On the Isle of Lyra, in my third year as a Seer Sister, Duke Julian Thorne deliberately drugged me, violating my vows and my purity. He confessed, quite boldly, that he’d been captivated by me at first sight, wishing only to spend the rest of his life with me. Left with no choice, I abandoned my sacred path and became his Duchess of Ashworth. Three years into our marriage, however, the Duke was found spending the night in a disreputable establishment. He seemed to believe I had no one to rely on, openly remarking, “In bed, a former nun is quite… uninspired.” I didn’t cry, I didn’t raise a scene. The very next morning, I stood before the Grand Altar of the Oracle and quietly called out: “Aunt Bea.” “Melody is pregnant, Gemma. My child cannot be born into the streets,” Julian Thorne said, pushing a cup of tea across the polished mahogany table toward me, his eyes gleaming with expectation. “I am a man, after all. How could I endure your constant devotion to the chapel?” Seeing my silence, Julian launched into a tirade, blaming me for his transgressions. I offered a wry smile. He conveniently forgot how he had drugged me all those years ago. The Seer Sisters of Lyra had been prepared to exact the ultimate price for his transgression, to unleash the full wrath of the Isle. But that night, he had crept into my chambers, whispering promises: You can still pursue your sacred path, Gemma, even by my side. You will be queen in our home, and I will forever be your devoted servant. I believed him. I willingly endured the Hundred and Eight Sacred Trials of Lyra, a penance meant for profound transgressions. When I emerged, my bones aching, my body broken, Julian himself knelt before the High Matron of the Order, begging her to spare my life. After our marriage, Julian had lavished me with affection. On my first formal appearance at court, a young noblewoman from a powerful House attempted to drug me. I disgraced myself before the King, and the whispers turned to outright mockery. “I say, the Duchess of Ashworth is no pious former nun,” someone snickered, “she looks more like a wanton harlot!” Julian, usually so composed, had lashed out, striking the woman across the face with a resounding smack. His eyes held a ferocity I had never seen before. “Any more slander against my Duchess, and today will be your last!” After that, no one dared to openly criticize me. Julian’s outburst, however, had offended King Alaric, who, in turn, placed a powerful Binding Charm upon him. From then on, Julian was forced to seek the King’s antidote monthly. “Gemma, once Melody enters our home, you can still find solace in the chapel. And the child she bears will recognize you as its mother,” Julian promised, reaching for my hand as if nothing had changed. But he had forgotten. The High Matron, when she saved my life, had issued a dire warning: Gemma is no ordinary Seer Sister. Should you betray her, know that the Isle of Lyra will pursue you to the ends of the earth. In the three years since I married, I had severed all ties with the Isle of Lyra. Julian, it seemed, had also forgotten the Matron’s solemn threat. I placed the teacup back on the table, evading his attempt to kiss me. Finally, I conceded. “Bring her back, then.” Julian stared at the untouched tea, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. But my words, the unexpected surrender, overwhelmed him with such joy that he bounded out of the room like a giddy boy. My maid, Elara, asked why I hadn’t drunk the tea. “Madam, His Majesty personally bestowed this Silver Dew tea. Is it not your favorite?” Julian believed I was oblivious. In these three years of marriage, I had remained barren because he had secretly been lacing my tea with a potent contraceptive. I tipped the cup, emptying the contents into a potted plant, and then retrieved a message discreetly delivered by my aunt’s messenger. Gemma, in seven days, His Majesty will hold the Grand Consecration Ceremony. The realm will bow before the Altar. At that time, you will be the new Oracle. The next day, Julian, consumed by eagerness, brought Melody Sinclair into the manor. He even granted her the status of his equal wife, a rare and deeply insulting slight to a Duchess. At the lavish banquet, Julian saw me enter and immediately roared, “Go back to your chambers!” My eyes burned, fixed on the hand concealed beneath his sleeve, clasped around Melody’s. He had never spoken a harsh word to me before. But now, he feared I would disrupt his and Melody’s celebratory feast, so he had ordered his personal guard to confine me to my room since dawn. The moment the guests saw me, whispers rippled through the hall. “The former nun doesn’t even know, does she? The Duke only married her because she resembled Melody.” “Three years ago, Melody was unjustly imprisoned. The Duke thought she was dead and went to the Isle of Lyra to light a soul-candle for her. Otherwise, how could this little nun have ever married the Duke?” “Now that the Duke’s true love has returned, I’d bet he’ll discard his Duchess within two weeks!” ……………… I lifted my gaze, studying Melody’s face. Indeed, she bore an uncanny resemblance to me—perhaps an eighty percent likeness. No wonder Julian had rushed to embrace me upon our first meeting, as if he had found a lost treasure. No wonder he had wept tears of joy, declaring his instant love for me. Recalling every moment of our past, it all seemed a cruel mockery. Elara steadied me from behind. I couldn’t bear to look any longer, stumbling back towards the rear courtyard. Julian, seeing me falter, instinctively surged forward. “Gemma, be careful!” In the past, I would have undoubtedly melted into his arms, playfully feigning weakness. But now, the mere thought of his touch filled me with revulsion. I flung his hand away. I retreated to the chapel alone, replaying every memory of my time with Julian. The frescoes on the chapel walls were painted by his own hand. The sacred texts within were copied together, page by page. Even the chapel itself was painstakingly recreated by him, a perfect replica of the meditation hall I had known on the Isle of Lyra. “Duchess, did Julian ever tell you that the painting in this chapel… he actually painted it to resemble me?” Melody’s voice, startlingly abrupt, sliced through the stillness. She strode in, pulling down one of the frescoes and holding it before my eyes. The woman in the painting. She had a distinct tear-mole beneath her eye, a detail I lacked. When he had painted it, I had playfully chided him: You paint me without even looking at me? What kind of artist are you? Julian had smiled then, his eyes soft. My heart knows your likeness, how could I not know your form? I had fallen, lost in his honeyed words, my heart completely given. But now I understood. The one in his heart was never me. “Gemma Sterling, do you know the Duke never loved you? Do you know how much he detests that you turned his bedchamber into a chapel?” I stared at Melody, incredulous. When we designed it, Julian had smiled and said it was perfect. She lifted her skirt, revealing a patchwork of angry bruises beneath. “The Duke said… one night of passion with me surpassed all his time with you these past three years…” I couldn’t bear to listen further. I rose, gave her one last look, then walked out of the chapel. Half an hour later, Julian burst into my chambers, his hand raised, and slapped me hard across the face! CRACK! My ears rang violently. My eyes wide with disbelief, I stared at Julian. “Gemma Sterling, if you were unhappy with my marriage to Melody, you should have said so! Why agree to her entry, only to then try to take her life?” Julian clamped his hand around my wrist, his grip so brutal that tears streamed down my face. He seemed not to notice, his eyes blazing with fury as he interrogated me. A servant, seeing my bewilderment, quickly offered an explanation. After I left, a fire had broken out in the chapel. Melody, who had been inside praying, was injured when a burning beam collapsed, leaving a horrific scar across her face. “Duchess, I know you resent my beauty, but I never intended to take anything that belonged to you…” Melody sobbed, her voice trembling. “Now that my face is ruined, how am I to live?” Before I could utter a single word of explanation, Melody collapsed, feigning a faint. I was about to protest, but Julian was already gone, cradling Melody in his arms. Soon after, he returned with his personal guard. They seized me, pinning me down. His eyes were cold, devoid of all warmth. “You ruined the most precious thing to Melody. Now, I shall take from you what you hold most dear!” With that, his longsword flashed, piercing my palm. I screamed, an agonizing sound, as Julian stepped forward and brutally snapped my wrist. “Gemma Sterling, your heart is venomous, you have harmed my mistress. You are hereby stripped of your rank and demoted to a concubine!” “Melody Sinclair, you are hereby elevated to Duchess of Ashworth!” The searing pain in my hand coursed through my entire body. I writhed on the floor, barely able to move. My origins were humble; the King’s Mother had been against my marriage, but Julian had knelt outside the palace gates for three days and three nights to obtain the royal decree for our union. And now, he himself was degrading me to a mere concubine. I clutched at the fabric of my gown, helplessly watching Julian walk away, his figure receding into the distance. My chest felt as though it were being gnawed by ants. Blood flowed ceaselessly from my hand. A maid attempted to staunch the flow, but I merely scoffed, shaking my head. Julian was a warrior; he had personally broken my wrist. These hands could never again hold a quill to write. He knew full well that I cherished the sacred texts, that my life’s purpose was to copy them. I let out a bitter laugh, pain and despair intertwining in my heart, keeping me awake through the long night. The next morning, Julian burst into my room, kicking the door open with a furious boot. “Reporting to the Isle of Lyra? Gemma Sterling, you promised me you would never return there!” Julian roared, flinging a letter into my face and clamping his hand around my jaw. When I married him, I had said: If you never betray me, I will never return to the Isle of Lyra. But now Julian had betrayed me for another woman, destroying my hands. How could I dare to remain by his side? “My Lord, my hand was ruined because of me. Will the people of the Isle of Lyra seek revenge on me?” Melody whimpered, clinging to Julian’s chest. “Melody fears not death, but she fears being separated from you again…” Julian’s voice was softer than I had ever heard it, filled with a tenderness that twisted my gut. “Melody, I will never allow anything to happen to you again.” He looked at me, a cold sneer on his lips, his words sharp as daggers. “I have severed all contact between the Isle of Lyra and Gemma. From this day forth, Gemma will serve Melody!” His gaze hardened, “Should anyone from the Isle of Lyra dare to harm you, Melody, Gemma will not leave this manor alive!” Melody smirked triumphantly at me, her eyes glinting with malicious challenge. She knew my hands were useless, yet she ordered me to wash all the clothes in the courtyard. That night, as I dozed off, her maid brutally kicked me in the back. “The Duchess says you’re not to sleep until all the washing is done!” I was sent sprawling into the basin of water, soaked to the bone, but she forbade me from changing my clothes. The night was cold. Within the hour, my consciousness began to fray. In my haze, I thought I saw Julian watching me from a distance. But what landed on me was another blow from the maid’s stick. Julian feared I would send word to the Isle of Lyra, so he stationed four of his elite guards to watch me. My back was a bloody mess, skin torn open, yet I was utterly helpless. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I finished all the washing. Melody, however, suddenly ordered her servants to drag me to the main hall. Her eyes were icy. With a single glance, the men behind me instantly pinned me to the floor. I snapped awake, struggling, refusing to kneel. A devotee of the sacred path kneels only to the Heavens, to one’s parents, and to the Divine. Beyond that, to no one. “My Lord, I was wrong, please, I beg you, don’t make me kneel!” Julian suddenly entered from the doorway. I grabbed at his sleeve, pleading desperately. Julian looked at me, a flicker of something resembling reluctance in his eyes. “My Lord, Gemma ruined my new gown. Do you think she should be punished?” Melody purred, throwing herself into his arms, tears glistening in her eyes. In an instant, his expression hardened again, turning cold. “Destroying the Duchess’s gown certainly deserves punishment!” With just that one sentence, the men behind me kicked my knee. CRACK! My bone shattered instantly, and I collapsed to the floor. Melody flung the gown onto my prone body, then placed her feet, one by one, on my outstretched hands. Her pretty face was alight with smug triumph. “Gemma, make sure you wash tonight’s clothes very, very carefully.” The sharp point of her shoe-buckle dug into the back of my hand, and blood welled up, slowly flowing down my wrist. Julian glanced at it, then quickly covered Melody’s eyes, murmuring softly, “Dirty.” Pain and humiliation twisted in my heart. I clutched the letter hidden beneath my clothes, weeping silently. When I followed Julian away from the Isle of Lyra, the High Matron had warned me: “If you insist on leaving with him, Gemma, you are destined to face a trial of the heart in this life.” At the time, my eyes saw only Julian’s professed love for me. I remembered his promise: No one will ever hurt you, unless I am dead. But in the end, it was he himself who hurt me. But it was alright. In three days, the Grand Consecration Ceremony for the Oracle, the Ceremony of the Thousand Bows, would take place. As a Seer Sister from the Isle of Lyra, Julian would certainly be obligated to take me. Three days from now, we would part ways, forever. Even as I lay in bed, unable to move, Julian stubbornly forced me to drink a medicinal broth, insisting I tend to Melody’s unborn child. For days, I had tried to explain that I had not harmed her. But Julian had roared, “Only you knew the chapel’s weaknesses! If not for your arson, how could Melody have been scarred?” He demanded I atone for Melody’s suffering, promising that once her child was safely born, he would restore my former life. I remained silent, quietly agreeing. “Very well.” One day, when the maid was taking me to buy medicine, she advised me: “Madam, everyone can see that you spend your days in the chapel and avoid closeness with His Grace. He’s just angry with you! If you just soften your stance a little, he’ll stop tormenting you.” I smiled, but I did not agree. Every year at this time, the Seer Sisters of Lyra observed a period of strict abstinence, both from rich foods and worldly pleasures. For the past two years, Julian had indulged me. If I avoided his touch, he would spend his days in the chapel with me, reciting sacred texts. But this year, I had waited in the chapel until dawn and had not seen a trace of Julian. The next day, I learned he had spent the night in a disreputable establishment. From that moment, my heart had inexplicably wrenched, as if a piece had been torn out of me. People on the streets knew that Julian had cast me aside. Even beggars dared to accost me. “I’ve never had a taste of a nun before. Little nun, why don’t you come with me?” “Do you wear your plain robes in bed, too? The thought is quite… stimulating.” Ragged hands groped at me from all sides, but I had no strength to resist. In the past, whenever I left the manor, Julian would always assign me a few personal guards. Now, those guards were all assigned to Melody’s courtyard. Men’s hands brushed against me, and I screamed in terror. “No! Don’t touch me!” “Who dares cause such a disturbance here?!” The Lord Chancellor of the Capital passed by, rescuing me from the mob. Once the crowd dispersed, the ruffians had vanished. Someone was deliberately targeting me, yet trying to remain unseen. Back at the manor, Melody’s eyes widened in shock to see me return unharmed. I knew my suspicions were correct. In the very heart of the capital, no one would dare to openly assault me. Melody was desperate for me to lose my purity, so Julian would have a pretext to get rid of me. I carried the bitter herbal brew to her, yet I didn’t expose her malicious scheme. Not long after, I was thrown before Melody’s bed. Julian’s longsword pointed at my throat, and he roared, his voice hoarse with fury, “Gemma Sterling, I never thought you were so vicious! Harming Melody wasn’t enough, now you would kill her unborn child?!” He plunged his sword into my shoulder. My long gown immediately turned crimson. “You seek death!” Julian kicked me to the ground, his heavy boot pressing down on my chest. “My Lord, My Lord, you must avenge our child…” Melody gasped her last words, then quickly fell unconscious. Julian was convinced that the herbal brew I had delivered tonight had caused Melody’s miscarriage. Without hesitation, he had me thrown into the serpent pit. The dozen venomous vipers, having been deprived of food for half a month, gazed at me with gleaming, ravenous eyes. They said that the last person thrown in there hadn’t even left bones behind. A maid stood by the pit, weeping, begging me to explain everything. But I simply asked, my voice faint, “Julian Thorne, do you know that the Seer Sisters of Lyra possess the gift of foresight?” He paused, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, quickly replaced by raging anger. He kicked me down. I plunged dozens of feet. My already frail bones shattered completely, and I coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood. The serpents slowly began to coil around me. I stifled the bitterness in my heart. From above, Julian’s voice, cold and detached, gave his orders: “Watch her. Don’t let her die!” “I want her to long for death, but never find it!” These past few days, he had assigned many men to monitor me. Had he bothered to investigate, he would have known I had no opportunity to drug Melody. Moreover, I had known for some time that the child in her womb was stillborn. But I knew that no matter how much I explained, Julian would never believe me. When the serpents bit me, I had no strength to evade them. The pain in my heart eclipsed that of my body. My already shattered heart was crushed once more. Julian and I were truly over. The next day, I was dragged out of the pit, covered in blood. There wasn’t an inch of unblemished skin on my body. I drifted into unconsciousness. In my hazy state, I heard Julian’s cold voice. “Splash her with water. I don’t believe she can fake death!” Julian had long known that the Seer Sisters of Lyra were immune to poisons, but he had forgotten one crucial detail: I was terrified of serpents. “His Majesty has specifically requested your presence at the Grand Consecration Ceremony. If you dare utter a single word out of place, Gemma, you will not leave this manor alive!” Julian threatened me from inside the carriage, his voice low and dangerous. I stared at the man before me. He had once loved me, but now, for the sake of another woman, he suspected me, he loathed me. I remained silent, quietly closing my eyes.

