t you in the avalanche. Why it wasn’t you who died.” She was too overcome with grief to continue. Finn sighed. “We’re worried her spirit won’t be at peace. That she might come back to harm you. It’s better to be safe than sorry. We’ll be careful for now, and then arrange a proper memorial service for her.” I hugged myself tightly, my mind a tangled mess. Their explanation seemed plausible. And even if they had always favored Aurora, the concern they were showing me now was something I had only ever dreamed of. Aurora, on the other hand, had always been terrified of losing her privileged life, of going from a princess back to a nobody. From the day I was brought into the family, she had targeted me at every turn. This trip to Aspen was her idea, specifically chosen after she found out I couldn’t ski or rock climb. Who was I supposed to believe? My father’s footsteps returned, accompanied by his grumbling. “Yep, the power’s out. What do we pay such high community fees for? No emergency generator, nothing. They just leave candles by the door.” He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit four white candles. The wicks caught, casting a sickly, greenish glow. Finn’s face changed instantly. He blew them all out in one breath. “Something’s wrong with these candles! Dad, did someone from maintenance give these to you personally?” “No,” my father said, confused. “They were just sitting on the doorstep. If it wasn’t maintenance, then who…” His voice trailed off. We’d had outages before, but the community association had never handed out candles. Four candles, a perfect match for the number of people in the house. A shiver ran down my spine. Could it be… was Aurora’s ghost really here to cause trouble? Wait. If Aurora was claiming their bodies had been flown back, there had to be an official list of victims online. My phone was broken, but there was a laptop in Aurora’s room. If I could just confirm who died, I could stop scaring myself. “I… I’m going to head to bed,” I said, pretending to be frightened. “Lock your doors and windows, and don’t wander around. Call for us if you need anything,” my mother said, patting my hand. Her palm was so cold it made me flinch. The chill seemed to clear my head a little. Their kindness felt… rehearsed. I could understand a change of heart after losing a child, but would it be this sudden? This complete? I locked the door to Aurora’s room, but her laptop, unused for so long, was dead. I rubbed my throbbing temples. Just my luck. I’d have to wait for the power to come back on. I got up to close the window. The dim moonlight cast my reflection on the glass. And standing in the corner of the room, the reflection of Aurora.

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It was the eighth year since my husband, Vincent, had come back to me. His mistress, unable to wait any longer, had finally married someone else. Vincent drank himself into a bleeding ulcer at a bar and held my hand all night, whispering, “I’m sorry, Layla. I’m so sorry.” Layla was the young woman he’d kept on the side. I had waited her out, from her fresh-faced youth until the first lines appeared around her eyes. Now, her patience had run out. She was getting married tomorrow, and she had deliberately chosen my wedding anniversary to do it. A final, spiteful jab to show me she hadn’t truly lost this war. But I had been waiting for this day for a long time, too. I sent the video of her and Vincent to her new in-laws. Then, I asked Vincent for a divorce. 1 This was the eighth anniversary we’d celebrated since Vincent had returned to our marriage. It had also been eight years since he’d broken it off with his mistress. I was thirty-five now. The mistress was thirty. We weren’t young anymore. I no longer shared the little details of my day with Vincent. I didn’t get jealous. I didn’t check up on him. I had become the perfect, detached wife he’d always wanted. In turn, Vincent had started to love me more and more. He’d even consulted a spiritual advisor to find the perfect burial plot for us to share. On our anniversary, I cooked a feast and called him. He didn’t answer. I called again and again, persistently. I had my eye on a sprawling penthouse, and a sentimental day like this was the perfect time to get Vincent to sign the check. I usually didn’t care where he was or what he was doing, but today, he had to show up. Finally, someone answered. “Sophie, it’s Ben. Vince is in the hospital—bleeding ulcer. You need to get here, fast.” I calmly finished the dinner I’d prepared for myself and texted back, Okay. On my way to the hospital, I got a message from Layla. See? Even though I’m getting married, he’s still thinking of me. I did this on purpose, just to ruin your anniversary. If I can’t be happy, neither can you. You used your dead child to guilt him into coming back to you. You should have known this was coming. When you wake up in the middle of the night, do you ever think about that poor, lost baby? I closed my eyes, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. Soon, I would have justice for my child. 2 When I arrived, Ben, Vincent’s best friend, immediately started berating me for taking so long. “You were here, weren’t you?” I replied coolly. “I’m not a doctor! What was I supposed to do?” “You’re his wife,” Ben said, his voice laced with disappointment. “How can you be so careless? If I’d known…” He stopped himself. I let out a cold laugh and finished his sentence for him. “If you’d known, you would have told him not to come back to me, so he’d still have someone who actually cared about him.” I had heard that line from Ben more times than I could count. He was the one who had convinced Vincent to break it off with Layla and recommit to our marriage. Now, he was the one constantly complaining that I wasn’t taking good enough care of him. His initial relief had soured into a running commentary on my failings as a wife. But I no longer cared what Vincent’s friends thought. Let them say what they wanted. Vincent probably felt the same way, which was why he never stopped Ben, just watched me with a complicated expression. He wanted me to know what he had sacrificed for me. Everyone knew Layla was the one he truly loved. I was just the villain who had stood in their way, ungrateful for what I had. “Get out, Ben. This is between me and your sister-in-law,” Vincent mumbled, his eyes fluttering open. He called me that, even though Ben’s wife was my friend, not his. Ben looked like he wanted to argue, but Vincent’s next words froze him in place. “Layla, I regret it. Don’t leave me. Don’t marry him.” He grabbed my sleeve, his grip surprisingly strong. “I can’t do it. I can’t watch you have children with another man…” It was the first time I had ever seen him cry like this. His sobs were choked and broken, like the sound of a snapped string on an old cello. He mistook me for her. When they were together, everyone had called Layla “the missus.” They’d stopped after he came back, probably to avoid hurting my feelings. Ben looked at me with pity. “Are you happy now? You used your dead child to tie him to you, and now neither of you is happy. Is this the life you wanted?” I smiled politely. “Yes. This is exactly what I wanted. Seeing them both miserable makes me very happy.” “You should have died on that hospital bed with your baby!” Ben stormed out, leaving me alone with Vincent. He was still clutching my sleeve. I sat down on the edge of his bed and slapped him hard across the face. “Are you awake now?” They all wanted me dead. But I was determined to live well—better than any of them. His cheek was already turning red. “Sophie? Why am I in the hospital?” “Layla’s getting married. You were upset, so you and Ben went drinking. You ended up with a bleeding ulcer.” I took out my phone and played a recording of his drunken rambling, including Ben’s tirade. “You still can’t forget her,” I stated. The color drained from his face. “Why don’t you care about my health anymore? When I was sick before, you carried me to the hospital yourself in a storm. Your heels were bleeding.” I was surprised that was the first thing he thought of. It was a long time ago, before Layla. “That just proves how stupid I was back then. I should have just waited for a taxi, like today. Why suffer so much?” He looked down, ashamed. “I’m really over her. Tonight, I was just… thinking about the past. I didn’t know Ben was saying those things behind my back. I won’t see him anymore.” I cut him off. “Sign this.” I handed him the purchase agreement for the penthouse. “You’ve already failed me emotionally. The least you can do is not fail me financially.” He took the pen and paper, a familiar routine. But his hand paused before he signed, the pressure of the pen nearly tearing the page. “Is this all we have left to talk about?” Ever since he had come back, I had moved my things into the guest room. His study was filled with gifts from Layla, and I never said a word. We were like strangers living under the same roof. The only time I showed him any warmth was when I needed him to spend money. “Why won’t you forgive me, after everything I’ve done? What more do I have to do to make you like you were before?” I nodded. “If you heard that I had drunk myself into the hospital on our anniversary because my ex-lover was getting married, and you could remain as calm as I am right now, then I would forgive you.” “…I’m sorry.” I looked at the signature on the contract, satisfied. I couldn’t bring myself to say, “It’s okay.” He pressed his advantage, placing his hand over mine, his eyes pleading. “Let’s have a baby.” “Ben’s wife is already on their second.” A cynical smile touched my lips. Of all the times to bring this up. It was because Layla was about to start a family with someone else. That’s why he wanted a child now. I pulled my hand away. “No.” “I’m not as heartless as you. You may not remember, but I will never forget our child. No other baby could ever replace him.” And I would never have another child with him. “If you really want a child…” “No,” he said, pulling me into a desperate hug, as if afraid I would disappear. “We don’t need one. Just the two of us is fine. We’ll be together forever.” 3 Vincent was restless that night. He insisted on coming home from the hospital, even though he should have been resting. I knew it was because Layla’s wedding was tomorrow. He was afraid I would cause a scene, so he was keeping me under surveillance. Even though he didn’t want her to marry someone else, he still wanted her to be happy. He was always so good to her. When we got home, he saw the empty, clean dining table and froze. “Sophie, it’s our anniversary. Where’s the dinner you made?” “Why did you drink yourself into the hospital?” I snapped. “You weren’t going to eat it, so I gave it to the stray dogs.” He stared at the table in silence. I was tired. I went to take a shower, not bothering to decipher his mood. In the early days, when he was just starting his business, his eating habits were terrible, and he developed stomach problems. From then on, I cooked every meal for him, even bringing lunch to his office to make sure he ate. Then Layla came along, and he started standing me up, one time after another. I would reheat his dinner over and over until it was mush. He would come home, see the cold food on the table, and offer a simple, “Sorry, I already ate.” I’d throw the food in the trash. I stopped saving him dinner after that. But it seemed he was only just now noticing. When I came out of the shower, he was waiting with a glass of warm water. “We’re husband and wife. We can’t keep sleeping in separate rooms.” “Thank you, but no.” “You always have a glass of warm water after your shower. I measured the temperature. It’s just how you like it.” “That cup is part of a matching set you bought with Layla.” I met his gaze directly. “I accidentally broke your cup once. Layla was furious. You didn’t come home for a month. I lost ten pounds. When you finally came back, you asked if I had learned my lesson. This is the second one she bought you. You specifically told me never to touch it, that I was not to disrespect Layla’s feelings.” He flinched and quickly put the cup down. “I forgot.” He looked at me hesitantly. “What is it?” “Are you going to see the new place tomorrow?” When I nodded, he seemed to relax. “I’m free. I’ll go with you.” I snorted silently. He would do anything to make sure I didn’t crash Layla’s wedding. “Fine.” He seemed thrilled. I don’t know if it was what Ben said earlier, but that night, I kept dreaming of the child I lost. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I was about to get up for some fresh air when a pair of warm hands wrapped around my waist from behind. I smelled alcohol. A wave of revulsion washed over me, and I shot out of bed. “Vincent, are you serious? Layla’s getting married, so you can’t keep it in your pants and you decide to come to me?” The anger I’d suppressed for years flared up, and I couldn’t hide the loathing on my face. My expression seemed to burn him. “I just think it’s time for us to move on to the next stage. To turn the page.” I smiled. “Alright.” Before he could react, I unlocked my phone and showed him the screen. “How many children do you want? We can go to the orphanage tomorrow.” The photos were of blind, deaf, and disfigured orphans. “Cheating, emotional abuse, shirking responsibility,” I said. “I’m afraid any child we have will learn from you. Only the ones with no eyes to see would want to be in our family.” He was silent. “Get out,” I said. “Don’t disgust me.” I pushed him out and locked the door.

