My best friend Mira sent me a photo—it was a new house my boyfriend Thompson had bought in a top-tier luxury complex in the city center. “I had no idea you guys bought such an expensive place. When are you planning to get married?” I froze. I had no idea Thompson had bought such an expensive house. And I had even less idea how he could afford it. After all, just yesterday we’d finally scraped together enough for a down payment on an old house. My hands trembled as I opened the joint bank account Thompson and I shared. The red error message about an incorrect password made my panic worse. My salary card, our emergency fund card—all showed password errors. I couldn’t access any of them. I had a terrible feeling about this. I pulled up this morning’s chat history with Thompson. I’d sent him listings for several new developments on the outskirts of Seattle, along with other realtor messages I’d forwarded him this week. Thompson hadn’t responded with his usual enthusiasm to discuss prices and locations. Instead, he’d replied coolly: [We’ll talk about it when I get back from my business trip] I told Mira everything—about Thompson buying a house without telling me, and about not being able to access our bank accounts. The “other person is typing” indicator lingered on the chat screen for a long time. After a while, Mira finally replied. [Don’t panic yet. Maybe Thompson was planning to surprise you and that’s why he kept it secret] [I asked my friend at the sales office] [He said Thompson signed for the maximum loan amount, and your name is listed as the mortgage borrower] I opened the purchase contract photo. Besides draining all of Thompson’s and my savings over the years for the down payment, the remaining loan amount was a twenty-year mortgage for $3.6 million. Only my name appeared as the borrower. But why would Thompson decide to buy a house behind my back and use our joint savings? I downloaded these document photos. I’d gotten off work early today, and it was also the day Thompson would return home after a week-long business trip. So I’d gone to the supermarket early to buy groceries, planning to eat together while discussing this weekend’s house hunting plans. I waited at the dinner table, trying to convince myself it might be a misunderstanding. Maybe Thompson really did want to give me a surprise. But when Thompson came home and pushed the door open, the first thing he said was: “Eating at home again? Is saving a few dozen bucks really worth it?” I didn’t respond. I looked at Thompson in front of me and asked instead: “Is there something you haven’t told me?” Thompson’s eyes flickered away for a moment. He impatiently took off his coat. “What could there be? I’m tired. Let’s eat first.” I sat at the table and suddenly remembered the report I’d picked up from the hospital yesterday. I was pregnant. Two months ago, the night before his business trip, he’d half-coaxed, half-negotiated with me: “Once we buy the house, we’ll get married. Let’s not use protection this time, okay?” I hadn’t expected to get pregnant on the first try. If he knew about this baby, if he knew I’d already seen that purchase contract… But why would Thompson decide to buy a house without consulting me? All of Thompson’s and my savings had gone into that down payment—it was basically our entire life savings since we started working. Plus with my pregnancy, we couldn’t even afford to renovate the house Thompson bought, let alone make the mortgage payments. My thoughts grew increasingly chaotic. Food that normally tasted good now seemed bland and tasteless. Several times I tried to bring up this weekend’s house hunting plans, but Thompson deliberately avoided the topic. Finally, Thompson spoke up again in dissatisfaction: “Can you please stop being so embarrassing?” “Last time at my company dinner, you insisted on packing up leftovers to bring home. Didn’t you find that humiliating?” I put down my fork, already getting angry. “Because I wasn’t full. If you’d paid any attention to me while we were eating, you wouldn’t be asking this.” “And even if I am embarrassing, Thompson, we’ve been together for seven years.” “Are you only discovering today that I’m an embarrassment?”

Thompson frowned and his attitude softened. He apologized to me, helped me to the sofa, and began clearing the table. I looked back at Thompson busying himself. After getting together in college, all my visions of the future included him. We were each other’s first love. From the initial innocent awkwardness to gradually depending on each other, we’d had our ups and downs, but we always solved problems together. He understood my desire to establish roots in Seattle. I supported his career ambitions. Last year, the money his family had transferred to my bank account—I’d taken it all out and given it to him as startup capital for his business. I’d imagined that after marriage, we wouldn’t be as passionately in love as during our honeymoon period. But I never imagined that just as we were preparing to get married and buy a house, Thompson would choose to hide things from me. Before bed, I showed Thompson the floor plan of my coworker’s apartment complex that she’d given me. One last time, I asked him: “Thompson, are you hiding something from me?” “If it’s about something major that affects both of us, I hope you’ll tell me honestly instead of hiding it.” Like a balloon that had been inflated for too long suddenly being popped, Thompson hesitated, then tentatively asked: “What’s wrong with you today? Why are you acting so strange? Do you know something?” His reaction made me stop the motion of sending him the photos he’d taken at the sales office. I pressed him further: “What exactly happened? Just tell me.” Thompson made me promise not to get angry before he would speak. When I thought Thompson was going to confess about impulsively buying the house, what he said instead was: “A company order had a safety issue that required compensation.” “All our savings went into the settlement and still weren’t enough, so I took out a loan.” “I was afraid you’d feel pressured, so I didn’t dare tell you.” “When I asked for your bank authorization signature before, it was because I needed to repay the loan.” Thompson explained everything clearly in just a few sentences. But my head buzzed and ached. Company business problems? If I hadn’t seen that purchase contract with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have doubted him at all. I might have even comforted Thompson, told him it wasn’t his fault, and helped him repay the loan together. “That’s all?” I confirmed with Thompson, word by word. “It’s really because of company compensation? You’re not hiding anything else from me?” I pressed again, hoping Thompson would be honest. Perhaps seeing how serious I was, he suddenly got angry and pushed me away. “What do you mean? Don’t you trust me?” “Sheila, do you think I wanted this? If it weren’t for you insisting on staying in Seattle, would I have taken such a big risk starting a business?” “Your parents looking down on me is one thing, but now even you think I’m useless, right?” He slammed the door and left. I sat on the sofa, touching my still-flat belly, so angry I laughed—laughed until tears streamed down my face.

More than feeling hurt or angry, I now wanted to know why Thompson would do this. I had Mira contact her friend Chris at the sales office. Chris was quite surprised and asked us back: Wasn’t the woman who went with Thompson to buy the house that day his soon-to-be-married girlfriend? Mira sent him my photo. Chris said that although his memory was fuzzy, it definitely wasn’t the same person. Given the importance of the matter, Chris video-called us. “The borrower listed on the purchase contract is named Sheila. Is that you?” “Yes, I’m Sheila. If my boyfriend handled it for me, could the home loan process be completed without me being present?” There was silence on the other end for a while. He coordinated with his colleague to send over the previous purchase documents. After seeing the handwriting on them, he confirmed with me with a complicated expression: “No, it’s not possible. The person must be present to confirm and sign before the bank loan contract can be approved.” “But Thompson did come to view the property multiple times before, and when he finally signed the purchase contract, he was accompanied by a woman.” “My colleague said he personally watched that woman complete the signature.” “We all assumed she was Thompson’s girlfriend who he was about to marry.” Mira reacted faster than I did. She didn’t dwell on the loan issue but asked another key question: “Chris, do you know whose name is on the property deed for this house?” Like before, Chris went through the documents again before confirming with me: “Strictly speaking, this house hasn’t gone through all the procedures yet and doesn’t have a property deed.” “But the names submitted for property registration are Thompson and a woman named Blair.” Having learned this much, even though I didn’t want to believe it, the facts were laid out before me. Compared to my earlier disbelief, I’d actually calmed down now. All these years I’d worked hard, lived frugally, desperately saved money. Only to end up with a house under my name for the loan but shared with someone else. Thompson had not only used our joint savings to secretly buy a house, but also used my name to pay the mortgage. And in the end, this house belonged to him and another woman. Nothing in the world could be more absurd and laughable than this. No wonder Thompson had been traveling frequently for business since six months ago. No wonder tonight he’d felt so guilty after just a few questions that he stormed out. I was shaking with anger. Mira hugged me, heartbroken, while continuing to help me ask what to do about this situation. The person on the other end gave several suggestions and sent over important documents. Chris sighed on the video call and advised me: “Sheila, the solution with the smallest loss is to default on the purchase, losing part of the deposit and penalty fees.” “But this requires both Thompson and that Blair woman to come in together to process it.” Mira thanked Chris for me. I didn’t have the courage to open those documents, much less accept that Thompson had planned to hide this from me forever. Along with the purchase transaction details, there was also a photo of Thompson and Blair together at the sales office. The two sat side by side in the center of the luxurious sales office. Blair held flowers, kissing Thompson. The ring, necklace, and earrings she wore sparkled in the camera lens. Mira’s sharp eyes noticed that even her bag was quite expensive. Thompson had given me a matching small wallet from this brand for my birthday before. I’d been so happy to receive that wallet and felt bad for Thompson having another expense. Now it seemed I’d just gotten a complimentary gift. The two celebrated like newlyweds. Thompson’s smile in the photo hurt my eyes. So all his indifference and impatience toward me appeared as such happiness and doting in front of another woman. I’d been at home planning our future together. To lighten his burden, I didn’t eat out, only bought cheap discounted clothes. I even felt bad about taking a cab home when I missed the subway due to working overtime. But every penny I saved, Thompson handed over to someone else. Mira wiped away my tears, comforting me that I had to pull myself together—no matter what, I had to get the money back. I nodded mechanically, then smiled bitterly and told Mira about my pregnancy. Mira was also stunned after hearing. “When did this happen? Does Thompson know? What are you planning to do?” Just as Mira thought I might not be able to let go because of the baby, I touched my belly and said firmly: “Come with me to the hospital tomorrow. This baby and I… we’re not meant to be.”

Even though I’d prepared myself mentally, when I saw the baby’s photo, I still couldn’t bear to let go. The doctor said the baby was already nine weeks along and looked very healthy with a stable heartbeat. Seeing me hesitate, Mira tentatively asked if I wanted to reconsider, or at least tell Thompson. After careful consideration, I still called Thompson. In less than half an hour, Thompson rushed to the hospital. He hugged me, surprised and delighted, carefully touching my still-flat belly and apologizing profusely. He said it was all his fault, that he shouldn’t have lost his temper with me, shouldn’t have left without saying anything last night. His words were so sincere that passersby in the hospital kept turning to look at us. He half-knelt on the ground, joyfully taking the test results from my hand. But among the pile of documents, he found the abortion surgery schedule the doctor had prepared for me. Only then did Thompson realize, and with a complicated expression, he asked me: “You didn’t come here for a checkup today? You came for an abortion?” Seeing Thompson getting emotional, my best friend shielded me behind her. Thompson sneered, picked up the surgery schedule and threw it on the ground. “Just because my company lost money, you’re planning to abort this baby?” “Sheila, I wanted to say this yesterday—you don’t trust me at all. Deep down, you think I’m incompetent and look down on me, right!” “Yes, back then you rejected all those blind dates your parents arranged for you—they were all from families that matched yours!” “Otherwise you wouldn’t have cut ties with your parents and insisted on dragging me to buy a house in Seattle.” Thompson went on and on, even starting to hint that my parents and I were both snobs. Even though my family was well-off and my parents could have easily spared money for us to buy a house in Seattle, because I insisted on choosing Thompson and my parents looked down on him, they didn’t give us financial support. They were even so angry about me wanting to marry Thompson that they cut ties with me. They were angry that I made the decision on my own, traveling all the way from Miami to Seattle, insisting on marrying Thompson. They’d left me with harsh words, saying they’d only acknowledge me as their daughter if Thompson and I could buy a house in Seattle on our own. They’d only meant to make me give up, never expecting me to be so stubborn. I actually never asked them for another cent, relying on my job to save money to buy a house myself. And Thompson had always harbored resentment, feeling that my parents looked down on him and never took him seriously. I smiled bitterly, looking at Thompson in front of me. I swiped through the photos on my phone one by one, showing them to him. The purchase contract, loan agreement, photos of him and Blair kissing. Thompson froze for a moment, then suddenly looked up at me in disbelief.

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They say time heals all wounds, but some scars are etched too deep into the soul to ever fade. They throb with the turning of the seasons, a constant reminder of what was lost, of the path not taken. For ten years, I lived in the shadow of a lie, a comfortable, golden lie built upon the ruins of my best friend’s dreams. Or so I thought. The truth is often far uglier, far more pathetic than the grand tragedies we imagine. My story isn’t one of brilliant criminal masterminds or vast, sinister conspiracies. It’s a story of a devastating mistake born of envy, pride, and a crushing, self-inflicted ignorance. And on the day of the Centennial Celebration at Redwood University, the most prestigious Ivy League school in the country, that mistake finally came hunting for me, bringing with it a reckoning I never saw coming. 1 “Maddie Sterling, I’m begging you—give me back my life!” The woman was a complete disaster. Her hair was a matted rat’s nest, and tear tracks cut through the grime on her face. She was on her knees in front of me on the manicured lawn of the Redwood University quad, her forehead hitting the stone pathway with sickening thuds. Blood began to seep from the breaking skin. “From the first day of freshman year, I treated you like my sister. How could you be so cruel? How could you push me into the abyss just so you could have the perfect life?” I stared down at her, my mind a blank slate of confusion. I squinted, trying to find a familiar feature in the ravaged face before me. It took a long, painful minute before the pieces clicked together. This was Chloe. Chloe Vance. My high school best friend. In high school, Chloe had been everything. Brilliant, gorgeous, popular. She carried herself with the terrifying confidence of a girl who knew the world was her oyster. But the woman kneeling before me was ancient. Her hair was streaked with gray, her spine was bowed as if breaking under an invisible weight, and she looked utterly consumed by misery. Seeing my old friend in such a horrific state sent a sharp pang of grief through my chest. Instinctively, I reached down to help her up. “Chloe, what on earth happened to you? Please, get up. Talk to me.” Chloe’s eyes snapped up, burning with a sudden, toxic hatred. She violently slapped my hand away. “What happened to me? You know exactly what happened to me, you sociopath!” “Maddie Sterling, you stole my life. You switched our SAT scores, took my spot at Redwood, and now you’re standing here as a tenured professor, soaking in the glory. Does it feel good? Do you feel accomplished?” “Did you ever once stop to think about how I spent the last ten years? I had nothing. No degree, no future. I worked eighteen-hour shifts on a factory assembly line just to feed myself, assembly lines so dangerous I lost three fingers when a machine crushed my hand, and I didn’t even get worker’s comp!” She was screaming now, thrusting her right hand into my face. The index, middle, and ring fingers were missing, leaving only ugly, gnarled stumps. I felt sick. I took a few steps back, my hands up in a defensive gesture. “Chloe, please. We were best friends for years. Why would you say something so horrible? Why would you accuse me of something like that?” “Accuse you?” Chloe shrieked, a wild, manic laugh bubbling up. “I don’t need to accuse you. I have proof!” 2 She yanked a thick manila folder from her oversized bag and hurled it into the air. Papers exploded outward, fluttering down around us like confetti at a nightmare parade. A crowd had already formed—students in university hoodies, proud parents visiting for Centennial weekend. They immediately began scrambling for the papers, their curiosity piqued by the drama. I bent down and picked one up. It was a photocopy of Chloe’s transcript from high school. Looking at the numbers, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, immediately followed by a dull ache. She really had been brilliant. Straight A’s, top percentile in every mock exam. She was a lock for any top-tier university she wanted. Then I looked at the very bottom of the page. It was the official report for her SAT scores from senior year. The score was zero. A cold hand clenched around my heart. In that moment, the mystery of senior year was finally solved. I finally understood why, after graduation, Chloe had vanished without a trace. She blocked my number, ignored my emails, and cut off contact with everyone we knew. I had spent years wondering if I had done something to hurt her, if our friendship had just meant less to her than it did to me. But I never could have imagined she was going through this kind of hell. While I was standing there, lost in my own grief for my friend, the atmosphere around me shifted violently. The murmurs from the crowd turned sharp, accusing. I looked up to find hundreds of eyes fixed on me, burning with judgment. “This is disgusting,” a woman muttered, hugging her acceptance folder to her chest. “How could anyone do that to their best friend?” “Redwood needs to address this immediately,” a man added, pulling his phone out to record. “This is a scandal. Don’t worry, honey,” he said, turning to Chloe, “we’ll help you. This won’t stand.” “Yes!” someone else shouted. “Tell us what you need. We’re on your side!” Amidst the chorus of support, Chloe began to weep again. She pushed herself up, staggering to her feet. She slowly, deliberately rolled up the leg of her faded jeans. “I want my life back,” she sobbed, her voice cracked and broken. “I want my body back. I want everything she stole from me!” A collective gasp sucked the air out of the quad. Chloe’s left leg, from the knee down, was a prosthetic made of carbon fiber and plastic. The crowd looked from the fake limb to me, their expressions hardening into pure, unadulterated rage. If looks could kill, I would have been torn apart on the spot. “Maddie Sterling, you ruined her,” a student seethed, stepping closer. “You’re a monster.” “You drive a luxury car and sit in an ivory tower while the friend who trusted you is forced to live like this? You deserve to rot!” My frustration was starting to boil over. This was insane. The accusations were getting more theatrical by the second, and I had no idea what game Chloe was trying to play. “Chloe, listen to me,” I said, my voice tight. “You are claiming I stole your scores. Do you have a single shred of actual evidence? Because this is slander, and I will sue you for it.” “Sue me?” Chloe whispered, fresh tears leaking from her eyes. “Of course you would. You’re the powerful professor, respected and untouchable. And I’m nothing. I’m scum on the bottom of your shoe. I have no power, no money, no voice. Of course I can’t win against you in court!” “But Maddie, answer me this. For ten years, every single month when you cashed your massive paycheck, every time you looked into the adoring eyes of your students… did your conscience ever bother you? Even once?” Seeing her play the victim so effectively, the crowd erupted again, their insults raining down on me. I let out a harsh, defeated sigh. “Chloe, I admit it. Your grades were incredible. Better than mine. I never denied that.” “But I swear to you, I did not steal your scores. Think about it logically. How would that even be possible? I didn’t know your personal information. How could I possibly pull off a conspiracy that massive? How could I trick the College Board, the university admissions, and everyone else?” Chloe listened to my defense, and a slow, terrifying smile spread across her face. Then, she threw her head back and laughed, a high-pitched, fragile sound that set my teeth on edge. “Maddie, I knew you’d say that. Of course you’d deny it. People like you never take responsibility.” “Maybe you couldn’t do it alone. But your father could. Our high school guidance counselor, Mr. Sterling? He knew everything about me.” “I found the proof, Maddie. I found the bank records showing the bribes your father paid to an insider at the testing center. If you don’t confess right now, I’m taking this entire family down. You can all rot in federal prison together!” My father… Samuel Sterling? The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. My heart hammered against my ribs, fueled by a terrifying mix of confusion and pure, blinding anger. “My father is not Samuel Sterling,” I seethed, each word a chip of ice. “His name is Robert Sterling. I told you that in high school. Why won’t you listen?” Chloe didn’t even hesitate. She lunged forward and slapped me, the crack echoing like a gunshot. “You’ve been planning to steal my future from the day we met, so of course you’d lie about something as simple as your father’s name!” “But it doesn’t matter, Maddie. You can deny the physical evidence all you want. But I have a witness!” Before I could process what was happening, a man pushed through the tight circle of the crowd. He stepped in front of Chloe, placing a protective hand on her shoulder, and looked at me with chilling indifference. “Maddie, I’m the witness Chloe was talking about.