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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My left eye can see ghosts. My boyfriend took me home to meet his parents. I eagerly offered to wash the dishes, but some dish soap splashed into my left eye. I covered my eye, looked up, and tried to say I was fine. But then I suddenly realized, I couldn’t see my boyfriend’s parents anymore. 1 On our first anniversary, my boyfriend, Caleb, suddenly suggested taking me home to meet his parents. I was both excited and nervous because I knew this meant he was thinking about marriage. I bought some gifts, and Caleb and I took the express train home. Caleb’s family lived in the suburbs of a small, tier-four city in the north. The apartment complex looked somewhat desolate, and the property management wasn’t doing a great job. But Caleb’s parents were truly wonderful people. They prepared a huge feast, barely eating themselves, constantly piling food onto my plate, and even slipped me a thick envelope of cash. Their warmth made me a bit uncomfortable, so after dinner, I volunteered to wash the dishes. Caleb’s mom, however, grew anxious. “Oh no, you can’t! You’re our guest; I’ll do them.” But I insisted, taking the dishes into the kitchen. “Auntie, you worked so hard making all that food; let me handle this.” Caleb’s mom still wouldn’t let up, trying to take the dishes from my hands. As I was squeezing out dish soap, her grab caused some to splash into my left eye. “Ow!” I bent down, covering my eye. Caleb’s parents panicked, and I heard his father’s voice. “Elara, are you alright?” I looked up, still clutching my left eye, trying to force a smile and say I was fine. But I suddenly froze. Because with only my right eye open, I suddenly realized that Caleb’s parents had vanished. 2 From a very young age, I noticed I could see things other children couldn’t. I could see my deceased grandfather smiling and waving at me, and I could also see a woman hanging in the study. My parents noticed my unusual abilities and took me to a spiritualist. The spiritualist said I had a yin-yang eye. But only one. So my left eye could see spirits, while my right eye was a pure yang eye, incredibly strong with positive energy. A pure yang eye meant that no matter what visible method a ghost used, my right eye couldn’t see them; it could only perceive physical objects in the mortal realm. The spiritualist told me that this yin-yang eye wasn’t frightening. As long as I didn’t provoke malevolent spirits, I wouldn’t invite trouble. As for distinguishing spirits, it was simple: I just needed to close my left eye and use my right eye to check if I could still see them. After all, no ghost, no matter what, could manifest to my right eye. So, growing up, every time I entered a new environment, I would secretly check with my right eye first to see if there were any unwelcome presences. But today, I didn’t do that when I came to Caleb’s house. Because when I stepped into their home, I only saw Caleb and his two parents, and I naturally assumed there wouldn’t be anything unsettling. But now, with only my right eye, I couldn’t see Caleb’s parents. What did that mean? It meant they weren’t human. A chill ran down my spine, and at that moment, I heard Caleb’s father’s voice again. “Elara, are you alright?” The kitchen was empty, yet the voice clearly echoed in my ears. I suppressed a shiver and forced a smile. “I’m fine, just a little dish soap.” I wiped my left eye clean and opened it. Sure enough, Caleb’s parents reappeared before me, looking at me with concern. I pretended to rub my left eye, then used only my right eye to check again. Caleb’s parents vanished once more. My heart sank completely. “What happened?” A clear voice sounded, and I looked up to see Caleb had entered. Caleb’s parents had already spoken, anxiously. “Elara got dish soap in her eye; we don’t know if it’s serious.” Caleb immediately rushed to me, asking worriedly, “Elara, are you okay?” But I didn’t answer. I just pretended to continue rubbing my left eye, while cautiously, I glanced at Caleb with only my right eye. 3 Caleb was still standing there, perfectly normal. My tense nerves relaxed slightly. Thank goodness, at least Caleb was still alive. But the next second, I felt a little ridiculous. Caleb and I lived together, intimately. If he wasn’t alive, how could I not know? Perhaps Caleb’s presence gave me some courage. I finally calmed down and smiled at Caleb’s parents. “Uncle and Auntie, I’m fine.” Caleb’s parents visibly relaxed. After washing the dishes, Caleb’s parents said they were going downstairs to buy fresh fruit for me. Once they left, I began to probe Caleb. From Caleb’s description, I learned that his parents were retired factory workers and rarely socialized with others. That explained a lot. If Caleb’s parents rarely interacted with people, it was normal for Caleb not to immediately discover if something happened to them and they suddenly passed away. Caleb also told me that it was his parents who had suggested bringing me home this time. “My parents, for some reason, suddenly told me a few days ago that I absolutely had to bring you back. Maybe they wanted to meet their future daughter-in-law sooner.” Caleb said it with a smile, but I felt a growing sense of dread. A few days ago? His parents might have already been dead by then. Two ghosts insisting on meeting me, what exactly did they want? I looked at Caleb, suddenly realizing I had to tell him the truth. So I spoke: “Caleb, do you know, your parents are actually already dead.” 4 Caleb froze for a moment, then he got a little angry. “Elara, that’s not funny at all!” I knew he wouldn’t believe me. I could only tell him everything about my left eye being a yin-yang eye. But Caleb still didn’t believe it. He hugged me worriedly: “Elara, are you under too much stress lately? Do you need to see a therapist?” He probably thought I was crazy. Helplessly, I spoke. “If you truly don’t believe me, why not try this. You’ve probably heard that scattering rice at the door can ward off spirits, right? That’s because rice can obscure the vision of ghosts, preventing them from seeing the location of the door.” “If you truly believe your parents are alive, open the door and then scatter a handful of rice at the entrance. If your parents are alive, they’ll be able to enter normally. But if your parents are ghosts, they’ll think the door is closed and won’t be able to find their way home.” Over the years, because of my yin-yang eye, I’d learned quite a bit from the spiritualist, and it was coming in handy today. Caleb still looked at me with disbelief, but at least he did as I said. Not long after, the elevator bell chimed in the hallway. Caleb’s parents were back. They were carrying groceries and called out from the hallway. “Caleb, come out and help your dad with the fruit!” Caleb glanced at me, his expression seeming to say, “See? I told you my parents are fine, didn’t I?” Then he got up and walked towards the door. But the next second, he suddenly froze. Because he saw his parents walk up to the open front door, and their footsteps suddenly halted. Immediately after, his dad shouted, “Caleb, what are you doing? Open the door for us!” 5 I saw Caleb’s face turn pale. Because the door was clearly open. Caleb spoke, almost trembling, “Dad, we’re a bit busy here. Can’t you just come in yourself?” His dad’s tone grew urgent: “We have so many things in our hands! How can we open the door! Come here quickly!” I don’t know if it was my imagination, but Caleb’s father’s voice suddenly sounded a little sharp, echoing continuously in the empty hallway. Caleb’s face instantly turned even whiter. I quickly pulled him aside. “Caleb,” I whispered, “It’s best not to provoke your parents right now. Just pretend you don’t know anything.” With that, I walked out the door, subtly kicking away the rice on the ground, then pretended to open the door. “Uncle and Auntie, you’re back.” Caleb’s father looked displeased: “Why didn’t you open the door just now?” He gave me a gloomy look, but I feigned a blush. “Caleb was keeping me… occupied… We didn’t expect you to be back so soon…” I lowered my head, feigning more shyness. Caleb’s parents looked like they understood. “Young people!” Caleb’s mother laughed, saying no more, then pulled Caleb’s father inside. We awkwardly ate some fruit, then Caleb made an excuse about needing an early night. Caleb’s house only had two rooms, and his parents weren’t old-fashioned, so they let Caleb and me share one. I also breathed a sigh of relief; with two ghosts in the house, I wouldn’t dare to sleep alone. That night, under the covers, Caleb hugged me and whispered. “Elara, I’ve thought about it. Even if they’re dead, they’re still my parents. I think they just couldn’t let go of me, so they wanted to see my girlfriend before they left.” I felt a pang of sympathy. Indeed, for Caleb, the loss of his loved ones was probably more painful than fear. Caleb suddenly asked me again, “But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why can I still see my parents even though they’re ghosts? I don’t have yin-yang eyes.” “Ghosts have ways to make themselves visible,” I whispered. “Your parents must have deliberately used a manifestation method, but they didn’t expect my right eye to be a pure yang eye.” Since his parents invited me home, they must have had a way to manifest. After all, they didn’t know I had yin-yang eyes. It was because they didn’t expect me to have a pure yang eye that I discovered something was wrong with them. I whispered again, “I also hope your parents just wanted to see me, and not to harm anyone.” Caleb frowned, “How do we know if they want to harm us?” I was silent for a moment before speaking: “Ghosts are strongest in the middle of the night. If they intend to harm us, they’ll probably act tonight. Conversely, if they don’t bother us tonight, then we should be safe.” Caleb was about to speak when he heard my words, but just then— Knock, knock, knock. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door outside. Accompanied by Caleb’s mother’s gentle voice. “Caleb, Elara, are you asleep?”