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On the eve of the annual firm gala, my husband, David, promised me, the firm’s top attorney, a surprise. The very next day, however, he publicly increased the marketing manager’s bonus fivefold. For me, there was only a dismissive “keep up the good work next year.” When I questioned this, David just shrugged. “You’re a good lawyer, sure, but without Penelope’s marketing, you wouldn’t be our top earner. Besides, we’re a team, what’s mine is yours. Why quibble over a little bonus?” Everyone waited for the fireworks, but I didn’t make a scene. I remained silent until the gala ended. The next day, I personally placed my resignation letter on David’s desk. “Just add my salary to Penelope’s too, consider it my wedding gift to you both.” David was furious, calling me petty and cursing that I’d be begging on the streets without him. But he forgot, a seasoned attorney like me, with my track record? Top-tier firms would be lining up to hire me! 1 “I don’t want to talk about this anymore!” David unknotted his tie and flung his blazer onto the sofa, his face a mask of cold refusal. I rubbed my temples, utterly drained. The moment we’d walked through the door after work, David and I had been locked in a bitter argument about the firm’s annual gala. I couldn’t grasp why he was downplaying my achievements, nor why he was so determined to inflate the significance of Penelope, a newcomer who’d barely been with us. David, on the other hand, simply thought I was petty, squabbling with Penelope over a few paltry perks. The argument spiraled, neither of us willing to concede, and a thick, icy silence settled between us. Suddenly, David’s phone buzzed with a notification. He pulled it out, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “There’s an urgent client meeting at the firm. Sabrina, I’m not going to argue with you about this. Get your act together, and don’t forget to send me tomorrow’s case analysis. If you keep being so small-minded, there’s nothing I can do. Five years of marriage, and all you care about is money? You’re a huge disappointment.” “I’m small-minded?” A wave of helplessness washed over me. David always deflected during arguments, never addressing the core issue. Every time Penelope came up, it was a slew of excuses about how busy he was. Most often, he’d just accuse me of being overly materialistic, reminding me we were married and shouldn’t nitpick over finances. For the next few minutes, I said nothing. David, having been at the office all day, took a shower before changing into fresh clothes in the bedroom. We remained silent, locked in a cold war. But life couldn’t go on like this. Someone had to break. “Dar—” After a moment’s thought, I was about to reach out, to make the first move, when I caught a strange sight. David was furtively stuffing something into his suit trousers. I took a closer step and gasped—it was a pair of black stockings! And I certainly didn’t own any like that… The word I’d been about to utter caught in my throat, impossible to say, impossible to swallow. My heart plummeted. I couldn’t help but think of the changes in David over the past six months. Always “working late,” always “on business trips,” his patience with me worn thin. We hadn’t been intimate in ages. In that moment, the realization hit me: he was cheating. I hesitated, an instinct to stop him, but then I paused. I suppressed the surge of anger, deciding that this might be my ticket out. Our marriage had long been an empty shell anyway. With that thought, I quietly slipped out of the bedroom and sat on the sofa, waiting. David emerged a moment later, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “Sabrina, did you just call me?” I looked up, feigning an innocent confusion. “No.” Seeing no suspicion in my eyes, David visibly relaxed, his face once again hardening. “I need to head back to the firm now. We’ll talk about the year-end bonus when I get back. I might not be home tonight.” He didn’t wait for my reply, hurrying out the door. A few minutes later, calculating the time it would take him to drive out of the complex, I dressed, hailed a cab, and followed. From the moment he left our home, David wasn’t heading toward the firm at all! 2 In the cab, a bitter laugh escaped me as I watched his car pull up to a hotel. I couldn’t get into that hotel, but I could get into his car. I unlocked it, pulled up the dashcam playback, and heard David on the phone, calling a woman “babe.” “Hey, Penny? Are you there? I’m almost there… It’s just Sabrina again. I don’t know what’s gotten into her these past few months, always looking for a fight.” I frowned, but David’s next words twisted the knife even deeper. “She doesn’t even stop to think who made her what she is today. Now she’s arguing with me over the year-end bonus? She’s completely out of line. Drives me crazy. I need my babe’s kiss…” My blood boiled. It was Penelope on the phone. No wonder she was the firm’s top performer this year, her bonus five times mine. Looks like she had some “overtime” after work, too. David, how could you do this to me? Six months ago, Penelope’s arrival was already strange enough; parachuting into a team leader position fresh out of law school. Her capabilities were mediocre, yet David constantly funneled the best resources her way, much to the chagrin of other colleagues. Soon after, Penelope leveraged those resources to become Marketing Manager in just six months. That’s when my suspicions began to stir. David also lavished her with attention in her daily life. During client dinners and social events, I often couldn’t even sit beside David, yet Penelope was always by his side. I had voiced my protest, but David always brushed it off, claiming she was a junior from his university, and he was simply looking out for her. The past six months, every client dinner and business trip he insisted I didn’t attend… they were probably all spent with Penelope. Finally, I returned home in a daze. Sitting on the sofa, I rubbed my face. Suspicion was one thing, but concrete discovery was another. I had truly loved David, and to witness and hear this firsthand… it still hurt. The TV was playing a local news report about a child who killed for revenge for their mother. I had no interest in watching and eventually fell asleep on the sofa well past midnight. My dreams were a jumbled mess of my past with David. We met in the workplace after graduation. I was instantly drawn to David’s sharp, decisive work style and pursued him. After we got together, David opened a law firm just for me. I was so grateful for his faith in me, and I worked myself to the bone for the firm for six years. Later, David proposed, and both our families were thrilled. But I never imagined that now, with the firm thriving, even before our seven-year itch, he would already have strayed. The chaotic dreams left me late for work the next day. David, without hesitation, publicly reprimanded me at the morning meeting in front of all the senior partners. “Sabrina! What is wrong with you? I said a few words yesterday, and now you’re late today? Let me tell you, your perfect attendance for the month is gone! Reflect on yourself!” Facing the sympathetic or indifferent stares of everyone, I simply nodded, saying nothing. This, however, seemed to infuriate David, who interpreted it as defiance. After everyone else had left, he slumped into his boss’s chair, arms crossed, and spoke to me coldly. “Sabrina, let me tell you, don’t bring your home life into the office! Do you think because you’re my wife you can give me attitude in front of everyone?! I always maintain a clear distinction between work and personal life with you!” “Clear distinction between work and personal life…” I savored those words, finding them utterly ludicrous. A clear distinction with me, yet last night in the car, he was calling Penelope “babe” and showering her with sweet nothings. My silence further fueled David’s sense of disrespect. He rose, slamming his hand on the table. “Sabrina! What are you doing? Are you completely out of line?!” Ignoring his roar, I turned and walked out of the office, straight down to HR, and submitted my resignation. 3 “Sabrina… are you sure you want to resign?” “Positive.” The HR manager looked utterly astonished, asking me repeatedly. Though I hadn’t publicly disclosed my relationship with David, over the years, colleagues had all pretty much figured it out. HR clearly didn’t want to get involved in our “domestic dispute,” immediately showing a difficult expression and pushing back. “This… this is too big for me to decide, Sabrina. How about you go talk to Mr. Miller? See what he says first.” My position was considered a pillar of the firm; both officially and unofficially, David’s signature was indeed required. “No need to ask, Liam. Just handle it by the book.” I spoke softly, my tone firm, not sounding like a hasty decision made in anger. Liam looked at me for a long moment, then just offered a wry smile and agreed, telling me to come back for the paperwork that afternoon. No sooner had I left HR than David called me back to his office. Penelope was already there, flashing a fake smile when she saw me. “Sabrina, you’re here.” “Perfect timing. Did you see the news yesterday about that child who killed for revenge for their mother? The case has landed with our firm. Penelope fought hard to get it for you, Sabrina. If you handle this well, you could make a big name for yourself.” David called me in, making a grudging gesture of goodwill, then imperiously “entrusted me with a great responsibility”—to defend the murderer from the news last night. I had read about the case this morning. As it stood, public opinion had already pushed it into a media frenzy. David was right; a good defense could bring fame. But all I saw was Penelope’s ulterior motives. This kind of case was a hot potato. No matter how you defended it, you’d end up being criticized. The law was cold and impartial, but morality often leaned on emotion. The outcome, good or bad, would impact my career. It was a no-win situation. With that thought, I flatly refused. “I have several cases still ongoing. Adding a new one, I won’t have time. I can’t take it. Find someone else.” “Sabrina, Ms. Kane, what’s wrong? After a few years of success, you’re too good for cases like this? You have an opportunity, and you won’t even seize it. What are you thinking?” David’s face was mocking, his words incredibly harsh. Penelope, seeing this, feigned persuasion. “Sabrina, if this case goes well, it will only benefit our firm. Please reconsider. Think about Mr. Miller and the firm’s long-term future.” “Since this case came along, and I fought hard to get it, the firm needs someone to take it on, both emotionally and rationally. Right now, Sabrina, you’re the most suitable person for this kind of case.” I frowned, ignoring her emotional blackmail. Just as I was about to speak, David’s phone rang. “Hello? Liam? What is it? Huh? Who? Who’s resigning?!” David froze for a few seconds, his expression turning incredibly ugly in a few short sentences. He hung up and looked at me, utterly disbelieving. “Sabrina, you’re resigning?! Just because I said a few words to you this morning?!” He stood up, yelling furiously at me, completely enraged. I remained outwardly calm, slowly leaning across the desk, a faint, cool smile playing on my lips. “David, not only am I resigning, I’m divorcing you.” 4 David met my gaze, completely stunned this time. “Sabrina, you’re divorcing me just because of yesterday’s year-end bonus and today’s incident? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a professional woman, why are you playing these childish games? This is absurd!” David still couldn’t believe it under my stare, but instinctively took a step back. Penelope, seeing my resolve, quickly flashed a hint of glee, then feigned concession and guilt. “Sabrina, calm down. How about this, I’ll give you all of yesterday’s year-end bonus. Don’t ruin things with Mr. Miller over this. Divorce isn’t something you decide on a whim…” Her words only made things worse, prompting David to snap at me again, comparing me to Penelope. “Sabrina, how can you be so shameless?! Letting a junior give you her money! All these years in the professional world, and you’re less mature than her. How old are you, acting like a child?” Penelope’s eyes held a hint of triumph at his words, but I remained cold. No matter how David tried to provoke me, I stood firm. “Stop, David, it’s pointless. My resignation and our divorce are final, no matter what anyone says.” David closed his eyes, suppressing his rage. “Fine! Fine! Sabrina, you’re going to be stubborn to the end, aren’t you? Alright! I’ll give you back yesterday’s year-end bonus! And I’ll find you an opportunity for a promotion next year! Is that enough?! Are you satisfied?! Isn’t this what you wanted?!” “I don’t want any year-end bonus, nor do I want a promotion. I’m stating this one last time, David! I’m resigning, and I’m divorcing you!” A flash of anger tinged my refusal, and I slammed my hand down on the table, startling David. After a few more back-and-forths, David’s patience finally ran out. He stared at me for a long moment, then pointed to the door, roaring. “Sabrina! Don’t push your luck here! Fine! Go if you want to! The firm will run just fine without you! What are you so proud of?!” That was all I needed to hear. Without another word, I walked out of the office, packed up my desk, and prepared to leave. David, hearing I was packing, stood in my office, huffing and puffing with rage, clearly not expecting me to have such “guts.” Colleagues whispered amongst themselves as they watched me go. “Is Sabrina leaving?” “Oh, they’re fighting. She was upset about the year-end bonus yesterday, and then this morning… they must have had a huge argument with Mr. Miller.” “Aren’t they married? Could they… be getting a divorce? Is it because of Penelope… she’s always around Mr. Miller.” My movements paused for a moment, and a bitter smile touched my lips. Even they could see the impropriety between David and Penelope, even vaguely guessing at my departure and divorce. Yet, David still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. Finally, carrying a cardboard box, I walked out of the firm under David’s furious glare, without looking back. Back home, I drafted the divorce papers, placed them on the coffee table, and gathered the belongings I’d already packed. In these six years, I had done nothing to betray David. After he utterly broke my heart yesterday, I felt nothing now. With my suitcase in hand, I took one last look at the house, then shut the door decisively. With nowhere else to go for now, I headed to my friend Ashley’s place. “Busy bee! Finally caught you! Get in! Tonight, it’s just us sisters, drinking till we drop!” Her family warmly welcomed me. Ashley, hearing everything, offered such care and expressed such indignation towards David, that it only solidified my conviction that leaving him was the right decision. But David wasn’t about to let me go so easily. Later that night, he called, his opening words an accusation. “Sabrina! What’s with the divorce papers on the coffee table?”