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From the moment I was born, a specter in scarlet clung to me. She was my father’s mistress, a vengeful spirit unable to find peace after he abandoned her, driving her to leap to her death. Her malice claimed my parents, but I, blessed by fate and generations of pure souls, narrowly escaped her grasp. Still, she ensured my life was far from peaceful. To appease her simmering wrath, I lived within the hallowed walls of a cloister for twenty years. Just three days before the scarlet specter was due to finally cross over, Marcus Thorne burst into my sanctuary, desperate for my aid to quell a terrible affliction that threatened to consume him. I couldn’t bear to watch him suffer such a violent demise, but I knew the scarlet specter detested oath-breakers. So, I laid down my terms. “If you take my purity, you must pledge your unwavering devotion to me. You must never betray me in this life, or you will face retribution. Are you certain you want my help?” Marcus swore his allegiance without a moment’s hesitation. Yet, seven years later, it was he who leaned in and pressed his lips to Lydia Sterling’s, then casually remarked to a friend, “Willow is utterly devoid of passion. All she knows is silent contemplation. I’ve long grown weary of her detached demeanor!” I glanced at the scarlet specter beside me, her translucent form alight with scornful amusement, then turned and walked away. Those who break their sacred vows are destined to face their reckoning. … When I returned to the manor, all my belongings had been unceremoniously dumped in the great hall. The maid, Elara, looked at me with open mockery. “His Lordship says Lady Lydia will be staying tonight. She is delicate and needs the sunniest room.” I didn’t bother to argue. I was leaving anyway. As I gathered my things, Marcus entered, his arm possessively draped around Lydia. The moment Lydia heard she’d be staying in my former bedchamber, she visibly winced. “I refuse to sleep in a room someone else has occupied, Marcus! You know I have a strong aversion to… shared spaces!” She disdained my former room. Yet, she felt no revulsion for the man I had shared. Marcus didn’t hesitate. “I’ll contact a design firm tomorrow to redecorate the room to your exact specifications. For tonight, you’ll have to make do with the guest suite.” He added, with a reassuring smile, “Rest assured, it’s a guest suite no one has ever occupied before.” Elara’s gaze grew even more pointedly mocking. I found it rather ironic myself, especially recalling that Marcus had said the very same words to me seven years ago, when I first followed him here. Seven years, and he’d forgotten everything. Just as I prepared to leave, Marcus turned to me. “Lydia hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Didn’t you say your amulet helped you sleep soundly? Let her try yours.” My amulet. It was the only thing that kept the scarlet specter at bay. Before I wore it, she tormented me every night, stealing my peace. Only with its protection could I manage to rest. Fearing Marcus would be afraid, I had never told him about the specter, but I had told him that the amulet had to be worn twenty-four hours a day, never to be removed. “I…” Before I could even speak, Marcus, impatient, reached out and yanked the amulet from around my neck. “It’s just an amulet, why are you being so difficult?” As he spoke, Marcus offered the amulet to Lydia, but she recoiled in disgust. Remembering her aversion to “shared spaces,” he quickly handed the amulet to Elara instead. “Take it to the sun terrace and let it air out for two days, then bring it to Lady Lydia.” Freed from its constraint, the scarlet specter instantly materialized before me, her spectral face alight with a mocking grin. It was as if she was taunting me for breaking my sacred vows seven years ago, all for Marcus. I ignored her, turning to leave, when my phone suddenly rang. “Miss Thorne, you must come back! Someone has stormed the mountain and is demolishing the cloister!” My heart sank. I immediately turned and raced towards the door—but before I could reach the main entrance, the manor’s guards seized me, dragging me back into the villa and forcing me onto a bed. Marcus stood beside the bed, his expression grim. “Lydia says that when you were near her just now, she felt noticeably better. But the moment you left, she could barely breathe.” He sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking my hair. “They say you are blessed with ten lifetimes of purity. Since your blood type matches Lydia’s, perhaps a transfusion might cure her illness.” “Don’t worry, it’s just a little blood. It won’t hurt.” The family physician, Dr. Evans, inserted a needle as thick as my thumb into my arm. I had always been terrified of pain and couldn’t help biting my lip. Marcus watched, about to say something, when Lydia’s distressed cry echoed from outside the room. “Marcus, where are you?!” Marcus sprang up, rushing out of the room. By the time 400cc of blood had been drawn, my vision was already blurring. Before Dr. Evans could even remove the needle, Lydia’s agonizing cry rang out again. “My dearest Marcus, I feel so unwell!” Marcus’s anxious voice followed. “Why hasn’t she improved after the transfusion? Is it not enough blood?” He ordered, “Dr. Evans, draw another 400cc, quickly!” Dr. Evans looked troubled. “My Lord, the Duchess is already anemic. 400cc is the absolute limit. If I draw more, I fear…” Marcus cut him off without hesitation. “Just draw it! What’s with all the excuses? Can’t you see Lydia is practically dying?!” Dr. Evans, unable to dissuade him, met my gaze with a look of profound reluctance. “Duchess…” “It’s alright, Dr. Evans. Just draw it.” At that moment, all I wanted was for this to end so I could rush to the cloister to see what had happened. So, after a total of 800cc was drawn, I immediately tried to sit up. Dr. Evans quickly pressed me down. “Duchess, you must remain in bed and rest. You absolutely cannot get up!” “No, I have to go.” Pushing Dr. Evans aside, I forced myself to stand, walking towards the door. But due to severe blood loss, my legs buckled, and I stumbled. Marcus suddenly appeared, catching me and pulling me into his arms. “What are you doing? Dr. Evans said you need to rest, didn’t he?!” “Let me go, I have to leave…” I struggled to break free. Marcus suddenly lifted me, forcefully placed me back on the bed, and pinned my shoulders down with his hands. “Willow, what you need right now is rest! Whatever it is, it can wait until you’ve recovered!” Dr. Evans also chimed in, “Duchess, please listen to His Lordship! Right now, all you can do is rest in bed.” But how could I possibly have time to rest? By the time my body recovered, the cloister would be completely demolished! I struggled again, but Marcus held me down firmly. In my frantic effort, a sudden horrifying realization flashed in my mind. I stared at the man before me, disbelief etched on my face. “You ordered the cloister to be torn down?!” In that moment our eyes met, a flicker of guilt was unmistakable in his. But the very next second, he spoke with defiant self-righteousness. “That old charlatan has been deceiving people for years! Someone should have dealt with him long ago! I demolished it for the good of the people! To prevent anyone else from being swindled!” “You, too, were deceived by him! He said you couldn’t leave, but you’ve been with me all these years and you’re perfectly fine, aren’t you?!” He clearly forgot that the “old charlatan” he spoke of had saved his life when he was bitten by a venomous serpent on that very mountain. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Anyone has the right to say that, but not you!” Pushing Marcus away, I immediately tried to stand, but the surge of anger overwhelmed me, and I lost consciousness. I woke up in the infirmary. Marcus sat by my bed, his face a mixture of complex emotions. “The physician says you’re three months pregnant. Why didn’t you tell me?” I ignored him, attempting to get up. He pressed me back down onto the bed. I had no strength to resist, so I just stared at him coldly. “If you’re so powerful, then keep me confined for life.” “You…” Marcus was about to speak when Lydia’s call came through. He quickly mumbled, “I’ll see you later,” then turned and rushed out, leaving two guards outside the door. I couldn’t get out, and I couldn’t find my phone. I finally managed to secretly borrow a phone from a sympathetic nurse and sent a message. After sleeping for a whole afternoon, strength finally returned to my body. I persuaded a nurse to exchange clothes with me, and I swiftly left the room. In the corridor, a patient’s family member was scrolling through videos on their phone. On the screen, Lydia, in a haute couture gown, clung to Marcus’s arm, a perfect pair. My gaze, however, was fixed on the sapphire jewelry adorning Lydia’s neck, ears, wrists, and fingers… Those pieces were originally designed by Marcus specifically for me. He had said that sapphires symbolized loyalty and steadfastness, just like our love. He had even hired a renowned jeweler, who spent three years on the design. But now, they graced another woman. On the screen, the host continuously praised the couple as a golden pair, a match made in heaven, and Marcus never once denied it. The scarlet specter, witnessing this, once again twisted her face into a mocking smile. I tried to ignore the bitterness welling in my heart, walking towards the nurse’s station to handle my discharge. But a few yards away, I suddenly heard the nurses inside talking: “The patient in Room 308’s husband has scheduled an abortion for her. Tomorrow morning at nine. Prepare for it.” Another nurse gasped in surprise. “Room 308’s patient is so anemic. Can she even withstand the procedure?” The speaking nurse shrugged. “That’s beyond our control…” Dismissing the idea of discharge, I turned and walked out of the infirmary. I needed to pick up my identification documents to travel, which meant returning to the manor. I assumed Marcus and Lydia were still at their interview and wouldn’t be back so soon, but to my surprise, they were already there, blocking my path. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the infirmary?” Marcus exclaimed, realizing I had escaped. He rushed forward, grabbing my wrist. “Come! Back to the infirmary with me!” Lydia’s eyes flashed with quick resentment, and she began to feign distress. “It’s all my fault for being so delicate, that Marcus had to force you to give me a transfusion, causing you to suffer a loss of vitality, and now the baby might be lost. Miss Thorne, please blame me!” Marcus could never bear to see her cry. He immediately released my hand and pulled Lydia into his embrace. “This has nothing to do with you. You have no reason to blame yourself!” Lydia leaned into Marcus’s chest, casting a triumphant, challenging smirk my way. The next second, she adopted a falsely compassionate tone. “Miss Thorne rushed back in such a hurry. She must want to see the Abbot off, one last time, mustn’t she?” Her words instantly sent a chill down my spine. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘see the Abbot off, one last time’?!” Lydia raised a hand to her mouth, feigning shock. “Oh, Miss Thorne didn’t know? The Abbot took a fall an hour ago. He’s… passed away.” This news struck me like a bolt of lightning. Although I knew Lydia wouldn’t joke about such a thing, I still stared at Marcus in disbelief. “She’s lying to me, isn’t she?” Meeting my gaze, Marcus’s guilt was evident, but he quickly puffed out his chest, feigning righteousness. “That old charlatan has been swindling people for years! His death is no loss. Falling to his death was too easy a fate for him!” To hear him utter such heartless words, I lunged at him, but Marcus angrily shoved me to the ground. “Are you done making a scene? If you keep this up, do you think I’ll let you see that old charlatan one last time?!” Lydia clung to Marcus’s arm, looking down at me with disdain. “Marcus, Miss Thorne is simply distraught with worry. After all, she lived in that cloister for twenty years. It’s understandable that she wants to see the Abbot off. For my sake, since she gave me blood, why don’t you take her along tomorrow?” Marcus’s expression immediately softened. “If not for Lydia pleading on your behalf, I certainly wouldn’t take you. Don’t you have a thank you for her?” How utterly ridiculous! My movements, my choices, now required the sanction of his mistress! Realizing I wouldn’t be able to leave tonight, I didn’t bother with further words. I turned and walked directly to the guest room. I planned to get a good night’s rest, but no sooner had I lain down than the door was violently kicked open.