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At the engagement party, just to cheer up a junior I knew who was battling cancer, Julian snapped off every single one of my freshly manicured nails. “Girls are vain and have short tempers; they can’t stand anyone else stealing the spotlight,” he said, a patronizing smirk playing on his lips. “She saw your nails and threw a fit, demanding the same design. But she’s in a critical phase of chemotherapy; we can’t just let her do whatever she wants.” My fingertips throbbed, a searing pain that brought tears streaming down my face, smudging my makeup. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he pointed at my streaked eyeliner, chuckling, and snapped a picture. “From wedding to funeral! Thanks for your cameo as the zombie bride, [redacted for localization]!” His junior, Kate, then posted the photo online, mocking me and turning me into a laughingstock. Julian actually tried to tell me to be more understanding. “It’s just a joke, why are you arguing with a sick person?” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “It’s rare for Kate to be so happy. I’ll give you a thousand dollars. Tomorrow, shave your head too.” I stared at his self-righteous face. No tears, no outbursts. I simply canceled the engagement and arranged my studies abroad, all in one swift motion. “Just because I smiled a few times, you want to break up?” Julian asked, utterly bewildered. I nodded. “Yes, exactly because of that.” 1. For years, as childhood sweethearts, I never imagined it would come to this. Julian, who had always treated me like a precious treasure, would brutally break my nails for a junior who meant nothing to him. “This is what you deserve.” He loomed over me, his voice dripping with disgust. “Did you really think I don’t understand women’s petty games?” “Kate’s delicate, her face swollen from her illness, unable to wear makeup or dress up. You knew she had body image issues, yet you insisted on having her as a bridesmaid, deliberately standing beside her, radiant and beautiful. Weren’t you just trying to humiliate her, to push her to her death?” Stage lights flickered, illuminating my bleeding fingers. Tears fell silently. This meticulously planned engagement party was supposed to be the celebration of my love. But because of Kate, I had to appear barefaced, without any makeup or elaborate hairstyle. The custom-made gown I’d chosen months ago had been replaced, seemingly as a cruel prank, with a somber black dress. “Kate is seriously ill; you need to be patient with her.” This was Julian’s constant refrain. He knew I was suffering immense injustice. He knew Kate wasn’t as innocent as she seemed. Yet, he indulged her every whim, letting her cross my boundaries again and again. Even when Kate slipped something into my drink before the ceremony, he excused it as youthful mischief, a momentary impulse. “Why would a living person compete with someone who’s dying?” he’d pleaded. “Considering Kate might not have many years left, be generous, just let her have her way.” I was deeply disappointed and wanted to storm out right then and there. But Julian softened his tone, taking my hand and promising, “My kindness to Kate is purely out of a mentor’s responsibility. I’ll keep anyone who offends you far away. After the engagement, I’ll send her to a hospice. After that, her life or death will be none of my concern.” He spoke with such apparent sincerity. I couldn’t abandon two decades of shared history. So, I swallowed my pride, looking disheveled and worn, as I toasted the guests. When we reached Kate’s table, she stared at my freshly done manicure, then suddenly covered her face and burst into tears. “Oh, Julian, I wish I could be healthy!” she cried, her voice trembling. “Even someone as plain as her has the right to look nice. And I’m still so young, yet I can’t even use skincare products, let alone get a manicure!” She sobbed pitifully, her small frame shaking as if she might collapse at any second. “Kate!” Julian’s face darkened, his gaze filled with hatred as he looked at me. “Alice, I truly misjudged you. To secure your position as Mrs. Sterling, you’ll stoop to any dirty trick.” “What good does it do you to drive Kate insane? She’s already suffered enough, orphaned and alone, working her way through college, only to be struck down by a terminal illness just as her life was beginning!” he ranted. “Life is unfair. If only it were you who was dying!” His vicious words pierced my chest like a thousand blades. I stood frozen, my blood running cold. “Julian, you are my fiancé,” I said, gripping my trembling hand, trying to suppress the stinging in my eyes. “You’re siding with an outsider, humiliating me in front of everyone. Is this what you call love?” Julian froze. He saw my tears, heard the guests’ whispers. Instinctively, he wanted to soothe me, but Kate clung to him, stopping him. “Julian, if you choose her, I’ll stop my medication and leave the hospital tomorrow!” she wailed. “You promised you’d never abandon me, no matter what!” In the silent tension, Julian hesitated, his expression shifting from internal struggle to cold resolve. “I’m sorry, Alice.” He had made his choice. He grabbed my hand, avoiding my reddened eyes. In front of all the guests, without even a pair of scissors, he snapped off my nails. “I told you, no showing off at the engagement party,” he muttered, his voice cold. “You were in the wrong here. If I don’t teach you a lesson, Kate will resent me.” The sharp pain spread through my entire body. Looking at Julian’s determined profile, I distinctly heard something shatter within me. “Twenty-two years,” I said, staring at him. “Twenty-two years we’ve known each other, and this is how you treat me.” He pretended not to hear, showing no sign of softening. Instead, amidst the teasing cheers of his friends, he let out a couple of strained laughs. “Don’t be mad, they’ll grow back. Just think of it as making Kate happy. You haven’t really lost anything.” Kate, camera in hand, also leaned in, smirking. “Good women don’t need manicures. Julian’s doing it for your own good. Come on, let’s take a group photo! Such a dramatic moment, everyone should see it!” The crowd erupted in laughter, aiming their cameras at my bare, mangled fingers, snapping pictures relentlessly. My heart had completely turned to ice. I didn’t cry. I simply watched everything with a blank stare. Then, I pulled off my engagement ring and threw it at Julian’s face. “The engagement is off. From this day forward, you and I are strangers.” 2. With the main character gone, the much-anticipated engagement party ended abruptly and chaotically. I went back to my dorm alone, bandaged my fingers, and started packing. Many things were already prepared, meant for moving into our shared home after graduation and the engagement. Now, it was all unnecessary. Kate even posted on social media: “Julian, my hero, saved me! I can only repay him by giving myself to him.” The accompanying picture showed her wearing my silk pajamas, sitting on the bed I’d picked out for our home, embracing Julian with her face pressed against his. Someone commented below: “Isn’t Julian with Alice from the finance department? Did he switch fiancées?” Kate immediately replied: “Good men are for the taking. Alice couldn’t hold onto him, so he fell into my lap, didn’t he? Just to be clear, I’m not a home-wrecker. I’m just doing what’s right.” I refreshed the page, and the post was gone. I had no desire to argue with her. But as I packed away a framed family photo from my desk, Julian’s relentless defense of Kate brought a wave of sorrow. Julian always talked about how pathetic Kate was. But he forgot that my parents died young, my relatives moved in, and I lived like a ghost for years, scrubbing laundry for an entire family in the dead of winter, my fingers raw and bleeding, the scars etched deep into my bones. It was Julian who pulled me from that hell. He fought for my inheritance, battled for custody, and when he tended to my wounds, his tears fell like rain on my palms. “As long as I live, no one will dare mistreat you.” Such a precious promise from our youth. I believed in his sincerity, believed I was irreplaceable. Now, it seemed, I was nothing more than a fleeting distraction. “Are you still mad?” Julian asked, finally calling me after I hadn’t come home for days. He clearly felt he’d pushed things too far. “It was just a joke. You’re not going to be this petty, are you?” “Kate is young and hot-headed; she gets carried away. I was afraid of making a scene, and even more afraid she’d have an accident if she got too upset. That’s why…” Blood rushed to my head, and I slammed my phone down, unable to control my shout. “Just because she’s sick, I deserve to be walked all over?” “Don’t make excuses. I can see it. Kate likes you, and your feelings for her are more than just a mentor’s concern.” Caught red-handed, Julian became enraged. “So what if it’s true? Kate is innocent and sweet, never fighting for anything. She doesn’t have long to live, and her last wish is just a little affection from me. Why shouldn’t I give it to her?” “Alice, you’re so selfish. Haven’t I been under your thumb for over a decade? Do I need your permission to care about someone now?” My heart bled. I blinked through swollen eyes, wanting to say something, but in the end, I just fell silent. I mailed back all the love letters and gifts Julian had given me over the years. Along with the dust-covered house we’d planned to share, I transferred it to a real estate agent. “You’re really cruel.” Julian’s anger turned into a mocking laugh. “Alice, you’re an orphan. You haven’t had a real home in years. I was willing to marry you, to give you all the security you needed, materially and emotionally. It’s just one Kate, what’s the big deal?” Seeing my unwavering resolve to cut ties, Julian’s temper flared. “Fine, break up! Am I begging you to marry me?” He tossed the engagement ring down the drain, demanded I reimburse him for all our shared expenses, and then blacklisted me from every company in the city. “Come back when you realize your mistake,” he said coldly. “Without me, who’s going to care about you?” I didn’t back down. I struggled to make a life for myself under the immense pressure, watching coldly as he took Kate on trips around the world, indulging in lavish escapades. “Julian says he doesn’t want me to have any regrets in life,” Kate’s social media feed updated daily. She flaunted their affection, making sure I saw it. “A chapel in Switzerland, with the priest as our witness. I’m the most beautiful bride in my lover’s eyes.” “Even though we don’t have a marriage certificate, Julian is willing to humor me, and that’s enough.” No one liked her posts. Everyone knew that this doting “mentor” had once been my fiancé. Only Julian’s comment hung there, solitary and exposed: “Illness can’t take away memories; you are my eternal moonlight.” Thanks to these two, I became the laughingstock of the entire university. Everywhere I went, I was pointed at and whispered about. “She hasn’t even married into money yet, and she’s already been cast aside.” “She doesn’t have the fortune to match her airs, but she acts like she’s too good for everyone.” “No wonder Julian didn’t want her. You wouldn’t even take a woman like that if she were free.” The rumors swirled around me, but I pretended not to hear them. It wasn’t until the list for graduate school admissions was posted, and my name was replaced by Kate’s, that I realized the full extent of Julian’s malice. He was truly trying to destroy me. “Kate wanted this spot, so I gave it to her,” he said, looking down at me condescendingly. “You weren’t exactly kind to her before, so consider this your apology. From now on, coexist peacefully and don’t stir up trouble for me.” 3. I stood there, stunned and disbelieving. “You reported me for academic fraud?” Julian’s eyes darted away, unable to meet my gaze. “Studying for her master’s was Kate’s dream. She worked so hard, from early mornings to late nights, she barely even ate.” “And you know, she’s a cancer patient. If she keeps pushing herself like that, how will her body cope?” Apparently convinced of his own logic, Julian straightened his posture. He pulled out a black credit card and threw it at my face. “Anyway, you don’t have anything to do, so why don’t you go to the hospital and take care of Kate?” “Your parents also died of cancer, so you have experience. Being a caregiver would suit you. There’s a thousand dollars on the card; I’ll add more if it’s not enough. And remember to cut your hair. Kate can’t stand anyone prettier than her.” Julian’s tone was self-righteous. I felt like I had plunged into an ice-cold abyss. The last flicker of hope in my heart completely extinguished. “Julian, you treat me with such contempt. Is it because you think I have no way to retaliate, or because you’re so sure I’m soft-hearted and will always give in to you?” I stared at him coldly, my voice like ice. “Asking me to care for your mistress? Aren’t you afraid that in my anger, I might add something to her medication, ending up with two deaths?” Julian’s face went pale, his eyes filled with a guilty flicker. “How did you know Kate was pregnant…?” I curled my lips into a cold smile. Julian thought I was too stupid. I had seen him when he loved me, so when he became distant and distraught over someone else, I was the first to notice. “Stop pretending to be so devoted. It’s disgusting.” I slapped the ultrasound report onto Julian’s face. The evidence was undeniable, leaving no room for argument. “You two got together years ago, when I recommended Kate for that work-study position in the lab.” “You used to tell me I was too suspicious, checking your phone and questioning your whereabouts constantly, treating you like a child.” “But honestly, was I wrong to check?” My nose stung, and I fought back tears, sneering. “You cheated first, driving me to the brink of madness, and now you blame me for not being magnanimous enough.” Julian was speechless. “It’s not what you think.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “That day, the hospital sent a chemo notification, Kate was upset and had too much to drink. She insisted on experiencing what it was like to be in love, and I just couldn’t refuse her.” Even he seemed embarrassed by his own words. After a moment of stammering, he finally promised, “If it bothers you, the baby doesn’t have to exist.”