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The man standing before me was my high school crush, the one I had pined over for years. The man I was currently dating, and whom I believed was the love of my life. Caleb Reynolds. 3 “I’m Maddie’s boyfriend, but I was also her classmate in high school. I can testify under oath that her grades were nowhere near Chloe’s. The only possible way she could have gotten into Redwood, let alone become a professor here, was by stealing Chloe’s scores.” The crowd, which had briefly been silenced by my confusion, erupted again with twice the fury. “Her own boyfriend is testifying against her! What more proof do you need?” “There’s no way out of this one, Maddie. The game is over. Confess!” I couldn’t speak. I just stared at Caleb, my mind trying to reconcile the man I loved with the person standing there destroy me. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, creating a horrifying picture. A few days ago, when I received my official tenure offer from Redwood, I was so ecstatic I posted a picture of the letter on social media. That was when Caleb, who I hadn’t seen since high school, suddenly slid into my DMs. He told me he had a massive crush on me back then but was too intimidated to say anything. He suggested we grab a drink to catch up. I was on cloud nine. I thought my high school dream was finally coming true, that the crushing unrequited love of my youth was transforming into a beautiful reality. But looking back now, I realized how idiotic I had been. There was no love, no hidden pining. Caleb’s sudden appearance was a tactical move, part of a calculated trap. The fact that I had opened up to him completely, trusted him with my heart and my soul, only for him to turn around and commit the lowest form of betrayal… it was too much to bear. I felt like my heart had been physically ripped from my chest. I stared at him, my eyes silently pleading for him to tell me this was all a twisted joke. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pulled out his phone and began tapping on the screen. “I also have access to her financial records. I manage her accounts.” “Look at this. She spends five thousand dollars on a single dinner without even blinking. Every piece of jewelry she wears, every bag she owns, is a luxury item.” “But this lifestyle? The luxury, the security, the respect? This was supposed to be Chloe’s life!” As he listed my expenses, contrasting my life of luxury with Chloe, who was standing there in a threadbare coat in the middle of winter, the quad descended into chaos. The supporting crowd was ready to lynch me. The media reporters Chloe had brought with her swarmed me, thrusting microphones and cameras into my face, eager to document my downfall. “Maddie Sterling, for ten years, you have knowingly occupied a life that wasn’t yours. How do you sleep at night?” “You’ve been basking in the glory of being a professor at an elite university, adulated by everyone, while the ‘best friend’ you betrayed was forgotten on a factory floor. Do you feel even a shred of remorse for your catastrophic selfishness?” Hearing the wave of support for her, Chloe began to sob again. “Maddie, it’s been ten years. Everything I learned in high school is gone. Even if you gave me the chance to go back to school right now, I don’t have the money or the strength to do it.” “I have the evidence. I have the witness. I want justice, and I want compensation for everything you took from me. Ten million dollars. Not a penny less.” The quad erupted again, but this time, the reaction was mixed. “Ten million? Isn’t that a bit much? Whose ten years is worth ten million dollars?” “I think she’s asking for too little,” someone argued back. “Three fingers, a prosthetic leg, and a decade of brutal, crushing labor? If I offered you ten million dollars, would you swap places with her?” “No amount of money can truly heal the psychological trauma,” another voice chimed in. “I support her claim!” “Chloe, don’t cry anymore. Everyone is on your side,” a reporter cooed, checking her phone. “Look, the live stream of this is over a million viewers already. The whole world has seen what Maddie Sterling did to you. We’ll make sure you get the justice you deserve.” My heart did a painful flip-flop. I yanked my phone out and clicked on the live stream link someone had tweeted. The comments section was a toxic sludge of hatred. Hundreds of thousands of people were calling for my head. 【This woman is a parasite. I’m flooding Redwood’s official page right now demanding they fire her and press charges. Justice for Chloe!】 【Redwood needs to be held accountable for hiring a criminal. Maddie Sterling stole a life. Stripping her of her tenure isn’t enough; she needs to be in federal prison.】 My entire world was collapsing around me, online and offline. I let out a long, ragged sigh, held my hands up, and spoke the absolute truth. “Listen to me. You are all standing here accusing me of stealing Chloe’s life.” “But the truth is, I am not a tenured professor at Redwood University.” “In fact, I never even went to college.” 4 The quad descended into an uneasy silence before exploding with twice the fury. “Are you serious? Look at the coat you’re wearing, it’s brand new. The shoes on your feet are designer. Where did you get that money, Maddie? Everyone knows the truth. Stop lying!” “She’s clearly desperate,” another voice added. “Look at how well-maintained she is. She looks at least ten years younger than Chloe. Do you know how much money it costs to look like that? We aren’t idiots, Maddie. Stop the act!” “She definitely has money,” a student seethed. “She probably used the university prestige to bag some rich husband, and now she’s lying about her degree to avoid paying Chloe back!” They started surging forward, pushing and shoving me. In the chaos, I fumbled my car keys, and they clattered onto the stone pathway. Immediately, someone with sharp eyes spotted the key fob and shrieked. “That’s a key for a brand-new Ferrari! Those cars are over two hundred thousand dollars! You have money to throw around on luxury cars, but you don’t have money to compensate the friend whose life you stole?!” “This woman is pure evil. She needs to pay, right now! We aren’t letting her leave until she gives Chloe the money!” Hearing the wave of support, a look of smug triumph flashed in Chloe’s eyes. “Maddie, you enjoyed the life that was meant for me. You have to pay me back.” “The second the money hits my account, we’re even. I’ll walk away and never bother you again. This is my account information. Transfer it now.” She shoved her phone with the bank info into my face. Caleb stood right behind her, his gaze intense, waiting for me to break. I stared at her for a long, painful moment. Then, I used my hand to slap her phone away, and it clattered onto the pavement. “Chloe, are you serious? I already told you, I never went to college.” “I see what this is now. This whole thing—the performance, the witness—it’s all just a pathetic shakedown for money. Well, I have news for you. I wouldn’t give you a single dime, even if I was drowning in it!” Chloe’s eyes went wide with fury. She looked utterly incredulous. “Maddie Sterling, you stole my life! Compensating me isn’t optional, it’s mandatory!” “But not only do you show zero remorse, you have the audacity to insult me like this? Today, one way or another, you are giving me that money!” I actually burst out laughing. It was a cold, harsh sound. “Fine. Since you are absolutely convinced I switched our scores, call the police. Let them investigate. Let’s see what kind of magical powers I have that allowed me to switch scores, trick the federal government, and then conveniently skip college entirely to move abroad!” Chloe was momentarily speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Caleb Reynolds, however, immediately stepped forward, shielding her. “You’re still trying to lie! Maddie, you claim you didn’t go to college. Then explain this!” He yanked his phone out and thrust the screen into the crowd’s face. Everyone leaned in, then burst into collective scoffs. “This is hilarious. Look at the diploma on the screen. It clearly has Maddie’s name on it, and it clearly says she graduated from Redwood University. You seriously have the nerve to deny this physical evidence?!” “This woman has lied so much she actually believes her own delusions!” Chloe seized the opportunity, lunging forward to grab my legs, sobbing historically, begging me to just give her the money. The crowd erupted again, the dynamic shifting from insults to physical intimidation. It felt like they were moments away from tearing me apart right there on the quad. Online, the live stream was also boiling over. People were demanding to know my background, theorizing about what kind of vast, deep-state conspiracy allowed me to be so untouchable. Amidst the chaos, President Harrison of Redwood University and the heads of several departments burst through the crowd, escorted by campus security. They shoved people aside to get to me. President Harrison took a deep breath, looked around the hostile crowd, and spoke clearly into a megaphone. “According to our official university records, Maddie Sterling is not a graduate of Redwood University.” “Furthermore, she is not, nor has she ever been, employed here as a professor.” “The reason she is currently on campus is because she was recently hired through an external staffing agency as one of our new dorm janitors…”

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In the fall of 1982, my husband, Captain Arthur Hayes, was awarded a Meritorious Service Medal. The base hosted a massive twelve-table banquet to celebrate. No one bothered to tell me. By the time I rushed back, the banquet was long over, and there wasn’t a single scrap of food left on the stove. Sarah, the widow of his fallen squadmate, was sitting in our living room, sipping from a steaming bowl of homemade chicken stew. Her daughter was happily chewing on a piece of saltwater taffy. My own daughter was squatting by the kitchen door, gnawing on a stale, cold biscuit. Arthur cast a cold glance my way. “You’re finally back? Sarah is due any day now. Go wash up and help her.” In my past life, I wouldn’t have dared to disobey. Because he was an officer. Because my mother-in-law used “Christian charity” and “family duty” to crush my spirit. Because Sarah was a Gold Star widow, and the entire base had babied her. I spent twenty years serving them, until I was lying in a hospital hallway, dying of stage-four stomach cancer. That was when I finally heard the whispers from the nurses. Both of Sarah’s children belonged to Arthur. When I died, he didn’t even show up. Living a second time, I crouched down, took the cold biscuit out of my daughter’s hands, and handed her a fresh cupcake I had bought in town. Then I stood up. “Arthur, I want a divorce.” The living room fell dead silent. The bowl of chicken stew in Sarah’s hands hit the edge of the table, spilling halfway. The little girl riding on Arthur’s shoulders burst into loud wails. Arthur set the child down, handed her to Sarah, and took long strides toward the kitchen door. He was in his dress uniform, the top two buttons undone. He was frowning at me, looking exactly as he had in my past life. “What did you just say?” “A divorce.” I didn’t back down. I crouched to wipe the frosting off Chloe’s mouth. “I think I spoke clearly enough.” Arthur froze for three seconds, then let out a cold laugh. “Eleanor, have you lost your mind?” My mother-in-law, Martha, stormed out of the back room, holding a freshly baked pie meant for Sarah. “Divorce? You think you can just marry into the Hayes family and leave whenever you please?” I ignored her. I stood up, brushed the dust off my knees, and looked Arthur dead in the eye. In my past life, I had cried, screamed, and begged on my knees in front of this man. His response was always an impatient rub of his temples, as if I were nothing but a nuisance. “I’m going to the county courthouse tomorrow.” I took Chloe’s little hand and walked toward the door. Arthur grabbed my arm, his grip so tight my bones ached. In my past life, I would have endured it. He was a soldier, a decorated hero. The whole town said I was lucky to bag a man like him. What else could I do but endure? This time, I violently wrenched my arm free. “Touch me again, and I’m walking straight into the Base Commander’s office.” Arthur froze completely. He cared about that uniform more than his own life. I had never used it to threaten him before. He couldn’t believe those words came out of my mouth. Sarah hurried out of the living room holding her child, her eyes red. Her voice was soft and sickeningly sweet. “Eleanor, is this because of me? If I’m making you unhappy, I’ll pack my bags and go.” In my past life, the moment she said that, Arthur would explode at me for being petty and jealous. Then Sarah would cry, Martha would yell at me, and the cycle would repeat infinitely. This time, I didn’t even bother to entertain her performance. I led Chloe out the front gate, leaving Martha’s curses and Sarah’s perfectly timed sobs behind me. Chloe looked up at me. “Mommy, where are we going?” “To Grandpa and Grandma’s house.” As we walked out of the neighborhood, I glanced back. Arthur was standing at the gate, silhouetted against the light. I couldn’t see his expression. He didn’t chase after us. Exactly as I expected. From the Hayes’ house to my parents’ farmhouse was a forty-minute walk down a dirt road. Halfway there, Chloe couldn’t walk anymore, so I crouched down and carried her on my back. A five-year-old child, and she was terrifyingly light. She weighed less than the backpack of books I had lugged back from the city. It was the same in my past life. She never had enough to eat or warm enough clothes. Any good thing that came into the house went straight to Sarah and her kid. I only fought back once. It was when Sarah’s daughter and Chloe both caught a high fever at the same time. There was only one bottle of Children’s Tylenol left in the house. Martha gave it all to Sarah’s kid. I carried my burning daughter and ran three miles to the clinic. By the time we got there, Chloe was having febrile seizures. When Arthur found out, what did he say? “Sarah’s child has a weaker constitution. As a mother, how can you not see the bigger picture?” That night, sitting in the yard holding Chloe, I realized for the first time that this marriage was hopeless. But hopeless or not, I couldn’t leave. Martha crushed me with family duty, the neighbors guilt-tripped me with Sarah’s “widow” status, and Arthur’s single phrase—”You’re being unreasonable”—could turn the whole base against me. I didn’t understand the law. I didn’t know how to file for divorce, or how military custody worked. Back then, aside from crying, I knew nothing. This life was different. I had studied for four years at the State Teachers College. Right before graduation, I secured a teaching contract at a high school in the city. In my past life, I gave up that contract for Arthur. I didn’t even mention it to him. The Dean told me he would hold the position until the end of the month. I had twelve days left. When we reached the farmhouse, my dad, Thomas, was chopping wood in the yard. Seeing me carrying Chloe, the axe almost slipped and hit his foot. “Ellie? Aren’t you supposed to be in the city?” “Dad, I’m divorcing Arthur.” My dad froze. The wood in his arms tumbled to the dirt. My mom, Mary, poked her head out of the kitchen. She beamed when she saw Chloe, but the second she processed the word “divorce,” the color drained from her face. “Are you crazy? Arthur is an officer! Half the girls in the county would kill for a husband like him—” “He’s keeping another woman and her kids in our house,” I said, cutting her off. I set Chloe down and nudged her toward the kitchen to find a snack, lowering my voice. “Let me come home.” My mom stood paralyzed. My dad slowly stood up straight, his face turning an iron-grey. “Is what you’re saying true?” “Every word.” There was a long silence. My dad drove his axe hard into a tree stump. “Mary, stop crying. Our girl is home. Fry up a chicken.” Early the next morning, I went to the county courthouse. It was a cramped room with two desks and faded posters on the wall. The clerk recognized me. “Eleanor, what brings you in?” “I need to file for divorce.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Your husband is Captain Hayes out at the base, right? Is he with you?” “Not yet. I want to know the process first.” The clerk flipped through a binder, looking uncomfortable. “A divorce requires both parties to sign, unless you want a drawn-out battle. He’s military, Eleanor. The courts around here favor the uniform. If he contests it, and you don’t have a lawyer, the judge won’t grant it. And he could sue for full custody.” The uniform. That uniform had locked me in a cage for a lifetime. But I had spent time in the college library looking up family law. The law protects the soldier, yes. But if the soldier has committed a major fault—that’s a different story. “What if the officer is at fault?” I asked. “For example, living in adultery.” The clerk’s hand stopped. He looked up. My expression was completely calm. He cleared his throat. “Do you… have proof?” I smiled, didn’t answer, and turned to walk out. Arthur would never agree to a divorce voluntarily. Not because he loved me. But because of his pride. A decorated officer getting dumped by his wife? It was a scandal. Furthermore, he needed me as his “legal wife” to serve as a smokescreen while he kept his mistress in the house. In my past life, I was that smokescreen. Used for twenty years, torn and tattered, and he couldn’t even be bothered to replace me. Only after I died did he finally make Sarah his legal wife. Standing outside the courthouse, I thought for a moment, then headed to the post office. I mailed two letters. One to the Dean at the college, confirming I would take the teaching position. The second to my college roommate, Joan. She worked at a radio station in the city, and her husband was a court clerk there. In my past life, I was too embarrassed to ask for help and carried all the suffering myself. This time, I understood: use the connections you have, borrow the strength you can. I wasn’t stealing or cheating; I was just refusing to be a victim. After mailing the letters, I stood on the post office steps. The August sun was merciless. Squatting outside the local diner across the street was a man in fatigues. Arthur’s aide, Private Miller. He jogged over, a fake smile plastered on his face, his tone dripping with condescension. “Mrs. Hayes, the Captain told me to give you a message. He says you need to hurry back. Sarah is about to pop, and the house can’t run without you.” In my past life, this was the guy who constantly badmouthed me to Arthur. “Your wife is so narrow-minded, Captain.” “Sarah has it so rough, why can’t your wife just be a little generous?” I looked at Private Miller and gave him a cold smile. “You go back and tell Arthur Hayes that if Sarah is having a baby, he needs to find a doctor, not me. I’m a teacher, not a midwife.” Miller’s mouth hung open. He choked on his words. I didn’t look at him again. I walked into the general store and bought a tin of premium coffee and a box of Carnation instant milk. The coffee for my mom. The milk for Chloe. From now on, I was only serving the people I cared about. Back at the farmhouse, I mixed a cup of warm milk for Chloe. She held the enamel mug with both hands, drinking it sip by sip. When she was done, she licked the rim clean. Watching her do that made my chest physically ache. In my past life, all the milk powder went to Sarah’s kid. Martha used to say, “That poor child has no father, we can’t let her starve.” But what about my Chloe? Her father was alive and well, yet she lived worse than an orphan. I crouched down and wiped the milk mustache off Chloe’s face. “Chloe, Mommy is going to take you to a place far, far away. There’s a giant school there, and lots of kids to play with. Do you want to go?” Chloe nodded eagerly. Then she hesitated. “Is Daddy coming?” “No.” “What about Auntie Sarah?” “Not her either.” Chloe thought for a second, put down the mug, and wrapped both her little arms around my neck. “Wherever Mommy goes, I go.” That afternoon, my dad went out for a while. When he came back, he had a canvas pouch in his hand. He opened it—a stack of cash. “This is the money we’ve been saving for your brother Sam’s wedding. You borrow it first. Pay me back once you’re settled in the city.” “Dad—” “Don’t be polite with your old man.