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1 My college roommate, Chloe Reed, went on a trip and immediately hogged the priority seat reserved for expectant mothers. What’s worse, she pointed at a pregnant woman and cursed her, wishing for a stillborn child, claiming such a birth would be nothing but a waste of national resources. In the video, Chloe, wearing a black mask, stood with hands on her hips, loudly proclaiming herself Serena Sterling, the sole heiress of Sterling Holdings. With a mere flick of her finger, she declared, she could crush a low-intellect woman like the pregnant woman. When bystanders filmed her appalling behavior and posted it online, she masterfully deflected all blame onto me, shifting the public’s fury in my direction. She then went live, posing as my college roommate, emphatically identifying me as the aggressive student in the video. As a result, I was doxxed, all my private information laid bare for the world to see. Lost in a daze, as I sought comfort from my boyfriend, I was suddenly yanked into a van, brutalized by strangers, and left for dead. In my dying moments, my fallen phone flickered to life, showing Chloe’s livestream. She was denouncing me, claiming I deserved my fate, raking in countless followers and skyrocketing to internet fame. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my roommate had verbally abused the pregnant woman. … My college roommate, Chloe, had claimed she was suffering from depression and had begged me to accompany her on this trip to clear her head. She feigned thirst, asking me to grab her a drink, which conveniently got me off the bus. On the bus, she’d taken the priority seat for expectant mothers. When a fellow passenger called her out for not giving it up, she immediately spun around and started an argument with the pregnant woman. “I can’t stand you pregnant women. It’s not my kid you’re carrying, so why should I give you special treatment?” Chloe sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “Think about your baby, for crying out loud! You shamelessly hog public resources, aren’t you afraid of having a miscarriage?” She continued, her voice rising in a grating crescendo, “Why should pregnant women get special treatment? What’s wrong with me speaking up? If you want to be treated equally in the workplace, then you should expect the same out here in reality. Your husband got you pregnant. He and his family, even your own family, can spoil you. But we’re strangers; what makes you think I owe you anything? Honestly, is being pregnant some kind of badge of honor?” Chloe wore a baseball cap and a black mask that completely obscured her small face. Only the venomous, biting words, spewing from behind her mask as she stood with hands on her hips, betrayed her as a young woman. The pregnant woman’s face drained of color. She shakily gripped the handrail beside her. “You’re in a priority seat. What’s wrong with me asking you to move? Are you pregnant, too?” Chloe rolled her eyes in annoyance, then launched into a petulant rant. “It’s not my kid you’re carrying, so don’t try to guilt-trip me. I don’t have any morals to begin with! And don’t you have a husband? Did I make your belly big? And honestly, they shouldn’t even have these damn priority seats to begin with, got it? If you don’t like riding the bus, tell your husband to buy you a car! You’re out here running around all day—be careful you don’t pop out a stillborn!” Their shouting drew the attention of other passengers, one of whom, an older woman, couldn’t stand Chloe’s belligerence any longer. “You’re a perfectly healthy young girl, what right do you have to hog a pregnant woman’s seat? And to curse her? How can you be so malicious?” “Me malicious?” Chloe shrieked, incredulous. She shot up, and before anyone could react, she swiftly delivered two sharp slaps across the pregnant woman’s face. “Did you see that? That’s not malice. That’s a bus vigilante, specifically here to sort out people like you, who exploit the guise of a ‘vulnerable group’ to guilt-trip ordinary folks!” Chloe pulled out her phone and started a livestream. It was at this very moment that I, too, reopened my eyes, reborn. I instinctively checked my own phone, just in time to see Chloe shove her screen right into the pregnant woman’s face. “Hey, folks! Check out this shameless piece of trash! Got knocked up and now she’s parading around on a public bus, expecting special treatment. Does she think everyone’s her sugar daddy?” Chloe was a small-time influencer with over 200,000 followers. The moment she went live, her fans swarmed. Within minutes, tens of thousands had flooded her stream, the viewership numbers skyrocketing. The pregnant woman frantically tried to shield her face. “You’re violating my privacy rights…” But before she could finish, Chloe seized a handful of her hair, yanking her head back, forcing the woman’s face completely into the livestream frame. “Privacy rights? A shameless hussy like you talks about privacy? Perfect! Today, everyone gets to see what kind of trash you really are!” Chloe paused, her voice drawling, slow and deliberate, as she scanned the pregnant woman’s designer clothes with her phone. “Big belly, all alone, cramming onto a public bus… Tsk, tsk, tsk. Dressed head-to-toe in luxury brands, too. I bet she’s some rich guy’s mistress on the side, isn’t she? Ladies, you better go home and check on your husbands! She might be the other woman!” The pregnant woman, enraged, laughed bitterly. She stopped trying to shield herself from the camera, her eyes blazing with a fierce warning. “I was going easy on you because you’re a young girl, but you’re really pushing it. Do you know who my husband is…?” Before she could finish, Chloe delivered another brutal slap across the pregnant woman’s face, sending her staggering back several steps before she finally stumbled and collapsed to the floor. 2 The pregnant woman sat on the floor, her face contorted in agony. A dark, crimson liquid began to seep slowly from between her legs. The crowd, initially content to watch the spectacle, stirred uneasily at the sight, some murmuring about stepping in to help the pregnant woman. Chloe’s eyes narrowed as she glared at the others, a cold sneer on her lips. “What, you all so eager to speak up? Did I hit a nerve with you little mistresses? Seeing someone in your ‘profession’ get what they deserve, are we? You’re projecting, aren’t you?” She brandished her phone triumphantly, like a gun, sweeping it back and forth across the faces of the surrounding onlookers. “Family, take a good look at these faces! Trying to defend a mistress? They’re all cut from the same cloth! Today, I’m going to get some justice for all of you! These shameless pregnant mistresses—every last one of them deserves a good lesson from me!” She stepped forward, kicking the pregnant woman onto her back. Then, she began to relentlessly kick the woman’s stomach, again and again. The pregnant woman screamed, a heartbreaking, ear-splitting sound that made the onlookers’ hair stand on end. Yet, no one dared to intervene, terrified of being branded a ‘mistress’ by Chloe. I watched the horrifying scene unfold on my phone, my legs pumping as I desperately ran towards the bus’s location. But it was peak tourist season, and the streets were swarming with people. I felt like an ant trapped in a jar, pushing and shoving through the dense crowd, barely making any headway. Minutes crawled by, and I’d barely moved a few feet. Seeing the pregnant woman’s face, twisted in unimaginable pain on my screen, my heart clenched in a vice-like grip. The pregnant woman desperately tried to shield herself from the relentless barrage of kicks. “I’m not a mistress!” she cried. “Call the police! I’m calling the police! You’re committing murder!” But Chloe didn’t relent. Hearing the woman threaten to call the police, she let out a wild, deranged laugh. “Oh, go ahead! Call them! Let’s see if the cops arrest a shameless mistress like you or me!” The chat stream scrolled endlessly, flooded with messages cheering Chloe on. “You go, streamer! About time someone put these people in their place!” “Ugh, pregnant women on the street just make me sick. Their bellies stick out like tumors, it’s horrifying!” Chloe glanced at the chat, her confidence soaring. She stopped kicking, squatting down in front of the nearly unconscious woman, a sinister grin spreading across her face. “A shameless woman like you must just love male attention, right? Well, today, I’m going to make that wish come true for you! Pregnant and still strutting around like that? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking, woman! It’s disgusting! You’re just begging to be objectified, aren’t you?” With a sickening rip of fabric, Chloe tore a large portion of the pregnant woman’s skirt right off her body. “No, please, no,” the pregnant woman whimpered, frantically trying to cover herself. But Chloe’s phone was like a blinding spotlight, illuminating her completely, leaving nothing to the imagination. Chloe cackled, a chilling sound. “Oh, please. Don’t play the pure, virtuous maiden now. Consider this a little ‘bonus content’ for my stream family today.” The pregnant woman was now barely clothed, utterly humiliated. But Chloe still wasn’t done. She pulled a set of keys with a pink spherical keychain from her bag, her voice chillingly devoid of mercy. “You hook men, don’t you? All with that face? Well, today, I’m going to slice it open! Let’s see what man wants you when you’re an ugly monster!” Chloe’s eyes were bloodshot, and the strength in her grip never wavered. As I saw the keys in Chloe’s hand on the livestream, my face fell. When had Chloe stolen my house keys? The pregnant woman had long since lost the strength to resist. Her once pristine, alabaster face was instantly crisscrossed with dozens of lacerations, raw, bleeding tissue exposed beneath the gashes. Then, Chloe grabbed a fistful of the pregnant woman’s hair and began slamming her head against the floor, thump, thump, thump, without a shred of mercy. Her fans in the stream continued their frenzy. “Amazing work, streamer! Can you get a shot of her chest for us guys, for a little ‘bonus’?” “This shameless woman totally deserves it! Pregnant with some bastard child and still can’t keep a low profile? Who does she think she’s guilt-tripping now?” The pregnant woman lay in a growing pool of blood, practically a blood-soaked wreck! 3 Finally, someone couldn’t stomach it anymore and stepped forward, forcefully pushing Chloe away. “Even if she is a mistress, you shouldn’t be hitting her! Look at her! Are you not going to stop until you’ve killed her?” Chloe stumbled, then turned back, her eyes blazing with fury at the bystander. “You dare push me? Do you even know who I am? Let me tell you, I could buy the lives of you pathetic wretches with a snap of my fingers! Even if I killed her right here, right now, no one would dare lay a hand on me!” Her words made the courageous bystander, who had finally spoken up, visibly flinch and hesitate. The pregnant woman was hunched over, her breath shallow and faint. She was utterly bewildered, unable to comprehend why a minor disagreement over a priority seat could possibly provoke such savage retaliation. “I… I don’t even know you…” she gasped. “Why are you slandering me as a mistress…? Who… who are you?” “Who am I? I’m not afraid to tell you; I’m afraid you’ll wet your pants when you find out!” Chloe cackled triumphantly. “I’m Serena Sterling, the sole heiress of Sterling Holdings, and I’m currently studying law at the prestigious Northwood University! You common bugs, I can kill as many of you as I please! Who dares cross the Sterling family?” Her venomous gaze swept across everyone in the bus. The onlookers instinctively recoiled, terrified of being implicated. “Even if I beat this wretch to death right here, I’ll still be attending classes tomorrow, earning my scholarships, and being hailed as an exemplary student!” The crowd, who had moments ago been on the verge of intervening, instantly abandoned any thought of helping the pregnant woman once Chloe declared herself the Sterling heiress. In Riverton, the Sterling family wielded immense, unchallengeable power. Who would dare cross them? It seemed the pregnant woman had simply had the misfortune of encountering an untouchable figure that day. Chloe grabbed the pregnant woman’s neck, half-lifting her before starting a new round of torment. “Still dared to get pregnant! Still planning to have his child? Today, I’m going to make sure this abomination is stillborn, and then I’ll destroy your womb, you filthy slut! Let’s see you try to bear children then!” Then, a gruesome, sickening squelch echoed. The pregnant woman could no longer endure the excruciating pain. Without even a whimper, her entire body went limp. Seeing that Chloe might have actually caused a fatality, the passengers in the bus quickly dialed 911. Meanwhile, I was finally breaking free from the suffocating crowd, my hand reaching for the bus door! By now, the livestream had attracted a flood of new viewers, many of whom were outraged, condemning the abuse of the pregnant woman and lambasting the ‘Sterling heiress’ for her sense of entitlement. Chloe watched, gloating, as everything unfolded exactly as she’d planned. She wasn’t worried about anyone digging up her account’s identity. This particular account was meant for an anonymous, risque online persona, and she’d secretly registered it using my phone number. If this account were doxxed, and netizens saw my identity — Serena Sterling — attached to it, I’d be absolutely ruined, unable to clear my name even if I tried! What’s more, the key she used to scratch the pregnant woman’s face was my house key, and the pink spherical keychain attached to it was a globally limited edition. All it would take was a little digging for netizens to trace those personal items back to me. Every single piece of evidence pointed directly at me. Chloe’s setup was truly flawless! I had to expose Chloe’s true colors before everything was set in stone! I fought my way out of the throng, bursting onto the bus in three quick strides, directly confronting Chloe. I reached out and violently tore off the mask she used to hide her face— 4 But in the chaos, my phone hadn’t captured her face. Startled, she twisted away, quickly pulled her mask back on, and then bolted off the bus, disappearing into the vast crowd. I quickly saved all the recordings from Chloe’s livestream while simultaneously making a call. Chloe’s stream was soon taken down for broadcasting violent and graphic content. But it was useless; countless clips of the broadcast were already spreading like wildfire across social media. I anonymously sent the full livestream recording directly to the pregnant woman’s husband. The pregnant woman’s husband was none other than my roommate Chloe’s adoptive brother. If I hadn’t died once already, I’d still be as bewildered as anyone else, wondering why Chloe harbored such intense hatred for a stranger, let alone committing attempted murder in my name. Chloe was actually the Hayes family’s adopted daughter. They’d doted on her since childhood, treating her like a precious jewel, which had fostered a terrible habit: she believed she had to get whatever she wanted, no matter what. But she wasn’t content; she’d developed an unnatural affection for her adoptive ‘brother,’ Ethan Hayes. During her teenage years, she’d once run into his bedroom in her underwear and lay on his bed. Ethan, upon discovering this, had a furious argument with her and their parents. But the Hayes parents, out of excessive fondness for Chloe, wanted Ethan to simply compromise. Ethan, disgusted by his adoptive sister’s improper feelings, had stormed out after graduating college, moving to Summit City to build his own career. There, he met and married his current wife, Olivia Croft—the very pregnant woman Chloe had just brutalized. Knowing Chloe’s true nature, Ethan had deliberately kept his adoptive family from meeting Olivia, even keeping their wedding a secret from them. When Chloe learned that the ‘brother’ she’d admired for so long had secretly married and started a family behind her back, her fury erupted in waves. She deliberately approached Olivia, posing as Ethan’s distant cousin, and quickly won Olivia’s trust through daily shows of warm solicitude and concern. Once she had Olivia’s trust, she seized the opportunity to invite Olivia back to Riverton to visit Ethan’s adoptive parents. Olivia, believing Ethan simply had a disagreement with his family, and reasoning that a wife should eventually meet her in-laws, decided to come alone first to gauge the situation and help her husband reconcile with them. And I was an indispensable part of Chloe’s plan. She had, somehow, gotten it into her head that she was the true Sterling heiress, and that I was an imposter, a cuckoo in the nest. Since we had similar builds, and with her wearing a mask and cap, anyone familiar with us both could easily mistake her for me from behind. Chloe’s plan was to kill two birds with one stone: eliminate her hated sister-in-law, Olivia, and ruin my reputation, thereby seizing the heiress identity for herself. At the hospital, Ethan rushed in, looking disheveled and distraught. He stood outside the ICU, staring at his wife, Olivia, lying on the bed, riddled with tubes. Ethan was a well-known entrepreneur in Summit City, and his wife, Olivia, was his cherished princess—he wouldn’t even utter a harsh word to her. And now, she’d been so grievously harmed she was on the verge of becoming a vegetable, not to mention their unborn child had been brutally kicked into a miscarriage. His eyes bloodshot with rage, he immediately vowed to find ‘Serena Sterling’ and make her pay. He didn’t care if it was the Sterling family or anyone else; whoever dared to harm his wife would pay a bloody price!