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At dinner, I had just cut into my chicken leg when my brother suddenly pointed at my nose and yelled: “What gives you the right to eat my chicken leg?! You’re a girl—you don’t deserve the chicken leg!” Without thinking, I kicked out. He went flying, chair and all, crashing to the floor. Mom and Dad dropped their forks in shock. Before Riley could get up, I planted my foot on his chest. Pinned to the ground, he stared up at me, stunned silent. “Where did you learn to talk like that?” His mouth opened, but no sound came out. I pressed down harder with my foot.”Who taught you that?” Riley burst into tears, sobbing hysterically. “I was wrong! I was wrong!” I didn’t move my foot, staring down at him. “Say it!” Riley’s legs kicked wildly as he choked on his sobs. “Derek Walsh… Marcus and Jason… they all said…” “Said what?” Riley went silent. I applied more pressure. “I’ll tell you!” he wailed. “They said I was pathetic, worse than a girl, that only a worthless loser would let his own sister boss him around, that I wasn’t a real man…” I slowly lifted my foot. The room went quiet for a few seconds. Mom stood nearby, still holding the broom she’d grabbed to clean up the mess, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. Dad walked over and crouched in front of Riley. “Riley, tell Dad—how do they treat you normally?” Riley sniffled, too scared to speak. Dad didn’t push, just stayed crouched there, waiting. “…They push me around,” Riley finally said, covering his face, voice barely above a whisper. “They say I’m so useless I must be a girl, so when I use the bathroom they block the door and won’t let me out. They like to pull down my pants and laugh at me… Derek makes me do his homework, or else he beats me up… I… I can’t fight them… I’m sorry…” Mom lifted Riley up tenderly, wiping his tears. Dad stood, his face dark with anger. “Tomorrow I’m going to your school to talk to your homeroom teacher.” Riley froze, tears streaming down his face again. “But Riley,” Dad looked at him, “there’s something you need to understand.” Riley sniffed, looking at Dad in confusion. “How other families live is their business. In our family, if Madison wants to eat chicken, she eats chicken. If you want chicken, you eat chicken. It has nothing to do with whether you’re a boy or a girl. Understand?” Riley nodded, then shook his head. “But… but they all say…” Mom wiped away his fresh tears, saying gently: “What other people say isn’t always right. I know a bit about Derek’s family—he has three older sisters and him, and those sisters are treated worse than animals. That family isn’t normal. In a normal family, all children are equal, regardless of gender. Got it?” Riley nodded obediently. I turned back to the table, picked up the chicken leg, and bit into it without expression. Riley shuffled over to my side, eyes still red, carefully tugging at the corner of my shirt. “Madison… I was wrong.” I didn’t respond. His voice got smaller, tearful. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you… I shouldn’t have just listened to what other people said. I’m sorry…” I chewed my rice and gave a noncommittal “Mm.” He suddenly ran back to his room, returning moments later clutching an action figure—a birthday present I’d saved up six months of allowance to buy him. He placed it beside my hand. “Madison, here—you can have this back.” I paused. “You keep it for me,” he sniffled. “When I prove I can behave, you can give it back. Or if I make you angry again, you can smash it.” I pushed the figure back toward him. “No need. You keep it. Just don’t let there be a next time.” He clutched the figure, tears falling again. I kept eating, saying casually, “Stop crying. I’m just next door in 7th grade, room five. If things get bad in your class, you can come find me during breaks.” Riley nodded hard.