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “I went to see Mr. Miller, the town accountant. His daughter works at the county office.” Scrawled on the paper was a name and an address. Women’s Legal Aid Society. Helen Carter. “Mr. Miller says finding this Director Helen is a lot more useful than you fighting the courthouse alone.” I gripped the piece of paper, my eyes burning. In my past life, my dad never knew the truth. He thought I had a good life. Even on his deathbed, he mumbled, “My Ellie married an officer… she’s living the good life.” In this life, I wouldn’t let him die carrying a lie. On the third day, I went to the Women’s Legal Aid Society. Helen was in her early forties, with a sharp bob cut. Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word had weight. I told her the entire story from beginning to end. No crying, no hysterics. Like giving a professional briefing, I laid out the dates, the people, the details. When I finished, Helen slammed her coffee mug onto the desk. “Son of a bitch.” She wasn’t cursing at me. “Eleanor, do you have proof?” “No physical proof yet. But Sarah’s husband, Sergeant Davis, was killed in action in February 1979. Her first child was born in March 1981.” “Unless she was pregnant for twenty-four months.” Helen’s pen stopped. She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know Davis’s exact date of death?” “When I was at college, I went to the state military archives and looked it up. I had my suspicions the first time Sarah moved into our house, but I was too much of a coward to face the truth.” Helen stared at me for a long time. “You’re a smart woman.” “But I was stupid for a whole lifetime,” I replied. Helen didn’t understand what I meant by that, but she didn’t pry. She stood up and pulled a manila envelope from her filing cabinet. “I’ll help you with the divorce. But you need to do something for me. Take this letter of introduction. Go to Sergeant Davis’s old base and pull his records. Get his death certificate and the child’s birth certificate. Once we have it in black and white, he won’t be able to deny a thing.” I nodded. “I’ll go.” “How long until your teaching offer expires?” “End of the month. Nine days.” “We have time.” Helen handed me the letter. “Come straight to me when you get back. I’ll go with you to the Base Commander.” I took the envelope, stood up, and gave her a deep bow. Helen waved her hand. “Don’t thank me. Your situation isn’t unique. There’s a lot of rot hidden under rugs in this county.” On the fourth day, I rode a Greyhound bus all day to reach Sergeant Davis’s old base. The man who received me was a Lieutenant Brooks. He read Helen’s letter and pulled the files. Black and white. Sergeant Davis. Killed in Action: February 17, 1979. Sarah’s eldest daughter: Born March 4, 1981. A gap of exactly two years and one month. I copied the dates into my notebook. Lieutenant Brooks watched me, his expression complex. “Why are you looking into this?” “Family matters.” He didn’t ask further. But as I got up to leave, he suddenly called out to me. “There’s something I don’t know if I should mention.” I stopped. Chapter 2 “When Sarah came to collect the survivor benefits years ago, an officer came with her. He claimed to be Davis’s squadmate. Last name was Hayes.” Brooks sighed. “Sarah was heavily pregnant at the time. This Hayes guy had his arm around her the entire time. We all assumed they were husband and wife.” I gripped my notebook, my knuckles turning white. In my past life, I had cowered in that house for twenty years. Everyone knew the truth, and I was the only one kept in the dark. “Thank you,” I said softly. The bus ride back was incredibly bumpy. Outside the window, endless stretches of dusty fields and sparse poplar trees rolled by. Leaning against the glass, I felt completely at peace. In my past life, learning the truth felt like the sky was caving in. In this life, these papers were just the bargaining chips for my freedom. I rushed back to town on the evening of the fifth day and went straight to Helen. She reviewed the documents I brought back and slapped the desk. “Ironclad.” “Day after tomorrow, we go see the Base Commander.” When I got back to the farmhouse, my mom told me Arthur had come by. “He brought that aide of his. Acting all fierce, demanding you go home immediately.” “And then what?” I asked. “Your dad chased him three blocks down the street with a pitchfork. Didn’t catch him, though.” I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. In my past life, when Arthur came to fetch me, my dad slaughtered our best chicken to welcome him. Because he thought his son-in-law was a respectable officer, his daughter’s pride and joy. In this life, he knew the truth. A pitchfork was much more fitting than a chicken. My mom sat by the stove, wiping her tears, muttering old sayings about how a married daughter is like spilled water—you can’t take her back. My dad, peeling an apple for Chloe, snapped back: “What spilled water? My daughter is a flowing river. If one pond is too small for her, she’ll just wash it away and keep moving.” Chloe took a bite of the apple and chimed in: “Grandpa is right! Mommy is a mighty river!” The whole room burst out laughing. It was the first genuine smile I had worn since my rebirth. On the seventh day, Helen took me to the base headquarters. We didn’t go to the Hayes house. We went straight to the chain of command. Colonel Vance was an older veteran in his fifties. After reading the documents, he sat in absolute silence for a long time. “Are you sure you want to take this step?” he asked, looking at me. “Captain Hayes was just awarded a commendation.” “Colonel, his medals belong to him, but his sins are his too,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t shake. “One does not cancel out the other.” Helen added from the side: “The violation of military conduct and adultery are clear and proven. You can’t sweep this under the rug just because he has a medal.” Colonel Vance sighed and ordered someone to fetch Arthur. Twenty minutes later, Arthur pushed the door open. He obviously didn’t know I was there. The moment he saw me, his footsteps faltered. Then he saw Helen, and the documents spread across the Colonel’s desk. The color drained from his face, inch by inch. “Eleanor. You’re throwing a tantrum at Command HQ now?” His tone carried that suppressed, icy rage. In my past life, that tone would make my knees buckle. This time, I remained seated, perfectly still. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’m here to finalize our divorce.” “I refuse,” Arthur shot back, a conditioned reflex. Colonel Vance cleared his throat and pushed the files toward him. “Captain Hayes. Look at these yourself.” Arthur looked down. Whatever blood was left in his face vanished entirely. Davis’s KIA report. The birth certificate of Sarah’s child. The written testimony from Lieutenant Brooks at the old base. The timeline, in black and white. He looked up at me. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I had known Arthur Hayes for ten years. It was the first time I had ever seen this expression on his face. Not anger. Not impatience. It was the sheer terror of a man stripped naked in public. “When… when did you investigate this?” “Does it matter?” I asked. He opened his mouth, then suddenly turned to the Colonel, his voice dropping low. “Colonel, this is a private family matter, could we please—” “Captain Hayes.” Vance cut him off. He didn’t yell, but his voice was crushing. “Are you worthy of the medal pinned to your chest?” The office was dead silent for a full thirty seconds. Helen pulled the divorce papers from her briefcase and set them on the table. “Sign it,” I said. “We have nothing left to talk about.” Arthur didn’t sign it right away. He gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. Finally, he forced the words through his teeth: “Give me two days.” I was about to refuse—in my past life, his “just wait a little longer” was always a stalling tactic, dragging things out until I softened, until I compromised. But Colonel Vance spoke up first. “Two days. Not a second more.” Helen looked at me. I nodded. Not because my heart was soft. But because I had five days left until the end of the month. I had plenty of time.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “398291”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my biological daughter was kidnapped, my husband suggested we adopt a little girl to heal our family. But on the exact day we finally found and brought my biological daughter back home, bizarre floating text began appearing in my vision. [Oh god, it’s one of those ‘Fake vs. Real Daughter’ stories! I know this trope. The parents and the older brother are going to blindly favor the adopted daughter and literally drive the real daughter to her death. And only after the real daughter dies will they suddenly ‘realize their mistake’ and suffer from endless, useless regret.] [I absolutely despise this toxic tragedy trope! It’s so emotionally manipulative!] [The poor little real daughter. She probably thinks coming back to her biological parents means she’ll finally be happy, but she’s just walking into another hellhole…] I thought the floating text was some kind of absurd hallucination. But then, my eight-year-old son, Liam, pointed a finger directly at my newly returned daughter and screamed: “Chloe is my only sister! I hate you!” My husband, Mark, holding our adopted daughter, Chloe, gave Liam a half-hearted, toothless reprimand. “Liam, Lily is your sister too. You can’t talk to her like that.” Liam yelled back defiantly, “I don’t care! I hate her!” Lily, my biological daughter, looked at Liam, then at me. Her large eyes slowly welled up with tears. I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped, shouting loudly, “Liam! Stop talking nonsense right now!” Liam stubbornly glared at me, refusing to back down. “I don’t care! I will never accept her as my sister! Chloe is my only sister!” I was so furious I wanted to slap some sense into him. Mark awkwardly tried to smooth things over. “Honey, calm down. Liam is just throwing a childish tantrum. He’s just saying things. We just need to guide him slowly.” I was disgusted by Mark’s dismissive attitude. But when I looked down and saw Lily’s red, tear-filled eyes, I immediately crouched down and pulled her into my arms. “It’s okay, baby. If you want to cry, just cry. Mommy will always love you.” Lily pressed her lips together tightly. She looked at me, clearly wanting to cry but too terrified to actually let the tears fall. It broke my heart into a million pieces. Right then, our adopted daughter, Chloe, ran over and hugged my leg. “Chloe wants Mommy to hug her too.” I looked down. Chloe was staring up at me with big, pitiful eyes. Just as I was feeling a brief pang of conflict, the floating text appeared again: [Look at this! The fake daughter plays the victim, and the mom’s heart is already softening! So frustrating!] [The fake daughter is so gross. Before she transmigrated into this world, she was literally a woman in her twenties! Now she’s acting like a toddler, fighting a five-year-old for attention.] [Don’t worry, she won’t just fight for attention. She’s going to constantly frame the real daughter until everyone hates her. Eventually, the real daughter will either commit suicide in despair or die of a terminal illness.] I stared intently into Chloe’s eyes. Sure enough, beneath the facade of childhood innocence, I caught a fleeting, calculated gleam of manipulation. My blood ran cold. “Chloe, Mommy is holding your sister right now, I don’t have a free hand. Go ask Daddy to hold you.” A dark, resentful look flashed across Chloe’s eyes, but she masked it instantly. Playing the role of the rejected, heartbroken child, she whispered, “Okay, Mommy.” Mark was furious with how I handled it. His face dark, he marched over and scooped Chloe up into his arms. Chloe seemed incredibly wronged. She wrapped her arms around Mark’s neck and began to cry softly against his shoulder. Mark looked at her with intense pity, and the glare he shot me was filled with deep resentment. Liam marched over to me, angrily demanding, “Mom, why wouldn’t you hug Chloe?!” Looking at his entitled, self-righteous expression, my heart turned to ice. “Can’t you see my hands are full?” “Then you shouldn’t be hugging her!” Liam screamed, violently grabbing Lily and trying to physically drag her out of my arms. “You annoying freak! Get down! You’re not allowed to let my mom hug you!” Lily was terrified. She instinctively threw her arms around my neck, clinging to me for dear life. I exploded. I slapped Liam’s hands away and roared, “LIAM!” Liam was stunned by my scream. A second later, he burst into loud, wailing sobs. Chloe wriggled out of Mark’s arms, ran over, and spread her arms wide, positioning herself protectively in front of Liam. “Mommy, if you don’t like me, that’s fine, but please don’t hit my brother!” Empowered by Chloe’s defense, Liam cried even louder, screaming at me, “I don’t want you! You’re a bad mom! You’re a bad mom!” Chloe turned around, hugged Liam, and started “sobbing” hysterically with him. “Don’t cry, brother! I love you the most!” Mark shot me a furious, disgusted glare. He walked over, kneeling down to wrap one arm around Liam and the other around Chloe. His eyes were overflowing with heartbreak for them. Both kids buried their faces in his chest, weeping as if they had been brutally abused. I looked at my biological daughter, Lily, who was biting her lip, desperately trying to suppress her own tears. My heart physically ached for her. [Honestly, the transmigrator’s acting is a bit over the top…] [I get that the brother is only eight and can’t tell he’s being manipulated, but how is the dad this stupid?] [The most surprising thing here is that the mom hasn’t lost her mind yet. I’m actually a little shocked…] [It’s just temporary. Following the standard trope, the mom will inevitably take the fake daughter’s side eventually.] [Giving the real daughter hope and then ripping it away… that’s even more cruel…] I had already made my choice, but now was not the time to put all my cards on the table. “Finding your biological daughter and immediately abandoning your adopted daughter” was a narrative that would get me crucified by the internet mob. Furthermore, I was currently under review for a massive promotion at work. I couldn’t afford to be impulsive. I had to wait until I could execute a flawless exit strategy before making a move. After all the kids were asleep, Mark and I returned to our master bedroom. Mark immediately adopted a patronizing, lecturing tone. “I know your heart aches for Lily, but Chloe is our daughter too. You can’t just ignore Chloe’s feelings just because you feel guilty about Lily.” I looked up at him, my voice completely flat. “So, in order to protect Chloe’s feelings, I should just neglect the daughter we literally just found and brought home?” Mark was momentarily speechless. I continued, “Do you have any idea how much Lily suffered with her adoptive family?” Mark stammered, unable to form a sentence. I pressed on. “She’s five years old. She was forced to take care of their younger kids. They starved her, dressed her in rags, and beat her constantly.” My voice began to shake with barely contained rage. “Are you blind?! Did you not see how malnourished she is?! Did you not see the bruises and scars covering her entire body?!” Mark opened his mouth, closed it, and finally muttered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through. You’re right, we should be more mindful of Lily’s feelings and emotional state.” I took a deep breath, forcing down my surging emotions and tears. “You didn’t just ‘not think it through.’ You are blatantly biased!” When he was glaring at me while hugging Liam and Chloe, he was resenting Lily just as much as he was resenting me. Thinking of this, my resolve solidified. If I wanted to give Lily a happy, stable life, I had to get her far away from these three toxic people! A flash of guilt crossed Mark’s face. He forced a placating smile, walked over, and tried to hug me. “Don’t be mad, honey. I know I was wrong. I promise I’ll be completely fair from now on. I’ll treat all three kids exactly the same.” I didn’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth. But right now wasn’t the time to tear the family apart. “I hope you mean what you say.” Mark swore up and down, “Absolutely! I promise!” I didn’t respond. Mark leaned down to kiss me. I turned my head, avoiding his lips. “Lily just got back, she has severe attachment issues. I’m going to sleep in her room with her for a while. You go to sleep.” Mark’s face instantly went cold, but he suppressed his anger. “Fine.” [The dad is a lost cause, but it seems like the mom might actually be salvageable.] [Agreed. I just hope the mom stays firmly on the real daughter’s side. Please don’t let the real daughter experience maternal love just to stab her in the back later. That would be devastating.] [I wouldn’t get my hopes up. This is a tragic family drama trope. There’s no way the real daughter gets a happy ending.] [Noooo! Can’t we break the trope?! A powerhouse mother-daughter duo would be so good!] Don’t worry. I’ll give you the powerhouse mother-daughter duo you want to see. My job is incredibly demanding. I didn’t have the time to watch the three kids 24/7. To ensure Lily wasn’t bullied when I wasn’t around, I hired an elite, professional nanny specifically dedicated to caring for and tutoring Lily. Mark complained that it was “unfair” to the other kids. Liam complained that I was playing favorites. Chloe, on the other hand, didn’t say a word. She just constantly looked at me with those big, wounded, pitiful eyes, manipulating Mark and Liam into aggressively defending her against my “injustice.” I ignored all of them. Chloe, predictably, couldn’t sit still. Within a few days, the nanny secretly reported to me that Chloe was constantly trying to subtly sabotage and trip up Lily. Her level of manipulation and scheming was entirely inconsistent with a five-year-old. Because her body contained the soul of an adult woman in her twenties. Of course she wasn’t a normal five-year-old. To avoid tipping my hand, I didn’t expose her. I continued to play the role of the impartial, perfectly fair mother. On the surface, Mark also maintained the illusion of treating them equally. Before I knew it, a month had passed. One Monday morning, I went into my home office to grab some documents for work, only to find a highly classified contract covered in messy crayon scribbles. It was obviously done by a child. Chloe glanced at Lily, then spoke up, sounding incredibly “conflicted.” “Mommy, yesterday afternoon… I saw Lily go into your office.” Liam froze for a second, then immediately jumped in to back her up. “Mom! I saw her too! She definitely drew all over your papers!” Lily panicked, tears springing to her eyes. “Mommy, I didn’t draw on your papers! I promise!” I picked Lily up and kissed her forehead. “Don’t cry. Mommy believes you. Besides, Mommy has digital backups. It doesn’t matter if the paper got drawn on.” Lily looked at me through her tears, her eyes wide with disbelief. She seemed stunned that I actually trusted her. I kissed her soft cheek again. “Mommy will always believe her baby.” After spending the last month together, Lily had begun to trust me. Overwhelmed, she buried her face in my shoulder and began to quietly sob. I comforted her patiently until she calmed down, then set her back on the floor. “Baby, Mommy has to go to work now. I’ll see you tonight.” Lily took a deep breath, nodding bravely. “Okay! See you tonight, Mommy.” Liam stomped his foot in fury. “Mom, you’re so biased! She ruined your stuff and you didn’t even punish her!” Chloe stayed quiet, but her facial expression clearly showed she agreed with Liam. My gaze swept over Chloe, then landed on Liam’s indignant, self-righteous face. “You’re right. Mistakes absolutely must be punished. And lying is no exception.” Liam instantly went dead silent, his face flushing a bright, guilty red. Because