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On our third wedding anniversary, in front of all our friends and family, I presented my husband, Liam Brooks, with a special gift. “Open it.” Liam looked confused as he unwrapped it. When he saw the lifelike android, he froze, his face draining of color. He shot up, “What is the meaning of this?” The android wasn’t just anyone; it was the spitting image of his deceased first love, Sarah Jensen. I spoke nonchalantly. “Now you can openly hug her to sleep, without having to secretly get up in the middle of the night, while I’m asleep, and relieve yourself with her photos.” “How’s that? Am I a thoughtful wife or what?” 1 Everyone present exchanged glances, their faces showing they’d stumbled upon some juicy gossip. Liam’s face fell, and he rose in indignation. “Sophia, are you deliberately humiliating me?” “Sarah has been gone for three years. How dare you insult her this way?” Looking at the strikingly lifelike android, Liam’s face darkened, almost choking. “What, you don’t like it?” I scoffed. “Then throw it away.” Saying that, I stood up, intending to toss the android into the trash. “Stop!” Liam rushed over, his face pale, and blocked me. His hand clutched the android’s arm, an imperceptible tenderness and heartbreak flashing in his eyes. “This is Sarah’s face. How dare you throw it in the trash?” “Sophia, do you have any decency?” “Should someone who died three years ago be treated, humiliated, and made a joke of like this?” His voice was almost hoarse on the last sentence. I, however, stood with my arms crossed, watching him with a half-smile. “I’m just worried about you, driven mad by grief, aren’t I? We’ve been married for three years, and you’re still obsessed with photos of your ex-girlfriend every day. So I splurged on this custom-made Sarah Jensen android. It’s exactly like her when she was alive.” “I’m being so considerate, how can you speak to me like that?” Our friends, witnessing this scene, didn’t know whether to mediate or plead. They cast meaningful glances at the android in the gift box, involuntarily swallowing. Luke, Liam’s friend, nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, Liam, it’s rare for Sophia to be so thoughtful. You should be grateful.” “Look at the robot’s figure – curvaceous and perfectly proportioned, far better than the real thing…” “What are you talking about?!” My best friend, Clara, couldn’t take it anymore, rolling her eyes. “Can’t you see Sophia is truly angry and deliberately being sarcastic with Liam?!” Everyone else exchanged bewildered looks. Luke belatedly realized, gasped, and then apologized to me. “I’m sorry, Sophia, I thought you two were just being… ironic.” I said nothing, merely observing Liam’s exasperated expression. I watched him go from initial anger to being gradually captivated by the android before him. I watched him, the guest of honor on our anniversary, completely detached, gazing tenderly at this ‘Sarah Jensen.’ Even with a nonchalant smile on my face, my heart still gave a faint, painful throb. Three years of marriage. I remembered the day we got our marriage license, Liam had promised me, thumping his chest. “I’ve forgotten all about the past. I’ll settle down and build a good life with you.” But he never kept that promise, not for a single day. The car’s GPS used Sarah’s synthesized voice. He would even spend hours driving around, lost in thought. Liam would respond to every turn, every direction, yet he couldn’t manage more than ten words a day with me, though he could chat with a virtual, synthesized voice for two hours. I can’t describe how I felt when I saw that dashcam footage. But that wasn’t the first time, nor the last. Those fragmented memories began to unravel. I even recalled that for three years of our marriage, Liam claimed to be a light sleeper and uncomfortable with someone next to him. So, we started sleeping in separate rooms on the second night of our marriage. He never dared to touch me. Even when I deliberately had a little wine and tried to tempt him with sexy lingerie, he’d maintain a cool distance. He told me he was a devout man, committed to chastity and detachment. Even when his parents pressed him for a child, he flatly refused, firmly stating, “I’m childfree for life. If you really want a child, you can adopt one from a welfare institution; I don’t mind.” Initially, I believed he was truly detached. But then, one night, I woke up thirsty. I inadvertently noticed the study light was on. Through the crack, I heard rustling, and faint, low gasps. I cautiously approached, only to witness a scene that chilled me to the bone. Liam, usually so self-restrained, was gazing longingly at a woman’s photograph, his eyes hazy. What he was doing was undeniable. Afterwards, I went into the study, pulled open a drawer, and saw the woman’s face in the photo. Sarah Jensen. His ex-girlfriend, who died three years ago in that avalanche. She also died in the year Liam loved her most. 2 Ever since Liam received that android, he’d been holed up at home. I inadvertently noticed it. In the neatly tidied guest bedroom, the android wore a pristine white dress, and at first glance, it really did look like a living young woman. Even I felt a moment of disorientation, even freezing. It truly resembled… Sarah Jensen as she was alive. Liam became even busier each day. He worked during the day, returned to the study to handle messages in the evening, and then retreated to the bedroom early. Every night, he’d embrace that robot, whispering his innermost thoughts, and I even heard indescribable sounds. It was fine. After all, that android was meant for exactly that purpose. But ever since Liam received that android, some imperceptible changes occurred in me too. For instance, in the mornings, I no longer prepared breakfast for two. I only toasted one slice of bread. I only poured one glass of milk. Even the dirty clothes I put in the washing machine were just mine. His piles always remained on the sofa. Even if they grew moldy, I wouldn’t touch them. I was waiting for Liam to initiate the divorce. Yet, Liam, though he must have noticed these things, noticed my deliberate targeting, my cold shoulder, never argued or made a fuss. He simply, silently, completed the forgotten household chores himself. It was a fortnight later that I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Things have come to this; do you think we should still just ‘make do’?” “Liam, stop deceiving yourself, and stop deceiving me.” “Let’s get a divorce.” I pushed the divorce papers towards him. Liam slowly looked up, a hint of confusion on his face. “You did this on purpose.” “You deliberately provoked me at the anniversary party, hoping I’d ask for a divorce in front of everyone, didn’t you?” Liam seemed to see right through me. He frowned slightly, then relaxed. “I won’t divorce you, Sophia.” “I promised your mother I would take good care of you.” Mentioning my mother, my heart felt a gentle prod. Yes. Liam carried the burden of my mother’s life-saving grace. He was always a man who repaid his debts and wouldn’t be so ungrateful. After my mother saved Liam in that car accident, her dying wish was, “Liam, I’m entrusting Sophia to you. Please take good care of her…” Liam knelt by my mother’s hospital bed, silent for a long time. Finally, under my mother’s hopeful gaze, he nodded and agreed. “Okay.” “I will take care of Sophia for the rest of my life.” So, even though he was in immense pain. Even though he would secretly go to the study to vent his frustrations alone. Even though he had long grown weary of living with a woman he didn’t love. He never once mentioned divorce. In everyone’s eyes, he had done his utmost. But this kind of life, I no longer wanted. 3 I turned around and booked a few male escorts. After drinks at the bar, I openly brought them home. Liam froze the moment he pushed open the door. On the sofa, on the rug, sitting or lying, was a group of flamboyantly dressed men. As he entered, all the men paused. I watched his slightly pale face and let out a nonchalant sneer. “Why are you looking at him? Look at me. Keep drinking.” I took out all the rare bottles from the liquor cabinet and let them have at it. I deliberately made the party as boisterous as possible, trying to provoke Liam, hoping he’d demand a divorce on the spot. But he said nothing, just quietly went back to his room. The men left in the dead of night. I thought Liam had long gone to sleep in his room, but I found him waiting for me in the study. “Sophia, we need to talk.” I paused, then scoffed. “Finally going to talk about divorce, are we?” I turned around, only to see him frowning as he gathered all the empty bottles. “Don’t drink like this anymore. Alcohol is bad for your health.” He said it with a serious expression. “In the future, if you want to drink, you can have fruit wine. If it’s inconvenient for you to buy it, I can buy some and keep it at home…” I was stunned. I was silent for a long time before coldly speaking. “Don’t men usually go crazy when their wives cheat on them?” “I’ve brought so many men home, why haven’t you asked me for a divorce yet?” “Liam, do you have any backbone?” Liam looked at me with extreme patience, as if watching a child cry and throw a tantrum. “Sophia, I know you wouldn’t cheat.” It was that same light, placid attitude. All my attacks felt like punches landing on cotton. Soft and ineffective. “This is hangover soup I made for you in advance.” Liam placed a bowl on the table. “Remember to drink it. I’m going to sleep now.” The moment he closed the bedroom door, my tears flowed. That bowl of hangover soup was so bitter, just like my heart. Liam didn’t hesitate to show me this gentle side. But I knew, it was different. No matter how kind he was to me, how gentle, it didn’t change one fact: he still deeply loved his true love, Sarah Jensen. I had seen it before. The day before our wedding anniversary, Liam, carrying white daisies, went to the cemetery. Liam’s parents were still alive. The only person he would be visiting was Sarah Jensen. There was no other possibility. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” “If only I had stopped you from going on that trip, you wouldn’t have died in that avalanche.” Saying this, Liam covered his face, sobbing uncontrollably. Every time he remembered that disaster, he was filled with extreme regret. In the days after Sarah’s death, he fell gravely ill, even running barefoot to the temple to pray, kneeling for three days straight. He said, “Take my life for hers, please? Let Sarah come back…” But the gods did not hear his pleas. Sarah died. How could the dead ever return to life? I had seen his diary. He wrote Sarah Jensen’s name over and over again. Every stroke, every line, was imbued with all his strength. So I had witnessed firsthand what it looked like when Liam truly loved someone. Even as Liam’s wife, I had never possessed that kind of love. So rather than both of us suffering, it was better to give up. “Let’s get a divorce.” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