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392773”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I’m dying. A lonely soul in life, a wandering ghost in death. I’m a fairly considerate person, so I worry my body might stay in the house too long after I’m gone. Rotting, decomposing, festering, swarming with maggots. It wouldn’t just mess up my own place, which is bad enough, but if it affected the feng shui and property value of the entire apartment complex, or ruined my neighbors’ moods and appetites, that would be truly awful. So, I called my ex-boyfriend, the one I broke up with seven years ago. “When I die, could you do me a favor and take care of my body?” A few minutes of silence stretched between us. “Sure,” he finally said, his voice flat. “Perfect for feeding the dogs.” I hung up the phone, a wave of disappointment washing over me. Online, you can find food delivery, errand runners, even designated drivers, but not a single service for posthumous body disposal. I’m dying. The kind of dying where there’s no cure. After the initial shock, fear, rage, and utter breakdown, I’ve quietly accepted this reality. After all, I have no family, no one to rely on. Dying will just mean being alone in a different place. But my biggest worry is that if I die at home, with no one ever visiting, my body might linger for a long time. Decomposing, putrefying, festering, oozing, crawling with maggots, emitting a truly horrifying stench… Maybe it wouldn’t be discovered until the entire building suffered from a full-blown biohazard attack? By then, it would be too late. I’m quite vain, and I certainly don’t want my body to be an eyesore when it’s finally discovered. And I do have a sense of civic duty. I don’t want my apartment to become a ‘death house,’ affecting my neighbors’ peace of mind and appetites. And I definitely don’t want to drag down the property values in the neighborhood. With the real estate market in a slump, homeowners are already living miserable lives, and I don’t want to pile more misery on them. Of course, I could choose to die in a hospital, smiling my last in a sterile bed. But I despise the smell of disinfectant. So, I absolutely need someone to take care of my body. To turn me into ash as quickly as possible—clean, eco-friendly, and hygienic. After much thought, my ex-boyfriend was the only one I could possibly ask. I unblocked his number and tried calling, silently praying he hadn’t changed it. It connected. I could hear his low breathing on the other end, but neither of us spoke. “Liam… Liam Hayes?” “I… it’s Elara Vance…” I wasn’t sure if he’d deleted my contact information, so I identified myself. Beep! Beep! The call disconnected. It had to be Liam. If it were anyone else, they’d at least say, “Wrong number.” Shamelessly, I redialed. This time, the busy signal rang for a dozen beats before he finally picked up. Fearing he’d hang up again, I rushed out my request, rattling it off as quickly as rattling off a grocery list. “Don’t hang up! I know you hate me! But I’m dying! Can you take care of my body after? Watching me die in front of you would be pretty satisfying, wouldn’t it?” I finished in one breath. This time, he didn’t hang up. After seven long years, his familiar yet estranged voice finally broke the silence. “So, now you’re dying?” he scoffed. “As far as I’m concerned, you died in my heart ages ago!” He was mocking me, twisting the knife. But I’m a woman who isn’t even afraid of death anymore, so what did a little sarcasm matter? “Your wish for me to die is a lovely sentiment, but it’s just wishful thinking. This time, though, I really won’t make it past three months. You should cherish this chance to personally send me off. Miss this, and you’ll never buy an experience like it again, no matter how much money you throw at it.” I pleaded, like a seasoned salesperson pitching her wares. “Hahahahaha!” Liam suddenly burst into boisterous laughter. “Elara, you really will go to any lengths to get close to me, won’t you?” His voice dripped with schadenfreude. “Even though you haven’t contacted me in years, I’ve been keeping tabs on you.” “I know your life has gone to hell. Your family went bankrupt, your dad killed himself, your mom ran off, and you even got divorced, abandoned by Julian Thorne. Now you’re all alone, abandoned by everyone, probably looking pretty pathetic, aren’t you?” “I genuinely suspect you’re a jinx! Because everyone who gets close to you ends up miserable! But those who leave you? They thrive!” “Just like me now—successful, accomplished, a true self-made man!” Even over the phone, I could vividly imagine the grimacing, vengeful expression on Liam’s face. “So, are you at your wit’s end, coming to beg me now?” he continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “Trying to play dead and pathetic to gain my sympathy? Do you really think I still have any lingering feelings for a fickle gold-digger like you?” “No! Playing the victim won’t work on me! Because if you really died in front of me, I’d take your corpse and feed it to the dogs!” I thought about it seriously. My corpse being fed to dogs might be a bit gruesome, but it would definitely be better than rotting and stinking, covered in maggots, wouldn’t it? Besides, I quite like dogs. “Could you feed me to a Border Collie? I really don’t like Huskies.” I offered the suggestion earnestly. “You…” Liam was choked by my bluntness. He must have thought I was deliberately provoking him, and he hung up again. I didn’t call a third time. I didn’t want to invite further humiliation. I started searching for funeral homes and crematoriums in the city on my phone, wondering if I could reserve a spot in advance. But Liam was already at my doorstep. He knew my current address. 2 “Thirty years the river flows east, thirty years it flows west. Never underestimate the underdog!” Liam had told me that saying back in college. He loved reading fantasy novels and said that line came from some cheesy fantasy book. He even praised my beauty, saying I was “a ten-out-of-ten bombshell.” Reality is even more fantastical than fiction. It didn’t take thirty years; just seven years were enough for Liam’s life and mine to completely invert. Seven years ago, he was a struggling college student, dependent on student loans to finish his degree. I was a privileged heiress with a hefty fortune. He loved me to death, humble and devoted. But I dumped him, played him, and cast him aside. “Liam, we’re not a good match. We don’t belong in the same world.” “I was just toying with you, but I’m done playing now.” “You didn’t actually think I’d marry you, did you?” “Hahahaha! I couldn’t bring myself to be seen with someone like you!” “Get lost! A pauper like you doesn’t deserve to talk about love!” I watched Liam weep bitterly before me. The fire in his eyes slowly extinguished. I was certain that I had, with my own hands, crushed his innocence and his capacity for love. Seven years later. He was now a successful young entrepreneur. While others his age were still relying on trust funds, he had built his own empire, becoming a self-made millionaire, even making it onto the Forbes list. He exuded maturity, confidence, and sheer dominance. And I was utterly ruined. The halo of my privileged heiress status had shattered, and now I was living in a cramped, old apartment less than 500 square feet. Unemployed, without family, without friends. And, most importantly, I was dying. I was asking him to take care of my body after I was gone. My story with him felt like a cruel, twisted joke from hell. “You don’t look so good, and you seem exhausted,” Liam said, one hand in his pocket, the other leaning casually against the wall. He’d always been handsome, but with money, his aura was even more striking. His Armani suit and Vacheron Constantin watch screamed success. Not like when we first dated, when his faded high school uniform stretched well into his sophomore year. I used to force him to buy new clothes, but he always complained they were too expensive. “Did you get thin because your family went bankrupt and you can’t handle a hard life?” He was laughing at my misfortune again, taking in my cramped home with an amused glance. “The apartment is small, but it’s clean. Though, honestly, I’d rather see someone like you living on the streets.” I looked around the small apartment with a touch of wistfulness. It was just a studio. This was the third home I’d lived in during my twenty-five years. The smallest, the most humble, the shabbiest. It couldn’t compare to the mansion I grew up in, much less Julian’s family estate. Yet, it was where I felt safest, warmest. I’d bought it with every penny of my own savings, earned through hard work. Dying here felt like a quiet contentment. That’s why I particularly didn’t want to leave it dirty or cursed after I was gone. “Thank you for coming.” I opened a drawer and took out the title deeds and a handwritten agreement. “I don’t have much savings left; this apartment is my only asset. After I die, please sell the apartment for me. The money should be enough to buy a burial plot and handle my funeral arrangements. There should be a hundred thousand or so left over after that. Please donate it. I don’t have any family or friends to leave it to, and you wouldn’t care for such a small sum anyway.” I calmly laid out my last wishes, but Liam suddenly erupted in fury! He lunged forward, grabbing my shoulders and shoving me hard against the wall! He leaned in, our faces inches apart, his eyes blazing, his breath hot against my skin. “I don’t know whether to commend your acting or condemn your shamelessness!” he growled, his teeth clenched. “A wicked woman like you won’t die that easily. And even if you did, you would donate money? Haven’t you always taken pleasure in toying with the dignity of the poor?” His facial muscles twitched with a grim, vengeful pleasure. “So, now you’re truly poor! That’s karma!” “I’m almost afraid you will die! Death would be an escape, wouldn’t it? No! You should live and suffer a lifetime of punishment and torment!” His grip hurt me. I tried to explain that I wasn’t acting, that I truly was dying, and I even pulled out my medical records. But he dismissed them as props I’d bought online. Finally, I grew impatient. My life is my own; why should I have to prove to you that I’m dying? I suddenly thought of Old Man Peterson, the kind-hearted recycling collector who often came to our complex. Maybe I should entrust him with this? After I die, he could have all the furniture and items in my apartment, and I’d ask him to take care of me too. “You’re hurting me!” I struggled to break free. “If you don’t want to, then fine. Pretend I never asked. You can go.” But Liam wouldn’t leave. He was like a hunter toying with his prey, a cold glint in his eyes. “Since you love playing games so much, I’ll play along!” he sneered. “I’m taking care of your corpse, no matter what! You said you’d die in three months, didn’t you?” He stared at me, his voice sharp with accusation. “What if you don’t die by then?” “I’m genuinely looking forward to seeing your pathetic, shameless face then!” “If you had any shame at all, you’d just kill yourself and apologize!” Liam laughed after delivering his taunts, seemingly certain he had me cornered. I smiled too. You are just one person. The Grim Reaper and I are on the same team. Trying to spite me? You’re bound to lose! 3 In my plan, Liam would simply come collect my body after I died. I’d made an agreement with him: we’d contact each other every three days to confirm I was still alive. If more than three days passed without me reaching out, it meant something had happened. He already had my house key, so he would have to come and handle the arrangements. It was getting hot; there was no time to waste. But Liam found this arrangement too dull. The very next day, he appeared at my apartment again. “Get dressed and come with me.” “Where are we going?” “To buy you a burial plot!” He grinned, a strange, twisted smile. “Saying I’d feed you to the dogs was just talk, you know. Dogs are man’s best friends; they can’t eat garbage.” “So, where we bury you, I’ll at least respect your opinion.” I could guess Liam’s intention. He was convinced I was putting on an act, that my talk of dying was just a pathetic ploy to evoke his sympathy. So, he was using the act of buying a burial plot to try and disgust me. Of course, I wasn’t disgusted. I believed that once a person dies, they’re just gone; it doesn’t really matter where you’re buried. But I didn’t want to spoil Liam’s fun, so I got into his Porsche, and we toured several large cemeteries on the outskirts of the city. At each location, Liam would deliberately announce loudly to the cemetery salesperson, “We’re buying this to bury her!” I would always respond politely, smiling at the salesperson, “Sorry for the trouble.” It made the salespeople visibly uncomfortable. They’d be mid-pitch, waxing poetic about the wonderful conditions and auspicious feng shui of the plot, only to stammer awkwardly because of my premature appearance as the future occupant. “It’s fine, please continue,” I’d reassure them. “I think the conditions here are quite good.” The burial plot was chosen. On the drive down the mountain, Liam, seeing my composure, couldn’t help but ask, “You really don’t mind?” “You’ve made very thorough arrangements,” I said, looking at the lush, green surroundings of the cemetery. “I definitely won’t have trouble sleeping once I’m lying here.” Liam had intended to upset me, but instead, I had thoroughly rattled him. He stomped his foot. “Fine! You don’t care, huh? We’ll keep looking! You’ve got a plot, but no funeral attire yet, right? No urn? No memorial portrait?” “I’ll arrange it all for you!” he declared. “And we need to book the professional mourners in advance too!” Liam was a man of his word. He actually took me to handle all these things. We bought seven sets of funeral attire—long and short, for all four seasons. The urn was sculpted from jade, intricately carved with dragons and phoenixes. There was a minor mix-up when we took the memorial portrait; the photographer initially thought we were a couple taking engagement photos. When he learned it was for a memorial, he was clearly displeased. “I’m sorry, I don’t take these kinds of jobs. You two need to leave—” He tried to usher us out. Liam simply held up three fingers. “Three thousand dollars to take the pictures?” “Right away, sir! Just tell me what kind of effect you’re looking for!” the photographer immediately chirped, now beaming. “Whether it’s defiant acceptance or longing for life, anything goes!” “I want her to look like she deserved it,” Liam said dryly. The professional mourners were a local performing troupe, each member a master of theatrical grief. Their schedule was packed, and their performance fee was steep—a cool two hundred thousand dollars. I hadn’t objected to any of Liam’s previous arrangements, but now I finally couldn’t hold back. He was spending too much! He had completely lost his previous frugal habits. The cemetery plot, urn, and memorial portrait already totaled over four hundred thousand. Adding the mourners, six hundred thousand wouldn’t even be enough. My apartment might sell for five hundred thousand if I was lucky, and that would be a high price. I didn’t want to die saddled with debt. “Let’s skip the troupe,” I said. “I don’t have the budget for that. Don’t you play the harmonica? Just play ‘So Long, Farewell’ for me.” “It’s fine,” Liam said, a spooky smile on his face. “I’ll cover the extra. I’ll sponsor it. Elara, as long as you’re willing to die, I’m willing to bury you!” With everything arranged, the burden in my heart lifted, and I just wanted to go home and wait to die. But Liam wouldn’t let me be. He insisted on taking me to a party. If I refused, he’d tear up our agreement. So, I had no choice but to attend, becoming the unfortunate spectacle of the evening. “Is that the former Miss Vance?” “Tsk, tsk! She looks so much more haggard than before.” “Why wouldn’t she be haggard? Arthur Vance married his daughter to Julian Thorne, intending to swallow up the Thorne family’s assets, but the Thornes turned the tables on him. The Vance family went bankrupt, Arthur killed himself, and Mrs. Vance ran off with her secret stash of cash and some young gigolo. And Miss Vance herself was kicked out by the Thornes. She was too clever by half, losing her daughter and everything else.” “Serves her right! That’s karma for her twisted heart!” “But why is Elara with Mr. Hayes?” “Didn’t you hear? Elara and Liam Hayes used to be an item! But Elara was a gold-digger and dumped Liam because he was poor.” “Now Liam is richer than Julian Thorne. She must be regretting it bitterly, right?” “Definitely regretting it! Otherwise, why would she be clinging to Mr. Hayes so shamelessly?” These people weren’t just gossiping; women who clearly had designs on Liam frequently approached me, spewing veiled insults. I had ALS. These past few days, I’d noticed not only my limbs stiffening but my tongue becoming less nimble. I could only remain silent, letting those women barrage me with their chatter. Liam, glass of red wine in hand, watched the spectacle with relish. Emboldened, the women became even more cruel. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t move. Until a large hand grabbed me. “Come with me!” It was my ex-husband, Julian Thorne. His grip was strong, and I stumbled along, nearly falling. “Let her go!” Liam blocked our path. “Get out of the way!” “You get out of the way!” Julian retorted. “She’s my ex-wife!” “She’s with me!” The two men were at daggers drawn, and soon their words escalated into blows. The scene descended into chaos. So much so that many people didn’t notice me collapse to the ground. I was even stepped over without a reaction. Finally, someone realized something was terribly wrong with me. “Stop fighting!” “Elara… Elara might actually be dead!”