Chloe possessed the mind of an adult, she only allowed a micro-expression of guilt to flash across her face before perfectly masking it, looking at Liam with manufactured, innocent confusion. I had to get to the office, so I didn’t say anything else. I worked late that night, not getting home until past 9:00 PM. The moment I walked through the door, I saw Lily being forced to stand in the corner for a “time-out.” The nanny was standing nearby, looking incredibly anxious and helpless. Meanwhile, Mark was holding Chloe, comforting her, while Liam was making silly faces to make Chloe laugh. I froze for a second before an intense, blind rage flared in my chest. The nanny looked at me, her expression fraught with difficulty. I suppressed my fury and spoke calmly. “Ms. Lee, please take Lily up to her room.” The nanny nodded in relief. “Right away, ma’am.” Mark set Chloe down. His face dark with anger, he stood up and marched toward me. “We need to talk in my office.” I nodded. “Fine.” The moment the office door clicked shut, Mark launched his attack. “Sarah, I know you feel bad for Lily, but there is a limit to how much you can spoil a child! Do you have any idea what Lily did today?!” I replied coldly, “The crayon drawings? Lily didn’t do that.” Mark was furious. “Of course I’m not talking about that! Lily pushed Chloe today! She pushed her so hard Chloe hit her head on the coffee table and got a massive bruise!” I frowned. Not because I thought Lily pushing someone was acceptable, but because I knew with absolute certainty that Chloe had orchestrated the entire thing. [The transmigrator is so evil! She literally used the mom’s patience to provoke the real daughter into lashing out!] [And the real daughter barely even touched her! The transmigrator threw herself onto the coffee table on purpose!] [I’m so scared the mom is going to believe Chloe!] Believe Chloe? Not in a million years! Even without the floating text giving me the script, I would never believe Lily was at fault! I looked Mark dead in the eye. “Did you even bother to ask Lily why she pushed her?” Mark choked on his words for a second. “It doesn’t matter why! She shouldn’t be pushing people! And you had no right to end her punishment early!” He paused, his tone hardening. “And I don’t believe a word she says anyway!” Faced with his blatant, unapologetic bias, I felt surprisingly little emotion. “From now on, you are not allowed to interfere in anything involving Lily. I will handle her discipline entirely on my own.” Mark stared at me in disbelief. “What does that mean? You’re forbidding me from parenting Lily?!” I nodded. “Yes.” Mark looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Sarah, you are becoming completely unreasonable!” I scoffed. “Glad you noticed. So keep your unsolicited parenting advice to yourself!” Chloe was standing right outside the office door. When I walked out, she immediately looked up at me with huge, tear-filled eyes. “Mommy, it’s my fault for making Lily mad. Please don’t be angry with her.” Looking at her sickeningly fake, hypocritical face, I wanted nothing more than to rip her mask off right then and there. But I forced myself to hold back. The timing still wasn’t right. I crouched down and gave her a look of deep “affection,” pulling her into a hug. “Thank you for being so understanding, Chloe. Mommy is very happy.” Chloe looked at me with carefully orchestrated hesitation. “Mommy… do you not like me anymore?” If I didn’t know she had a rotten, manipulative core, I probably would have been fooled by her Oscar-worthy performance. I gently rubbed her head, my voice dripping with “sympathy.” “How could you say that? You and Liam are Mommy’s babies too. It’s just that your sister just got home, so Mommy needs to give her a little extra attention to help her adjust.” Chloe nodded “obediently.” “I understand, Mommy.” I looked incredibly “relieved.” “Mommy is so glad you understand.” After perfectly executing my performance with Chloe, I went straight to Lily’s room. Lily had already fallen asleep, comforted by the nanny. I walked over, kissed her soft cheek, and whispered a quiet promise. “I’m sorry, baby. Just endure this for a little while longer. It will all be over soon.” [Holy crap, that scared me! I thought the mom actually flipped sides for a second. Thank god she’s just acting!] [I’m so curious why the mom suddenly got so smart. Not only is she fiercely protecting her real daughter, but she saw right through the fake daughter’s act.] [Did the mom regress to her past life?] [Maybe. But it doesn’t really fit the regression trope.] [The reason doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that she is protecting our little main character!] Of course I’m going to protect my daughter. I knew Chloe wasn’t going to stop her sabotage, so I instructed the nanny to just focus entirely on keeping Lily physically safe. Nothing else mattered. After that incident, the house was relatively peaceful for a few days. Then, Saturday arrived. I had a major project deadline, so I went into the office early. Around noon, just as I was getting ready to eat lunch, the nanny called. She said Chloe had “fallen” down the stairs from the second floor. Chloe was screaming that Lily had pushed her. The nanny had been in the bathroom at the time, so she didn’t actually see what happened. I told the nanny to keep Lily safe and absolutely forbid anyone from punishing her. I hung up the phone and casually finished my entire workday before taking a leisurely drive home. The second I walked through the front door, Mark hurled the TV remote directly at my head. I dodged it. Mark pointed his finger at my nose, screaming in pure rage. “Sarah, are you even human?!” “Your child gets severely injured, and you don’t even bother to call and check on her?! What kind of mother are you?!” “Do you have any idea that Lily almost killed Chloe today?!” “You refuse to discipline her, and you forbid me from doing it. Are you trying to raise a literal murderer?!” I took a deep breath. “Mark. Chloe claimed Lily pushed her, and you just blindly believed it?” Mark yelled back, utterly convinced he was right. “If she didn’t push her, did Chloe just throw herself down a flight of stairs?!” “Let me make this perfectly clear, Sarah. If you continue to blindly protect that psychopath, we are getting a divorce!” Liam immediately chimed in. “Dad! I don’t want Mom! I want to stay with you and Chloe!” Mark looked at Liam with deep pride. “I only want Liam and Chloe anyway!” I let out a cold laugh. “Fine by me.” I turned around and started walking up the stairs. Mark ground his teeth, shouting at my back. “You’re going to regret this, Sarah!” I didn’t pause for a single second. Regret what? The only thing he could do was try to ruin my reputation by claiming I protected my “abusive” biological daughter while neglecting my adopted one. Try to sabotage my career. [The mom is being so careless! She knows the fake daughter is evil, why didn’t she just install hidden cameras in the house?!] Who said I didn’t?

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The first week back after the New Year’s break, we flew to the Chicago headquarters for the annual meeting. The Chairman laughed loudly as he looked over last year’s financial statements. “Sarah has been out at the London branch for three years now. Profits doubled last year—she takes top honors for that.” He turned to look at the man sitting next to him. “Mark, you and Sarah have been together for seven years. It’s about time you bring her back to headquarters and get married.” The other executives started teasing and egging him on. “That’s right, Mr. Sterling. A seven-year marathon? You can’t make a girl wait forever.” I subconsciously gripped my pen tightly. I thought the thousand-plus days and nights in London had finally come to an end. But upon hearing this, Mark Sterling pressed his finger down on the already printed transfer order on the table. “Chloe Bennett is being transferred to headquarters. Sarah Jenkins will remain in her current position.” His voice was cold, strictly business. “Chloe has less experience. Coming back to headquarters to learn is best for everyone.” He looked at me, his gaze dismissive. “Sarah, you wouldn’t want me to get a reputation for nepotism just over a personal matter, would you?” The raucous teasing in the conference room stopped instantly. Chloe bit her lip, the joy in her eyes impossible to hide. “Mr. Sterling, this doesn’t seem right. Sarah has been waiting for three years…” Mark turned his head to look at me. His tone was gentle, but every word felt like a knife. “Sarah, you always see the bigger picture. You understand my decision, right?” “Be good. London isn’t that far. I’ll fly out to see you every weekend from now on and bring you those croissants you love from that bakery on 5th.” I looked at Mark, then at the transfer order in Chloe’s hand that was supposed to be mine, and nodded at him. “Mr. Sterling is right. The workplace should indeed follow rules.” Mark Sterling, the road between New York and London is long. I’m not waiting for that return journey you promised anymore. … When the meeting adjourned, the New York sky was threatening rain. Everyone discreetly left first, but Chloe held her folder and trotted over to stand in front of Mark. Her eyes were red, and she was biting her lip hard. “Mr. Sterling, thank you for this opportunity. It’s just… I’m afraid Sarah will misunderstand…” Mark didn’t even look up; he was already busy pulling his hand away from where it had been resting near mine on the table. “This is a company decision. It has nothing to do with my personal relationship with Sarah.” “Sarah is manager level; she has a better grasp of reality. She won’t lose her head over nothing like you do.” Mark’s tone was distant, holding her at arm’s length. Chloe shot me a quick look, then immediately bowed her head to thank him. “Yes, I will work hard. Sarah… then I’ll have to trouble you to keep handling things in London.” I didn’t speak. I just quietly picked up my things. Only after Chloe disappeared did Mark slowly stand up. He took off his suit jacket and placed it over my shoulders. “Are you angry?” “Chloe is fresh out of college, she hasn’t seen much of the world. She needs systematic learning at headquarters to grow.” “She’ll go back to the London branch sooner or later. I’m thinking about you, too—I’m training a top-tier assistant to send to you later.” I didn’t argue. I picked up my bag and stood up. He moved to my side, quickly grabbing my briefcase from me. “Come on, I’ll take you to your hotel.” In the parking garage, I had just settled into the passenger seat when Mark took out a bakery box. “I had someone wait in line specifically to buy these for you.” He broke off a piece of a pastry and held it to my lips. But I didn’t open my mouth like I usually would. “I don’t have an appetite.” His hand paused awkwardly, then he moved to help me adjust my seatbelt. When he leaned in close, the woody cologne he was wearing was still the one I bought him last year. But as he pulled the shoulder strap, a pink, fluffy keychain hanging near the retractor immediately caught my attention. He froze for a second, then casually ripped it off. “That girl Chloe. She took the car to pick up files yesterday and insisted this seatbelt dug into her neck, so she put this cover on it.” He carelessly threw the pink fluffy thing into the center console storage bin, looking completely exasperated. “Seriously, she’s such a handful. Little girls just love this useless, fancy stuff.” In that storage bin, I used to keep my allergy medication. But now, that small bottle had been squeezed into a corner. The bin was filled with open packs of breath mints, artisanal chocolates, and miniature designer toys… If I remembered correctly, those were all things Chloe liked. I thought about the thousand-plus days and nights in London. Just to see him for a moment, I would work through lunch on Thursday and handle a whole day’s worth of files on Friday. Only then could I make the 6:00 PM last flight to New York. Sometimes due to thunderstorms and delays, I would have to sit in the airport until dawn. He always said, “Sarah, the distance between us is so great; you really don’t need to run back and forth so often.” Back then, I thought he was worried about me being tired. Only now did I understand that Mark Sterling was probably afraid I would walk in on the cozy nest he was preparing for someone else. Mark didn’t notice my inner turmoil. He started the car, his expression normal. “Is your flight booked? I won’t be able to take you to the airport tomorrow.” “Chloe needs to get familiar with the processes; I have to take her around to the different departments.” He spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Only then did I realize that he had long considered me going to the airport alone as the most normal thing. I turned my head and spoke softly. “Mark, I’ve bought 157 round-trip tickets between London and New York. The destination of every single one was you.” “But before she passed, my mom told me that if you knock on a door for seven years and it doesn’t open, it’s time to find a new path.” Mark slammed on the brakes, then reached out to pinch my cheek. “Your mother was just worried about you; she was talking out of frustration.” “I’ll reimburse you for the plane tickets. I promised at the meeting, didn’t I? From now on, I’ll fly to see you. I won’t make you tire yourself out, okay?” He took out a piece of chocolate and stuffed it into my mouth. A sweetness that didn’t belong to me spread through my mouth. “Be good. Don’t throw a temper tantrum right now. When the London project ends, I promise I’ll bring you home.” The car stopped in front of the hotel. Mark didn’t even kill the engine. He looked at his watch, then back at me. “Sarah, I’m really busy this afternoon. Go up and get some rest yourself.” He leaned in a bit, intending to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I leaned back almost like a reflex. “Mark Sterling, seven years is the limit. If you can’t make it happen, I’m not waiting for you anymore.” Mark let out a short laugh, his expression cool. “Stop talking nonsense, Sarah. It’s damp in London; remember to take your medication on time.” The next morning, I appeared punctually at the head office. When Human Resources saw the vacation request form I submitted, they were taken aback, then immediately understood and smiled. “Congratulations, Sarah. I’ve approved these ten days of wedding leave.” “I knew it. Mr. Sterling was just being emotional yesterday. After a night of you straightening him out, he must have rushed to propose to you.” Colleagues passing by heard her ambiguous teasing, and within half an hour, the news spread throughout the entire company. When I walked to the breakroom, several high-level executives I knew nodded at me in congratulation. “Sarah, you two have finally made it. Don’t forget to invite us to the wedding.” I just smiled politely, neither confirming nor denying. “I still have to hand over some work; let’s talk later.” I went to deliver the final report, not having yet entered the Chairman’s office. Through the crack in the door, I saw a sight that made my breath catch. In the Vice President’s office across the hall, Chloe was standing in front of the desk wearing a tight, professional skirt. Mark was leaning forward, his fingers reaching around her waist. It seemed the zipper was stuck, and he was patiently working on it. “This skirt isn’t appropriate. Don’t wear it next time.” Though his words were scolding, the tenderness in his eyes was something I had never seen before. Chloe giggled and snuggled closer into his arms, their posture intimate. “But I wanted to wear it for you, Mark.” Mark looked helpless and tapped her nose. “I failed to train a top-tier assistant, but I certainly raised a little troublemaker.” I curled my lips in a self-mocking smile and raised my hand to knock on the open door frame. The two inside quickly separated. When Mark saw it was me, the smile on his face vanished instantly. “Sarah, why are you still here? Weren’t you supposed to fly to London today?” He looked at the papers in my hand and let out a long sigh of relief. “Is there a report that wasn’t delivered? For a small thing like that, just have Chloe come pick it up.” Mark reached out to take them. Before his fingertips could touch mine, Chloe stepped ahead and grabbed them. “Sarah, I can handle this kind of grunt work. Mr. Sterling just praised me for being a fast learner and doing good work.” Mark nodded. “Chloe is right, Sarah. She is indeed a promising young professional.” At that moment, they truly looked like a great office mentor and mentee. Just then, the Chairman pushed open the door and walked in. As soon as he entered, he laughed heartily. “Mark, you rascal! Sarah’s wedding leave request has already made it to my desk.” “Do you two plan to have the wedding in London or here in New York?” “We have to make sure this wedding is done right for our company’s golden couple.” Mark’s hand froze violently. He looked up at me, first shocked, then anger flared in his eyes. “Chairman, our private matters aren’t settled yet. Don’t believe everything you hear, ha-ha.” The Chairman awkwardly rubbed his nose. Seeming to sense something was wrong, he made an excuse to leave. The door closed. Mark stood up and approached me. “Sarah Jenkins, you’ve really outdone yourself. You submitted a request for wedding leave!” “Acting like this—are you trying to force a marriage?” “What happened to the ‘modern, independent woman’ you always claim to be? Why are you suddenly rushing me and forcing my hand!” He lectured me without hiding his agitation. Chloe stood on the side, chiming in with a timely gasp. “Sarah, you actually submitted wedding leave…” “But Mark still has to take me to site inspections this afternoon. He… he won’t have time to help you prepare for a wedding.” Mark shot me a look of disgust and carelessly swiped a coffee mug off his desk. That mug was one I had custom-made and given to him. “Chloe, sorry you had to see this joke. The afternoon itinerary is unchanged. Go get busy first.” Chloe raised her eyebrows and gave me a meaningful, smug smile. “Okay, Mark. See you at our spot.” With that, she disappeared from my sight. Mark tugged at his tie, softening his voice. “Sarah, drop these little schemes.” “I am currently in a rising phase of my career. I will not let these private matters disrupt my plans.” “Either you use that approved time off to go on a vacation and get some rest—I’ll cover all expenses.” “Or, if you are hell-bent on getting married right now, then you can find the groom yourself.” I didn’t compromise as I usually did. I raised my head, meeting his gaze. “Fine. You said it.” After a busy week, I had almost forgotten Mark Sterling existed. He hadn’t contacted me for days. He was waiting for me to bow my head, waiting for me to send a fearful, apologetic message to coax him like I used to. But I enjoyed the peace. During my free time, I even went to feel the long-absent ocean breeze. I preferred New York. The breeze here was gentle and lingering. Not like London—the air there was damp and carried a sense of brokenness. During those three years in London, I was always a stranger in a strange land. Countless times I woke up in the middle of the night, the only thing on my mind being the promises Mark had made to me by the sea. Until Friday afternoon, he proactively sent a text: [7:00 PM, a restaurant on the Upper East Side. Happy 7th Anniversary.] Looking at those words, my heart wavered slightly. New York’s skyline, with its neon lights flickering bright and dim, reflected on Mark’s affectionate face. He pushed a jewelry box toward me. “Sarah, Happy 7th Anniversary.” My fingertips had just touched the box when his phone vibrated. On the screen, the name ‘Chloe’ was exceptionally jarring. Mark answered the phone. Chloe’s tearful voice immediately came through. “Mark, the power went out at my place. I’m so scared of the dark. I was cutting fruit just now and cut my hand. There’s so much blood…” Mark’s expression changed instantly. He gripped the phone, his voice filled with anxiety. “You’re bleeding? Is it serious? Do you have band-aids?” “Don’t move around!” What a thoughtful three-question response. I withdrew my hand. Whatever was inside that box didn’t matter anymore. He seemed to completely forget that I was sitting across from him, until Chloe cried out again on the other end. Mark looked up. Though his tone was gentle, he had clearly already made a decision. “Sarah, it’s not easy for Chloe being alone in New York. She must be terrified.” “She can handle it. I have to go over there right now.” “Can you wait for me for a bit?” He didn’t wait for my answer. He had already stood up, grabbed his coat, and rushed out of the restaurant. I lived in London alone. I learned to change lightbulbs alone. I suffered alone… from initially only knowing how to cry, to later even being able to fix leaky pipes and carry heavy groceries upstairs… During that entire time, he never appeared by my side. Actually, I had long learned not to need him. Half an hour later, Chloe, with a band-aid wrapped around her finger, appeared at the table. She looked like a child who had done something wrong, shyly hiding behind Mark. “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I’m really too clumsy. I ruined your anniversary celebration.” Mark gentlemanly pulled out a chair for her, sitting down right