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My wife was raped and murdered. In a fit of vengeful rage, I stabbed the assailant seven times in the abdomen, resulting in a ten-year prison sentence. Three years later, I was released early. I tore up the succession contract my billionaire father handed me, choosing instead to become a private chef. But the address for my first job was none other than the scene of my wife’s murder – our marital home. My mind a tangled mess, I finished cooking. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed from the front door. I looked up, and a figure identical to my wife smiled as she pushed the door open and walked in. … ##1 I froze, my heart threatening to pound out of my throat. She was holding a man’s hand, smiling blissfully as they approached the kitchen table. I knew that man. He was the defense attorney in my rape-and-retaliation case – Arthur Chen. Arthur pulled her back before she could sit down at the table, smiling as he took a ring from his suit jacket pocket. She gasped, covering her mouth, her eyes wide. Their friends whistled and cheered from the sidelines. A surge of panic hit me, and I stood up, shouting, “You can’t marry him!” She turned, looking at me with a confused, unfamiliar gaze. Arthur, seeing me, froze, his face abruptly darkening. “Ken Stone? What are you doing here?!” His gaze dropped to my greasy, disgusting chef’s uniform, and a sneer curled his lips. “Oh, so Mr. Stone is out of prison. You’re our chef for today.” People around chuckled. “Is he the one whose wife was raped, and he murdered the assailant in a rage?” “Hilarious, he used to be a big shot, everyone on the street would greet him. Now he’s cooking for us!” Arthur took her right hand, smiling as he knelt. “Mr. Stone, Laura Lee isn’t your deceased wife. She’s my soon-to-be bride.” Laura stood there, one hand playfully covering Arthur’s mouth, the other extended towards him. “You don’t have to say anything. I do.” My wife loved me desperately. If she were still alive, she would never accept another man’s proposal. But Laura looked so much like her, even sounded like her… I was caught in endless turmoil, then inadvertently glanced up. On the bare forearm Laura exposed as she rolled up her sleeve, there was a tiny heart-shaped birthmark! My heart lurched! This was my wife’s unique birthmark, no one else in the world had it! I rushed forward, grabbing Laura’s hand, pointing to the heart-shaped birthmark on her arm. “Have you had this birthmark since birth?” Arthur grabbed my shirt, tugged hard, and threw me onto the sofa. He pointed at me, impatiently saying, “Ken Stone, finish cooking and get out.” “I’m proposing to my girlfriend. Try disrupting it again, and see what happens.” I stood up, holding Laura’s arm tightly. “Laura, have you lost your memory? How could you forget me?” “Let me take you to the hospital, please…” Laura struggled furiously, her face icy cold. My wife was an only child. I didn’t believe there could be two people so identical in the world. I tried to persuade Laura to go to the hospital for a DNA test. Arthur walked up to me, raised his hand, and slapped me, pointing his finger at my nose. “Ken Stone, you stinking cook, open your eyes and look! This is *my* house, not yours anymore!” This house used to be my wife’s and my marital home. But after her passing, I commissioned a real estate agent to sell it for me, to avoid painful memories. I never expected the buyer to be Arthur, a student I had once funded. Even more, I never expected a woman so similar to my wife to appear in our former marital home. I stood in the center of the living room, covering my stinging face, and scanned my surroundings. All the memories unique to my wife and me had been erased. The furnishings had completely changed. Even the eternal rose, symbolizing my wife and my love, had been removed from the wall cabinet, replaced by an object covered with a red cloth. I was lost in thought. Laura… maybe she truly wasn’t my wife. Because my wife had promised me that the day the eternal rose withered, that’s when she would stop loving me. But eternal roses don’t wither, and my wife would never stop loving me. I turned away in despair. Laura, amidst cheers, had the ring placed on her finger by Arthur, and they kissed. My heart ached unbearably, a burning sensation spreading across my back. Before turning to leave, I looked back longingly. Laura, at that moment, made a gesture in the dining area. My pupils dilated violently… ## 2 I was convinced Laura was my wife! I rushed over, gripped the wedding ring on her ring finger, yanked it off, and smashed the broken ring onto the ground. I held Laura’s hands tightly, earnestly saying, “Laura, listen to me, you really are my wife!” “When I used to make you this dish, I would often put in tiny slivers of ginger. No one could see them, and no one would pick them out directly. Only my wife knew these little details, and all of this proves that you are my wife!” Laura tried to pull her hands away from mine, but I desperately held on. After several unsuccessful struggles, she angrily raised her hand and slapped me. “Get out!” I wasn’t angry; instead, I laughed. There was nothing more joyful than the resurrection of a deeply loved, departed person! I grabbed Laura and was about to leave when Arthur rushed over again, pulling Laura away. He picked up the ring, holding it in front of my eyes. “Ken Stone, I told you, Laura Lee isn’t your deceased wife, she’s my fiancée.” “It’s perfectly normal for her to wear my wedding ring. How dare you smash it?” “How much do you want for compensation?” I asked. Arthur poked my chest with his index finger. “This ring cost three hundred thousand, and it’s a limited edition, the only one in the country.” “It took me half a year to secure it. You owe me at least a million!” I stood there, taking Laura’s hand and walking towards the exit. “The money isn’t an issue, but I don’t have that much on me right now. I’ll transfer it to you immediately when I get back.” “Forget a million, I can afford ten million.” “Get out of the way, I’m taking my wife with me!” Arthur stood and kicked me. “Ken Stone, do you really think I’m an idiot?” “Three years ago, when you were a boss, you didn’t have ten million in cash. Now that you’re an ex-con, you suddenly do?” I was kicked into a corner, and the red cloth-covered object above my head swayed precariously. Several burly men with full-sleeve tattoos rose from the sofa, clenched their fists, and surrounded me. I picked myself up and said earnestly, “Arthur, I am truly the son of Lord Stone, the wealthiest man in Capital City.” “Just let me take Laura for a test first. Afterward, I’ll immediately transfer ten million to you.” I wasn’t lying. The Capital City billionaire truly was my father. This secret was known only to the elite of society. I had a very strained relationship with my father since childhood. I disliked everything he arranged for me. Unable to bear it any longer, I ran away from home when I was young. While in prison, he offered to reduce my ten-year sentence to three if I returned home and took over the business. But after my release, I didn’t fulfill my promise to take over, so he froze all my bank accounts. I stood up, pulling Laura, and turned to leave. Arthur raised his fist and punched me in the face. “Do you know what a powerful figure Lord Stone is in Capital City? If he tells you to shut up, you breathe softly!” “His son is this kind of worthless man? You stinking cook dares to bluff me? Beat him up!” They raised their feet and kicked me in the head, repeatedly. Laura was also within the attack range. I desperately shielded her behind me, taking all the kicks with my back. “Ken Stone! My wife doesn’t need your protection!” Arthur bent down, picked up an iron bar, raised it, and brought it down on my head! I hunched over, preparing to take the blow, but Laura suddenly pushed me away. Arthur’s wooden stick slammed into Laura’s shin, leaving a bruised, swollen mark. “Laura!” I panicked. I clenched my fists and unleashed a flurry of punches, smashing into Arthur’s nose. The burly men stepped back, all looking at me with fear. I pinned Arthur to the ground. He couldn’t break free from my grasp, his nose bleeding profusely, angry and agitated. “Darling!” Laura’s scream reached my ears. I instinctively turned. A wooden stick came flying towards me! With a *thud*, excruciating pain shot through the top of my head. Warm, sticky blood streamed down my face, and my vision blurred. I stumbled and collapsed by the wall cabinet. Laura anxiously cradled Arthur’s face. My heart was filled with immense grief and indignation. She wasn’t calling out to me… *Crash!* The red cloth-covered object above me fell to the floor in front of me. The red cloth scattered, revealing the true nature of the hidden object. ## 3 It was a photograph. Laura stood in a pool of blood, smiling, with Arthur beside her, kissing her hand. The timestamp in the bottom right corner of the photo was the exact day my wife was raped and murdered. The photo’s title was “Moment of Bliss.” My heart trembled with terror, all the blood in my body freezing. Arthur reached out, sneering as he repeatedly patted my face. “Well, well, looks like you’ve discovered the truth.” Laura leaned her head on Arthur’s shoulder, giggling as she spoke to my stunned self. “Ken Stone, three years have passed, and you’re still so foolish.” “Laura, you didn’t lose your memory…” The people around burst into laughter, pointing and mocking my heartbroken expression. “Look at him, like a lost dog, haha!” “He actually believed it, didn’t even know he’d been completely taken advantage of.” Laura whispered into Arthur’s ear, her breath like orchids. “Darling, he knows I faked my death. What if he, having stabbed someone before, stabs *me*?!” Arthur wrapped his arm around Laura’s waist. “Then we’ll make him rot in prison for a few more years, or… kill him!” Arthur pulled out his phone and made a call. “Alex, your father’s killer is at my house. He wants revenge. Hurry over.” I crawled up, clutching Laura’s leg. “Laura, what are you two talking about?” Laura raised her leg, her high heel digging into my face. “Ken Stone, you stabbed his father to death! We’re calling him to get revenge!” My lips trembled. “Laura, weren’t you raped? Everything I did was to avenge you!” Laura laughed until she bent over, while Arthur watched me with amusement. “But Sarah wasn’t raped at all. The truth of the matter is, you just went crazy and killed someone!” My standing body began to tremble. “How could you two frame me like this? I killed the pillar of a family!” Arthur grabbed my hair. “Not just that. You also caused a girl who got into a top university to drop out.” I roared, “Arthur, back then, I funded you to get out of the mountains, and I introduced you to a top law firm. Are you repaying kindness with enmity?!” Arthur narrowed his eyes, extended a hand, and lightly slapped my face. “Don’t talk to me about funding. All my achievements are due to my own excellent abilities.” “Besides, Ken Stone, your funding of me was earned by Sarah Jensen.” “Sarah Jensen is my true benefactor. You, Ken Stone, are just a useless tool.” I opened my mouth, a sob escaping my throat. I straightened my head and head-butted Arthur. “You adulterous couple, I’ll kill you both!” “Kill us? Do you have the guts to kill us?” The burly men on the sidelines grabbed both my arms, yanked hard, and held me spread-eagled, unable to move. *Ding-dong*. The doorbell rang. Arthur opened the door, leading a small, thin girl inside. Arthur pointed at me, speaking into the girl’s ear. “He is your father’s killer.” The girl looked up, her eyes filled with a hatred so dense it seemed to turn to liquid. “Ken Stone, you killed my father, I want you dead!” She aimed the knife at my chest. *Plop*. The knife tip entered my chest, stopping half an inch from my heart. The pain was unbearable, my face pale. “Alex, I’m also a victim. Our real enemy is Arthur.” “If you kill me, you’ll also go to prison. Don’t throw your life away for this. Arthur is lying to you!” Arthur reached out, gripped the girl’s trembling arm, and gently pushed forward. The knife tip sank another half inch. Arthur stared at my distorted, pained expression, whispering into the girl’s ear, egging her on. “Don’t be afraid, Alex. Uncle Arthur is a great lawyer.” “Uncle will tell the judge in court that you didn’t intentionally kill him, it was self-defense.” “Don’t forget, you once had a happy family, you got into your dream university, you should have had a bright future, but Ken Stone ruined everything beautiful for you!” I anxiously said, “Alex, after the incident, I transferred all the money from selling the house to you. I didn’t mean to harm you.” Alex gritted her teeth, roaring, “You liar, what money did you give me?” I shuddered, looking at the smiling, silent Arthur. Back then, as my defense attorney, he was the one who prepared the compensation process for me… Alex’s reaction suddenly made me realize he had embezzled the money from my house sale. This house was bought by him. He played a shell game, turning everything I owned into *his* – Arthur’s! “Hahahahaha!” Arthur stroked Alex’s hair, laughing uproariously. Alex cried out, her right hand gripping the knife, plunging it into my chest. But for a long moment, no sharp pain came from my chest. I opened my eyes. Arthur lay collapsed on the ground, a bloody knife sticking out of his thigh.