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The summer I turned eighteen, Jackson Hayes and I tasted the forbidden fruit. I winced with the unfamiliar pain, but secretly, I soared with joy all night long, believing six long years of unspoken adoration had finally found its resolution. It wasn’t until the next day, when I overheard his friends teasing: “Alright, man, the class stunner helped you break in.” A wave of humiliation washed over me. I was about to slip away quietly when Jackson’s nonchalant reply drifted through the open classroom door. “I’m planning to pursue Renee Sterling, the campus queen. Didn’t want her to think I was too green, too inexperienced. Figured I’d practice my technique on Elara first.” I said nothing. Just moments before the deadline, I silently changed my university application from Northwood to Sunstone. 1 Jackson’s words struck me like a sudden, deafening thunderclap on a clear day. My mind instantly went blank. On such a scorching summer afternoon, I felt an icy chill seep into my very bones. The conversation inside the classroom continued. His friends seemed to pause for a beat, then spoke again. “Classic Jackson. Even the class stunner is just a warm-up act for him.” “So, she’s practically like… a practice dummy for the lord of the manor, right?” Jackson chuckled dismissively. “What are you talking about? She didn’t lose anything, did she?” Someone immediately chimed in, “True, true. Elara is a bit thin, though. Compared to Renee, her figure… well…” Jackson impatiently tossed a book at the guy, cutting him off. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know? The atmosphere was there, and besides, she looked like she was really struggling to hold back…” The others shared knowing glances, teasing him. “Who knew the class stunner was such a dark horse?” “Tsk, tsk, Jackson, your charm is just too potent. Why let a piece of meat at your lips go to waste?” “Elara’s been chasing you for years. Guess she finally got what she wanted. Probably been itching to pounce on you.” The laughter inside the room grew noticeably louder. I bit my lip, my hands clenching into tight fists. It took every ounce of my willpower to remain standing, not to collapse right there at the classroom door. Footsteps approached from the end of the hallway. I snapped back to reality, fleeing the scene in a panicked rush. In my haste, I ducked into a toilet stall. 2 Tears of heartbreak and humiliation had long since burst their dam. Jackson’s words, each one a sharp blade, echoed relentlessly in my mind, utterly demolishing every last shred of my self-respect. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would never have believed that the boy who had clung to me, entwining our bodies in a desperate, breathless dance just last night, was the same person. So, you could do something so intimate without love. And in the most passionate, irrational moments, you could still lie and deceive. The blissful culmination I had foolishly believed was ours, was nothing more than a punchline in someone else’s joke. I cried harder and harder, but I dared not make a sound, my body trembling uncontrollably. After a long while, my phone chimed with a message notification. It was Jackson. [You can take a cab back yourself. My class has a party tonight, it’s not convenient to bring you.] I didn’t reply. He sent another. [Remember to buy the morning-after pill yourself. I’m busy today. Definitely take it, okay, sweetie.] I stared at the two messages, silent for a long, heavy moment. Yesterday, from dusk till dawn, Jackson had worked me over again and again. In the end, we were both utterly exhausted. Before he drifted off to sleep, holding me close, he’d even murmured twice. “Didn’t prepare enough for our first time. I’ll definitely remember to buy you the pill during the day.” He’d even warned me that girls needed to protect themselves, and that taking the morning-after pill was crucial to avoid harming my body. At the time, I’d thought he was being so responsible, that I had finally found my happiness. And now… A sharp jolt of clarity brought me back. I squeezed my palms, forcing the tears to stop. I wiped my eyes and, after composing myself, stepped out of the restroom. Too embarrassed to go to a pharmacy, I ordered the pill online. It took ages for the delivery rider to leave it at my door, and even longer before I dared to sneak out and retrieve it. After swallowing the pills with a bitter taste of tears, all my strength seemed to drain away. I just sat motionless on the carpet, staring blankly into space. From the moment Jackson’s family moved in next door, I’d been his little shadow, trailing him for ten years. I’d never imagined a world without him. I hadn’t dared to. But from now on, it would just be me. Outside the window, lights flickered on one by one, then slowly extinguished. I don’t know how long passed before my best friend, Maisie, video-called me. “Elara, why didn’t you come to our class party tonight? That Renee Sterling from the humanities class showed up, though. While you’re not here, she’s practically glued to Jackson, and they’re making everyone sick.” Maisie turned her camera. 3 In the dim corner of the private lounge, Jackson and Renee Sterling, the campus queen, sat pressed close together. Renee wore a cropped top and tight denim skirt tonight, accentuating her slender waist and long legs. They were noticeably separated from the other partygoers. Even their conversations seemed to be whispered intimately. Across the screen, I could feel the thick, ambiguous tension between them. My chest tightened uncontrollably. Jackson had just said this afternoon that he wanted to pursue her. It seemed he had already succeeded by nightfall. Renee had drawn “reverse push-ups” in a game of truth or dare, requiring her to choose a male partner. Unsurprisingly, Jackson immediately stepped forward. The crowd began to egg them on. Renee’s face flushed as she dutifully lay down on the sofa. Jackson positioned himself above her and did dozens of push-ups in one go. He was incredibly restrained the entire time, meticulously avoiding contact with Renee’s body. Until the very last one, whether from sheer exhaustion or perhaps intentionally, he lost his balance and landed squarely on top of Renee. The surrounding screams intensified, threatening to blow the roof off. Jackson and Renee’s faces turned even redder. Amidst the frenzied cheers of the crowd, Jackson simply lowered his head and kissed Renee. They engaged in a deep, French kiss, oblivious to everyone else. It lasted a full three minutes before they reluctantly separated. For that agonizingly long three minutes, I stared at the screen, unblinking, too stunned to even breathe. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, a searing pain. I wanted to cry so badly, but I’d cried so much that afternoon without hydrating that I literally had no tears left. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Elara, did you see that? They were practically glued together, he’s totally smitten.” Maisie sighed, then turned the camera away and left the lounge. She found a quiet corner and seriously advised me, “Elara, please don’t be mad at me. If you didn’t see it with your own eyes, you would never give up.” My throat was dry and hoarse, the sounds I made almost incomprehensible. “No, I’m not mad at you.” I was only mad at myself for being so foolish for so many years. Believing that because I was always allowed to be by Jackson’s side, that spot would forever be mine. “I just can’t stand Jackson. How could he know you’ve liked him for so many years and still play the innocent boy, stringing you along, letting you fall deeper and deeper? You saw it clearly just now. I really hope you think carefully. Don’t let him ruin another four years of your life in college…” “He won’t, Maisie,” I cut her off, stating calmly. “I won’t give myself that chance again. Maisie, I’ve decided. I’m going to Sunstone University with you. But you have to promise to keep it a secret for now.” 4 With that, to ensure I wouldn’t waver, I opened my laptop right in front of her. Without the slightest hesitation, and just moments before the deadline, I changed my first-choice university to that renowned school in Sunstone. Maisie, naturally, was ecstatic. She had been begging me for ages to apply to the same university. But when I first entered high school, Jackson and I had made a pact: we’d work hard together, and after graduation, we’d go to Northwood, his dream city, the one he’d always wanted. It had his favorite aerospace engineering program. So, even though I didn’t particularly like the cold North, and felt no real connection to that STEM-focused university, for three years of high school, I’d always considered it my goal. After years of being neighbors, both our parents were thrilled at the idea of us attending the same university. Everyone, myself included, assumed that Jackson and I would naturally become a couple once we came of age. But now, I couldn’t find any reason to go to Northwood. Or rather, after today, if I continued to cling to Jackson as I had before, I would despise myself. All I wanted now was to get far away. It didn’t matter where, as long as Jackson wasn’t there. He was in the North, so I would go South. 5 Before bed, I filled the bathtub to the brim, wanting to wash myself thoroughly clean. But as I undressed, the bruises on my skin were still painfully visible. The memories of last night, uncontrolled, flooded back. The scorching heat of his skin when we embraced tightly, his burning breath against my ear in moments of passion—the lingering warmth seemed to still cling to the air around me. I violently shook my head, trying to cast off these absurd thoughts. I found the coarsest scrub brush and scoured my skin again and again until it was raw and red. I was trying, clumsily, to erase this most shameful memory of my life. The result was that I barely slept all night from the pain. Jackson, as expected, didn’t send any more messages. He had broken the habit we’d held since we first got phones six years ago: never-ending goodnight texts. That was fine. It was bound to happen someday. Might as well start the withdrawal tonight. I drifted in and out of sleep until almost dawn before finally falling into a deeper slumber. The next morning, I was still fast asleep when I suddenly felt someone press a soft kiss to my forehead in my dream.

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The day the Grand Army returned victorious, I cradled Silas and joined the bustling crowds. Silas pointed at the general on horseback, who held a young child in his arms, and asked me, “Mama,” he chirped, “that man looks just like the papa in the painting!” My grip on Silas tightened, knuckles whitening. “Nonsense,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “That’s not him.” He once was, perhaps. But now, he wasn’t. And he never would be again. He had ascended to the heights of ambition, and I, a mere mortal, couldn’t have tethered him even if I’d dared. 1 Ten years ago, a orphaned, destitute waif, I offered myself for indenture to bury my parents. It was Aunt Eleanor Miller, the kind but stern baker, who bought my freedom with the meager coins earned from her daily bread. She handed me a pouch of silver, urging me to buy coffins and lay my parents to rest. Then, with a gruff but decisive air, she formally adopted me into her household, giving me a home and a future. After burying my beloved mother and father, I arrived at Aunt Eleanor’s humble cottage, a small bundle of belongings clutched in my hand. Aunt Eleanor was fierce, her gaze cutting enough to remind you that her home was no sanctuary for idlers. “I took you in,” she declared, her voice firm. “You are now part of this family, and you’ll pull your weight. Tomorrow, you’ll rise with the sun, and I’ll teach you to grind the grain for baking. And during the day, you’ll learn your letters with Alistair. A woman, child, needs to read, lest she be easily deceived.” At barely five years old, I nodded furiously, my head bobbing like a dizzy bird. Aunt Eleanor settled me in the small lean-to beside her own room. It was barely large enough for a cot. That night, my pillow grew damp with silent tears. The next morning, at the first crow of the rooster, Aunt Eleanor called me to help her prepare the dough. Seeing my swollen eyes, she scoffed, “What’s with the dramatics at dawn? Wallowing in self-pity? Without a skill, you’re merely a pawn to be bought and sold. A person needs a craft, child, something to anchor them against the tide of hunger. You think your life is hard? You haven’t known hardship until you’ve walked in my shoes. Orphaned young, then widowed with Owen barely out of swaddling clothes. But you, child, you have me. You have the Millers.” I kept my head bowed low, daring not to utter a word of dissent. After her lecture, Aunt Eleanor began teaching me the baker’s craft. During the day, she and Ethan, her eldest, would carry baskets of fresh bread to sell in the market square. I would stay home, tidying the cottage. In the evenings, Alistair would return from his studies and teach me to read. This quiet routine continued for ten years. When I was fifteen, Ethan, who daily carried our bread to the county market, returned one evening with unsettling news. Whispers of war in the Northern Reaches had reached his ears. He dropped his heavy baskets, his face grim, and strode straight into Aunt Eleanor’s room. “Mother,” he declared, “I’m joining the army.” Aunt Eleanor refused outright. But Ethan was resolute. He refused to eat, to sell bread, or to speak, a silent protest that finally wore down his mother’s resolve. What mother could truly deny her son? Aunt Eleanor eventually relented. “You may join,” she said, her voice heavy with resignation, “but you must leave an heir.” Ethan’s mouth dropped open. “Mother, you jest! I’d leave a woman to a life of perpetual widowhood?” Aunt Eleanor glared at him. “If you understand that, then you shouldn’t be joining the army! You should be here, selling bread. Didn’t you once speak fondly of Violet, the scholar’s daughter? I have some savings. If you’re truly earnest, I’ll send for a matchmaker. If she agrees to marry you, I’ll use every coin I have for her dowry.” Ethan rejected the offer immediately. “Mother, I cannot ask her to live a life of solitary despair. Besides, if all our silver goes to my marriage, what about Alistair’s studies?” Aunt Eleanor’s face hardened. “If you can’t bear to leave her, then find another. No wife, no war. It’s final.” Ethan retreated to his room and didn’t emerge for the rest of the day. Later, when Aunt Eleanor and Owen had gone to sell bread, Ethan came to find me. “Willow,” he asked, his voice hesitant, “would you… would you consider marrying me?” “Why me?” The words tasted bitter, even as they formed. It was the question I most needed answered. Ethan didn’t try to hide the truth. “How much can Mother truly earn from her bakery? To drain her life’s savings for my dowry… I couldn’t bear the thought. Violet… she’s the woman I love. I couldn’t condemn her to a life of widowhood and despair. And you know Mother’s temper; she can’t abide idlers. Violet, she’s been delicately raised. If I brought her home, Mother would find fault. But you, Willow, you’re different. You grew up here, you know our ways. No dowry, no awkwardness between you and Mother. It’s… practical. Besides, the family’s coin is needed for Alistair’s education. You wouldn’t want to see his future squandered, would you?” My blood, which moments before had surged with a foolish hope, slowly cooled, chilled by Ethan’s blunt honesty. He laid it all out, so starkly, so rationally, that I had no rebuttal. Aunt Eleanor had taken me in. I was, in essence, bound to the Miller family. For the eldest son to propose marriage? It was, by all accounts, a stroke of immense fortune for a girl like me. “Very well,” I agreed to marry the eldest Miller son. When Aunt Eleanor and Owen returned, Ethan took my hand and led me to them. “Mother,” he announced, “I will marry Willow.” The coin purse Aunt Eleanor clutched in her hand slipped, scattering silver coins across the floor with a metallic clatter. She stumbled backward, then grabbed a broom, wielding it like a weapon as she advanced on Ethan. “I told you to find a wife, not to ruin Willow’s life!” she shrieked, swatting him. “I raised Willow as my own daughter! And you, you dare to exploit our kindness, twist it into some twisted sense of obligation?” Owen, meanwhile, quietly pried Ethan’s hand from mine. As Aunt Eleanor thrashed Ethan, Owen chimed in, “It must be Big Brother coercing her, Mother! Willow would never be so forward!” Amidst the ensuing chaos, Aunt Eleanor finally tired. Panting, she lowered the broom and turned to me. “Willow, are you truly willing to marry Ethan?” I smiled and nodded. Ethan was right. I couldn’t bear the thought of Aunt Eleanor’s hard-earned savings, accumulated through years of early mornings and late nights at the bakery, all handed over as a dowry. The Miller family had so many needs for their coin. Ethan would need funds for his campaign. Alistair, with his sharp mind, would need substantial money for his Imperial Exams. We couldn’t let the lack of an heir doom his academic path. And Owen, with his passion for culinary arts, would need funds for his own shop. Aunt Eleanor sighed. “You don’t have to sacrifice your entire life.” I quickly shook my head. “Aunt Eleanor, I am willing.” She said nothing more. A mother’s desperate wish for an heir, and the girl she had paid for and raised – Aunt Eleanor knew which was more important in the eyes of society. A modest feast with a few neighbors was all it took. Ethan and I were wed. On our wedding night, Ethan’s rough, calloused hands gently traced my cheek. His touch was surprisingly tender. “My dear wife,” he murmured, “I must ask you to honor my memory while I am away.” Then, his movements became crude, and I almost fainted from the pain. He spoke of treating me like a sister, yet showed no mercy. Ethan labored until the early hours of the morning before finally ceasing. I was utterly exhausted and did not stir until the sun was high. When I finally opened the door, Owen informed me that Ethan had packed his bags and departed at dawn. A month later, I began to vomit uncontrollably. Aunt Eleanor sighed again, then took me to the village healer. I was with child. 