beside her. “Sarah, Chloe worked with you, after all. Don’t make her feel too uncomfortable.” The waiter began serving the food. Mark raised his hand to stop the plate of escargots. “Take it back. Replace it with fish soup.” That was a dish he used to order for me every single time we dated. “Sarah, your stomach isn’t great. Don’t eat anything too heavy tonight. Just have something light with Chloe.” I didn’t even know who it was exactly that had the weak stomach. He ordered a black truffle steak, cut off a piece himself, and placed it on my plate. “Sarah, you need to nourish yourself. You work too hard in London.” I stared at that piece of meat, my throat aching with bitterness. Mark had forgotten—I was allergic to it. Before going to London, I accidentally ate black truffle and was sent to the ICU. He swore at my hospital bedside that he would never let this food appear in front of me again. Meanwhile, he was lowering his head, patiently picking the side dishes out for Chloe. “Chloe, your digestion is weak. If you can’t handle it, don’t force yourself to eat it.” I picked up my fork and expressionlessly put the steak into my mouth. With my other hand under the table, I found my allergy medication and swallowed it down with the beef. Chloe’s hand slipped, spilling the soup in her bowl. “My skirt…” Her nostrils flared, and she was about to start crying again. Mark reacted quickly, directly grabbing the pocket square lying next to my hand, still in its bag. That was my 7th-anniversary gift to him. I had spent several nights in London embroidering it. He pulled out the square and wiped her skirt. “Why are you being so careless? Isn’t this skirt your favorite?” Chloe mumbled softly, “Thank you, Mark. I like this skirt precisely because the person who gave it to me is so wonderful.” After Mark finished wiping, he casually threw the stained handkerchief onto the table. He looked up at me, seeing me looking at that crumpled mass, and looked a bit impatient. “I’m sorry. It’s just a handkerchief. Chloe would have cried her eyes out if her skirt was ruined.” “You always see the bigger picture. Don’t throw a temper tantrum with me over such a small thing, okay?” I curled my lips into a self-mocking smile. “It’s fine. It served its purpose.” I stood up, walked straight to the front desk, and paid the bill. Mark chased out after me, wanting to take my hand. “Sarah, I’ll compensate you with a better one tomorrow.” I stepped aside, looking at the city lights. “Mark Sterling, there is no tomorrow for us.” He let out a short laugh, not taking these words seriously at all. “Stop it. Go back early and get some rest.” I turned around and didn’t look back at him. The next morning, when Mark called me, I was in the middle of a wedding dress fitting. “Sarah, I have a wedding reception to attend tonight, so I need to get ready. I won’t accompany you shopping today.” I looked at the white gown in the mirror, my tone calm. “Okay.” He paused, seemingly feeling guilty, and added, “Chloe hasn’t seen much of these big events. I want to take her to learn a bit.” “You’ve long grown tired of this kind of event. Going would just be networking for you, so you might as well get some rest.” “Be good. I’ll make it up to you tonight and bring you back some late-night takeout.” I gripped the phone, looking at myself in the mirror—bright and stunning. “I know.” Hanging up the phone, I turned to look at the bridesmaid next to me. “Move the veil back a bit. I don’t want to cover my face.” The Miller wedding reception was set at the most exclusive hotel in New York. When Mark arrived on the arm of Chloe, they indeed stunned quite a few people. Chloe smiled shyly, standing next to Mark—a handsome man and a beautiful woman. Someone went over to tease him. “Vice President Sterling, is this the lady who has been with you for seven years?” Mark didn’t explain, just smiled ambiguously. Chloe generously tightened her grip on his arm, nodding politely to everyone. Mark scanned the room. For some reason, he felt empty inside. He subconsciously touched his pocket; it was empty. Normally, during his networking events, Sarah would have ordered food delivery for him beforehand and prepared hangover medication. The ceremony began, the lights dimmed, and everyone’s attention focused on the entrance. “Now, let us welcome our bride.” The doors opened. Mark was casually drifting off in thought. But when he saw that figure clearly, the wine glass in his hand actually fell to the floor.

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My sister-in-law loved making dirty jokes about my husband. When my husband wore a tight black dress shirt, her eyes lit up: “Wow, looking big and broad where it counts!” When my husband did leg day at the gym, she’d click her tongue in admiration: “A man who trains his legs is the best gift a girl could ask for…” It wasn’t until our family’s holiday dinner party, during a game of Cards Against Humanity-style rapid-fire questions, that she finally crossed the line into blatant provocation. Smiling, I drew a card and asked her: “What do you use to wipe your ass?” My sister-in-law, Chloe, didn’t even blink: “Your husband’s hands!” The entire table erupted into roaring laughter. My mother wasn’t angry at all; instead, she laughed and affectionately patted Chloe’s hand. I drew another card and asked: “What do you use to wash your feet?” She raised an eyebrow with a wicked smirk: “Your husband’s mouth.” My husband, Liam’s, face instantly turned beet red all the way to his ears. I smiled, took a sip of my wine, and asked my final question: “What are you hiding on your phone that you don’t want anyone to see?” Chloe slammed her hand on the table and shouted: “Your husband’s nudes!” My cousin, Tyler, slapped the table in approval, wrapping his arm tightly around Chloe’s waist, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “That’s my wife! She’s ruthless! Mia, you lost! Drink up!” I left my wine glass untouched, staring dead into Chloe’s eyes. “I don’t believe you. Pull them out and show us.” ……. Chloe’s face instantly went paper-white. Her previous arrogance vanished into thin air. She instinctively clutched her phone tightly to her chest, her eyes darting around nervously. Tyler was still hyping up the crowd, reaching out to grab her phone. “Come on, Chloe, pull it out and show her! Make this girl admit defeat!” Another cousin chimed in: “If you don’t have them, you have to take a shot of whiskey!” I let out a soft laugh and immediately poured a massive, overflowing glass of straight whiskey. “I’ve shown my hand. Now let’s see if you actually have the guts to show yours, Chloe.” Chloe’s demeanor snapped. She abruptly stood up, her chair screeching against the floor. “Mia, what the hell is that supposed to mean?! Are you accusing me of something? It’s just a stupid game! I’m not playing anymore!” She turned to storm off, but Tyler grabbed her arm. “Why are you getting so mad? We just want to look at your phone. It doesn’t hurt to just prove it!” The moment those words left Tyler’s mouth, tears started rolling down Chloe’s face like a broken string of pearls. She pointed a trembling finger right at Tyler’s nose and screamed: “So you don’t trust me either, is that it?! Have you been wanting to dump me for some fertile woman who can actually give you kids?!” “Fine! Let’s get a divorce! We can divorce right now!” The moment she said that, the entire living room fell into a deathly, suffocating silence. The older relatives’ faces all changed. They dropped their playing cards and rushed over to intercede. My mom was the first to charge at me. “You stupid girl! It’s the holidays! Why did you have to play this stupid game and provoke your sister-in-law like this?! Are you happy now?!” She viciously pinched my arm. “Apologize to your sister-in-law right now!” My older aunt chimed in: “Mia, you are being incredibly immature! Just because you can’t get pregnant yourself doesn’t mean you should be jealous of your sister-in-law!” My second aunt piled on: “A woman who can’t bear children has committed the ultimate sin! How do you even have the nerve to cause a scene here? If it were me, I’d find a hole to crawl into and hide!” “Chloe, sweetie, don’t be mad. Couples fight, it’s normal! There’s no need to blow this out of proportion just because Mia is acting like a brat!” Chloe cried even harder. “This isn’t about the game! This is about trust! He doesn’t even trust me! How am I supposed to stay married to him?!” As she cried, she sprinted toward the balcony. “I’d be better off dead!” Tyler lost his temper too. “Mia! It was just a game! Are you really going to push your sister-in-law to suicide before you’re satisfied?!” But even as he yelled at me, his eyes couldn’t help but nervously dart toward Chloe. “Chloe… is there actually something on your phone you don’t want us to see?” Chloe’s tears fell even faster. She ran to the edge of the balcony and threw one leg over the railing! Tyler’s face drained of all color. “CHLOE!” My mom was practically jumping up and down in panic. She spun around and slapped me hard across the face. “You jinx! How did I give birth to something like you?!” “She is pregnant with a child! If anything happens to her or that baby, you will be the greatest sinner in this family’s history!” “Get over there and apologize to her right now! Talk her down!” Several of my cousins started shoving me forward. “Go! Do you want to murder the family’s first grandson?!” “You ungrateful bitch! How dare you bully your sister-in-law!” I shrugged indifferently. “She’s the one who can’t handle losing a game she started.” My mom grabbed me by the hair, trying to drag me toward the balcony. “Chloe, please! Mia knows she was wrong! She’s here to apologize!” “Please come down! You’re going to hurt the baby!” Tyler stood nearby, his face looking utterly dreadful, but he couldn’t hide his panicked concern. “Okay, okay, I believe you! We won’t look at the phone, okay? Just come down!” But Chloe felt empowered by the attention. “Why should my reputation be dragged through the mud for no reason?! She has to apologize to me! Otherwise, I’m not coming down!” Tyler panicked. “Mia, please! I’m begging you! I know you’re stubborn, but just apologize to your sister-in-law! She’s pregnant!” I looked at Tyler, shaking my head in profound disappointment. “I’ll apologize, but only after she pulls out her phone and lets me see it.” Chloe immediately threw her other leg over the railing! My mom looked like a deranged lunatic, lunging forward to beat me again, but Liam grabbed her arm to stop her. He shot me a highly complex, unreadable look. “If I take her phone and show it to you, will you apologize?” I raised an eyebrow and nodded. Liam reached out. His hand had barely brushed against Chloe’s phone. Suddenly, Chloe let out a piercing scream. Her foot slipped, and her entire body plummeted backward off the balcony! Without a second thought, Liam lunged forward to grab her, but her momentum threw him off balance, and he was dragged over the railing with her! “CHLOE!” Tyler screamed like his soul had left his body, sprinting frantically down the stairs. I stood coldly in the living room, watching my family devolve into absolute chaos—screaming, calling 911, rushing downstairs to save them. My mom charged back up to me and shoved me violently. “You cold-blooded, heartless animal! Liam fell off the balcony trying to save Chloe, and you don’t even care?!” “Did you really have to win this stupid game?! If there are no photos on that phone, you just murdered two people for nothing!” “How did I raise such a vicious, sociopathic monster?!” The other relatives swarmed around me, pointing fingers. “You absolute jinx! Ruining the holidays with this tragedy!” “You can’t get pregnant yourself, so you can’t stand seeing anyone else happy! Your heart is pure evil!” “Tyler has the worst luck in the world having you as a cousin!” I casually brushed the imaginary dust off my shirt. “We’re on the second floor. Even if they landed on their heads, they wouldn’t die.” “As for what’s on that phone… if she truly had nothing to hide, would she rather risk death than let me see it?” My mom froze, temporarily speechless. Right then, Tyler’s agonizing, gut-wrenching screams echoed from the courtyard below. “Chloe! Chloe is bleeding! The baby! My baby!” Liam, who had broken his leg trying to shield Chloe during the fall, was sweating profusely from the pain. Our massive extended family swarmed the hospital emergency room like a chaotic army. Outside the operating room, Tyler knelt on the floor, his face ghost-white, pulling violently at his own hair. “This is all my fault… this is all my fault…” “Chloe went through so much pain—taking all those pills and getting all those injections just to finally get pregnant—and I actually doubted her… I’m a monster!” I walked up to him and held out my hand. “Where is her phone?” Tyler snapped his head up. His hands balled into tight fists, and pushed past his breaking point, he roared at me: “Your sister-in-law and your husband are both in emergency surgery! And you’re still obsessing over a fucking phone?!” “Is human life worth less to you than a stupid game?!” Furious and devastated, he pulled Chloe’s phone out of his pocket and violently hurled it at my chest. “Here! Take it! Are you happy now?!” The relatives gathered outside the OR instantly erupted, pointing their fingers at my nose and cursing me. “Mia, you have crossed the line!” “You don’t even care if your own husband lives or dies! Are you even human?!” “If anything happens to Chloe, you will pay for it for the rest of your life!” I treated their voices like white noise. My only focus was opening that phone. But the screen was completely shattered from the fall. It was just a glowing white void; I couldn’t see a thing. Tyler let out a cold, bitter laugh as he stood up. “Satisfied now? The phone is destroyed! You can’t check anything!” “If anything happens to my wife or my child, I am going to destroy you!” Everyone crowded around the OR doors, waiting anxiously for news. I quietly texted a friend who worked in IT forensics: “I need a massive favor. I have a phone with a shattered screen that needs data recovery. As fast as humanly possible.” I ordered an emergency courier and sent the broken phone off immediately. Just then, the doors to the operating room opened. The doctor pulled down his mask and shook his head. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could. The baby didn’t make it.” Chloe was wheeled out. Her face was as pale as a sheet of paper, her lips cracked and dry, her eyes tightly closed. Tyler broke down completely. He threw himself over her gurney, sobbing hysterically. “Chloe! My baby! This is all my fault!” “I’m so sorry!” He began viciously slapping his own face, over and over, only stopping when blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. I walked up and patted his shoulder. “Tyler. My condolences.” “But honestly, you shouldn’t be so sure that baby was even yours.” Tyler whipped his head around, grabbed me by the collar, and slapped me hard across the face. “Mia! I’m going to kill you, you bitch!” “What the hell are you trying to do?! Chloe is lying here half-dead, and you’re still trying to slander her?!” “What did I ever do to you that makes you want to destroy my marriage so badly?!” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and stared at him with a cold, mocking smile. “Slander her?” “Tyler, do you honestly believe Chloe was a virgin who had never dated anyone before she met you?” I pulled a photograph out of my pocket and slapped it hard against his chest. It was a photo of Chloe and Liam. In the picture, they looked about seventeen or eighteen years old. They were clinging to each other like conjoined twins. Chloe’s arms were wrapped tightly around Liam’s neck, their lips practically touching. The intimacy was undeniable. Tyler picked up the photo. His eyes instantly glazed over. He stared at the picture, then looked at me, his lips trembling. It took him a long time to force out a sentence. “What… what is this?” The relatives swarming around us leaned in to look. The moment they saw the photo, the hallway exploded in shock. “Wait… isn’t that Liam?” “Chloe and Liam knew each other before this?” “No wonder Chloe refused to show her phone earlier… Is there something going on between them?” The commotion woke Chloe up. She slowly opened her eyes, and the moment she saw the photo, her face turned a ghastly shade of white. She struggled to sit up on the gurney. “Mia! You psycho! Liam and I were just classmates in high school!” “You actually photoshopped a picture to frame me and destroy my marriage with Tyler! You are pure evil!” She looked at Tyler, tears streaming down her face, her eyes filled with desperate grievance. “Honey, you have to believe me! I have never, ever betrayed you! This is all Mia’s sick, twisted conspiracy!” Tyler held the photo, his hands shaking violently. He looked at Chloe, then back at the photo. His eyes were a chaotic mess of conflict and doubt. I let out a cold laugh. “Classmates? Do classmates hold each other that tightly? Do classmates wrap their arms around each other’s necks?” “Chloe, I already did the background check. You and Liam dated in high school, and you lived together for two years!” “When you married Tyler, you played the innocent, pure virgin. Doesn’t that make you sick to your stomach?” Chloe’s face went completely bloodless. She opened her mouth, but for a long time, no words came out. Tyler stared at Chloe. “Chloe, is she telling the truth?” Chloe shook her head frantically, crying and screaming, “NO! Honey, please believe me! Mia made this all up! She’s jealous that I could get pregnant with your child, so she’s trying to frame me!” She struggled off the gurney and threw herself into Tyler’s arms, hugging him tightly around the waist. “Honey, you know how much I suffered to get pregnant! This baby was a miracle! And now that Mia killed our baby, she’s still trying to ruin my reputation…” I laughed. “What’s so hard about getting pregnant? I just lent you my husband for a night, right?” Chloe pointed a shaking finger at me. “What the hell are you talking about?! You really have gone insane from playing that game!” I smiled coldly. “I just paid someone to take the fetal tissue from your miscarriage to a private lab for a rapid DNA test.” “Whether I’m talking nonsense or not, we’ll know as soon as the results come back.” The panic in Chloe’s eyes was instantaneous and undeniable. The next second, she turned a freezing, lethal glare onto Tyler. “Tyler, did you know about this?! Did you authorize this test?!” Tyler shook his head frantically. “No! I had no idea she did that!” The hatred in Chloe’s eyes was palpable. She stared at Tyler, enunciating every word. “Tyler, since you clearly suspect me too, then we are done.” “The second the courthouse opens, we are getting a divorce!” Tyler completely panicked. He grabbed Chloe’s hands, his eyes filled with desperate pleading. “No! Chloe, I never doubted you! I don’t care if you dated someone before me, it doesn’t matter! I truly love you!” “Please don’t divorce me! This is all Mia’s fault!” The aunts and uncles immediately started trying to play peacemaker. “Yeah, Chloe, every couple fights. Tyler was just confused for a second, you have to forgive him.” “You can always have another baby, but if you get a divorce, you’ll lose everything!” “Mia, so what if your sister-in-law dated someone before? Didn’t you date around in college too? Who are you to judge?!” “You act like a total bitch, and you still have the nerve to attack your sister-in-law!” “Get on your knees and apologize right now!” Right at that exact moment. A nurse walked over holding a sealed manila envelope. “The rapid DNA test results are in.” “The biological father of the fetus… is not Mr. Tyler Evans.” That single sentence acted like a nuclear bomb detonating in the middle of the hallway. Tyler stared at Chloe in absolute, shattered disbelief. The desperate love in his eyes vanished, replaced by a terrifying void. “You lied to me! You actually lied to me!” He slapped Chloe across the face with all his strength. “I treated you like a queen, and this is how you repay me?!” Chloe held her stinging cheek, crying even harder. “Honey, I didn’t! The clinic must have mixed up the test tubes! I have never betrayed you!” I laughed coldly. “A mix-up? A mix-up that just happens to perfectly match Liam’s DNA?” “He has never donated sperm to a clinic in his life.” Chloe’s face turned ash-white. “You’re making this up! Everyone knows you have friends who work at this hospital! You did this on purpose to frame me!” Just then, Liam hobbled out of his hospital room on crutches. He walked over to Chloe’s side and let out a heavy sigh. “It’s my fault.” “A while ago, I was desperate for cash, so I went to a clinic and donated sperm. I never imagined it would lead to this kind of bizarre coincidence.” “Mia, are you satisfied now?” I stared at him with a cold, mocking smile, my eyes filled with profound disappointment. “Liam, do you even bother trying to make your lies sound believable anymore?” “Do you honestly think that pathetic excuse is going to clear you and Chloe?” Tyler suddenly snapped. Like a wild animal, he grabbed me by the collar and violently slammed my head against the hospital wall. “This is all your fault! You psychotic bitch!” “If it weren’t for you, Chloe wouldn’t have miscarried, and our baby wouldn’t be dead!” “Why are you doing this to us?!”