The next afternoon, after second period. I was sprawled over my desk doing math homework, the classroom buzzing with chatter and the occasional snorer. “Madison! Someone’s here for you!” I looked up. An unfamiliar boy stood at the door, craning his neck to peer inside. I put down my pen and walked out. Seven or eight people stood in the hallway. The one in front was half a head shorter than me, face twisted with hostility, backed by several other boys of varying heights, all wearing middle school uniforms. The leader walked up to me, tilting his face up. “You Madison Reed? Riley’s sister?” I nodded, already knowing. “Derek Walsh?” He snorted, glancing back. His crew stepped forward, forming a semicircle. “Your parents went to my homeroom teacher, even said they’d call my parents in to ‘manage’ me. Ridiculous!” His voice rose. “I know that wimp Riley doesn’t have the guts, so it must’ve been you who snitched! What, can’t fight your own battles so you run to mommy and daddy? What are you, in kindergarten?” The boys around him laughed. I stared at him expressionlessly. “Your brother’s a pathetic waste, getting bossed around by his sister at home—he should be ashamed to even be alive! I’m just trying to teach him to grow a spine. What’s wrong with that?” I took a step forward. Derek instinctively stepped back, then stopped, probably remembering his backup. “I’m warning you,” he pointed at me, spittle flying, “mind your own business from now on, or I’ll get people to—” Before he could finish, I grabbed his finger and wrenched it upward. He let out a piercing shriek. I kicked his knee and he dropped to the ground with a thud. “I’m warning you—if you bully my brother again, you’ll regret it.” I grabbed his hair, leaning down with menace in my voice. Derek burst into tears, shouting, “What are you all standing around for?! Get her!” The middle school troublemakers behind him started forward, but my classroom door burst open and a crowd poured out. Jake, our class president, positioned himself in front of me first, followed by other class officers and students. “Who the hell are you people? Coming to start trouble? Did you ask us first?” “So what? Your classmate’s bullying an elementary kid—have you no shame?” The two groups pressed against each other, shoving and pushing, on the verge of a full fight. Derek, hiding behind his crew, yelled, “I just want Madison! This has nothing to do with you! Get lost!” “She’s in our class—you think it has nothing to do with us?” The scene grew more chaotic, several boys grappling, the hallway filled with shouting. “EVERYONE STOP!” A shrill scream rang out. The crowd parted as a woman pushed through. It was my homeroom teacher, Ms. Victoria Smith. The moment she arrived, she slapped me across the face without a word, pointing at my nose as she shrieked: “I knew it! You shameless little seductress! Look at yourself! Leading a bunch of boys to fight for you—pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you? So young and already up to no good, manipulating boys into doing your dirty work—have you no shame?” My face snapped to the side, burning with pain. The hallway went silent. Ms. Smith kept screaming. “Madison Reed, I’m telling you right now—I’ve seen plenty of students like you. Trading on your looks, getting male classmates to fight your battles. You think I don’t know what you are?” I slowly turned my head back. My ears were ringing. The faces around me blurred. Someone was shouting something—Jake and other classmates seemed to be explaining, gesturing wildly. But one voice was clearer than anything else— Dad’s words from childhood: “Sweetie, no matter what—if you’re in a fight, you can’t lose.” She dared to hit me? I grabbed the potted plant and smashed it into Ms. Smith’s face.

The pot exploded against her face. Ms. Smith screamed and stumbled backward, blood streaming down her forehead, soil scattering everywhere. She clutched her face, voice piercing. “Madison! Are you insane?!” I wasn’t insane. I was perfectly calm. In fact, I wanted to punch her a couple more times. The hallway erupted into chaos. People were screaming, someone yelled “Get a teacher!”, someone rushed to grab me. Derek cowered against the wall, face white with terror. The troublemakers he’d brought tried to escape in the confusion, but our class’s boys blocked them. Jake grabbed the tallest one, shouting to the others, “Nobody leaves! You think you can just attack someone and run?!” Sarah, our vice president, rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Madison! Calm down…” I stood there, fists clenched, rigid. Ms. Smith was helped to her feet, blood covering half her face. She pointed at me, trembling all over. “You little bitch, you… you just wait…” I stared coldly at this teacher who’d had it out for me since day one, saying nothing. Five minutes later, the discipline director and principal came running. Mr. Anderson saw Ms. Smith’s bloody face, eyes nearly popping out. “Ms. Smith! Who did this?” Ms. Smith pointed at me, voice shrill. “Her! Madison! This student is completely out of control! So young and already manipulating male students, just now she even organized an attack on an elementary student. I merely said a few words to her and she attacked me with a flower pot!” The principal was an older man with glasses, usually smiling and kind-looking, but now his face was cold as ice. “Bring all involved students to the discipline office. Call their parents.”