2 A year passed in a blur. Silas was two months old. Alistair had passed his Licensed Scholar exams, bringing home a small stipend from the county. Aunt Eleanor, beaming, planned to use the money, along with her meager savings, to purchase a small house with a storefront in the county town. She hadn’t even begun to look for a property agent when Alistair came rushing back to the village. His scholar’s cap was askew, and he was panting, breathless, when he burst through the door. “Mother,” he gasped, “the South is in chaos! Refugees are everywhere! Master Davies says we must flee north!” At his words, Owen suddenly yelped, “My bakery stall! What about it? I just started it up!” Aunt Eleanor and Alistair both glared at him. I clutched Silas tighter, my hands trembling. If we fled north, what would happen if Ethan returned and couldn’t find us? Seeing my distress, Alistair gently took Silas from my arms, murmuring comforting words to the baby. A quarter of an hour later, Aunt Eleanor made her decision. Pack only what was essential. We would head north. Alistair had persuaded eight other families from our village, along with his own tutor, Master Davies, and his family, to join us. Master Davies secured our travel permits. The very day they arrived, we left Valeria and headed north. The chaos in the South spread faster than anyone had imagined. At the city gates of Valeria, the guards reviewed our permits. One of them nodded to Alistair. “You were wise to leave.” Alistair subtly slipped a silver coin into the guard’s hand. The guard leaned closer, whispering, “The South is utterly engulfed in rebellion. Prince Aldrich of the Southern Marches has risen, and his forces have razed every town they’ve touched! The county magistrate has declared that in three days, no one from the South will be permitted entry, fearing they might be rebels. If you wish to be truly safe, you should travel two more cities north, to the hamlet of Stonehaven near the capital. It’s vast and sparsely populated, exactly where new settlers are needed.” Alistair thanked the guard for the warning, then guided our small caravan forward. We traveled for another ten days, finally reaching Stonehaven, just as the guard had described. It was indeed a quiet, sprawling place. Our group rented temporary rooms at the town’s small inn. Everyone soon agreed to pool their resources, purchase a large plot of land on the outskirts of town, and construct a shared compound – ten small cottages within a single large enclosure. The bonds forged on the arduous journey had become strong. Three months later, the compound was complete, and we all moved into our new homes. Owen’s grin stretched from ear to ear. The new kitchen had been specially designed for him; he had been growing weary of his apprenticeship at the town’s tavern for the past three months. Now, with a new home, he could experiment with new recipes to his heart’s content. Alistair, meanwhile, continued his studies under Master Davies. He had learned much about governance and the common folk during our journey. Master Davies believed, without a doubt, that Alistair would be ready to test his mettle in the Imperial Exams the following autumn. 3 Another three years passed, and we moved again, this time from Stonehaven to Kingsport, the capital itself. Two years prior, Alistair had astonished everyone by placing first in the provincial Imperial Exams, earning the title of Top Scholar of the Province. With a letter of recommendation from Master Davies, he was accepted into the Royal Collegiate. Naturally, we followed him to the capital. Upon our arrival in Kingsport, Aunt Eleanor publicly introduced me as her distant niece, whose husband was fighting in the Northern wars, and who had come with her young son to seek refuge with her. Alistair dedicated himself to preparing for the next round of Imperial Exams. Owen and I took on the responsibility of supporting the family. Aunt Eleanor, in turn, became Silas’s primary caretaker. Owen and I opened a small eatery together. He was the head chef, and I managed the front of the house. Business boomed. We were busy from dawn till dusk, even hiring several assistants. We earned roughly fifty silver coins a month – enough to purchase ten girls like my former self. One day, I overheard some patrons discussing the latest news. “I hear a grand victory has been won in the Northern Reaches,” one said. “The Grand Army is due to return to the capital any day now.” “Don’t just listen to rumors,” another scoffed. “My son sent word. They’ll be back in two days!” I listened intently. A victory in the North? Ethan had gone North. I wondered if he was even still alive. At another table, a group of young men, clearly of noble birth, were also speaking. “Is Duke Consort Maxwell returning as well?” one asked. “Indeed,” another replied. “Word is he married some common general’s daughter.” “Not just married,” a third interjected, “I hear she’s already borne him a child!” “Someone actually dared to marry that harridan, Lady Isolde?” A wave of laughter erupted from the table. “Oh, come now, do you think everyone is as discerning as we noble gentlemen? Those common soldiers, if a powerful hand reaches out, they’ll cling to it like a drowning man!” Lady Isolde, the woman they spoke of, was a renowned warrior, a lady general whose prowess rivaled any man’s. I wondered who had been fortunate enough to catch her eye. 4 The day the Grand Army returned to Kingsport, Alistair specifically requested leave from the Royal Collegiate. Now twenty-one, Alistair possessed the radiant countenance of polished jade and eyes that sparkled like distant stars. He bowed deeply to me. “Willow,” he said, his voice gentle, “I would be honored if you and Silas would accompany me to witness the Grand Army’s return today.” I nodded in agreement. Even if he hadn’t asked, I would have gone. I yearned to see if Ethan was among the returning soldiers. For five years, the Miller family had sent countless letters to the border garrisons, yet not a single reply had ever arrived. I wondered if Ethan was still alive. If he was, why had he sent no word home for five long years? After we were ready, Alistair cradled Silas in his arms and led me to the main thoroughfare. He guided me to a window seat on the second floor of a tea house overlooking the street – a spot he had reserved a month in advance. This meant he had known about the army’s return for weeks, yet he had never mentioned it at home. The vantage point was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I could clearly see Ethan, astride his warhorse, accepting a young child from the red-clad woman riding beside him. His gaze, as he looked at the child, was brimming with fatherly affection. That child bore a striking resemblance to Silas. Silas, sensing my distress, pointed at the general again. “Mama,” he chirped, “that man looks a bit like Uncle Alistair, doesn’t he?” Alistair, standing beside me, must have seen it too. He, who was usually so composed, so unperturbed by anything, now cast his gaze downward, a hint of guilt in his posture. Silas, oblivious to his uncle’s sudden silence, continued to point. “No, wait!” Silas’s eyes widened. “He looks more like the papa in the painting! But Mama, why is Papa holding someone else’s baby?” The “papa in the painting” was a portrait Alistair had drawn for Silas, to help him recognize his father. I glanced around, ensuring no one was paying us any heed, then frantically covered Silas’s mouth. “Nonsense!” I choked out, my voice raw. “That’s not your papa.” He once was, perhaps. But now, he wasn’t. And he never would be again. He had ascended to the heights of ambition, climbed to a position of power, and found his heart’s desire. Silas and I, we couldn’t have stopped him. Silas struggled, prying at my hand with his small fingers. Alistair stepped forward, bowing deeply to me. “I… I didn’t know…” His eyes, usually so clear, now held a rare flicker of remorse. I shook my head, cutting him off. “It’s nothing. It’s not your fault.” How could it be his fault? He had merely allowed me to witness the truth with my own eyes. A general riding a warhorse would be at least a fifth-rank official. And a fifth-rank general would certainly not be nameless. If he had a name, Alistair, a scholar at the Royal Collegiate, would surely know it. Knowing this, he would have investigated Ethan. I just wondered what would become of Silas now that Ethan had married into a powerful family. Alistair cleared his throat, his voice low. “I truly had no idea they had a child. This… this scene, it was not what I intended. I swear, Willow, the Miller family will make this right.” Silas blinked, looking from me to Alistair, his small face etched with confusion. “Uncle Alistair, is that Papa’s baby he’s holding? What about me, then? Will Papa recognize me?” Alistair reached out to embrace Silas, but for the first time, Silas pulled away from his uncle. “Uncle Alistair,” Silas whispered, his voice trembling, “Silas is… a little sad.” With that, he buried his face in my embrace, and in moments, his tiny shoulders began to tremble with silent sobs. Alistair looked utterly devastated. “Willow…” I spoke, cutting him off once more. “Let’s go home. Silas needs his nap.” Alistair nodded, his face etched with regret, and led us back to the cottage. 5 After I had finally lulled Silas to sleep, Aunt Eleanor herself came to find me. “Willow,” she said, her face a canvas of remorse as she came forward and took my hands, “Alistair told me.” I shook my head instinctively. “No, Aunt Eleanor…” She squeezed my hands. “Don’t you dare shake your head! My mistake is my mistake. My family, the Millers, we have exploited you. Ethan… he’s a disgrace. Listen to me, child, we’ll cast that faithless wretch aside. You choose: Alistair or Owen. They will marry you.” Aunt Eleanor’s words, so shockingly unconventional, stunned me. How had this conversation turned to Alistair and Owen? She continued to persuade me. “Alistair said the marriage contract between you and that faithless wretch is a forgery. If it’s a forgery, then you’re technically still unmarried. Since we came to Kingsport, I’ve told everyone you are my niece, and Owen calls you ‘Big Sister.’ No one knows our true relationship. If you don’t despise them, you can choose either of my two sons. He was unrighteous, so you have no obligation to remain bound to him.” Owen burst through the door, yelling, “Mother, have you lost your mind? Marry Willow off to me?” Aunt Eleanor shot him a dagger stare. “Your brother Alistair isn’t even married yet, it’s not your turn!” Owen bristled. “Mother, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Alistair’s feelings for Willow are as clear as day, and instead of stopping him, you’re encouraging him! Don’t you realize,” he gasped, his voice lowering in a dramatic whisper, “that someone with a compromised reputation can’t become a royal official?” Aunt Eleanor gave Owen a sharp slap. “And I don’t realize? I realize a great many things, young man! You listen to me: Willow is your cousin. And as for Silas, he is the posthumous child of her late husband.” Owen clutched his stinging cheek. “Big Brother is still alive! How can you, his own mother, wish him dead?” Aunt Eleanor grabbed her walking stick and swung it at Owen. “I’d rather he died out there than live to sicken me! In this life, I have been true to the heavens and to the earth, but to Willow… only to Willow do I feel I have wronged.” Owen dodged, still grumbling, “Who exactly is Big Brother sickening?” Aunt Eleanor’s stick whizzed faster. “He’s sickening me, you dog! To dare to marry another, and to have a child with her!” Owen stopped dodging. Aunt Eleanor’s stick, unchecked, landed heavily on his leg. He yelped in pain, clutching his shin. “Alistair never said Big Brother married again! Hmph, I thought I’d live a life of luxury with Big Brother as a general. Luxury, my foot!” Aunt Eleanor raised her stick again. “Luxury? His ‘luxury’ is something I wouldn’t touch. I’d fear the heavens’ wrath!” Owen quickly darted behind Alistair, who had just entered the room. “Mother, don’t hit me! Alistair’s here, hit him instead!” Alistair, facing his enraged mother, dropped to his knees. “Mother,” he said, his voice firm, “I wish to seek Willow’s hand in marriage.” I gasped, utterly horrified, and sank to the floor. “No!” I cried out, loud and clear. “I will not!” What a ridiculous notion! Alistair had dedicated decades to his studies; his Imperial Exams were just around the corner. He couldn’t risk his career, his reputation, for something so scandalous. Owen’s eyes widened. “Alistair, you’re incredible!” Aunt Eleanor, her anger momentarily forgotten, helped Alistair to his feet, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. “My good son.” I shook my head vigorously. “I will not! I will not marry Alistair!” Aunt Eleanor asked me why. “I have no romantic feelings for Alistair,” I stated honestly. Owen sighed dramatically. “Alas, unrequited love.” Alistair bowed to both of us, a sad smile on his face. “My apologies for my presumption.” He then rose, a slight stagger in his step, and quietly left the room. The commotion finally subsided.

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1 Five years into their marriage of convenience, Julian Thorne and Elara Vance remained strangers. Even their intimacies were polite. Julian would kiss Elara’s collarbone, “I’m beginning.” He’d undress her, “Is this alright?” And when he entered her, he’d hoarsely whisper, “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” After three hours, Elara gasped, “I can’t take any more. Can we stop?” Julian froze, apologizing, then pulled away. “I’m going to shower,” Elara said, heading to the bathroom. Julian, trembling slightly, dressed, hiding his kiss marks. While she showered, he pulled a divorce agreement from the nightstand. Five years. Time to end it. Everyone knew the Thorne-Vance union was a business alliance. Julian and Elara were a “model couple.” But secretly, each loved another. Elara’s heart belonged to Liam, her adopted brother, a forbidden love. Julian’s beloved, Seraphina Frost, had died five years ago. One, a brutal separation; the other, death’s finality. On their wedding day, they confessed their affections. They agreed to a five-year contract: fulfilling duties without emotion, for family business and to avoid marriage pressure. Now, it was time to part. Julian was about to speak when the bathroom door opened. Elara rushed out, hair dripping, grabbing car keys. “So late? Where are you going?” Julian asked. “Liam had a nightmare. I need to be with him,” she replied, her voice urgent. Julian always respected her visits to Liam. But tonight was different. “Could you spare five minutes? Important discussion.” Elara paused. “Very important?” Julian softly confirmed. Her phone rang. It was Liam, tearful: “Elara? Why aren’t you here? I need to tell you something…” Elara’s eyes softened. “I’ll be right there.” She hung up. “Just do as you see fit. No need to discuss.” Julian froze, then nodded, handing her the divorce agreement. “Then… sign here.” Elara signed without looking, then hurried out. Julian heard her car fade, then called his lawyer. “Divorce agreement signed. How soon can it be dissolved?” “One-month cooling-off period, Mr. Thorne.” Relieved, Julian booked a flight to Veridia, a southern city. His friend, Marcus, had seen a poor university student there, Clarissa, who looked just like Seraphina. Julian couldn’t bear her hardship. He decided to support her. Her grandmother was in Veridia, so she couldn’t move to Arcadia. Julian, with no ties in Arcadia, would move. Seeing Seraphina’s face daily would be enough. 2 That night, Julian dreamt beautifully, waking with a smile. Soon, he’d be free from his marriage charade, seeing Clarissa daily. He wished the waiting period would end. At breakfast, he heard Elara enter, followed by Liam and bodyguards. Elara, in blue, beamed. Liam, in black, slung an arm around her, looking intimate. Elara explained: “Liam’s had nightmares; he needs me nearby. He’s staying here for a while.” She offered Julian a gift-wrapped watch: “Compensation for you.” Julian gently refused: “No need. We have space.” Elara seemed surprised: “You’re not angry?” Julian, more surprised, countered: “Angry about what? He’ll be moving in anyway, next month.” Elara looked blank. Liam, however, smirked: “Thank you, Mr. Thorne.” Liam never called Julian “brother-in-law.” Five years ago, Liam had smashed Julian’s wedding suite, screaming that Julian stole Elara. Elara had calmed him, and her devotion to Liam never wavered. She still spoiled him, ignored Julian. “Elara,” Liam whined, shaking her arm, “amusement park?” Elara’s gaze softened. “Yes, darling. Soon.” She looked at Julian. He smiled mildly: “You two go. Let the staff know if you’ll be back for dinner.” Liam smirked again: “Thank you, Mr. Thorne.” Julian ignored the challenge, returning to his room. Julian packed all day. By dusk, Elara and Liam weren’t back. Julian showered, changed, and lay down. Just as he drifted off, he heard Liam’s petulant voice: “Elara, sleep with me, please. I’m scared alone.” Elara’s voice was gentle but weary: “Liam, my husband’s here. It’s improper.” “What’s improper? You like me, I like you! Julian’s just a placeholder!” Julian pretended to sleep. Elara murmured, “Liam, I’ll always be devoted, but nothing else. I’m married. It would damage your reputation. Just know I’ll always love you.” Liam’s voice was imperious: “Then you’re not allowed to touch him tonight.” Elara’s reply was too low to hear. Later, Elara entered. Noticing his suitcases, she asked, “What are these for?” Julian almost told her the truth, but recalling her earlier dismissal, he lied: “Seasonal change. Clearing things out.” Elara nodded, then entered the bathroom. When she emerged in a towel, water dripping, she approached Julian, instinctively leaning in for a kiss. Julian stiffened, pushing her away. “Didn’t your brother say he didn’t want you touching me?” Elara froze: “You heard that?” Julian nodded. She changed the subject: “I want you. Is that alright?” 3 Julian reluctantly nodded. “Alright.” Elara kissed him, embracing him fiercely. He groaned, his grip tightening. “My love,” she murmured, “again.” When Julian awoke, the room was empty. He went downstairs. Elara was gone; only Liam sat at breakfast. Julian asked politely, “Did you sleep well?” Liam ignored him. Julian sighed, noting Liam’s disrespect. He sat to eat. A bite of toast triggered nausea. He rushed to the bathroom, dry-heaving. Emerging, he found Liam at the door, face dark. “What did you two do yesterday?” Liam demanded. Julian froze. Liam exploded, “I tolerated your marriage, but how dare you sleep with my sister!” He spun, yelling at the bodyguards, “Hold him down! Fetch my riding crop!” The guards hesitated. Liam’s eyes turned red. “My sister told you to serve me! Is this how you obey?” The guards seized Julian. Julian struggled, “You misunderstand! It wasn’t my idea…” Liam, losing control, grabbed a leather whip from a toolbox. “You dare argue? I won’t let you have Elara’s love!” He whipped Julian repeatedly. Julian collapsed, cold sweat pouring, vision blurring, until he lost consciousness. He awoke in a hospital bed. He heard the doctor say, “Mr. Vance, even if it’s a game, you went too far. Mr. Thorne’s skin is covered in marks.” 4 Julian slowly opened his eyes. Elara sat by his bed, brows furrowed, guilt in her eyes. “I know. So sorry Liam did that.” Julian, still in pain, sighed. “Let the authorities handle it. He needs to reflect.” He reached for his phone, but Elara snatched it. “No! Liam didn’t mean to. Let it go.” Julian froze. “So I suffered for nothing?” Elara was silent. “My apologies. I’ll compensate you, but don’t trouble Liam.” Julian sighed again. “You indulge him too much.” Elara shook her head. “If your Seraphina were alive, you wouldn’t want her hurt, would you?” Julian stiffened. “I understand. Last time.” Despite his words, Elara felt a strange discomfort. She stared at him. “Still thinking of her? She’s been gone for years.” Julian didn’t understand. She knew he loved Seraphina. He never interfered with her and Liam. Why was she angry now? Liam called. Elara composed herself, the anger fading. “Liam’s causing a scene. I have to go. I’ll visit later.” Julian watched her leave. “Tell your brother… he seems worried about our intimacy. Don’t worry, I won’t let you carry my child. I had a vasectomy the day we married.” Elara froze. “What?!” Julian looked at her, surprised by her reaction. “I wouldn’t father a child with anyone but Seraphina. You understand, right?” Elara’s face darkened. “No, I don’t. Go reverse it, immediately. It’s a marital duty.” Julian shook his head. “We’re divorcing. I have no marital duties.”