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Before my best friend, Maya, officially returned to her wealthy family after being identified as their long-lost daughter, she sent me a text message with details about my potential match. The guy in the photo had perfect features and was impressive in every aspect. While I was scrutinizing the photo. Maya’s older brother was silently eating breakfast across from me. His expression was indifferent. Every move he made held the icy distance typical of old-money heirs. Maya pressed me online. [Has my brother still not agreed to let you join the family formally? Why is he so harsh on you?] [Just take my place in the arranged marriage. We’ll act now and ask for forgiveness later.] I happened to be placing a bowl of chilled pear soup in front of Caleb Hudson. “Maya mentioned you’ve had a cough recently. This is to soothe your throat.” He didn’t even raise his eyes, pointedly avoiding me. The soup I had spent all morning simmering spilled onto the table. Caleb’s expression was cool. “Miss George, you only have a seat at this table because of Maya.” “Don’t overstep.” Caleb wasn’t wrong. My best friend, whom I grew up with in the orphanage, had been taken home by the Hudson family, transforming from an orphan into a genuine heiress. In the morning, Maya was riding an electric scooter; in the evening, she was driving a Maybach to pick me up. “Elara George, I told you, when I strike it rich, I’m bringing you up with me.” She wanted to adopt me. I playfully cried and called her “Mom.” But she said she wanted to raise me as her sister. My best friend shared her princess-themed room with me and linked a subsidiary card with a seven-figure allowance to my account. She even printed a booklet detailing Caleb’s likes and dislikes to help me join this grand family. Mr. and Mrs. Hudson were rarely home. Maya’s older brother, Caleb Hudson, was the strict gatekeeper of the Hudson family. Even though I played the role of a perfectly obedient sister, Caleb didn’t like me. He even snapped at Maya. “Do you have any idea what her actual intentions are? Ever heard of a femme fatale?” Maya couldn’t help but defend me. “Caleb, I just want her to enter our family, to be our…” Caleb’s face darkened with frustration, and he snapped at her to shut up. Immediately after, he arranged for Maya to go abroad for advanced studies. Only Caleb and I were left at home. Maya sent me daily tips, teaching me how to be a proper sister. I brought him tea in the morning and warm milk at night. Hearing that Caleb liked fish, I was in the kitchen early making it. When he came downstairs and saw me. He told the housekeeper to throw the fish away immediately. “I don’t eat fish with green onions. You want to join this family, but you don’t even pay attention to these details?” “Hypocrite.” Caleb grew increasingly annoyed with me. He couldn’t hold eye contact with me for three seconds. Sometimes, if I stared at him a little longer, Caleb’s ears would turn bright red with fury. Even when we ate together, his face was like thunder. Ding. On the dining table, Maya sent another photo of my potential arranged match. [I don’t want an arranged marriage. I want freedom! Do you want it? You get to be on my family registry.] I typed ‘111’ to agree. Thinking I would soon be Maya’s sister on paper. I would finally have a family. I chuckled to myself while nibbling on my toast. Caleb, across the table, let out a cold snort. “Don’t try flattery or playing the victim with me.” Me: Excuse me? The date with my potential match was set at a Hudson family hotel. Maya said it was a family business, so it was free. The dress for the date was ordered from the brand-name store the Hudson family frequented. Because it was also free. I only rushed over to try on the dress after finishing a full, free spa treatment. I chose the cheapest gown, feeling content already. I hadn’t officially entered Maya’s family yet, so I needed to be economical and proper to be liked. But the sales clerk had already bagged all the other gowns. “Miss Maya Hudson said that as long as you look at a dress, you must like it. She made the choice for you.” “She swiped the internal card directly again. Good luck with your date tonight!” Hugging the clothes, I wished I could fly to Maya’s side and be her loyal servant for life. Then someone stepped into the store. Caleb Hudson had changed into a dark suit, his hair perfectly styled. He tapped his knuckles on the marble counter. His prominent brows slightly furrowed. “Just saw the charge. Thought Maya was back. Why is it you?” “Return all the clothes.” No wonder Maya said it was all free. It turned out she was swiping Caleb’s card behind his back. The clerk quickly explained. “Mr. Hudson, this lady has an important date tonight. These are all perfect for her, chosen by your sister. Do you really want to return them?” I was already a bit scared of this brother, even before formally joining the family. He had constantly shut me out. If not for Maya, I would have left long ago. But my best friend’s brother was also my brother. I clutched the dress, my lips refusing to move. The air grew drier, and my face flushed in agitation. Hearing the word “date,” Caleb’s gaze landed on my face. His lips thinned in a cold snort. “Want to climb the social ladder, but you don’t even know how to hide your ambition.” He inspected the gowns in the bags and only pulled out a dark, tea-length dress. “…I don’t like light colors. You need to be proper and modest. Return all the rest.” I could only agree. “Right, you’re paying, so as long as you like it.” “Thank you, Mr. Hudson.” But Caleb didn’t leave. He gestured for me to change. He was odd today. Staring as I put on the long dress, Caleb was then dissatisfied with my hair. He was going to take me to get it styled. Caleb sat behind the mirror while the stylist assessed his expression, styling my hair. I quietly messaged Maya. [Your brother isn’t as repulsed by me anymore. He even brought me to get my hair done! I’ll change how I address him when you get back. I’ll call him ‘Big Brother.’] Maya was screaming on the other end. [Good! Chat well with your match tonight, and it’ll be a double celebration. I get a sister, and you get a boyfriend.] I didn’t look up until the stylist sprayed the setting spray. Huh? Caleb was wearing a dark suit, his hair slightly swept back. I was also in dark colors, with an iris floral hair accessory pinned to my updo—the exact same design as Caleb’s pocket square. A slight smirk crossed his lips. “Heh. Got your wish? Ecstatic?” It seemed like we were wearing sibling outfits. I quickly nodded, genuinely praising my future brother. “Thank you, I like it very much.” Receiving the gift, I spun around in front of the mirror. I caught Caleb making eye contact with me in the reflection. His smile flashed and vanished, quickly replaced by his cold indifference. A socialite greeted him from outside the door. “Caleb, the gala is starting. Let’s go.” Caleb picked up his suit jacket and walked out. By the time I caught up, they were back to talking and laughing. I wanted to circle around them, but my hearing was too good. I heard the socialite’s chuckle. “Is that Miss George girl about to succeed in social climbing? She used to cling to your sister, now she’s clinging to you, trying to fly up and become a phoenix.” I stopped in my tracks. I waited for Caleb’s reply. “A little favor just to dismiss her. The Hudson family isn’t that easy to enter.” “Gets a hairstyle and smiles like an absolute fool.” “Haha, Caleb, keeping up with the push-and-pull method? Clever! Oh, Miss George is out?” The socialite arched an eyebrow at me. The mockery and contempt in his eyes were glaringly obvious, not hidden at all. I pretended not to hear. It was happier to play the fool. Pinching the skin of my palm, I summoned an appealing smile and bowed to Caleb. “Thank you, Mr. Hudson! I’m leaving first. Won’t disturb your chat.” Observing people was a skill I had developed since childhood. Even if this brother didn’t like me, as long as Maya was here, I could endure it. Caleb seemed slightly dissatisfied, pointing at his wrist watch. “Mind the time. The gala is starting.” Right, I was almost late for my date too. I circled around to the elevator, not wanting to go up with them. Ignoring Caleb’s gaze, which followed me. I needed to find my potential match’s location. I chatted with my potential match for half an hour. The younger son of the Lee family was the same age as me, and we got along well. Liam Lee owned a ranch in Europe, and I had also worked on a farm in the countryside. He played video games but was terrible at them. I, however, had been a gaming champion in the orphanage. Liam praised me for being amazing, making me blush. He had also brought a gift, a piece of auctioned jewelry. “Maya mentioned you’d be joining the Hudson family formally soon. We’re a good match. Since it’s an arranged marriage, as long as we can coexist peacefully. Let’s start as friends.” I felt the same way. Being around this person was pressure-free; at least I could laugh freely. I didn’t have to follow strict rules for every smile and move in front of Caleb Hudson, playing the perfectly obedient sister. There was music coming from the main hall. Liam said it was a Hudson family reception. He was looking at his group of friends’ chat, sharing gossip. “I heard Caleb Hudson was stood up by his dance partner. They were even wearing matching couple outfits. This is Caleb’s first time bringing a girl, how did he get stood up?” “Someone took a photo of Caleb’s somber face. He couldn’t even hold his red wine steady and pushed past several CEOs’ conversations, seemingly walking this way?” I was curious too. I quickly shared the gossip with Maya. [Your brother has a dance partner tonight. It might be your future sister-in-law!] [Wow! Triple celebration!] Liam was gossipy too. He smiled and leaned close to me to look at the messages. Seeing my bare neck, he said, “Put on the gift first. Girls need some jewelry to show their nobility. Let’s go out later, okay?” I had just nodded. A somber voice interrupted our laughter. “Go out where?” Caleb was standing across from us, a forced smile on his face, scrutinizing the necklace on my neck. “Are you so smitten by a cheap, hundred-thousand-dollar trinket that you can’t walk away?” He ignored me and stared at my potential match, his tone mocking. “Her intention was originally to enter my home. You are just a backup.” Liam was stunned. “Caleb, you are Ellie’s first home. I am just the second. I’m willing, and it’s voluntary.” Caleb was stunned, then cursed under his breath, “Morally corrupt.” Then he glared at me. I could only try to diffuse the situation. “Mr. Hudson, in the future I will live at his house and come to yours on weekends. Is that okay?” Caleb made an aggressive move toward the red wine glass on the table. His tone was icy. “He gets five days, I get two. Who gave you the courage?”