The discipline office was packed. Mom and Dad sat on the principal’s left. Mom’s eyes were red, gripping my hand so tight her knuckles were white. Dad’s face was grim, not saying a word, but I could tell he was holding back rage. The seats on the principal’s right were empty—Derek’s parents hadn’t arrived yet. Derek hid behind his group of troublemakers. Ms. Smith sat in a chair nearby, head wrapped in gauze with blood seeping through. She refused to go to the hospital, insisting on staying to “watch this delinquent student be dealt with.” The principal sat behind his desk, Mr. Anderson standing beside him. Several class officers stood behind me, along with some classmates who’d helped shield me—boys and girls, not one had left. The door burst open. Derek’s dad stormed in holding up his phone—the screen showing a live stream, comments flooding past. His mom followed, immediately rushing to Derek and crying: “My baby! My baby, are you okay?! Mommy’s here, don’t be scared!” Derek’s lip quivered and he burst into tears, mother and son crying together. His dad swept the phone camera around the discipline office, finally shoving it in my face. “Everyone look! This girl right here—she attacked my son! My Derek is only ten years old, and she beat him black and blue!” The comments went wild: 【Who is this girl, acting so tough】 【Beating up an elementary kid, shameless】 【Call her parents in】 【No home training, she’ll never find a husband】 … Mom couldn’t take it anymore, standing up abruptly. “What are you doing?!” Derek’s mom whirled around, first rattling off a string of curses in dialect, then wailing: “What am I doing?! My son was beaten by your daughter—I’m here for justice! Look at my son—fingers bent like that, knees covered in bruises—is your daughter even human?!” Ms. Smith clutched her forehead, looking weak, and staggered toward the camera. “Mr. Walsh, Mrs. Walsh, please calm down. The school will handle this…” She paused, eyes suddenly welling up, voice choking. “Actually, I noticed problems with Madison from the start. First day of school I could tell something was off—dressing up all flashy, always hanging around the boys. Today you saw what happened—she led a gang of male students to fight, beat Derek like this, and when I tried to intervene, she attacked me with a flower pot!” She pointed at her head, gauze stained with blood. “I’ve been teaching for fifteen years. I’ve never seen a student like this—rotten to the core, completely out of control!” The comments exploded: 【Holy shit she attacked a teacher?!】 【Expel her! She has to be expelled!】 【Abnormal kids should be sent to special schools, why should they be allowed to harm normal teachers and students!】 I stared coldly at Ms. Smith’s performance, unconsciously running my tongue over my canine teeth. How could… how could anyone be so viciously jealous of someone? From the first day of school, I’d noticed Ms. Smith had it out for me. That day I wore my new school uniform—skirt to the knees, hair in a ponytail, standing in the middle of the line. She suddenly walked over, looked me up and down, and said sarcastically, “Did you shorten your skirt?” I looked down at my skirt and everyone else’s, not understanding how anyone could be this blind. “No.” She snorted, warning me she’d be watching me, telling me not to pull that kind of trick. Later I learned she disliked me because of my mom. The day I registered, Mom came with me, wearing a floral dress and light makeup. Ms. Smith was at the door greeting people. Mom smiled and said hello. She smiled back, all fake. Once we were far enough away, I heard her tell another teacher: “You can tell she’s not a decent person, dressing like that. The daughter’s probably no better.” I didn’t tell Mom what she said. But I remembered it. The first week of school, I was made Chinese class representative—personally appointed by Ms. Smith. I thought it was a good sign. Later I realized she just wanted someone easy to push around.

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For ten years, I was Adrian’s ghostwriter, crafting his path to literary stardom. When our daughter needed fifty thousand dollars for emergency heart surgery, he’d just won a million-dollar prize—but wouldn’t spare a dime. He snapped at me over the phone: “Rachel’s son has a cold and I can’t leave! All you ever do is ask for money!” I hung up, sold our house, and got my daughter the surgery. Three months later, Adrian threw a celebration party at a hotel. Glass in hand, basking in glory, he spotted me in the crowd. I wore a server’s uniform, carrying a tray, bowing with a smile. My daughter, cradled in my arms, lifted her pale little face and asked politely, “Sir, could I have some orange juice?” Hearing our daughter call him “sir” instead of “daddy,” his smile froze instantly. “Fiona, what the hell are you doing here?” He lowered his voice, each word forced through gritted teeth, humiliated at being confronted publicly. I ignored him, adjusted my server badge marked “07,” then knelt down to look tenderly at my daughter. “Lily, would you like some orange juice? Mommy will get you some.” “Okay.” Lily nodded obediently, her small hand clutching my sleeve. She’d just recovered from heart surgery. Her body was still weak, her little face so pale it was almost translucent—heartbreaking to see. I stood up with her in my arms, ready to leave. Adrian grabbed my wrist, his grip nearly crushing my bones. “Stop! I’m talking to you!” The woman beside him—renowned editor Rachel—immediately stepped forward, elegantly tugging his sleeve. “Adrian, calm down.” Her voice was soft and soothing. Then she turned to me, her eyes displaying perfectly calibrated pity. “Fiona, I know you might be going through difficulties, but do you understand what occasion this is? Making a scene like this helps no one.” With one sentence, she painted me as a hysterical woman desperate for money. The guests around us—literary elites and media reporters—turned their gazes toward us like spectators at a show. Adrian’s face darkened like a thundercloud. He felt I’d humiliated him beyond measure. I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Mr. Walker, do we even know each other?” He froze. I pulled my aching wrist from his grip and pointed to Lily in my arms, my voice not loud but carrying clearly to every corner. “My daughter wanted some orange juice, but she doesn’t know you, so she called you ‘sir.’ What, Mr. Walker doesn’t understand basic courtesy and has to yell at a child?” Lily seemed frightened by the tense atmosphere. She shrank into my arms and whispered, “Mommy, I don’t want it anymore. Let’s go home.” My heart clenched painfully. I kissed her forehead. “Don’t be afraid, Lily. Mommy’s here.” Adrian’s gaze finally fell on Lily. He looked at her pale little face, at the faint outline of surgical scars visible beneath her clothing, and his body visibly stiffened. “Her… her condition…” “The surgery was successful.” I smiled, but my words cut like knives. “After all, I sold our only house and finally scraped together the fifty thousand for the surgery.” “You sold the house?!” Adrian’s voice shot up, his eyes full of disbelief. That house had been bought outright by my parents as our wedding home. Rachel’s expression changed. She quickly grabbed Adrian’s arm, her voice carrying a hint of warning. “Adrian, calm down! Don’t forget what today is!” Adrian seemed to wake from a dream. He looked around and realized everyone was watching him with probing eyes. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his emotions, and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a card and held it out to me. “There’s a hundred thousand in here. Password’s your birthday. Take it and stop making a scene, okay?” His tone was like he was dismissing a beggar. I laughed. Laughed until tears nearly came. I didn’t take the card. Instead, my gaze dropped to Rachel’s wrist. There, a gleaming Patek Philippe ladies’ watch sparkled. “Miss Carter, that’s a beautiful watch,” I said softly. Rachel instinctively pulled back her hand, then displayed it openly with a smile. “Fiona has good taste. Adrian gave it to me as a gift.” “A gift?” I nodded, my smile deepening. “The Golden Pen Literary Award prize was one million dollars. After taxes, exactly eight hundred thousand. Miss Carter’s watch, if I’m not mistaken, is a limited edition that retails for exactly eight hundred thousand. Mr. Walker is so generous—using his daughter’s life-saving money to buy his mistress a watch.” Boom. The entire ballroom felt like a bomb had been dropped. Dead silence. You could hear a pin drop. Every eye shifted from me to that eight-hundred-thousand-dollar watch on Rachel’s wrist. Rachel’s face drained of all color instantly. “You… you’re lying! I bought this watch myself!” she shrieked, her voice distorted by guilt. Adrian was completely dumbfounded. He stared at Rachel’s wrist, then at me, his eyes filled with confusion and shock. “Rachel, what the hell is going on?” “Adrian, don’t listen to her nonsense! She’s just jealous and trying to sabotage us!” Rachel was so agitated that tears streamed down her face. She grabbed his arm, shaking desperately. “That prize money—I… I was saving it for you! I didn’t touch it!” “Is that so?” I laughed coldly, picking up a glass of red wine from a server’s tray and walking toward her. “Miss Carter, why so agitated? If you really bought it yourself, you shouldn’t mind me helping you verify its authenticity, right?” Without waiting for her response, I raised my hand and poured the entire glass of red wine over that eight-hundred-thousand-dollar watch. “Ahh—!” Rachel let out a piercing scream. The surrounding guests gasped in shock. “Fiona, you’re insane!” Adrian roared, rushing forward and shoving me aside. I lost my balance. Holding Lily, I staggered backward several steps and slammed into the table behind me, sharp pain shooting through my lower back. Lily burst into tears, terrified. I ignored my own pain, holding my daughter tight and soothing her gently. Meanwhile, Rachel was nearly hysterical with distress. She grabbed napkins, frantically wiping the watch, shouting incoherently, “My watch! My watch! This cost eight hundred thousand!” Only after she’d said it did she realize her words. She clapped her hand over her mouth, staring at Adrian in horror. Too late. Everyone had heard. Adrian’s face went from iron-gray to deathly pale to ashen. He stood frozen like a weathered statue, looking at Rachel, then at me. That look in his eyes—as if he were staring at his mortal enemy. I held Lily, who’d stopped crying but was still sobbing quietly, and walked past him without a second glance. At the door, I removed the server’s uniform and handed it to the manager who’d rushed over. “Sorry, I quit. Also, please tell Mr. Walker something for me.” I paused, turned back, meeting those bloodshot eyes of his, and said clearly, word by word: “Adrian, let’s get divorced.”