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I longed to alter the tragic fate of the Divine Child, who, a millennium ago, met a gruesome end. Harnessing the System, I became his shadow for five years. Finally, after he inadvertently broke his vows, he agreed to abandon his monastic life and marry me. The night before our wedding, at the Royal Hunting Grounds, assassins struck. In that critical moment, he pushed me aside, choosing instead to shield the Emperor’s beloved Concubine. His sword gleamed, blood staining his pristine white robes, yet not a drop touched his untouched, beloved Concubine. I clutched my shoulder, the wound searing. It was then I finally understood: this love, spanning a thousand years, had to end. I summoned the long-silent System. “I want to go home.” “I no longer wish to alter his fate of being implicated by his pure love, of being dismembered, of having his sacred bones carved out, piece by agonizing piece.” 1 “System, I want to go home.” The long-dormant System, summoned by my plea, swiftly materialized. “Host, are you certain? The journey through time is a one-way trip. Once you return, you cannot go back to the era of Siddhartha, the Divine Child.” The System’s tone betrayed a hint of regret, even pity, for me. After all, it was the System that had sent me across a thousand years, thrusting me into this alien ancient world. I had sought Siddhartha, hoping to change his grim destiny. A bitter smile touched my lips. “I tried…” Siddhartha, the Divine Child, was a revered monk in history, born with sacred bones, his presence as pure and cold as fresh snow. He left behind countless holy scriptures, a distant, ethereal moon in the long night of history. Yet, he died at the age of twenty-five, all for a childhood sweetheart. For five years in this world, I meticulously chronicled every detail of his life, every fleeting expression, every nuanced gesture. Everyone knew that my eyes were solely for Siddhartha. Before I came here, I had studied him for so long. For him, I would have risked everything. I accompanied him through wind and rain, traversing treacherous, muddy mountain paths, simply to visit an ancient, barely accessible temple. For this, I caught a severe fever and broke a leg. I couldn’t comprehend the intricate, archaic scriptures, yet I willingly spent all my savings to purchase rare, sole copies for him, simply to witness him press his hands together in prayer, offering me a fleeting, gentle smile. Finally, on the fifth year, he returned from a royal banquet. He had been poisoned, and in that moment, he broke his monastic vows. He bit my lips. He murmured against my ear. He held me tightly, begging me not to leave him. I remember Siddhartha after he awoke. His eyes were bloodshot, his entire being seemingly fractured. His prayer beads were tightly wrapped around his hand, the veins prominent, as if ready to consume. He chanted his vows repeatedly, self-flagellating, unable to even glance at me. I gasped, a painful, heavy breath. Quietly, I began to dress. “Siddhartha, I’ll go out first…” “Wait!” He frowned, his voice cold, stopping me. “I have broken my vows. I can no longer be a monk.” His voice was light, yet it echoed in my ears for an eternity. “I will marry you.” I stood there, dumbfounded for a long time, before the meaning of Siddhartha’s words truly registered. My heart pounded in my ears like a drum. My very blood seemed to turn into viscous honey. Dizzily, a silly smile plastered on my face, I personally oversaw every detail of our impending wedding. My hands ached as I penned hundreds of invitations with an unfamiliar brush, my calligraphy clumsy. I cut out countless symbols of happiness from red paper. The patterns on my wedding gown felt too vulgar, unfitting for the pure and ethereal Siddhartha, so I redesigned them again and again. Every single detail, I wanted to be perfect. Yet— Our wedding was postponed. I touched the scar on my shoulder, still tender where the wound had scabbed. I forced a smile, wiping away tears that had welled up unnoticed. I found a large sandalwood chest. Into it, I carefully placed everything related to Siddhartha from the past five years: the wedding gown I never had a chance to wear, the meticulously kept journal documenting every detail of his life, even his worn monk’s robes. At eighteen, I was still a naive, idealistic girl, full of grand fantasies. I believed the System had sent me to him so I could find a way to keep him alive before he reached twenty-five. Later, I realized history simply could not be changed. No matter how long I stayed by his side, he would always, just as the historical records stated, sacrifice his life for the Imperial family. “Host, are you truly not staying?” I shook my head. “When can you send me home?” “In five days, the transmission will begin. You have five days to bid farewell to the people here, to leave no regrets…” 2 I entrusted the chest to Aella, my maidservant of five years. “After I leave,” I told her. “Take these to Lady Seraphina, the Royal Concubine. Consider it a keepsake for her.” Aella held the chest, her brow furrowed with anxious confusion. “Lady Aspen, where are you going? Are you not staying to marry the Divine Child?” Over the years, my profound admiration and relentless pursuit of Siddhartha had been witnessed by all. “Where are you going?” a cool, clear voice interrupted. I turned to see Siddhartha stepping out of his chambers. Moonlight enveloped his pristine white robes, casting a sacred, silvery glow around him. I recalled the first time I saw him; it was a scene much like this. He sat upon a lotus throne, revered by thousands, his slender fingers turning prayer beads as he chanted sutras, blessing all living beings. Just one glance, and I could never tear my eyes away. His gaze, however, had never truly lingered on me. “Nowhere,” I replied. “You know, I don’t know anyone else here.” For five years, my entire world had revolved around him, trying everything I could to change his future. “Just tidying some unnecessary things,” I murmured, my words more for myself than for him. “Asking Aella to dispose of them.” By clearing away these obsessions, I could leave without a single lingering regret. Siddhartha asked no further questions, merely glancing at the now empty hall. He had always been quiet and reserved, only showing a flicker of emotion when discussing scriptures with me, or when seeing someone else. 3 That evening, an urgent knocking echoed at the temple gates. I watched, startled, as Lady Seraphina, the Royal Concubine, stood at the entrance, dressed in humble maid’s attire. “Your Ladyship, what brings you here?” Lady Seraphina, her face etched with concern, walked directly towards Siddhartha’s chambers, her steps revealing a familiar ease. It was as if she had been here countless times before. “Siddhartha was injured protecting me,” she explained, her voice tinged with anxiety. “I simply couldn’t rest easy.” She then clutched my sleeve, her beautiful eyes glinting mischievously. “You must keep my presence here a secret.” I followed silently behind her, feeling like an unwelcome intruder, as she entered Siddhartha’s room. The moment Siddhartha saw her, the scripture he held slipped from his fingers. He rose abruptly. “Nonsense! What are you doing here?” I had never seen the usually serene Siddhartha so openly furious. His cold, rebuking words instantly brought tears to Lady Seraphina’s eyes. She bit her lip, crystal tears clinging to her lashes, and whimpered, “Why did you get hurt for me…?” “I was afraid no one else could care for you properly. I had to come see you myself to feel at ease.” I stiffened. My heart was yanked, a dull ache spreading through me. I had shared intimacy with Siddhartha, and we were engaged to be married, yet in their eyes, I was utterly insignificant, merely “someone else.” “If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave!” Lady Seraphina declared, turning on her heel in a fit of pique. Siddhartha rose so quickly that his leg bumped against the corner of the table. He didn’t pause, grabbing Lady Seraphina’s arm firmly. In the process, the wound I had bandaged and dressed for him just days before reopened. Blood stained the fresh bandage, yet he didn’t notice, his eyes fixed solely on Lady Seraphina. Lady Seraphina gasped, staring at the blood dripping from his fingertips. Large tears welled in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. Oblivious to my presence, she cupped Siddhartha’s hand, carefully unwrapping the bandage. Her fingers trembling, she applied ointment. I clearly saw the ice in Siddhartha’s eyes melt. Siddhartha, who abhorred being touched, did not withdraw his hand. He gently, tenderly wiped away Lady Seraphina’s tears. “Seraphina,” he murmured, his voice softening, “don’t cry. It doesn’t hurt… And it’s not worth risking your life by sneaking out of the palace. Don’t ever do this again.” His voice grew hoarse. “You are the Emperor’s Concubine. You rightfully belong in the palace, by His Majesty’s side.” Seraphina. That was Lady Seraphina’s intimate given name. For five years, Siddhartha had only ever addressed me by my full name, “Aspen.” This, I realized, was the stark difference. 4 I remembered that night in the meditation hall, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood. Even drugged, his mind clouded, he had tried his best not to touch me. His robes remained undisturbed. In his dark, unfocused eyes, there was only black ice. He had merely used me as an antidote. Thinking back now, his desperate embrace, his pleas for me not to leave… It was all an illusion, a delirium brought on by the drug, mistaking me for someone else. I, foolishly, had been so happy, believing he was simply not good with words, accustomed to asceticism, but that he held a small, unique affection for me. It wasn’t until I witnessed his interaction with Lady Seraphina that I truly understood. His coldness, his detachment from worldly desires, was reserved only for me. 5 I quietly retreated. My nose stung, and I gazed at the hazy, distant moon. A moon that could not be plucked from the sky. So let it remain there, unreachable. From afar, I would offer my silent blessings. Through the closed door, Lady Seraphina’s broken sobs drifted intermittently. “Siddhartha, you know how to wound me so deeply!” she cried. “Do you hate me? I thought you had severed all earthly ties…” “You were forced into the selection for the Royal Concubines back then, weren’t you? Don’t you know who I truly wished to marry?” “You only became a monk after I entered the palace, didn’t you?” I covered my ears, desperate not to hear. But Lady Seraphina’s cries, and his low, comforting murmurs, infiltrated every crevice, piercing my ears, stabbing my heart. Finally, Lady Seraphina’s voice ceased. Then came the sound of a table colliding with something. A long time passed before Lady Seraphina emerged. Her lipstick was smudged. I averted my eyes, forbidding myself to speculate, to grieve over someone who held no consequence for me. Five days left. In five days, I would be able to leave. And never return. Lady Seraphina’s smile was dazzling, yet strangely cutting. She leaned in, as if deliberately wanting me to notice something, and pressed a small bottle of medicine into my hand. “You know, as a Royal Concubine, I cannot often leave the palace,” she purred. “So, I’ll have to trouble you to look after Siddhartha. He has a cold temperament, pushing others away, so please, Lady Aspen, bear with him.” She spoke as if declaring her ownership, introducing Siddhartha to me. I was his nominal “fiancée.” How could it be a “trouble”? Compared to every previous disappointment and hurt, I calmly took the medicine from her hand and nodded in agreement. Siddhartha rushed out after her, his expression surprisingly anxious. I felt a faint, bitter laugh bubble up within me. He believed I would make things difficult for the pure love he cherished in his heart. But what right did I have? “Lady Seraphina and I have no intimate connection,” Siddhartha explained, for the first time, to me. “She came only out of gratitude for my saving her.” My gaze fell, landing directly on the lipstick stain on his pristine white robe. A vibrant, almost defiant color, like a delicate begonia blooming on his shoulder. I still felt a catch in my throat. “It seems the Concubine’s comfort was effective.” Siddhartha, noticing the lipstick mark, his face subtly shifting, frowned and vigorously tried to rub it off. “Aspen, it’s not what you think.” His voice returned to its usual composed tone, tinged with a hint of helpless exasperation, as if I were being unreasonable. “The Concubine merely tripped over the table, almost falling, and I simply helped her. Her lipstick just rubbed onto my robes.” Siddhartha’s cool eyes fixed on mine. In the years I had been by his side, I had grown somewhat insecure, constantly haunted by the historical accounts of his tragic end. Because I had come solely for him, he couldn’t possibly understand. I still remembered Siddhartha, like the pure white snow on a mountain peak, radiating compassion. He had said, word for word, “My heart is devoted to the Dharma, and it shall never change. I will never fall into the worldly abyss for anyone.” I stood outside the temple, having heard his words, and did not return to his side. That was when I first tried to summon the System to leave, but it did not respond. When Siddhartha found me, my eyes were swollen from crying. His profound features held no emotion, nor did he offer comfort. After a long time, when my sobs had dissolved into hiccups, he spoke calmly, “I’ve prepared the vegetarian meal. It will get cold if we don’t go back now, and cold vegetarian meals are not palatable.” I returned to his side. I thought I always would leave. He was so anxious about Lady Seraphina’s reputation. I closed my red-rimmed eyes. Since I was leaving anyway, why should I care so much? “Siddhartha, I believe you. I believe there’s nothing between you and Lady Seraphina.” 6 Late into the silent night, I unlaced my gown and applied ointment to my shoulder. Even today, Siddhartha remained unaware. On the day of the Royal Hunting Grounds, I too had been wounded. An assassin’s sword had pierced my arm, blood soaking through my clothes. It hurt so much, so terribly! After kicking me away, the assassin had sneered at me: “I heard that the Divine Child, Siddhartha, broke his vows for you, willing to forsake his monastic life and marry you. Yet, at the moment of life and death, the one he cared for, the one he saved, was not you!” “Tsk, tsk. You even thought to use your life to threaten him. Clearly, you’re not so important after all.” It was all just rumors. The Divine Child’s heart had never wavered. I couldn’t change anything. That day, I wore an ochre-red silk gown. The blood that flowed out was barely visible to others. My face was deathly pale. I strained to look towards Siddhartha. The moment the assassin lunged towards the Emperor’s side, Siddhartha made his choice. He violently pushed away my grasping hand, letting me fall to the ground, scraping my elbow. He grasped the sword, his hand closing around the blade, deflecting it from Lady Seraphina. Blood dripped from his fingers; even from a distance, it seared my eyes. Each drop fell onto his pristine white robes. All the chaos on the ground, the blood… was shielded by his tall, resolute figure. It was Lady Seraphina who reacted first. She suppressed the anxiety on her face, still feigning unfamiliarity with Siddhartha. Lady Seraphina stammered, holding back tears, her voice reaching my ears: “Divine Child, you need not save me. You should first save Lady Aspen.” Siddhartha did not glance my way, his voice cool and detached: “Her Ladyship’s life is more important than hers.” The medicinal powder stung the wound on my shoulder. I gasped, a sharp intake of breath. I finally understood: true affection could not be feigned. One would instinctively risk their life to protect the person they truly cared for! Recalling that scene at the hunting grounds, even now, as I decided to leave, a bitter ache still lingered in my heart. But it no longer mattered. Once I left this era, I would completely forget him, wouldn’t I? 7 From my sleeve, I pulled out the last item belonging to Siddhartha. It was a string of blood-red prayer beads. When the System first sent me to this era, I had dropped from the sky, still wearing strange, modern clothes. The villagers murmured, reporting me to the authorities, intending to have me arrested for questioning. I hid, dodging their pursuit, until I saw Siddhartha, pure and serene, seated