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My husband and I had a deal. DINK. Double income, no kids. We were religious about protection. We bought condoms in bulk. Yet, there I was, staring at two pink lines. He played the part of the comforting husband, telling me to embrace fate, that maybe this child was meant to be our little miracle. Against my better judgment, I believed him. I started from scratch, learning how to be a mother. Then came the third trimester. Anxiety stole my sleep. One night, while he was passed out, I found his secret social media account. He had posted a status at 3:00 AM: Can we just go back? Back to the shade of the trees on campus when we were eighteen. Before the sickness found us. Seconds later, a user with a Hello Kitty avatar commented with a single “hug” emoji. I was confused. I wasn’t sick. Who was he talking about? I clicked on the girl’s profile. Her featured video was titled “Three Toasts to Fate.” In the video, a frail girl in a hospital gown held up a shot glass filled with glucose solution, celebrating a new beginning. The first toast, to my love. Here’s to him suppressing his physical disgust to sleep with that other woman. All because she has O-negative blood—the Rh-negative rarity. She is the only bed warm enough to incubate my “cure.” The second toast, to the fetus. Because only that woman’s newborn stem cells are pure enough. So my love tracked her ovulation, sabotaged her birth control, and made sure she conceived. The third toast, to the due date. In three months, when that child lands, I will be reborn. As for the hollowed-out mother… who cares if she lives or dies. The comment section was full of people calling it “darkly romantic” and “edgy.” But me? I froze. Because five minutes ago, my husband, the renowned hematologist Dr. Harrison Miller… Had just brought me a glass of warm milk and a document titled Consent for Directed Neonatal Stem Cell Donation. The person in his heart was never me. It was his high school sweetheart, sitting in the ICU, waiting for my baby’s life to save hers. And I was just the catalyst. The incubator for her cure. Harrison was dressed in his lounge clothes, his gold-rimmed glasses resting on his high nose bridge. The picture of sophistication. He even thoughtfully tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Babe, drink the milk and get some rest. It’s good for the baby.” His voice was so tender it could melt. If I hadn’t just seen that video, I would have thought I was the luckiest pregnant woman in the world. I looked down at the consent form. Paragraphs of dense legal jargon, but the core was simple. The cord blood and stem cells after birth would be donated, free of charge, to a patient named Samantha Reed. Samantha Reed. The name sounded familiar. The girl’s ID on the video was “gentle_wind_whispering.” My hand trembled. Milk spilled onto the blankets. Harrison’s brow furrowed slightly, but he immediately grabbed a tissue to wipe my hand. His tone was a mix of reproach and pampering. “Why so careless? Are you burned?” I pulled my hand back, avoiding his touch. “Harrison, who is Samantha Reed? Why are we directing the donation to her?” Harrison paused. Only for a second. He quickly recovered, pushing the paper closer to me. “She’s a very unfortunate young girl. A leukemia relapse. Critical condition. You have O-negative blood, and our baby almost certainly will, too. It’s a perfect match.” He looked into my eyes, his gaze full of deep affection. “Babe, you have the biggest heart. Just think of it as building good karma for our child, okay?” Good karma. That line from the video—who cares if she lives or dies—stabbed into my brain like an ice pick. I fought down the urge to vomit and pointed at my phone screen. “And this video? Is this also building karma?” Harrison followed my gaze. On the screen, the woman in the hospital gown was facing the camera. On her wrist was a red string bracelet. Harrison had bought that bracelet two years ago on a medical trip to a monastery in Tibet. He said he lost it. Turns out, he “lost” it onto another woman’s wrist. Harrison’s pupils shrank violently. But he was too calm. Calm like a surgeon dissecting a cadaver. He took my phone, closed the video, and even tucked the blanket around me. “Don’t look at that garbage online. It’s all just clickbait for views. That bracelet is a generic design; you can buy them anywhere.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. His lips felt thin and cold. “Be a good girl. Sign the paper and go to sleep. That patient can’t wait much longer.” That last sentence carried a barely perceptible urgency. I stared at him. I had loved this face for seven years. From college sweethearts to walking down the aisle, I thought he was my salvation. I never imagined he was a grim reaper coming for my soul. I grabbed the pen and slashed a hard, deep line through the consent form. “I’m not signing it.” Harrison’s expression instantly turned pitch black. Harrison didn’t come back to our bedroom that night. He stayed in his study. The next morning, the dining table was covered with my favorite breakfast. Peeled shrimp, warm gourmet oatmeal, and an unopened bottle of prenatal vitamins. Harrison acted like nothing had happened, smiling as he dished up some oatmeal for me. “I had a bad attitude last night, babe. Don’t be mad. We can talk about the donation later. Let’s just eat.” He pushed the bottle of vitamins toward me. “I had a colleague bring these back from Europe. Highest purity folic acid, great for fetal brain development. Make sure you take them on time.” If this were before, I would have been incredibly touched. After all, he was a medical authority and a known workaholic. Taking the time to care about these little details was proof of his love. But now, I just felt sick. I swallowed the pill right in front of him. Then, maintaining the loving atmosphere, I sent him off to work. The second the front door clicked shut, I sprinted to the bathroom, stuck my fingers down my throat, and threw up my entire breakfast and the pill. Stomach acid burned my esophagus. Tears and snot smeared my face. I carefully collected the undigested pill fragments and put them into a Ziploc bag. That afternoon, I went to a private clinic. I sought out my best friend, who was a licensed pharmacist. The lab results came back fast. My friend was holding the report, her hand shaking. “Babe, this isn’t folic acid. This is Filgrastim! And it’s an incredibly high dose!” “This drug is meant for bone marrow donors. It forces the bone marrow to overproduce stem cells and dump them into the bloodstream. The side effects are brutal, especially for pregnant women. Long-term use causes kidney and liver failure, and even…” She didn’t dare finish. I finished it for her: “Even maternal death, right?” My friend nodded, her eyes red. I smiled. A smile uglier than crying. So, the phrase who cares if she lives or dies wasn’t a hyperbole. It was a literal medical plan. He really wanted my life. Just to save his Samantha. On my way home, Harrison called. He sounded out of breath, and the background noise was chaotic, like an emergency room. “Babe, where are you? The GPS shows you’re out.” He had installed a tracker on my phone. He used to say it was for my safety. Now I knew it was to monitor the condition of the “incubator.” I watched the streetlights blur past the car window, my voice flat. “Just out buying some baby clothes. What’s wrong?” “Go home right now! There are too many germs out there, you’ll catch a cold.” He paused, his tone suddenly dropping into something sinister. “Don’t wander off. I’ll worry.” After hanging up, I clicked on “gentle_wind_whispering’s” profile. She had updated. This time, the photo was taken right outside the ICU. The caption read: [The other woman still hasn’t signed the form, but he told me to leave everything to him and rest easy. It’s okay. For our future, I can endure anything.] A comment asked: “What if she finds out?” She replied: [What if she does? The baby is in her belly, the baby’s life is in her hands. But her life… is in his.] My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. Harrison Miller. If you want to play games. Let’s play for keeps. I started acting completely normal. Taking my “medicine” on time, reporting my whereabouts. Harrison, as expected, lowered his guard. To ease his guilt, or maybe just to keep the incubator happy, he started coming home earlier, cooking for me, and massaging my swollen legs. His hands were dry and warm, hitting all the pressure points. Watching his focused profile, I suddenly asked, “Harrison, we should pick a name for the baby.” His hands didn’t stop. “Let’s name him Reed.” “What?” “Reed Miller. It sounds distinguished.” I sneered in my heart. Reed. For Samantha Reed. How poetic. How utterly devoted. “I want to go to Mount Sinai for my next checkup. I heard there’s a specialist there who’s hard to get into,” I probed cautiously. Harrison’s hands suddenly tightened, digging painfully into my calf. “No need.” He looked up, the gaze behind his lenses chilling. “I am the best doctor. My colleagues are the best team. I don’t trust outside physicians.” “But…” “Listen to me.” He cut me off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Your condition is unique. Only I understand your body perfectly. Don’t go making a fuss out there. What if something goes wrong?” He made it sound so noble. In reality, he was terrified an outside doctor would look at my bloodwork, see my hormone levels spiking, and realize I was being slowly murdered. Over the next two weeks, Harrison escalated his control. He hired a “nanny.” He said it was to take care of me, but she was a prison warden. My keycard was confiscated. My cell reception became mysteriously spotty. I was a pig in a pen. Just waiting for slaughter day. Until late one night, Harrison got a frantic call and rushed out. He forgot to lock the study. I slipped in and found a folder on his computer desktop named “S & H”. Encrypted. I tried my birthday. Error. Our wedding anniversary. Error. Finally, I typed in the date Samantha mentioned in her video—the day they celebrated their “rebirth.” October 18th. The folder clicked open. It was packed with photos and medical records. Pictures of Samantha bald from chemo, pictures of her leaning into Harrison’s chest, laughing brilliantly. The timestamps spanned a decade. They were the college sweethearts. I was just the tragic accident who got in the way, the unlucky fool who happened to have the golden O-negative blood type. In a document titled Ovulation & Conception Protocol, I found something even more vile. Harrison had documented my menstrual cycles down to the hour. Which day he swapped the pills. Which day he poked holes in the condoms. Which days intercourse was strictly mandatory. Every single date corresponded to a night I had mistaken for passionate, spontaneous love. To him, those nights were just sickening, calculated breeding assignments. The last line of the document read: “Target Delivery: 32 weeks. Pre-term C-section to ensure maximum stem cell viability.” 32 weeks. That was next week. He never intended for me to carry to term. A baby born at seven months would be fighting for its life. But he didn’t care. He only needed the “cure.” The front door clicked open. Harrison was back. I instantly killed the monitor and held my breath in the dark. Footsteps stopped right outside the study. The doorknob turned. I pressed myself behind the heavy curtains, shaking uncontrollably. Harrison walked in. He seemed exhausted. He collapsed into his desk chair and lit a cigarette. In the dim glow of the cherry, his face was shadowy and hollow. “Samantha, just hold on a little longer. It’s almost over,” he whispered to the empty room. “Next Tuesday. I’ll schedule the surgery. You’re going to be okay.” My heart plummeted into an abyss. Next Tuesday. Three days from now. I waited until Harrison went to the master bedroom before I dared to creep back into my own room. I stared at the ceiling until dawn broke. The next morning, I intentionally threw myself down a flight of stairs. It made a horrific crash. The nanny screamed and frantically dialed Harrison’s number. I curled on the hardwood floor, clutching my stomach, cold sweat pouring down my face. “It hurts… take me to the hospital, the nearest one, now!” Harrison roared through the speakerphone: “Do not take her anywhere else! Wait for me! I’m bringing an ambulance now!” The nanny was paralyzed with fear. I grabbed her arm, my nails biting into her skin. “I’m bleeding! Are you going to watch me die? If we both die, can you afford the prison time?!” That broke her. She dialed 911. Just as the paramedics arrived, Harrison’s SUV tore into the driveway. His eyes were bloodshot as he physically shoved a paramedic out of the way. “I am a doctor! She is my patient! And my wife! I am taking her to my hospital!” The EMTs looked shocked, but recognizing his badge and authority, they backed off. I was shoved into the passenger seat of Harrison’s car. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor, his jaw tight enough to crack stone. “若惜 (若惜), did you do that on purpose?” He figured it out. I was pale from genuine pain, but I forced a weak, pathetic smile. “Harrison, I was just so scared for the baby… why are you so angry?” Harrison didn’t say a word. He drove me straight to his hospital and wheeled me right into a VIP suite. Not maternity. Hematology. In the bed next to mine lay Samantha Reed. It was the first time I saw her in person. She wasn’t as arrogant as she was online. She was skin and bones, looking like a shattered porcelain doll. But the way she looked at me was pure, unfiltered greed. Like a starving wolf looking at a slab of meat. Harrison injected something into my IV. A sedative. Before the darkness pulled me under, I heard Samantha’s frail voice. “Harrison… is that her? My medicine?” Harrison stroked her hair, his voice dripping with a tenderness I had never received. “Don’t talk like that. She’s our benefactor.” “What benefactor? She’s a walking blood bag. Once the baby is out, she’s useless anyway, right?” “Samantha, stop it. The OR is prepped. You get ready too.” “Harrison, do you really not feel bad? That is your child… and your wife.” Silence. A long, suffocating silence. Then, Harrison’s cold, dead voice. “Only the living have the right to claim a title. If she doesn’t cooperate, she’s nothing but medical waste.” A tear slipped from the corner of my eye and soaked into the sterile pillow. So this is what it feels feels like when your heart truly dies.

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1 I am the child of a mistress. When I was seventeen years old, my biological father kicked the bucket. At the funeral, wearing my cheap high school uniform, I stood in front of a room packed with Wall Street titans, brilliant tech innovators, and an A-list Hollywood actress. Trembling like a leaf, I stuttered: “I… I’m here to fight for the inheritance…” Before the words fully left my mouth, the legitimate heirs all turned their heads and stared dead at me. I was so terrified I started crying. “N-never mind… you don’t have to give me anything…” The A-list actress’s eyes suddenly lit up. “A little sister? A soft, squishy little sister?!” The tech innovator pulled out a pen and paper. “You’re a high school senior? Come here, let’s do some calculus so I can gauge your baseline.” The Wall Street titan pulled out a sleek black Amex card. “Why do you care about the old man’s spare change? Call me ‘Big Brother,’ and I’ll give you ten times whatever he left you.” My mother was a high-end gold digger, a kept woman stashed away by a very wealthy man. The original agreement was simple: the sugar daddy provides the cash, she provides the beauty. A clean transaction, no strings attached. But when you live the good life for too long, greed starts to fester. She got pregnant. Relying on her growing belly, she pulled a classic “runaway pregnant mistress” routine. Before she left, she broadcasted her new address all over Facebook and Instagram. She was terrified he wouldn’t be able to find her. She fantasized that her sugar daddy would lock down the entire city and launch a dominant, aggressive crusade to win her back. She imagined the legitimate wife breaking down in an inferiority complex and willingly stepping aside. Unfortunately. She played her hand too far. The sugar daddy didn’t look for her at all. He didn’t want her, and he didn’t want the baby. How could she accept that? Heavily pregnant and about to pop, she camped out at the gates of the sugar daddy’s sprawling estate. Two massive security guards hauled her away and threw her literally into the dumpster out back. They also passed along a message from the legitimate wife: “If you have the skills to steal a man, go ahead. If you have the baby, I’ll raise it. But money? You aren’t getting a single red cent.” After all her harassing yielded nothing, she finally gave up hope. But it was too late to get an abortion. She gave birth to me full of bitter resentment, and raised me in the most negligent, haphazard way possible. She didn’t raise me because she loved me. She raised me because she wanted a payout. The phrase she said to me the most was: “You are his flesh and blood! He thinks he can just refuse to pay?!” “In his dreams! Even if he dies, a piece of that estate belongs to you!” As she wished, when I turned seventeen, my biological father kicked the bucket. The second she heard the news, she practically threw me out of a moving car in front of the funeral home. “Chloe Davis, you listen to me! Including you, your father only has four kids! You are entitled to one-fourth of his estate!” “Today is your last chance! If you don’t get that money, don’t you dare come back home!” Her twisted, furious face terrified me. “Mom, please don’t leave me here, I’m scared…” “Scared, scared, that’s all you ever say! Why do you think I raised you all these years?! To make money!” “You’ve eaten my food and lived under my roof for over a decade, and you ruined my chances of finding a new rich guy! Don’t you owe me compensation?!” “Get that inheritance, give it to me, and maybe I’ll still be your mother!” She stormed off a few paces, then suddenly stopped. She turned around, dug through all my pockets, and snatched the only ten-dollar bill I had on me. I froze. Without money, I couldn’t take the bus. This funeral home was halfway up a mountain in the Hollywood Hills. Relying on my own two legs, I wouldn’t make it home before dark. She shoved me hard toward the doors. “If I cut off your retreat, you’ll actually put in the work!” “If you get the money, you can take a taxi home. If you don’t…” She pointed casually at the surrounding hillsides. “This whole area is a graveyard. You can just stay here and keep the ghosts company!” 2 The cold mountain wind whipped past, making the hair on my arms stand straight up. It felt like every single headstone in the deep woods had a pair of eyes staring right at me. I braced myself and walked into the funeral home. The service was over, and the guests had completely cleared out. The only people left in the massive room were the sugar daddy’s three legitimate children, discussing the final legal wrap-up with a lawyer. “According to Mr. Sterling’s final will and testament, his remaining liquid assets, totaling two hundred million dollars, will be divided equally among the three of you.” Two hundred million! That’s so much money! No wonder my mom was so psychotic about it. No wonder she spent over a decade jumping through hoops trying to score a payout. And today, my job was to demand one-fourth of that two hundred million. Fifty million dollars! My palms were sweating profusely. Who would ever willingly let a bastard child from a mistress walk away with that kind of cash? It looked like a severe beating was absolutely guaranteed. I just hoped they wouldn’t hit me too hard. I had AP exams tomorrow, and I still needed my hands to write… As I was having a mental breakdown, the division of assets began. Sitting at the head of the table was the eldest sister, Victoria Sterling. She had just swept the Oscars and was currently the highest-paid actress in Hollywood. Even a simple, solemn black dress couldn’t hide her breathtaking, absolute beauty. Her slender, manicured fingers took the legal document, skimmed it for one second, and tossed it carelessly to the middle brother. “This is it? Is this really worth wasting my time?” The second child, Ethan Sterling, was wearing a crisp white shirt and black slacks. Silver-rimmed glasses added a touch of maturity to his surprisingly boyish face. He kept his eyes glued to his laptop, typing furiously, not even glancing at the piece of paper worth two hundred million. “I have no use for money like this.” I had heard of him. He was the country’s most brilliant young innovator, absolutely dominating the high-tech aerospace sector. He really didn’t need the money. Everything he did was funded by massive government defense contracts. The piece of paper fluttered over to the youngest brother, Liam Sterling. His long, articulate fingers pinched it, and then he casually ripped it in half. “Two hundred million is worth drafting a will over? Just donate it to charity.” Liam radiated a casual, ruthless, cutthroat aura. For a guy who permanently resided on the Forbes Billionaires list, two hundred million simply wasn’t worth the time it took to process the paperwork. The older sister and brother raised an eyebrow, neither objecting. Seeing that the lawyer was about to start drafting a charitable donation agreement, I weakly raised my hand in the air. “Um… excuse me… sorry to interrupt…” The moment the words left my mouth, the three legitimate heirs and the lawyer—four pairs of eyes—locked dead onto me. My scalp went completely numb. The lawyer spoke up. “May I help you, miss?” I swallowed hard, speaking as carefully as humanly possible. “I’m sorry, I… I’m here to fight for the inheritance…” 3 By the time I snapped out of my daze, I was completely surrounded. The three legitimate heirs were all exceptionally tall, striking, and radiated an intimidating aura of elite privilege. Compared to them, in my cheap, faded high school uniform, I looked like a pathetic, stunted weed hiding in the corner. I was so terrified I was on the verge of tears. Just because they didn’t care about the money didn’t mean they’d be happy tossing it to their father’s mistress! I started shivering. “N-never mind… you don’t have to give me anything…” Could you guys maybe just lend me two bucks… so I can catch the bus? I covertly glanced up, but the sheer, oppressive weight of their presence made me flinch. Forget it, forget it. It’s only a twenty-mile walk down the mountain. I can walk it… I slowly began inching my way toward the exit. I had barely taken two steps when Victoria grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and effortlessly hoisted me back. “Tsk. Too light. She’s practically nothing but bone.” Victoria flipped me around, inspecting me from head to toe, her gorgeous face filled with absolute disgust. “First, we need to put at least twenty pounds on her. You have to be well-fed to be healthy.” “Her hair is dry and full of split ends—needs intense deep-conditioning treatments. Her face is sunburned—needs medical-grade serums.” “Her uniform is frayed, her shoes are the wrong size, and the zipper on her backpack is broken.” “Replace it, replace it all! Everything has to be replaced!” She whipped out her phone and dialed her personal celebrity stylist. “Height: 5’3″, weight: 90 pounds. I need a complete wardrobe from head to toe, ready immediately.” “Who is it for?” Victoria’s tone suddenly became incredibly cheerful and bubbly. “For my little sister, obviously!” 4 I shifted uncomfortably, incredibly anxious. “Do… do you guys know who I am?” Victoria wrapped an arm firmly around my waist, her usually icy, high-fashion face beaming with excitement. “Of course! You’re the old man’s illegitimate daughter~” She pointed at her genius brother and her billionaire brother, complaining to me: “Ethan was a prodigy. Memorizing the dictionary at three, doing advanced calculus at five. If you took him to a playground, within five minutes he’d pull out a textbook to do practice problems. So incredibly boring!” “Liam is a ruthless, calculating shark. He was born scheming. The second he learned to talk, he was setting traps for me. The second he could walk outside, he was figuring out how to monopolize the local lemonade stands. He is entirely immune to being ‘cute’!” “Being the oldest sister to them gave me the title, but absolutely zero real power.” “Now, I’ve finally caught a completely normal, average human sister. I don’t care about the family drama or the outside gossip. I am finally going to experience what it’s like to be a proper, doting big sister!” As she spoke, Victoria unzipped her designer makeup bag, preparing to give me a full facial cleanse and skincare routine right there in the funeral home. Ethan unceremoniously bumped her out of the way with his hip. He pulled out a pen and a notepad, his eyes gleaming with excitement behind his silver glasses. “Sister is a high school senior? How are your grades?” “Come on, let’s do a quick derivative problem so I can see where you’re at!” Looking at the massive block of complex Greek symbols on the paper, my brain completely short-circuited. “I… I don’t know how to do that…” I’m a high school senior, not a college junior! What kind of high schooler knows advanced calculus?! Ethan scratched his head, looking genuinely baffled. “That doesn’t make sense. No matter how slow someone is, by seventeen they should have mastered this, right?” Liam let out a cold scoff, shoved Ethan out of the way, and leaned in close to me. “You said you came here to fight for the inheritance?” That single sentence yanked me back to reality. I looked at Liam, my heart pounding. This is it, right? This is where we talk about the money, and then I get beaten up? Liam pulled out a sleek, solid metal Amex Black Card. His sharp, lethal features suddenly softened. “The old man didn’t have that much cash anyway. Be a good girl, call me ‘Big Brother,’ and I’ll give you ten times what he left.” Their overwhelming enthusiasm was making me incredibly nervous and deeply confused. This was completely different from what my mom had told me. Before I came, she had drilled it into my head over and over: “The richer they are, the cheaper they are! If they refuse to give you the money, throw yourself on the floor and throw a massive tantrum!” “If they beat you, even better! The harder they hit you, the more money you can extort from them!” She told me the Sterling family were my mortal, blood-sworn enemies. But the way my “enemies” were looking at me right now… was kind of warm? 5 I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were treating me like a Tamagotchi. Take right now, for example. I had been brought back to the sprawling Sterling family estate in Beverly Hills. Victoria had canceled all her upcoming Hollywood appearances and red-carpet events just to hover around me all day. On my very first day at the estate, she ordered the private chef to prepare an absolute mountain of premium wagyu beef, lamb, and imported seafood. Plate after plate of exquisite, Michelin-star-level dishes was placed on the long dining table. I was completely overwhelmed. Determined not to waste anything, I kept my head down and ate ferociously until I felt like I was going to throw up. Victoria was stunned. She quickly stopped me. “You’re going to make yourself sick eating like that.” “I only had the chef make all these different dishes so I could see what you like. You don’t have to eat the things you don’t like.” I looked at her, dazed. What she was saying was… I was allowed to be a picky eater? But my mom always told me that being picky was wrong. When I was three years old, she brought home some leftover spicy stir-fried pork from a date. I took one bite, started crying from the intense heat, and pushed the plate away, tears streaming down my face. She flew into a rage, yanked me up by my arm, and beat me. “You’re just a little kid, what right do you have to be picky?! You think you’re entitled to eat gourmet food? Do you have the luxury of that kind of life?!” But it was so spicy. It physically hurt my mouth to eat it. I cried and only ate plain white rice, terrified to go near that dish again. But that wasn’t good enough for her. She called me an entitled brat and said this “bad habit” had to be broken immediately. That leftover spicy pork… if I didn’t eat it the first meal, she saved it for the second. If I didn’t eat it for two days, she saved it for three. I wouldn’t be allowed to eat any fresh food until I finished that specific dish. I was starved for three entire days. Finally, sobbing, I forced down the spoiled, rotting, spicy pork. That night, I spiked a dangerous fever. After my fever broke, she stood over my bed and lectured me: “Being a picky eater is wrong. Mommy is disciplining you for your own good. Have you learned your lesson?” I learned my lesson. So, faced with a table full of food, I forced myself to eat with everything I had. I was hoping to finish it all before it had a chance to spoil. Preferences? Favorites? I didn’t have any. I didn’t have the right to be picky. Victoria couldn’t watch anymore. She gently took my chopsticks away and softened her voice. “Chloe, don’t be afraid. You’re still just a kid. You are completely allowed to only eat the things you like.” A sudden, overwhelming wave of grief and grievance swelled in my chest. It felt like the three-year-old me, forced to eat burning chili peppers, was finally being hugged by someone whispering softly: Did the peppers hurt your mouth? Be a good girl, we don’t have to eat that. We’ll eat something else! Summoning all my courage, I whispered, “I… I don’t want to eat anything spicy…” Victoria waved her hand. Several maids immediately stepped forward and swiftly removed every single dish that contained even a trace of spice. And it wasn’t just that. From that day forward, I never saw a single spicy dish on the dining table ever again. So this is what it feels like to be favored. Just saying “I don’t like it” was enough to make that thing completely disappear from my world. Under her meticulous care, I plumped up rapidly, my skin turning bright and healthy. My hair visibly transformed from dry straw into a thick, glossy mane. Victoria was incredibly satisfied, constantly showing off her “results” to her two younger brothers.