I didn’t give him time to react. Holding Lily, I disappeared from the hotel entrance. Back at the cramped, run-down apartment we were renting, I discovered a large bruise on my lower back from the collision. After bathing Lily and getting her to sleep, I sat at the creaking old desk and opened my laptop. I logged into a pen name account I’d abandoned ten years ago—”Lynn”. On the screen appeared a Reddit post from ten years ago: [Hello everyone, I’m Lynn. Starting today, I’m going to write a very, very long story.] Back then, I was spirited and ambitious, believing the future held infinite possibilities. Then I met Adrian. I fell in love with him, abandoned my pen name, and became the invisible shadow behind his spotlight. Now, it was time for “Lynn” to see daylight again. I spent the entire night organizing everything: all the manuscripts I’d ghostwritten for Adrian over the past decade, creative outlines, email correspondence, even recordings of our plot discussions—all sorted, categorized, encrypted, and packaged. These would be my sharpest weapons to bring him down. At dawn, my phone started vibrating frantically. Adrian. I didn’t answer. He persisted relentlessly—calls, texts, SnapChat voice messages, a bombardment of communication. Annoyed, I blocked him completely. Before long, knocking sounded at the door. I opened it to find Adrian’s haggard face. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes, stubble covered his jaw, his designer suit was wrinkled—not a trace remained of the literary giant’s elegance. “Fiona.” His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper. “Let’s talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” I blocked the doorway, staring at him coldly. “Where’s Lily? How is she?” He tried desperately to see inside. “She’s sleeping. Keep your voice down.” “Fiona, I know I was wrong. I really know I was wrong.” He suddenly grabbed my hand, his eyes frighteningly red. “What happened last night was my fault. I shouldn’t have refused you money. I shouldn’t have let Rachel—” “So what?” I interrupted. “Are you here to apologize or to beg me not to divorce you?” He froze, seemingly unprepared for my directness. “I… I never wanted a divorce.” He lowered his head, defeat in his voice. “Fiona, after all these years together…” “Together?” I laughed as if I’d heard the world’s funniest joke. “Adrian, you want to talk to me about our relationship? Last year on Lily’s birthday, she had a 104-degree fever, crying for daddy. I called you over a dozen times—you turned off your phone. Later I found out you were in Switzerland skiing with Rachel and her son. This year when Lily was diagnosed with heart disease and the doctor said she needed immediate surgery, I begged you on my knees to give me the prize money to save her life. What did you say?” I mimicked his cold tone from that phone call: “‘Fiona, can you stop being so selfish? Mason has a cold and needs care! Lily’s surgery can wait—it’s not like she’ll die immediately!’” Each word was like a rusty blade, twisting repeatedly in my heart. Adrian’s face turned white as paper. He opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a single word. “Adrian, in your heart, my daughter’s life is worth less than your mistress’s son’s cold. Do you really think this marriage has any reason to continue?” I watched his devastated expression. My heart felt no satisfaction—only barren emptiness. “So save your speech. I don’t have time for this today.” I tried to pull my hand away and close the door. But he suddenly blocked it with his body and pulled out a crumpled paper from his pocket. A divorce agreement. “Fiona, look at this.” He unfolded it and held it before me. “I’ll sign it. I agree to divorce. The house, the car, all the assets under my name—I’ll give them all to you and Lily. I have only one condition.” He raised his head, looking at me with almost pleading eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about the ghostwriting. Please. I’m begging you.” I looked at him, at this agreement he’d drafted overnight, and suddenly felt utterly ironic. He still didn’t understand. He thought I was doing all this for money. “Adrian.” I took the agreement and, before his eyes, tore it to shreds, inch by inch. In his shocked gaze, I told him clearly: “Too late. I’ll get the money back, every cent. But not this way.” “What… what do you mean?” An ominous premonition rose in him. I smiled slightly and turned my phone screen toward him. On it was a Reddit post I’d just published under the “Lynn” account. [@Everyone, I’m the real author of “Return on a Snowy Night,” “River at Sunset,” and other books—Lynn. Tomorrow at 10 AM, I’m holding a press conference to present all evidence of ghostwriting.@Adrian Walker @Golden Pen Literary Award @Dolphin Publishing] The moment Adrian saw that post, his face lost all color completely.

“You’re insane! Fiona, you’ve lost your mind!” Adrian lunged like a cornered beast, roaring as he tried to grab my phone. I’d anticipated this. I stepped back and slammed the door shut with a bang, locking him outside. “Fiona! Open the door! Delete that post! Do you hear me!” He pounded frantically on the door, shouting, drawing neighbors who poked their heads out curiously. I ignored him, quickly grabbed the suitcase I’d already packed, woke Lily, and slipped out through the fire escape. I’d known he’d come, so I’d booked a hotel in advance. After settling Lily, I contacted Julian Smith, the country’s top rights protection attorney, and several media outlets known for in-depth investigative reporting. Julian’s team was extremely efficient. We met that afternoon. After carefully verifying all the evidence I’d provided, Julian pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and gave me a definitive answer. “Ms. Monroe, rest assured. This case is a guaranteed win. Not only can we recover all the royalties and compensation you’re owed, but we’ll make Adrian and the publishing house pay a devastating price.” Looking at this calm, professional, powerful man before me, my anxious heart finally settled. That evening, the internet exploded. “Adrian Walker Ghostwriting Scandal” surged to the top of trending topics with unstoppable force, followed by a deep red “EXPLOSIVE” tag. Countless readers, fans, and onlookers flooded my Reddit. The comment section was absolute chaos. Some accused me of chasing clout, desperate for fame. [This is ridiculous. Adrian needs a ghostwriter? His talent is universally recognized!] [Another D-list nobody trying to climb up by stepping on a celebrity. Case closed.] [Screenshot saved. Waiting for Adrian’s legal team to destroy her.] But some rational longtime readers detected something in my writing style. [Wait… this “Lynn” person’s writing style seems so similar to Adrian’s early work. I remember Adrian became famous with “Return on a Snowy Night,” but his later books always felt like something was missing.] [I thought so too! Especially his recent book “A Dream of Life”—it felt so hollow, completely lacking his earlier brilliance.] [The more I think about it, the scarier it gets… If the ghostwriting is real, what have we been fans of all these years?] Public opinion split into two camps, arguing explosively. Adrian and the publishing house responded quickly. They jointly issued a strongly-worded statement, calling this baseless slander and defamation against me personally, and stating they would reserve the right to pursue legal action. Rachel was the first to share the statement, adding: [Truth will prevail. I believe in Adrian’s character and talent. Don’t let yourselves be deceived by people with ulterior motives.] Her “righteous stand” won her considerable praise and successfully redirected attacks toward me. [Rachel’s right! We believe in Adrian!] [This Fiona person is Adrian’s ex-wife, right? Getting revenge after divorce by throwing mud—how vicious!] [Probably didn’t get money in the divorce settlement, so now she’s bitter and wants to destroy Adrian.] Reading these comments, I just smiled. Let them have their last night of denial. After tomorrow, they’d know what it meant to fall from the clouds into hell.