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I was a technical consultant personally recruited by old Mr. Sewell. On my second day, I hadn’t even gotten my ID badge yet. That morning, a crowd was waiting at the elevator. When the doors opened, I instinctively stepped inside, but suddenly felt a shove from behind. “Move it, move it, move it! Mrs. Sewell is here!” The woman, in her early thirties, didn’t even glance up, her high heels clicking as she squeezed past me into the elevator. Her male assistant forcefully pushed me aside, and I nearly collided with a trash can. I suppressed my anger, choosing not to make a scene. But that afternoon, HR showed up. In front of everyone, Mr. Thorne, the manager, ripped off my temporary ID badge and tossed it into the trash can. “Mr. Sewell said your probation period is over.” “Pack your things and get out.” “A rule-breaking dog like you will never be worthy of entering Sewell Group’s doors!” I said nothing, quietly gathering my belongings. I pulled out my phone and found the message that had gone unanswered. “Mr. Lyn, about the employment conditions you mentioned last time.” “I accept.” 1 My first day at work, I finished the paperwork in the afternoon, only to be dragged into an emergency project meeting that evening. A technical problem had stalled the team for a month, leaving the engineers with hollowed-out eyes from exhaustion. Looking at their test data, I had a rough idea. It wasn’t a major issue, but it would take time. I ended up working until two in the morning. This morning, I dragged myself out of bed at seven, my eyelids heavy with fatigue. My mind was consumed by the optimization path for that algorithm, so much so that I didn’t even pay close attention to the queue at the elevator. The elevator doors opened. I instinctively took a step forward. Suddenly, a hand shot out from behind, forcefully pushing me to the side. The force was considerable; I stumbled back a couple of steps, nearly crashing into the trash can by the wall. By the time I regained my balance and turned around, a young man in a black suit was already blocking my path. He made a shooing gesture with his hand towards me, words spilling out in a rapid-fire volley: “Move it, move it, move it! Get out of the way, are you blind?” “Can’t you see Mrs. Sewell is here?” The crowd automatically parted, creating a path. A woman in high heels strode in. She was in her early thirties, with long, curled hair and an unreadable expression. Her gaze swept over my temporary ID badge, but her eyelids didn’t even flicker. I stood there, looking at the crumpled cuff of my shirt. Before the man in the black suit followed her in, he glanced back at me, his mouth turning down at the corner. I’d seen that look before. It wasn’t a big deal, just that dismissive “who do you think you are?” kind of contempt, so subtle it wasn’t even worth his breath. A large elevator, yet only two people entered. I took a deep breath, pushing down my anger. Better to avoid trouble. It was only my second day, the project was waiting, and it wasn’t worth getting into it with someone like that. Another elevator door opened. I smoothed out my cuff and followed the rest of the crowd into the elevator. The elevator ascended in silence. Everyone was covertly sizing me up. There was sympathy in their eyes, some ridicule, and many other unreadable emotions. The crowd streamed out. As I walked towards my cubicle, a middle-aged woman with a teacup, sitting nearby, leaned over and whispered, “New guy, huh?” “You were standing by the elevator just now, weren’t you? Did Mrs. Sewell’s assistant push you?” I didn’t reply. The woman sighed, looked left and right, then leaned in closer: “Listen, kid, I’m just an old busybody, but there are some things you need to know.” “Mrs. Sewell is not someone you want to cross. She never takes the same elevator as regular employees, she thinks it’s beneath her.” “Oh, and her assistant’s name is Louis, he’s Mr. Thorne’s brother, the HR manager.” “Everyone in this company knows Mrs. Sewell and Mr. Thorne are old classmates, right?” “If you offend her, your job… well, it might be…” She didn’t finish the sentence, just shook her head. I offered a faint smile: “Thanks for the warning.” “Don’t just brush it off,” she said, looking a little anxious at my nonchalance. “A few days ago, a young woman, just because she didn’t move fast enough in the elevator, Louis yelled at her, and then somehow, she was gone before her probation was even over.” “You, this…” “Ma’am, I know you mean well,” I interrupted her. “But I think I’ll be fine.” She looked at me suspiciously. I didn’t elaborate. She was about to say more, but someone called her from a distance, and she hurried off with her teacup. As she left, she looked back at me, her eyes filled with the worry of an elder seeing a naive young person. I didn’t dwell on it. I sat down at my workstation, opened my laptop, and continued to adjust the parameters from last night. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful for her concern, it was that I genuinely wasn’t afraid. Because I was personally invited back by Mr. Sewell, the company’s founder. 2 A week ago, freshly returned from overseas, I was on the shortlist for several companies. It was then that old Mr. Sewell reached out through a contact, requesting a meeting. The meeting wasn’t in some luxurious office, but an old tea house in the west of the city. Old Mr. Sewell was in his seventies, with completely white hair and a slightly stooped back. The moment he saw me, he reached out and clasped my hand, holding on tight, his grip surprisingly firm. “Mr. Lane, I’ve finally met you,” he said, pulling me to a seat and personally pouring me tea. “I’ve read your papers published abroad, every single one, several times over.” “That paper on intelligent algorithm optimization paths, I understand parts of it, but not entirely.” “After all, I’m just an old man, a layman in technology.” “But I trust in your abilities.” As he spoke, he pulled out a stack of papers from his old leather briefcase – my research papers, densely printed. “Our company is currently facing a major problem. Our core project has been stalled for a year, and we’ve poured nearly twenty million into it with nothing to show for it.” “I’ve consulted experts in this field, and they said fewer than five people in the entire country could save this project. You are one of them.” I smiled faintly: “Mr. Sewell, you flatter me.” “Not at all, not at all.” He waved a hand, leaning forward slightly. “Mr. Lane, I won’t beat around the bush. I want to invite you to join Sewell Group, and you can name your terms.” I paused for a moment. The old man looked at me, his clouded eyes showing a stubborn determination: “I know you have several options, and I know our company isn’t the biggest or the wealthiest.” “But let me tell you something from the heart, this project is the last thing I want to accomplish in my life.” “I’ve been in business my whole life, made some money, and now at the end, I want to create something truly remarkable.” “Not for myself, but to leave something for this industry.” As he said this, his voice was low, but every word was distinct. I looked at his silver hair, at his face full of wrinkles, and something stirred within me. “Mr. Sewell, I…” “You don’t have to agree right now.” He cut me off, pouring me another cup of tea. “Go home and think about it. My only condition is this.” “If you come, you’ll be in charge of this project.” “Whatever you need, people or money, you’ll have it.” He then pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. “This is my private number. Whenever you’ve made up your mind, feel free to call me.” After returning that day, I deliberated for three days. The conditions offered by other companies were indeed better, but for some reason, the old man’s cloudy eyes kept swirling in my mind. When he said, “I want to leave something for this industry,” his tone reminded me of my graduate advisor. The old man never rushed me. On the fifth evening, I sent him a message, saying I had made up my mind and would join. The next morning, he had his assistant contact me to arrange my onboarding. Before I left, he specifically called me, his voice filled with joy: “Mr. Lane, rest assured, I will personally oversee your compensation to ensure you are not shortchanged.” “You were brought in by me, and I will absolutely not allow you to suffer any injustice.” I believed him. So now, I wasn’t at all worried about Mrs. Sewell or Mr. Thorne. Mr. Sewell, after all, was merely old Mr. Sewell’s son. Moreover, in a place where technical skill spoke loudest, there was no need to cater to anyone’s whims. I lowered my head and continued typing code. The parameters on the screen adjusted smoother and smoother, and I gradually forgot the earlier unpleasantness. The words the old lady had spoken were long gone from my mind. Project progress was paramount. I was here to solve problems, not to get involved in office politics. Just as I was hitting a crucial part of the code, footsteps suddenly sounded behind me. I didn’t turn around. The footsteps stopped behind me. “You must be Ethan Lane?” The man’s