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Right after the holidays, my phone rang. I answered, and my ex-boss immediately started screaming at me: “Do you have any idea what time it is? Why aren’t you here yet? The project is due immediately. If this deal falls through, can you afford to take the fall? Get your ass over here right now!” His tone was entirely entitled, acting as if I were still his dependable corporate workhorse, at his beck and call. Before I could even get a word in, he hung up. Seconds later, the HR Director called: “Why aren’t you at the office? Mr. Vance is furious! You’re usually our most reliable employee. Even if you have complaints about your year-end bonus, you can’t just abandon your post!” I smiled and explained calmly: “It’s not that I’m abandoning my post. I quit before the holidays!” Today was my first day officially onboarding with our biggest client. 1 Hearing me bring up my resignation, Brenda, the HR Director, brushed it off lightly. “Oh, that. Yes, I saw your resignation letter, and Mr. Vance saw it too. But you know how crazy it gets before the holidays. We just didn’t have time to sit down and discuss it. Now that the holidays are over, let’s sit down and have a proper chat, okay?” “Chat about what?” I asked flatly. I had successfully resigned. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing left to discuss. “About your terms, of course!” Brenda replied instantly. “Mr. Vance said he’s willing to give you a $100 monthly raise. The economy is tough right now. Good luck finding a raise like that anywhere else. Think about it—that’s an extra $1,200 a year!” I couldn’t help but do the math in my head. The employees in my department who clocked out precisely at 5:00 PM every day and never saw a project through to the end? Rumor had it they each walked away with a $2,000 year-end bonus. Last year, I single-handedly generated millions in revenue for the company. That massive project I managed from pitch to delivery had a contract value of $2 million. I did the work of three people. I had the highest overtime hours in the entire department. I didn’t take a single sick day. Yet, at the annual company gala, when the “Employee of the Year” awards were handed out, all the projects I signed were credited to my subordinate, Amber. She received a $5,000 cash bonus and the newest iPhone. My year-end bonus? A $25 Amazon gift card. Just thinking about it felt absurd. I just wanted a straight answer. “Brenda, why was my bonus exactly $25?” Silence hung on the line for a few seconds. “Chloe, you have to understand. The company has its policies,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “You do a lot of work, yes. But sometimes you’re too rigid. You don’t focus enough on being a team player. You skipped almost all the team-building events, and you barely socialize with your coworkers. The year-end bonus takes your overall performance and company culture fit into account.” I let out a bitter laugh. I remembered the company team-building weekend hike last year. I didn’t go because I had to work mandatory overtime. Friday night happy hour? I didn’t go because I had to finalize a pitch deck. That time the department went out to a karaoke bar? I declined because I had a massive client meeting the next morning and couldn’t afford to be exhausted. Every single reason I had for missing a department party was to do my job better. And now, they were using that to negate everything I had accomplished? And what were the others doing while I was covering for them? Drinking, singing, taking group selfies, and posting them on Instagram. Their captions always read: “We are family!” or “Best team ever!” So that was what “overall performance” meant. “Is there any other reason?” I asked. Brenda thought for a moment, then lowered her voice. “Also, Mr. Vance mentioned that a few of your projects last year… well, the client feedback wasn’t great, so…” “Which client? What was the issue? When did they give this feedback? Why have I never heard a single word about this until today?” I fired back immediately. “Well… I’m not entirely sure on the specifics. It’s just what I heard.” Heard I did a bad job. Heard there were complaints. Heard I wasn’t a team player. So my bonus was a $25 gift card. Not a penny more, not a penny less. Just a pure, calculated insult. My last shred of hope for them died. My voice was deadpan. “I understand, Brenda.” “Anyway, I formally resigned before the holidays, and my paperwork went through the standard channels.” “Oh, Chloe, why are you being so stubborn? Just listen to me—” “Brenda.” I cut her off. “For seven years, I never skipped a single day of work. I never took a sick day. I never refused a weekend shift. I believe I have done right by this company. If there are formal handover requirements, I will cooperate. Other than that, do not call this number again.” “Chloe Evans!” She panicked, her voice turning shrill. “What kind of attitude is this? I am trying to help you out, and you’re being completely ungrateful!” I hung up the phone. I wasn’t about to let my former toxic workplace ruin my good mood on my first day at my new job. 2 My phone didn’t even stay quiet for five minutes before it buzzed again. This time it was an Instagram audio call. The caller ID showed Amber—the subordinate who had stolen my “Employee of the Year” award. I hit decline. Thirty seconds later, Instagram DMs started popping up, one after another. “Hey girl, why aren’t you answering?” “Mr. Vance is SO mad. Please text him back.” “You’re usually so reliable! Why are you acting so reckless all of a sudden? Don’t put Mr. Vance in a difficult position.” I stared at the messages, my heart completely steady. Amber Hayes. Employed for three years. I was the one who trained her by hand when she came in as a clueless intern. I taught her how to negotiate with clients, how to cover for the team when a project hit a snag. And her thanks was stealing my credit and my bonus. My phone buzzed again. Another long paragraph. She was getting anxious because I was leaving her on read: “Look, I know you’re upset about the bonus, but you can’t blame the company for that.” “The economy is bad right now. We’re all struggling. Mr. Vance actually really values you. If you just up and quit over a little bit of money, think about how bad that will look on your reputation. Plus, the company spent years training you. Can your conscience really handle just walking away like this?” Conscience. I stared at the word, finding it hilariously ironic. I typed my reply: “Who copied all my private client files while I was out getting a root canal? Who took my creative pitches, slapped a new font on them, and presented them to the board as her own? Who bought bubble tea for the entire department before the peer reviews but intentionally left me out?” “You are the very last person on earth who gets to talk to me about a conscience.” Less than three minutes after I sent that, she replied. This time, her tone was dripping with condescending pity. “What is the point of bringing all that up? If you keep throwing a tantrum, you’re the only one who’s going to suffer. Where do you think you can go if you leave us? Do you know how many people with Master’s degrees are unemployed right now? You only have a Bachelor’s, you’re 30 and single, and every decent metric on your resume is only there because of the company’s resources.” “Brenda already said it. If you don’t come back right now, Mr. Vance is going to put the word out, and nobody in this industry will ever hire you.” I sneered at my screen. She was actually trying to threaten me! The phone buzzed again: “Hello?? Say something! We’re all waiting for you.” I opened the chat and sent a single emoji: A slightly smiling, passive-aggressive smiley face. Then, I blocked her account, put my phone down, and went to wash my face. Today, I was officially joining Apex Group—the client from the $2 million project. The CEO of Apex Group was David Sterling. We had worked closely together during the project, and he was a straightforward, no-nonsense leader. Before the holidays, right after I got stabbed in the back by my company, Mr. Sterling had sent me an Instagram DM: “Chloe, my company is in desperate need of talent like yours. You’re wasting your potential over there. You name your salary. If you’re interested, reach out to me anytime.” I dried my face and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. This year, I was going to live differently. 3 I walked through the sleek glass doors of Apex Group. The young woman at the front desk already recognized me. She smiled brightly. “Morning, Chloe! Mr. Sterling is waiting for you in his office.” Mr. Sterling’s office was at the end of the hall. The door was open. He was looking at his monitors, but when he heard me knock, he looked up and smiled. “Chloe, you made it. Take a seat.” I sat across from him. “There’s something I want to discuss with you right out of the gate,” he said, skipping the small talk. I sat up a little straighter. “Of course.” “That project from before the holidays, you remember it? The $2 million contract with your old firm.” The project I had pulled countless all-nighters for. The one I revised a dozen times, only to watch Amber walk on stage to take the credit for. “That project is due for its final audit and delivery today,” Mr. Sterling continued. “Originally, I was going to send someone else. But then I realized—you managed that project from day one. Nobody on this planet understands it better than you do.” “So, I want you to go,” he said, looking me in the eye. “Head over to your old company this morning and audit their final delivery.” I met his open, trusting gaze. I thought about the day I quit, when Mr. Vance didn’t even look up from his phone as he tossed my resignation letter aside. I thought about Amber standing on that stage, fake tears in her eyes, thanking “everyone who supported her.” I thought about Brenda telling me my $25 bonus was because I “didn’t fit the culture.” I thought about the barrage of calls and texts this morning—the demands, the threats, the fake sympathy, culminating in frustrated insults. “Absolutely. I’ll head over right now,” I smiled. “Honestly, I’d love to see how their first day back in the office is going.” I left his office and went straight to HR to finish my onboarding paperwork. Finally, the HR rep handed me my new corporate badge. It read: Project Director: Chloe Evans. I went to my new desk. As soon as I sat down, my phone rang. It was Mr. Vance. For seven years, this name had popped up on my screen countless times. 2:00 AM emergency calls, Sunday morning demands, random tasks assigned while I was mid-flight. And every single time, I answered on the first ring. “Yes, Mr. Vance.” “Right away, Mr. Vance.” “No problem, Mr. Vance.” I tapped answer. “CHLOE EVANS!” he roared through the speaker. “You’ve got some nerve! You don’t answer my calls, you don’t reply on IG, and you block everyone? You think you’re untouchable now?” “Let me tell you something, don’t push your luck!” He was practically hyperventilating. “If you don’t walk through these doors today, I am processing this as job abandonment and firing you! I’ll put a permanent black mark on your employment record. Let’s see who hires you then!” Fire me. I laughed internally. “Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “I am on my way to your office right now.” I could hear the smugness dripping from his voice. “Hmph. Glad to see you finally came to your senses. Hurry up. I’m waiting.” When I got Mr. Sterling’s offer before the holidays, I hadn’t agreed immediately. But the night of the company gala, when my credit was stolen and I was handed a $25 gift card, I lay awake until 6:00 AM. That night, I realized a fundamental truth. That company was never a place that rewarded competence. It was a place that used you to do the heavy lifting, used you as a scapegoat, and expected you to suffer in silence. And when the work was done, the people standing in the spotlight would always be the ones who knew how to kiss the ring. That morning, I decided to quit and join the client’s side. Snapping back to the present, I stood up and slipped my new badge around my neck. I wondered what faces they would make when I walked in as the Client. I was actually looking forward to it. 4 The cab pulled up to the familiar office building. I pushed the glass doors open. Everything looked exactly the same. I hadn’t even taken five steps before Brenda walked over, holding a coffee mug. “Well, well, Chloe. I thought you actually had a spine,” she said, looking me up and down. “With your attitude on the phone this morning, I thought you had struck gold somewhere. What happened? Flew around a bit and realized you had to come crawling back?” I gave her a cold smile and said nothing. Seeing my silence, Brenda grew even more emboldened. “What, playing the obedient employee now? Where’s all that fire from yesterday?” As she spoke, her eyes flicked down to my chest. She let out a loud “Oh?” “What’s this? What’s with the badge? Our company lanyards aren’t that color. Chloe, did you walk into the wrong building? Or…” She rolled her eyes, her face lighting up with a mock epiphany, and she laughed even louder. “Or did you get a job delivering food? That blue lanyard—isn’t that what the UberEats drivers wear? Hahahaha!” Because my badge had flipped around, she couldn’t see the company logo. Amber’s voice chimed in from the side. “Oh my god, you’re finally here!” “Okay, you’ve thrown your little temper tantrum, time to get over it. Hurry up and finish the loose ends on the project. The Client is sending their reps over any minute.” She reached out to grab my arm, but I swatted her hand away. Amber’s face darkened, and she lowered her voice. “I am trying to help you here. Mr. Vance is in a terrible mood today. Just get your work done and don’t paint a target on your back. You really don’t want to get screamed at in front of the Client!” I scoffed. “Didn’t you complete this project all by yourself? At the gala, Mr. Vance personally announced that you carried the whole thing and did a phenomenal job.” “You got the ‘Employee of the Year’ award and the massive bonus. Why are you asking me to tie up your loose ends?” Brenda chimed in with a sarcastic gasp. “Wow, Chloe, that’s really uncalled for. Look what time it is, why are you being so petty? Just get to work!” I stood my ground, unmoving. The standoff was interrupted by a furious roar from the inner office. “Where the hell is Chloe? Is she here yet? Tell her to get her ass in here!” Mr. Vance stormed out of his office. He stopped, looking me up and down. “Chloe Evans, you’ve really outdone yourself,” he sneered, looking down his nose at me. “You threw your fit, you caused your drama, and now you know you have to come back?” I nodded calmly. “I’m here on official business.” Mr. Vance let out a harsh bark of laughter. “I’ve seen a million people just like you. You do a little bit of work and suddenly think you’re God’s gift to the company. You feel underappreciated, so you throw a tantrum hoping the boss will coddle you. Let me tell you right now—it doesn’t work! That’s how the real world operates. The earth keeps spinning without you. Did you really think the company would collapse just because you left? What a joke!” He put his hands on his hips, his voice echoing across the floor. “I thought you actually had some principles. But look at you, scurrying right back.” “Showing up late on the first official day back—your attitude is unacceptable. I’m docking your entire paycheck this month to teach you a lesson.” He stared at me, waiting to see that familiar, submissive look of defeat wash over my face. Instead, I laughed out loud. “Are you absolutely sure you want to take this tone with me?” Amber jumped in, playing the sycophant. “Please don’t be mad, Mr. Vance. Chloe’s just in a bad mood. I asked her to get to work a second ago and she snapped at me.” Mr. Vance glared at me. “Being in a bad mood means you can just abandon your job? Being in a bad mood means you ignore my calls? I am telling you, this office isn’t your living room, and nobody here is going to baby you!” He waved a hand dismissively. “Go clean up your desk. Apex Group is sending someone over today to audit the project. You are in charge of hosting them. They are the ones paying the bills, so fix your attitude and don’t screw this up.” “Mr. Vance, the representative from Apex Group is already here.” He froze. “They’re here? Where?” “Right here,” I said, flipping my badge around so the logo faced outward. When the three of them read the words on the badge, they all turned to stone.

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