The press conference was scheduled at a five-star hotel ballroom. When I arrived, the venue was packed with media from everywhere. Cameras and flashing lights created a blinding sea of illumination. Adrian, Rachel, and the publishing house president, Derek Ford, sat prominently in the front row. They’d clearly come prepared, cold smirks on their faces as if attending my public trial. Adrian had even brought his “hardcore fans”—dozens of people holding banners reading “Support Adrian, Resist Slander,” protesting outside the venue. I wore a crisp white suit, professionally made up, and walked calmly to the podium accompanied by attorney Julian. Camera flashes intensified instantly. Reporters swarmed like sharks smelling blood, thrusting microphones desperately toward me. “Ms. Monroe, you claim to be Adrian’s ghostwriter. What evidence do you have?” “Is this action revenge because of unequal divorce settlement distribution?” “Is there really conflict between you and Ms. Carter?” I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I signaled for quiet. Once the venue settled somewhat, I picked up the microphone and spoke slowly, looking directly at Adrian in the audience. “Media friends, hello. I know you’re all full of questions today. So we won’t waste words—let’s go straight to the evidence.” The large screen behind me lit up. The first piece of evidence was the handwritten manuscript of “Return on a Snowy Night.” That familiar handwriting, yellowed paper, densely marked revisions—Adrian’s expression changed instantly. “These… these are just discarded drafts! They don’t prove anything!” Derek Ford shouted with forced composure, his obese body trembling with tension. “Is that so?” I smiled slightly and pressed the remote. A video began playing on the screen. It showed Adrian and me from five years ago. We were in the study, heatedly discussing the ending of “River at Sunset.” “No! The protagonist must die! Only tragedy can elevate this story!” Video-me was emotionally intense. “But Fiona, readers want a happy ending. Written this way, the book won’t sell.” Video-Adrian frowned deeply. “I don’t care! This is my work. I must preserve its integrity!” … This video clearly recorded our creative disputes and clearly proved I was the one with final decision-making authority. Adrian’s face had lost all color. Rachel beside him also widened her eyes, as if seeing me for the first time. “This… this is fabricated! It’s fake!” Rachel shrieked. “Fake?” My attorney Julian stood up, his voice steady and powerful. “Ms. Carter, we’ve had this video authenticated by the country’s most authoritative forensic institution. We can guarantee its authenticity. If you continue publicly defaming my client, we have the right to sue you for libel.” Julian’s response left Rachel speechless. She could only glare at me hatefully. I ignored her and presented the third piece of evidence. All email correspondence between Adrian and me over the past decade. Every book outline, every chapter manuscript—I’d sent them all to him via email. The emails also contained his various “guidance” on my drafts. For example: “Fiona, this plot drags too much. Can you make it more exciting?” “This female supporting character’s personality is unlikable. Readers won’t like her. Change it.” “The ending must be happy. Otherwise fans will riot.” These emails thoroughly exposed his complete literary ignorance combined with his love of giving orders. The venue erupted. Camera flashes targeted ashen-faced Adrian relentlessly. “Mr. Walker, what’s your explanation?” “Did you really have your ex-wife ghostwrite for you for ten years?” “Has your public persona completely collapsed?” Reporters surrounded Adrian. He was cornered, unable to speak a single word. Derek Ford, seeing things going badly, tried to pull Adrian away, but reporters blocked them completely. And I released the final, most devastating strike. An audio recording. Adrian’s voice, slightly drunk and boastful. “What bullshit talent? I can’t write a single word. But my wife loves me. I tell her how to write, and she has to write it. Readers actually think I’m some literary giant—it’s hilarious. They’re just a bunch of idiots I’ve been playing all along.” This recording was from years ago, when he’d gotten drunk and bragged to his buddies. I’d captured it accidentally. At the time, I’d thought it was just drunken rambling. I never imagined it would be useful today. When the recording finished, the entire venue fell silent. Even the fans protesting outside went quiet. Everyone looked at Adrian like they were looking at garbage. Adrian completely broke down. He collapsed in his chair, pale as death, muttering repeatedly, “It’s over… all over…” Just then, an unexpected person stood up. An experienced senior editor from the publishing house, Mr. Lee. He walked tremblingly to the podium, picked up another microphone, his voice filled with grief and anger. “I… I can testify. Everything Fiona said is true. All these years, the manuscripts Adrian submitted were full of typos and illogical. Our editorial department worked overnight to fix them. We all knew the real author was Fiona, but Derek Ford suppressed us for money, wouldn’t let us speak… I… I’m sorry to Fiona, and even more sorry to all readers everywhere!” After speaking, he bowed deeply to all the cameras. This bow became the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Derek Ford’s eyes rolled back and he fainted. Rachel screamed and tried to run but was surrounded by angry reporters and readers. And Adrian, under endless camera flashes and interrogation, was completely nailed to the pillar of shame like a stray dog.

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To be fair, Mom forced me—someone with a heart condition—to participate in the fitness test. At five hundred meters, my heart started hurting. I reached for my medication. The moment I pulled it out, Victoria Hayes, the class president, snatched it away and threw it aside. “Only five hundred meters and you’re already faking it? Just because your mom is the assistant principal doesn’t mean you can slack off.” She glanced toward Mom in the distance and said ingratiatingly, “Ms. Carter, Aria is trying to give up again. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to encourage her to keep going.” Mom looked at me coldly, without a trace of sympathy on her face. “Everyone else can run. Why can’t you? Are you just being a drama queen? Today, you’re going to finish this fifteen hundred meters even if you have to crawl!” I gritted my teeth and kept going, but my chest felt like it was exploding. My vision gradually darkened. At one thousand meters, I collapsed on the track. I couldn’t get up anymore. My soul slowly rose into the air as I looked at Mom with guilt written all over my face. I’m sorry. I’ve disappointed you again. This time, I really can’t finish the fifteen hundred meters.

My heart felt like it was about to burst from my chest. My legs gave out and I fell flat on the ground. Victoria stopped beside me and kicked me with her foot. “Stop lying there. You’re dragging down the whole class!” Seeing that I didn’t move, she grabbed my upper body and pulled me up, then let go. My forehead hit the track with a dull thud. I knew it must hurt, but I couldn’t feel it anymore. After all, compared to the tearing sensation in my chest, this pain was nothing. “Who do you think you are, some delicate princess? Stop acting weak. It’s just fifteen hundred meters. Ms. Carter is watching right over there. Get up now!” A few classmates passing by stopped and glanced at me. “I heard she has a heart condition. Could she actually be dying?” “How is that possible? Ms. Carter is her own mother. If she really had health problems, would she let her run?” “Besides, if she were actually dying, would her mom have that expression? She looks like she wants to kill someone, not like she’s worried about her daughter.” They laughed mockingly and their footsteps gradually faded away. They say that when you die, hearing is the last sense to go. I floated in mid-air and looked up anxiously toward Mom. She was frowning, looking at me with disappointment and disgust. I instinctively lowered my head and murmured to myself. I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve disappointed you again. Mom walked over from the other end of the track and stopped about ten feet away from my body. “Aria! Stop faking it. I just saw your arm move. Get up right now.” I still didn’t move. Victoria came over and said quietly, “Ms. Carter, maybe Aria is angry? She’s so stubborn. How about we just forget about this fitness test?” I stood nearby, shaking my head desperately. Mom, how could I be angry? I just don’t have any strength left. I really just want to rest for a moment. Just one moment. But Mom couldn’t hear me. Seeing that I remained motionless, her expression grew darker. She walked up to me and kicked me hard in the stomach. My body swayed with the force of her kick, like a useless bag of garbage. “Get up right now! How long are you planning to lie here?”