voice was a little sharp, a little arrogant. I turned my head. A man in a white shirt stood behind me, in his early thirties, with slicked-back hair. He was followed by two others, a man and a woman, both with their heads down, carrying folders. I stood up: “I’m Ethan Lane. And you are?” He didn’t answer, just looked me up and down, his gaze settling on the temporary ID badge on my chest. Then he smiled. It was an unsettling smile, as if he’d seen something utterly ridiculous. He reached out, pinching the thin plastic with two fingers, and ripped it off. “You won’t be needing this anymore.” Rip. In front of everyone, the ID badge was violently torn off. Without even looking at it, he casually tossed it into the nearby trash can. 3 “You…” My words were cut off before I could finish. “Ethan Lane, right?” “I’m the HR manager, Mr. Thorne.” He took a step forward, very close to me, his spittle almost spraying my face. “Mr. Sewell said your probation period is over.” He paused, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You have ten minutes. Pack your things and get the hell out.” The office fell silent. I could feel the gazes from the surrounding cubicles, all directed our way. Some were pretending to be busy, head down, while others covertly looked up, their eyes filled with shock and sympathy. Mr. Thorne stared at me, waiting for me to speak. He waited for me to argue, to plead, to show panic and distress. I didn’t move. Nor did I speak. His smile faltered slightly, then became even more arrogant: “What? Didn’t hear me? I’ll say it again then.” “A rule-breaking dog like you will never be worthy of entering Sewell Group’s doors!” “If I see you here in ten minutes, I’ll have security throw you out!” With that, he clapped his hands, as if he’d just touched something dirty. Then he turned and walked away, his dress shoes clicking loudly on the floor. The two followers hurried after him, never once lifting their heads to look at me. The office was eerily quiet. I stood rooted to the spot, looking at the crumpled temporary ID badge in the trash can. I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the unanswered message. It was from Mr. Lyn, CEO of Lyn Industries, three days ago. At the time, I had already agreed to old Mr. Sewell, so I hadn’t replied. “Mr. Lyn.” “I accept the employment conditions you mentioned last time.” After hitting send, I began packing the items on my desk. My laptop hadn’t even warmed up, the code wasn’t finished. But none of that mattered anymore. Less than two minutes after sending the message, my phone vibrated. Mr. Lyn’s reply was direct: “Welcome aboard! I’ll have a driver pick you up immediately!” “No, better yet, I’ll pick you up myself!” I continued packing. My laptop went into my backpack, a few pens from the drawer were tossed in, and I glanced at the borrowed water bottle on the desk. It wasn’t mine, so I left it. As I zipped up my backpack, footsteps sounded behind me, someone jogging over. “Mr. Lane!” I turned around. It was old John, an engineer I’d met in the project team yesterday. He was in his forties, with graying hair and deeply sunken eyes, clearly a seasoned technical veteran who had pulled countless all-nighters. He hadn’t spoken much during the meeting yesterday, but the few questions he asked were spot-on. “Mr. Lane, I finally found you,” old John said, out of breath. “I can’t get this parameter to tune, could you take a look for me?” As he spoke, he was already holding out a tablet, filled with dense data. I glanced at the screen, then at him. He then noticed I was packing my things and froze: “Mr. Lane, what are you doing?” His gaze swept to the side and landed on the temporary ID badge in the trash can. Old John’s face changed. He squatted down, picked up the badge, which had some tea leaves stuck to it. He wiped it with his hand, flipped it over to read the name, then looked up at me. “Mr. Lane, who did this?” I offered a faint smile. “It’s fine, John. Send me that parameter to my email; I’ll take a look tonight if I have time.” “No, what exactly happened?” old John’s voice rose. “You just started yesterday, how could you be…?” Before he could finish, footsteps echoed from down the hallway. Old John turned around; it was Mr. Thorne returning. Next to him was the man in the black suit, the one who pushed me this morning. Mrs. Sewell’s assistant, Louis. The two brothers walked over, one after the other, their expressions identical, both with a hint of a smirk. Louis spoke first, nodding towards me: “Well, well, still here?” “Got fired and still trying to leech off us?” 4 Mr. Thorne stood beside him, arms crossed, saying nothing, just watching me. Old John stepped forward, demanding, “Mr. Thorne, what is going on?” “Mr. Lane is the technical consultant our project team brought in. He just started yesterday, why is he leaving today?” Mr. Thorne rolled his eyes. “Old John, this has nothing to do with you.” “How can it have nothing to do with me?” Old John held up the ID badge. “Who threw this away? Mr. Lane was personally recruited by old Mr. Sewell, do you know that?” Louis snorted with laughter. Mr. Thorne took a step forward, pointing a finger at old John’s chest: “Old John, how many years have you been at this company?” Old John froze. “Over ten years, why?” “Over ten years,” Mr. Thorne nodded. “And you’re still just an engineer. Do you know why?” Old John’s face clouded: “What do you mean?” “What do I mean?” Mr. Thorne withdrew his hand, pulled a cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth. Louis immediately leaned in to light it for him. They completely ignored the ‘No Smoking’ sign on the wall. He took a drag and blew smoke right into old John’s face. “It’s because of your muddled thinking.” Old John coughed a couple of times from the smoke, stepping back. Mr. Thorne, cigarette in mouth, eyed him askance. “Old Mr. Sewell? Old Mr. Sewell retired a year ago, don’t you know? Who’s in charge of the company now?” Old John, stubborn, argued: “But even so, you can’t…” “Can’t what?” Louis interjected. “John, my brother calls you ‘Old John’ out of respect.” “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” Old John’s face turned beet red. “You… you can’t just make Mr. Lane leave!” Mr. Thorne flicked his cigarette ash, slowly saying, “What did he do wrong? He did a lot wrong.” “This morning at the elevator, Mrs. Sewell was already there.” “This kid, eyes in the back of his head, pushed his way to the front.” “Louis told him to move, and he dared to glare back.” Louis nodded beside him: “Yeah, like a stubborn idiot, just stood there.” I stood by, listening, not saying a word. Old John grew agitated: “Just for that? Just because he didn’t yield the elevator to Mrs. Sewell?” Mr. Thorne threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with his foot. “Old John, are you an idiot? That’s Mrs. Sewell! The company’s boss!” “What is he, a consultant who just started?” “And he dares to fight Mrs. Sewell for an elevator?” Louis chimed in: “Exactly, what a nobody.” Old John was trembling with anger. “You… you’re too much! I’m calling old Mr. Sewell right now to make him resolve this!” He said, pulling out his phone. Louis’s face changed, and he reached out to snatch it. Old John dodged, but couldn’t hold onto his phone, and it clattered to the ground with a snap. Louis stomped on it. Crunch. The screen shattered. Old John froze, staring down at the pile of fragments on the ground. Louis took his foot back, his sole still carrying glass shards. He scraped his shoe on the floor, cleaning it off, then looked up and smiled at old John. “Go on, call him again.” Old John looked up, his eyes red: “You…” Mr. Thorne walked over, patting old John’s shoulder, this time with considerable force, repeatedly. “Old John, I’m advising you, stay out of this.” “Louis is my brother, you know that.” “My brother works for Mrs. Sewell, you know that too.” “And you know my relationship with Mrs. Sewell even better.” He paused, then leaned in close to old John’s ear, lowering his voice. But the office was so quiet, everyone could hear. “If you keep meddling, you’ll be out with him today.” Old John trembled with rage. Mr. Thorne stepped back, sizing him up, a smirk on his face: “Think it through yourself, ten years of service, for a stranger who just arrived yesterday. Is it worth it?” I walked over and patted old John’s shoulder. “John, let it go.” Old John turned to look at me, his eyes red-rimmed: “Mr. Lane…” I smiled faintly and picked up my backpack. “It’s fine. I’ll email you that parameter tonight.” Louis, listening nearby, sneered: “Still emailing? Fired and still pretending to be a big shot?” I ignored him and walked towards the exit with my bag. Mr. Thorne called after me: “Ethan Lane, did you hear what I said?” I stopped and turned back to him. He stood there, a newly lit cigarette in his mouth, eyes squinted at me. “I said, you’re not worthy of entering Sewell Group’s doors.” “If you dare to show up again, I’ll have you beaten every time I see you!” I looked at his face, then at Louis, who stood beside him with his arms crossed. I smiled. “Don’t worry, even if old Mr. Sewell himself comes to ask.” “I won’t be coming back.”