I lay on the ground without moving, as if deliberately defying her. She trembled with rage, her face flushed red. “Aria, you’ve really outdone yourself. To avoid this fitness test, you’re actually playing dead with me?” “You’re disgusting. Just as disgusting as your father!” My heart clenched painfully. I sobbed once in grief. I raised my hand to wipe away tears, only to find my face was dry. So dead people can’t cry. Mom raised me alone. From the time I could remember, Mom repeatedly told me that Dad had betrayed their relationship and betrayed our family. Mom put all her energy into me. She knew my heart wasn’t good, so every morning she would get up early to run with me, doing adaptive training. But when I started high school, everything changed. Mom was a teacher at this school. She said she wasn’t just my mother, but also everyone else’s teacher, and she had to treat all students equally. To avoid suspicion, she gave the first-place chemistry competition award that should have been mine to second-place Victoria. To avoid suspicion, she forced me—someone with a medical exemption—to stand on the starting line for the fifteen hundred meter run. And now, she was saying I was like that man she’d hated her entire life. But Mom, I really wasn’t playing dead. I just couldn’t hold on anymore. Victoria bent down and grabbed my arm. “Aria, get up first. You’ve already run one thousand meters. Just hold on a little longer and you’ll be done.” She pulled hard on my arm. Maybe I was too heavy. She couldn’t pull me up and instead stumbled backward a few steps before falling on her butt. My body, half-lifted, fell heavily back to the ground. Another dull thud. Victoria froze, her eyes suddenly reddening. “Aria, there’s no need to take your anger out on me. I didn’t offend you. Why did you have to push me?” “Besides, Ms. Carter is doing this for your own good! Why can’t you appreciate her intentions?” She sniffled, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t know how much I envy you for having a mom like this.” Mom walked over, pulled Victoria to her side, and comfortingly patted her back. “It’s okay now. Don’t cry.” Then she turned to me, her gaze sweeping over my body. “Aria, is this how determined you are to defy me?” “Since you want to play dead, I’ll beat you awake today and see how long you can keep this up!” She reached down and grabbed my hair, slamming my head hard against the track. Once, twice, three times… Blood seeped out, spreading across the track. I floated nearby, watching her grab my hair and slam my head down again and again. My heart ached so much I could barely breathe. I remembered that Mom used to be so good to me. When I was little and accidentally scraped my skin, Mom would frantically find iodine and carefully clean my wound. Then she’d gently comfort me, “Aria, don’t be scared. It’ll get better soon.” But now, all the disgust and anger on her face poured out with each violent impact. As if the person lying on the ground wasn’t the daughter she’d carried for ten months, but an eyesore and a burden. More and more students gathered around to watch. “She’s definitely faking it. If she really felt bad, would Ms. Carter be this angry?” “She’s taking advantage of having a teacher for a mom, trying to get special treatment. Now she’s getting what she deserves.” “It’s just fifteen hundred meters. Is playing dead really necessary? So dramatic.” More and more students crowded around. Mr. Parker, the head of discipline, also appeared. Mr. Parker immediately told Mom to stop. “Ms. Carter, how can you hit a student?” Mom finally stopped and sighed lightly. “Mr. Parker, this is my daughter. She’s playing dead to avoid the fitness test.” “Spare the rod and spoil the child. Today I have to teach her a proper lesson!”

Mr. Parker saw the crowd of students and coughed lightly. “Ms. Carter, so many students are watching. Even when disciplining children, you need to use appropriate methods. Leave her some dignity.” With that, he turned and left. Mom looked down at me. “Still not getting up?” “Fine. You can lie there all you want. No one’s going to care about you!” She took a deep breath, suppressing the anger churning inside her. “Continue the fitness test. Don’t let one person hold up the entire class.” The sound of footsteps gradually faded. The murmuring voices also disappeared. No one looked at me on the track anymore. The sun grew stronger and stronger, beating down directly on my body. I still lay there lifelessly, the blood on my forehead gradually drying. Half an hour passed. The fitness test was completely over. Some students glanced my way, their eyes showing some reluctance. “Aria’s health isn’t good. Nothing really happened to her, right?” Victoria pursed her lips. “She’s totally faking it. Didn’t you see how angry Ms. Carter was?” “And she’s still lying on the ground playing dead.” Her close friends chimed in quietly, “Aria’s just been spoiled rotten. Taking advantage of her mom being assistant principal, she always steals the spotlight, and now she’s faking illness to drag down the whole class.” “Exactly. Does she really think she owns the school?” Victoria listened to these words, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. Then she turned and walked toward Mom. She lowered her voice and said quietly to Mom, “Ms. Carter, just now some students wanted to help Aria up, but Aria said…” She paused, hesitant to continue. Mom frowned. “Said what?” “She said… she won’t get up unless you apologize to her.” Mom’s expression instantly darkened. “Ms. Carter, Aria has been lying there for a long time. If this continues, something will definitely happen. How about… you just apologize to her? It’s just one sentence. Get her up first, then deal with it.” The plastic water bottle in Mom’s hand deformed slightly from her grip. She clenched her back teeth, her voice filled with endless fury. “Who does she think she is? Wanting me to apologize to her? Completely useless!” “She’s taking advantage of the fact that I’m her mother to be this brazen!” “If she’s got guts, she can lie on the track all day!”

The few students who had been worried about me heard Mom’s words and simply turned away. No one looked at me anymore. The sky suddenly darkened. The glaring sunlight from moments ago was swallowed by thick, heavy clouds. It started to rain. Large raindrops pelted my face. The rain mixed with the dried blood on my forehead, flowing down my cheeks and into my mouth. Students on the track scattered, running toward the school building. As Mom passed by me, she said, “Get up soon. When you’ve figured it out, come to my office.” Then she turned and left too. In less than three minutes, there was no one left on the track except me. I lay there as rain poured into my ears, into my nose, into my mouth. My clothes were soaked through, clinging to my body, ice-cold and bone-chilling. But I couldn’t feel it anymore. My soul floated up and followed the students to the school building. Mr. Parker hurried into the office. “Ms. Carter, isn’t your daughter still on the track? It’s raining. Stop being angry and get her back inside. Don’t let her catch a cold.” Mom sat at her desk without looking up. “She’s clever enough. How could she let herself get hurt?” “She’s deliberately throwing a tantrum with me, waiting for me to apologize and personally invite her back.” Mr. Parker opened his mouth, finally sighed, and turned to leave. Half an hour later, someone knocked on the door. Mom relaxed for a moment, but when she saw who came in, she felt vaguely disappointed. Victoria and a few other students came in with some practice problems for Mom to explain. Mom showed no impatience. She patiently explained over and over until everyone nodded in understanding. I stood nearby watching her. She used to explain things to me patiently like this too. The office door suddenly sounded. Mom froze for a moment, then relaxed and leaned back in her chair. Victoria smiled. “Ms. Carter, it must be Aria coming to apologize to you.” The corners of Mom’s mouth turned up slightly, then quickly pressed down again as she put on a mocking expression. “Just now she was lying on the ground playing dead, and one rain shower washes away your backbone?” “Aria, if you know you were wrong, shout ‘I was wrong’ three times, then go apologize to everyone in class and say you dragged down the entire class!” The knocking continued. Mom frowned and got up to open the door. When she saw who was outside, Mom was shocked. “Mr. Hawkins, why are you here?” The principal’s face was grim. He asked, “Your class had the fitness test last period, right? That girl who collapsed on the track—is she from your class?” The panic in Mom’s heart was instantly replaced by disdain. She scoffed lightly and waved her hand. ” Mr. Hawkins, don’t worry. That’s just my daughter Aria. This child has been spoiled since she was young. She’s so stubborn. She’s faking a collapse to avoid the fitness test and throwing a tantrum with me.” “Don’t worry about her. When she’s done making a scene, she’ll get up on her own.” The principal’s expression grew even worse. He was about to speak when the school nurse rushed over. “Mr. Hawkins, this is bad. The girl on the track isn’t breathing.”

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