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My boyfriend, William, was famous in our social circle for being a “central heating” type of guy – warm to everyone. At group dinners, he’d smile and help order for ten female friends at the table: “Chloe loves the Shrimp Scampi with Garlic, Mia prefers the Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs, and Emily absolutely has to have the Spicy Jambalaya…” Ten people, ten dishes, all their favorites. Everyone envied me: “You found a great guy that’s impossible to find.” But I broke up with him. He asked why, his eyes red. I said, “I don’t want to live with a central air conditioner anymore.” Later, we ran into each other at a party. He had his new girlfriend in his arms, and his eyes mocked me: “Heard your new boyfriend’s pretty cold? Doesn’t even let you order your own food.” I looked at the silent man beside me. He opened the menu and ordered only three dishes. All of them were my favorites. Then he closed the menu, not glancing at anyone else. Someone tentatively asked, “Aren’t you going to ask what we want?” He didn’t even look up, “What other people like to eat, what does that have to do with me?” My ex-boyfriend’s face stiffened, inch by agonizing inch. 1 Once the dishes were all served, William suddenly raised his hand and called for the waiter. “Add a mug of Cinnamon Ginger Tea.” My hand, midway to picking up a piece of Roast Chicken, paused. The tightness in my chest, which had been there all evening, eased a little. After such a late night, he still remembered I wasn’t feeling well. The tea arrived quickly, and William got up to pour a cup. I was just about to reach for it. The lazy Susan was already turning. The mug of tea rotated to the hand of Tara, a colleague from the club. Tara’s eyes lit up… “Wow, William, you’re so thoughtful! How did you know I’m on my period?” William smiled casually, a hint of nonchalance: “You usually crave spicy food, but tonight you haven’t touched anything hot. How could I not notice?” Everyone at the table exclaimed. “William, are your eyes like a measuring tape or something?” “Where do you find a good man like this?” “Only Olivia is lucky enough to have such a considerate boyfriend.” William waved a hand: “Alright, alright, stop teasing me.” Then he got up, walked to the wall, and turned the air conditioning up two degrees. He turned back to Tara with a smile: “You get stomachaches and still don’t wear enough layers.” I was wrapped snugly in a high-neck sweater, the collar hiding the marks he’d insisted on leaving last night, and fine beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. The air conditioning was already warm enough. But I still felt cold. The entire table of delicious food tasted like sawdust. As the dinner ended, William picked up his car keys: “I’ll drive you girls home; it’s not safe late at night.” I tugged at his sleeve, whispering: “It’s not even nine yet. Let’s just go home; I’m not feeling well today.” Sweat had been pouring off me in the stuffy private room, and now the evening breeze made my temples throb. William looked down, took my hand, and said gently: “How can I let girls go home alone when it’s dark? Be good, just a little longer.” Another one of his perfectly warm, unblemished statements. A wave of helplessness washed over me. Was William not good to me? Quite the opposite. Everyone in our circle knew he was incredibly attentive, the perfect boyfriend who did everything for me. But his kindness was like the breeze from an air conditioner, evenly distributed to everyone in the room, without favor. And what I wanted was, just once, his undivided attention. I let go of his hand. “I’m only asking you once.” “Can you take me home first today?” William frowned, his tone laced with exasperation: “Don’t be difficult, it won’t take long, you can rest in the car just the same—” “Fine.” I stopped arguing, turned, and hailed a taxi. William froze for a moment, then chased after me, grabbing the car door: “Jasmine! What are you doing?” I pushed his hand away and closed the door. “Drive.” 2 When I got home, the air conditioning was broken. I huddled under a blanket on the bed, waiting until one in the morning. William called. “Jasmine, something happened with Tara.” “Her ex-boyfriend showed up again, her apartment is a mess, and she’s too scared to be alone. I’m staying with her for a while.” I closed my eyes, taking a sharp breath. “William, you could have taken her to a hotel, or called a female friend to come over.” “You staying there, just the two of you, what kind of impression does that give? Aren’t you worried people will misunderstand?” “Misunderstand what? We’re just colleagues.” He dismissed it. “I’m like this with everyone, you know that. No one will think anything of it.” I clutched the blanket tightly. “I think I have a fever. The air conditioning at home is broken, can you…” “Jasmine!” He cut me off, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Can you stop being so dramatic? I’m just helping a friend. She’s terrified right now, and you’re making a scene with me? “Am I not good enough to you normally? Do I have to ignore everyone else and only pay attention to you?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Tara took the phone, her voice soft and tearful. “Jasmine, please don’t misunderstand William… I was just so scared that I begged him to stay and protect me… “Please don’t be angry. I promise I’ll give him back to you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone. The room was cold, so cold my bones shivered. I wrapped myself in the blanket and lay down, curling into a ball. My body grew hotter and hotter, my heart pounding as if it wanted to leap from my throat. I struggled to get up. I called 911 myself. In the emergency room, after the doctor finished examining me, she frowned. “Didn’t you know you were pregnant?” “Why did you wait until your fever developed into myocarditis to come in!” I stared at the report, my mind reeling. 3 When I next woke, birds were chirping outside the window. The nurse removed the IV drip. I picked up my phone; it was quiet, no messages, no calls. Just as I was about to get up and leave, my phone rang. “Hello, is this Jasmine?” “This is the police station. William Vance is your boyfriend, right? He got into a fight and was brought in. Could you come down?” My head buzzed. “A fight? He—” “Both he and the other party were involved. They’re both here now; please come handle it.” I hung up, my mind a mix of panic and urgency, quickly getting out of bed and putting on my shoes. Wasn’t William with Tara? Why would he suddenly get into a fight? It had been years since he was that impulsive. My phone rang again. “Jasmine! Get online quickly! William’s been filmed!” I clicked the link my best friend sent. Video title: “E-sports Player William Vance Fights in Early Hours, Angrily Confronts Ex-Boyfriend to Protect Mysterious Woman” In the footage, William stood beneath an apartment building, his hair disheveled, a cut on his lip, blood oozing out. Tara hid behind him, her eyes red, clutching his arm. The man opposite pointed at Tara’s nose and cursed: “You only broke up with me because of him!” William shielded Tara behind him, wiping the blood from his lip: “If you dare harass her again, I’ll beat you every time.” The ex-boyfriend rushed forward, and the two men wrestled. The video shook violently; I could only hear the dull thud of fists on flesh and Tara’s screams. The comment section had gone wild. [Holy cow, William is so alpha! What a boyfriend!] [Who’s that girl? His girlfriend?] [Looks like the operations manager from their club, I’ve seen her on streams before!] [William getting mad for his lady, I’m swooning!] [William didn’t deny it, isn’t this basically official?] My chest felt tight, struggling to breathe. I stared at those comments, my fingers clenching until they were white. We had been together for seven years. His fans didn’t even know I existed. He always told me that his profession was unique, that e-sports players didn’t date, and that if they made mistakes, fans would still forgive them. But if he dated, any slight drop in performance would be blamed on him being distracted by romance. For his career, I endured it. But what was this now? 4 In the police station hallway, I spotted Tara immediately. She sat on a bench, her shoulders shaking. William stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder, talking to her quietly. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, his eyes flickering. I said nothing, turning to sign the papers and pay the fine. When I returned, Tara got up to meet me. “Jasmine…” She grabbed my hand, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, I dragged William into this. I didn’t know it would cause him to get hurt, or that someone would film it…” She cried, tears falling like pear blossoms after a rain. Then she looked up at William, her tearful eyes filled with dependence. William raised a hand and gently ruffled her hair, his voice incredibly tender. “Who else is going to look out for you? If you have trouble, who else would you call?” I turned to walk out. “Jasmine!” William ran after me. I didn’t look back. Back home, just as I set my bag down, William hugged me from behind. His chin rested on my shoulder, nuzzling me affectionately: “You were scared today, weren’t you? Don’t be angry, it was just an accident, Tara’s situation…” His hand rested on my lower abdomen. There, a tiny life. Seven years. I had been with him since I was twenty. We lived in a basement apartment, and at our poorest, we only ate instant noodles. He played games, and I worked three part-time jobs to support him. Now, finally, we had made it through the hard times. Was I willing to break up over these things? I closed my eyes, then opened them again. I turned to face him. “William, let’s get married.” “Why so sudden…” He froze. “We’ve been together for seven years, shouldn’t we get married?” A flicker of panic crossed his face, quickly replaced by a forced smile. “Why are you bringing this up again? Honey, I told you, I’m in a career upswing right now, I need to focus on competitions. Marriage can wait…” “Then announce me,” I interrupted him. “Clarify that I am your girlfriend. I don’t like people speculating about you and Tara.” He frowned. “Why do you care what strangers on the internet say? As long as we’re good, isn’t that enough?” “You used to say not to go public because you were afraid of upsetting your fans.” I stared into his eyes. “What about now? Aren’t your fans supportive?” “Don’t be difficult, Jasmine. If I announce you now, how will the public view Tara?” He looked away, his voice softening as he tried to appease me: “Listen, I’m doing this to protect you, aren’t I?” “Protect me?” “If your past working at the club as a bartender were dug up, you know how vicious people online are; they’d definitely cyberbully you.” I looked at the man before me, feeling an unprecedented sense of unfamiliarity. “Are you afraid they’ll slander me, or are you afraid they’ll look down on you?” William’s face changed. “Jasmine, what do you mean by that?” “Are you afraid others will look down on me, or is it that you look down on me?” Silence cut through the air like a knife, slicing me inch by inch. “Fine.” I nodded, my voice beginning to tremble. “You won’t say it, will you? Then I’ll say it for you. “You’re the last person who has the right to look down on me!” “Back then, you were dead set on e-sports, cooped up at home playing games all day. If I hadn’t gone to the club to earn extra money to support you, would you be where you are today?” William’s face flushed instantly. “Why are you bringing this up? Are you trying to use it against me? “Haven’t I given anything? Haven’t I been good to you all these years? Haven’t I provided emotional support?” His arrogant words left me stunned. A tight cramp seized my lower abdomen. “Get out.” My voice suddenly became calm. He was bewildered. “What?” “Get out.” I pointed to the door. “I don’t want to see you.” His face alternated between red and white. He slammed the door shut as he left. 5 In the evening, I drifted into a drowsy sleep. Woken by a ringing phone. My best friend’s voice was frantic: “Jasmine! Come downstairs quickly! I’m outside your building, it’s urgent!” My head throbbed as if it would split open, my throat sore and dry. “I’m not feeling well today, can we reschedule?” “No! Hurry down! It’s a big deal!” I struggled to get up, felt my forehead—it seemed I was feverish again—and threw on a jacket before heading downstairs. I was shoved into a car and driven directly to a fancy club. The moment the private room door opened, confetti sprayed over my face. “Surprise!” William had hired a party planning team. The room was filled with balloons and lights, and there was even a photographer. A banner hung on the wall—”Jasmine, I’m Sorry.” William stood in the center, holding a large bouquet of roses, his smile gentle and sincere. “Honey.” He walked over, knelt on one knee, and placed the flowers in my arms. “This morning was my fault, my attitude was wrong. I regretted it the moment I left, and I felt I had to formally apologize.” “All these friends are here to witness. I promise I’ll never argue with you again. Please forgive me, okay?” Everyone applauded and cheered: “Forgive him! Forgive him!” I stood at the doorway, feeling cold all over. But not a trace of emotion. All I wanted was for us to be together, a quiet hug, just the two of us. Not like this. Not a room full of people, not confetti and banners. Not being put on display for everyone to watch, forced to nod, forced to smile magnanimously, forced to forgive. William got up, put an arm around my shoulder, and looked down at me: “What’s wrong? You look terrible. Still upset?” Before I could open my mouth. Tara squeezed in, holding a glass of wine, and with a sweet smile, offered it to me. “Jasmine, please forgive William.” “You don’t know how much effort he put in today. He started running around arranging the venue first thing this morning, even picked out the balloon colors himself. We’re all so jealous of you.” She paused, then tilted her head to look at me. “But Jasmine, you haven’t even smiled since you walked in.” “William put in so much effort, you should at least give him some face. So many people are watching; it makes things so hard for him…” Her tone was aggrieved and innocent. The entire room fell silent. Everyone’s gaze landed on me. William’s hand on my shoulder stiffened. I looked at him. Then at Tara. Suddenly, I smiled. “You envy me? Envy me for what? “Envy that every birthday, every anniversary, every surprise is such a half-hearted gift? “Envy that after a long day, I still have to force myself to party all night with a group of people, and at the end of the month, I’m still robbing Peter to pay Paul to pay off credit cards, because my boyfriend says he spent all his money on me? “Or envy that I’ve been in a relationship for seven years, and it still has to be kept a secret?” The room was completely silent. William’s face changed: “Jasmine, you—” I pushed his hand away, looking at Tara. “You want them?” I picked up the bouquet of roses and placed them in her arms. “They’re yours. “And William, if you want him so much, he’s yours too.” Tara stood there, stunned, holding the flowers. “Jasmine!” William grabbed my wrist, his voice very low. “I know you’re still angry with me. I’ve already apologized. There are so many people here; give me some face. Let’s go home and talk, okay?” “I don’t want your apology.” William panicked, his face alternating between red and white: “Then what do you want? Tell me! I’ll do anything, alright?” “Do you want me to announce our relationship? If you really want that, then I can forget about my career and announce you as my girlfriend right now…” He stopped. Because I gently pulled away from him, smiling and shaking my head. “I don’t want it anymore.” I turned to walk out. William chased after me, grabbing my wrist again: “Jasmine, explain yourself! What do you mean, you don’t want it anymore?” “Let go!” I struggled to shake him off. In my panic, my side violently hit a metal door handle. Sharp pain shot through me, quickly spreading to my entire abdomen. A spasm came from deep within my lower belly, as if something was being fiercely clutched and torn downwards. I doubled over in pain, cold sweat already breaking out. William looked down and saw my other hand clamped tightly over my lower abdomen, my fingers trembling violently. “Jasmine?” His voice changed in fear. “What’s wrong with you?” I couldn’t control my body as I slid down, yet I still forced myself to open the private room door and walk out. William’s pupils contracted sharply; he suddenly embraced me. “Let go of me!” He held me tighter, his voice trembling: “Jasmine! What’s wrong? You look so pale—” My vision went black. Just then, a hand reached out from the side, gripping William’s wrist. With a forceful twist. William cried out in pain, his hand loosening its grip. I fell backward, but into an embrace. A voice came from above my head, deep and restrained. “Didn’t you hear her tell you to let go of her?”

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After being scratched by the fox-shifter for the umpteenth time, I went to the hospital alone. The nurse grumbled, “That gash is deep, it’s definitely going to scar. Has your shifter ever received proper socialization training?” I gave a wry smile, “He has. He was an honor student.” My phone suddenly buzzed. Leo, uncharacteristically, sent a flurry of messages: “Just a scratch, do you really need to go to the hospital?” “I’m hungry, come back and make me dinner.” “I’m starving with you.” “You really don’t take good care of me.” Was that truly what he thought? I turned and walked to the Shifter Registry: “I’d like to exchange my shifter.” 1 The staff at the Shifter Registry were very polite. She asked, as per procedure, “You and your shifter have been registered for over a year; you’ll be eligible for bonding soon.” “Why are you choosing to exchange your shifter now?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. It had been a year already, huh? I had once looked forward to the bonding ritual, excitedly discussing ring styles with Leo. Leo would sneer, his lips curling mockingly: “Do you think you’re worthy of me?” “Crying won’t help. I will absolutely not bond with you.” “Let me tell you something, inferior human, crying is truly disgusting.” I was indeed a lower-tier human, only capable of basic work. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t meet the living standards Leo desired. In fact, being able to acquire a pure-blood fox-shifter like Leo was an accident. I swallowed the lump in my throat, “He doesn’t like me.” One could even say he despises me. The receptionist looked surprised, “Trained shifters are always devoted to their owners.” “Normally, a problem like this would never occur.” Yes, a problem that shouldn’t occur, happened to me. I tried to smile lightly, “Maybe I just have bad luck.” The staff member showed an apologetic expression, “It seems our training was flawed.” “Please don’t blame yourself.” “Please follow me.” 2 Purchasing Leo had cost me fifty thousand credits. I could choose a replacement from shifters in the same price range. My gaze swept over faces that were slightly less striking than Leo’s, but still beautiful. Their profiles read: Fox, Leopard. I hesitated, “Are there any others?” I wanted a canine shifter. A Golden Retriever, preferably. I heard that Golden Retriever shifters are very fond of humans. Even an inferior human like me should be well-liked by them, right? The staff member maintained a polite smile, “None at the moment.” “However, shifter breeding is quick; the next batch will be available in about two months.” “As compensation, you’ll have priority selection then.” I nodded. As the staff member saw me out, an unstuck photo fell from her binder. The man in the photo had cold, vertical gray pupils, a high nose bridge, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist—a strikingly sharp beauty. He was a Werewolf. The staff member sighed, “He’s actually our most obedient shifter here.” “Management wants to try opening a new market.” “But everyone is afraid of werewolves going wild.” “The boss fears losses, so they’re selling him to the fighting pits today.” “But he’s been trained to be very gentle since he was little; going to the fighting pits means certain death.” “No one wants him, it’s really pitiful.” No one wanted him? No one wanted me either. But… The staff member’s sigh grew heavier, “I heard that in the fighting pits, he’ll be torn to pieces.” “You won’t even be able to pick him up.” That would be very painful. Werewolves are also a type of dog, right? I stopped, “Is he really obedient?” The staff member’s eyes lit up, “Yes, really.” “Then I’ll take this one.” 3 The staff member said the werewolf would be delivered in three days. I carefully put the exchange agreement into my bag. On the way home, from a distance, I saw Leo and Clara. The white-haired shifter was bathed in the twilight, his features deep and exquisite, like a work of art. Clara was a higher-tier human from the neighboring district. Smart and elegant. Completely unlike me. After meeting Leo, she often came by to deliver high-grade nutrient solutions. The two of them were also unusually close. My steps slowed. Clara saw me, “Elara, off to work again?” She gave a subtle smile, “Elara, I’m not saying anything, but even if you’re about to bond with Leo, you should still dress up.” “Look at what you’re wearing… really…” “Walking on the street, who would believe you two are a couple?” I looked at my simple t-shirt and jeans, then at her beautiful dress: “I think this is fine.” Leo didn’t look at me, his voice low, “She doesn’t look good dressed up either.” “Might as well pretend she doesn’t know how to dress up.” “Saves people from saying she’s genuinely ugly.” Clara playfully hit his arm, “Leo, how can you talk about a girl like that!” Leo curled his lips. It was a perfect smile, yet full of mockery, “You’re trying to be nice to her, and she still thinks you’re meddling.” “Inferior humans can’t understand the thoughts of higher-tier humans.” “Being bought by her was truly the worst luck of my life.” 4 Actually, Leo wasn’t always like this. Even if I couldn’t provide him with the high-grade nutrient solution a top-tier shifter needed, even if the clothes I bought would chafe his delicate skin. Leo always firmly maintained that meeting me was a stroke of luck. The turning point came when we encountered Leo’s former competitor, a Red Fox-shifter, on the street. My bag dropped to the ground, and Leo helped me pick up the scattered items. The Red Fox-shifter got out of his car and stepped right on Leo’s hand. He exclaimed, “Oh, isn’t this the most popular Leo?” “How… did you end up with such an ugly, inferior human?” “Well, I suppose a defective product with an inferior human, it just fits.” Leo locked himself in the house for a night, and I stood guard by the door all night. I told him it was wrong to categorize people into different tiers, so Leo being classified as defective by the Shifter Registry shouldn’t matter. We were living perfectly well, weren’t we? Leo opened his door, his eyes red and swollen: “You’ve never lived in the heavens, so of course, you think being trash isn’t bad.” Later, he met Clara. Clara came from a noble background and could offer Leo many things. They grew increasingly familiar; sometimes, while chatting, Clara would lean against him. I cautiously brought it up once, “You’re my shifter, can you keep your distance from Clara?” Leo gave me a condescending glance. Both cold and hateful. He said, “Elara, if I hadn’t had that defect, how could you possibly have acquired me?” “You merely took advantage of my misfortune.” “By what right do you put on airs as my owner?” But, it was Leo who begged me to save him then. 5 In this new era, male shifters bear the function of reproduction for humans. As the most exceptional shifter, Leo had fetched an exorbitant price at the trading house before his infertility was discovered. A non-reproductive shifter was unwanted. Even at a discounted price of fifty thousand credits, he was considered useless among humans with reproductive needs. The higher-ups intended to send him to the red-light district to recoup their investment. That day, I happened to be going to purchase a shifter of my own. Leo broke through his restraints, kneeling before me, “Please, save me.” He looked up, crying, tears like pearls streaming from his beautiful eyes. “I’ll be very good to you; I’ll become your family.” “I don’t want to die, please.” I had no family since childhood, growing up in an orphanage. Leo’s words touched me. Although I loved children, having one family member seemed just right. I spent all my savings and took out a loan to buy Leo. Fearing to hurt Leo’s pride, I never brought up the past. I never expected to hear it from him again, twisted into me taking advantage of his misfortune. I argued with Leo. During the dispute, I touched his hand. He instinctively pushed me away with a fierce shove. A sharp table corner cut my arm, leaving a gash deep enough to show bone. Leo froze for a moment, but still didn’t move, “If you hadn’t tried to touch me, how would you have gotten hurt?” “It’s all your own doing.” He didn’t even want to accompany me to the hospital, “I’m going shopping with Clara today.” “Besides, my presence won’t lessen your pain.” “You have hands and feet; don’t blame everything on me.” As the nurse dressed my wound, she sighed, “Such a deep gash will definitely scar.” “It’ll ache on rainy days.” “You and your shifter are so incompatible; maybe it’s time to give up.” I suddenly understood. Right, I could give up. Leo and I didn’t need to be bound together for life. My thoughts returned. I spoke, interrupting Leo’s movement to close the door, “Leo, do you truly feel that being with me is a torment?” Leo’s body stiffened, but when he turned, he still wore that mocking expression, “Yes.” “But an inferior human like you, who got such a bargain with me, would you really be willing to let go?” “I’ll be stuck with a persistent pest for life.” I exhaled. It seemed my decision was correct. Leo, not getting a reply from me, impatiently flicked his drooping tail against the floor, “What exactly do you want to say?” I looked down, picking at my fingertips, “I’ve prepared a gift for you. You’ll find out in a few days.” A fleeting, unidentifiable emotion flickered across Leo’s face. It seemed to be anticipation. But quickly, he resumed his mocking tone, “Not another batch of low-purity nutrient solution that even dogs wouldn’t drink, is it?” “I’ll just have to waste my energy pouring it down the toilet.” I answered very seriously, “No, it’s the thing you want most.” Freedom. Leo tossed out a “better be,” and shut the door tight.

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