on a lotus throne, chanting scriptures and offering blessings. When he prepared to return to the temple, I finally appeared before him. “Divine Child, can you save me just this once?” I pleaded. “I will repay you!” Siddhartha said nothing. He simply allowed me to hide in his palanquin. The palanquin was small, and we were pressed closely together. His cool robes, imbued with the scent of sandalwood, brushed against my face, filling me with a lingering sense of melancholy. I mourned for the historically famous figure who would one day fall. As he departed, Siddhartha slipped the prayer beads from his wrist and gave them to me. “This is my token. The officials will not trouble you if they see it.” I caressed the warm, smooth beads in my hand. No matter how much lingering attachment I had, it was time to sever it. The day before I left, I found Siddhartha. I held out the string of prayer beads that had never left my wrist, offering them to him. I had initially intended to seal them in the chest, but these prayer beads, it was said, were a relic passed down to him by his master. After some thought, I decided it was best to return them to him personally. “These prayer beads are too precious,” I said. “I no longer have need of them, so I’m returning them to you. My apologies for causing you so much trouble all this time.” Siddhartha was deep in meditation. At my words, he suddenly opened his clear, profound eyes. “You don’t want them?” His voice seemed a fraction more urgent. I thought I must have misheard. I smiled and nodded. “Yes. It’s your master’s prayer beads; it’s not fitting for me to keep wearing them. When you meet someone more important in the future, you can give them to her.” This was my last farewell to him. The System had told me not to leave any regrets. I expected him to say something to me, even just a question. But he asked nothing. After a cool nod, he took the prayer beads from my hand. Historical records stated that he was born with sacred bones, destined for monastic life. I took one last, lingering look at Siddhartha’s features, as cold and sharp as carved ice. He truly looked like a living Buddha seated on a lotus throne, devoid of all human emotion. This was for the best. As if I had never appeared at all. 8 On my final day before the System transported me away, an imperial decree arrived from the palace, summoning both Siddhartha and me for an audience with the Emperor. On the way to the main hall, I suddenly twisted my ankle. The palace attendants instructed me to rest in the Royal Gardens while they went to fetch a palanquin. I sat quietly behind a cluster of flowering shrubs. There, I saw Lady Seraphina, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. Apart from that one time she secretly snuck out of the palace and was rebuked by Siddhartha, she had never dared to leave the palace again. She wore a lavish palace gown, accompanied by her maidservant, looking rather despondent as she admired the flowers. After ensuring no one else was nearby, Lady Seraphina caressed a flower branch and murmured, “I wonder how much longer it will be before I can see Siddhartha again. He is about to abandon his monastic life and marry… What reason will I have left to visit him then?” Lady Seraphina forced a pale smile. “Sometimes, I selfishly wish he would remain a monk his entire life, devoted to the solitary lamp and ancient scriptures. If he cannot belong to me, then he should not belong to any other woman.” Her maid, likely her confidante, consoled her. “Your Ladyship, do you not already know why the Divine Child is forsaking his vows, why he is marrying that woman?” She paused, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s all for you, Your Ladyship!” “At the imperial banquet, someone deliberately set a trap for Your Ladyship. The Divine Child, upon learning of it, specifically swapped the wine cups and drank the poisoned wine himself. This servant created an opportunity for you to be alone with him, yet he preferred to bite his own tongue until it bled rather than touch Your Ladyship, using your precious body as an antidote. He firmly sent Your Ladyship back to the palace, and only after confirming your safety did he leave.” “That shameless woman, who has followed the Divine Child for five years, constantly clinging to him, is merely his antidote. Why should Your Ladyship concern yourself with her existence? If the Divine Child had truly harbored feelings for her, he would not have allowed her to remain by his side for five years, only to offer to marry her out of obligation after that incident.” I raised my cold hand and rubbed my stiff, numb face. I knew in my heart that I was merely Siddhartha’s “antidote,” but hearing it spoken so contemptuously by others was an entirely different experience. He was unwilling to sully or contaminate his “pure love,” unwilling to subject her to gossip within the palace, so he chose me. I limped on my sprained ankle, following Siddhartha in a daze to the main hall. The Emperor, majestic and smiling, spoke, “You, as a man of the cloth, bravely risked your life to protect my beloved Concubine. For this, you have rendered great service. I hear you broke your monastic vows for a woman named Aspen. I grant you permission to return to secular life, and I bestow upon you and that woman my imperial blessing for marriage!” This was an immense honor, like a thunderbolt, exploding within the grand hall. Siddhartha, who was kneeling before me, lifted his face in disbelief, his body under his robes suddenly rigid. Actually, Siddhartha didn’t need to be so distressed. I was leaving soon; I wouldn’t entangle him further, nor would I marry him. “I respectfully ask His Majesty to retract the decree,” I said, standing up, ignoring the myriad gazes fixed upon me. “This commoner does not wish to marry him.” I continued, “This commoner does not belong here and will soon depart…” Siddhartha’s cool demeanor shattered like broken jade, cracking inch by agonizing inch. His eyes were wide with shock, and the corners of his eyes were faintly red as he looked at me. “Aspen, what are you saying?” 9 “Where are you going?” Siddhartha’s face was ashen, as if he had been struck by lightning. He was like a shattered jade Buddha, revealing the panic hidden within. He gripped my wrist, his fingers white, pressing painfully into my skin. I hadn’t even had a chance to speak. A palace attendant, frantic, burst into the hall. “Your Majesty, Lady Seraphina collapsed just outside the hall!” She didn’t want the Emperor to bestow the marriage. Actually, I had never truly hoped to marry Siddhartha; I just wanted to try and change his fate. I was an outsider from the beginning, so it was best to return him to her. The Emperor, overcome with concern, immediately left the hall to see to Lady Seraphina. Others followed, leaving the grand hall empty. Only Siddhartha remained, his eyes red-rimmed, still clutching my wrist, refusing to let go. If only he had tried to keep me earlier… I smiled at him, my gaze falling on his hand wrapped in prayer beads. “The Concubine collapsed. Aren’t you going to check on her?” It was too tiring, seeing him abandon me again and again to rush to Lady Seraphina’s side. Siddhartha’s serene face was taut. He lowered his gaze, revealing a flicker of panic and vulnerability. “Aspen, I won’t do it again!” His voice was hoarse. “I… I ruined your purity, I am honor-bound to take responsibility! I will accept the Imperial marriage decree…” He tightened his grip on my wrist. “Just as we agreed before, I will leave my monastic life and marry you!” I chuckled softly, interrupting him. “Divine Child, you chose me only because you were drugged. I was merely an ‘antidote,’ nothing more. You don’t need to trouble yourself over it.” Siddhartha’s face grew even paler, as if a sharp thorn had pierced his heart. His voice trembled slightly as he called my name, urgent. “Aspen, it’s not like that! I had actually made my choice long before! The drug didn’t completely cloud my mind; I know exactly what I did and what I said!” “It’s not that I didn’t want to marry you. It’s just that I couldn’t come to terms with it myself; I had allowed worldly desires to sway me…” “My feelings for Lady Seraphina are purely gratitude! When I was young and destitute, the Vance family offered me kindness. I promised Lord Vance I would protect Lady Seraphina, that’s all it ever was.” “What you heard was not the truth, Aspen. Why didn’t you ask me? After she entered the palace, I never harbored any improper thoughts!” “Aspen, I can tell you, I regard Lady Seraphina as a benefactor, as a sister I need to protect, but not as a romantic interest…” From outside the palace hall, a collective sigh of relief echoed. “Wonderful! Her Ladyship has awakened!” Lady Seraphina, awakening in the Emperor’s arms, instinctively, weakly called out Siddhartha’s name, again and again. Siddhartha’s body instantly tensed, afraid to turn back. Outside the grand hall, the crowd gathered around the Concubine held their breath. Lady Seraphina’s maid knelt. “Your Majesty, Her Ladyship has been fainting frequently recently, with no discernible cause. There are rumors of malevolent spirits troubling the Inner Palace, many of the palace staff have witnessed them… The Divine Child, Siddhartha, with his profound Buddhist teachings and deep cultivation, is the very one Her Ladyship wished to invite into the palace to dispel these ill omens.” Lady Seraphina, now awake and nestled in the Emperor’s arms, looked towards Siddhartha. “His Majesty, it is precisely so. My body has grown weaker and weaker lately. I heard His Majesty was about to bestow a marriage upon the Divine Child, so I wanted to seize the opportunity to invite the Divine Child to the palace to dispel evil. Who knew I would collapse again right at the palace entrance?” Others might not have noticed. But I heard it clearly: Lady Seraphina emphasized the words “bestow a marriage” with particular weight. The frozen tension in the air finally dissipated. The Emperor, doting on his beloved Concubine, agreed to let Siddhartha go to her palace to dispel evil.

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1 The night before the art competition, Johnny Blackwood was dragged into a dark alley by a gang of thugs. When found, his hands were crushed, left ear deafened, and he’d need a catheter for life – meaning he could never paint again. His doting sister Sarah vowed revenge, while his fiancée Veronica summoned top doctors. But on the third day, wheelchair-bound Johnny overheard them at the hallway corner: “You promised they’d just make him miss the competition!” Veronica’s voice trembled. Before Johnny could process this, Sarah’s cool voice followed: “The thugs went too far, but this works. The championship must go to Leo now.” “But—” “No buts. Johnny’s always been the golden boy – he’ll live comfortably even crippled. But Leo…that adopted boy’s been walking on eggshells his whole life. This art title is all he has. Johnny’s talent was in the way.” Her voice hardened. “I won’t let anyone block Leo’s path.” “Veronica, we’re best friends, closer than sisters. Men are… expendable. I know you love Johnny, and you’re getting married soon, but didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t let your feelings for Johnny jeopardize Leo’s future?” Veronica fell silent for a long, agonizing moment, then sighed in what sounded like reluctant surrender, as if trying to convince herself. “I understand. Johnny’s in pain every day, he can’t sleep. Make sure the doctors give him the strongest painkillers.” They extinguished their cigarettes, their footsteps fading into the distance. Silence, thick and suffocating, descended around Johnny. All he could hear was the sound of his own heart exploding. So, the thugs in the alley that day weren’t an accident. It was a meticulously orchestrated slaughter. And the ones holding the knives were the two people he trusted most in the world. Johnny’s lips parted. He wanted to scream, to cry out his agony! But the torrent of grief and despair that rose to his throat emerged only as a pathetic whimper. Until today, Johnny had clung to a fragile hope, repeating to himself, “It’s okay.” Despite the most horrific ordeal, he still had his sister, his fiancée, the two women who supposedly loved him most. Yet now, they had personally confirmed it: his living hell, his shattered body, his fragmented, bleeding heart—all of it was their doing! Tears blurred his vision. He sat in his wheelchair, trembling uncontrollably, the pain so intense it threatened to rip him apart. He couldn’t comprehend how it had come to this. He had once been the Blackwood family’s brightest jewel. Sarah had raised him with tender devotion, never uttering a harsh word. Veronica had indulged his every whim, proclaiming since childhood that she’d marry no one but him. Johnny had lived like a carefree sunbeam, believing others would always shield him from life’s storms. Until he was fourteen. That year, his parents welcomed Leo, the orphaned son of a deceased friend, into their home. The skinny, timid boy, clad in a faded shirt, stood in the Blackwood living room, head bowed, murmuring, “Brother Johnny.” Young Johnny, in his innocence, had even given him his favorite toy car, utterly unaware that this “poor” Leo would become the most agonizing torment of his life. At first, it was small things. Leo shattered his mother’s antique vase, then, with tear-filled eyes, claimed Johnny had done it. Leo misplaced his competition entry form, then, with a pained expression, insisted it was an accident. And each time, Sarah would frown and say, “Johnny, don’t make a fuss.” Veronica would rub her temples and urge, “Leo didn’t mean to, Johnny, just let him have it.” Then things grew increasingly absurd. The competition he’d spent three months preparing for, its winner’s list bore Leo’s name. The final exhibition he’d tirelessly painted for, it was Leo who stood in the spotlight. He felt like a glass bottle slowly being drained of air, watching helplessly as everything that was his was systematically slipped into Leo’s pocket. The most ridiculous part was that he genuinely believed it was his fault, that he wasn’t good enough. But today, a terrifying clarity settled over him. From the very beginning, every precious thing he cherished had been personally handed to Leo by the two people he trusted most. His excellence was a flaw, his talent a sin. His very existence was merely a stepping stone for Leo. But Veronica was his fiancée! Sarah was his own sister! And Leo? He was just an adopted son! After his parents’ passing, they had become his sole refuge. Yet now, they had personally destroyed him! Johnny no longer knew why he should continue living in this world, not like this… He drifted in a daze, his trembling hands pushing the wheels of his chair. Just as he was about to make a desperate decision, to let himself and the wheelchair tumble down the stairs, his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. A string of unfamiliar numbers flashed on the screen. Johnny let it ring for a long time before finally answering. “Hello?” “Mr. Blackwood.” A deep male voice answered from the other end. “We are the Nova Pharmaceutical Institute.” “…What is it?” “We’ve heard about the various… unfortunate incidents you’ve experienced,” the voice said softly. “Perhaps you’d be willing to become a test subject for us?” Johnny laughed, a hollow, broken sound that dissolved into tears. “Am I not miserable enough already?” “No. Our new drug… it can grant you a rebirth.” “…What?” “Bone regeneration, hearing restoration, even…” He paused. “It can allow you to return to a normal life, to stand in the spotlight once more.” Johnny’s heart gave a violent jolt. “Why me?” “Because,” the voice fell silent for a moment, then spoke each word distinctly, “only those who have been utterly destroyed are worthy of true resurrection.” Johnny’s body stiffened abruptly, and he finally halted the wheelchair’s movement. He stared blankly out the window, the sunlight so blinding it brought fresh tears to his eyes. A moment later, he clutched his phone tightly. “All right. I accept!” 2 The person on the other end sounded genuinely pleased, promising to pick him up soon. After agreeing, Johnny silently hung up the phone and returned to his hospital room, pretending as if he’d heard nothing out of the ordinary. The days that followed were a blur of excessive kindness from Veronica and Sarah, right up until his discharge. On the day he was leaving, Veronica knelt, carefully helping him put on his cotton socks. Her long, slender fingers meticulously avoided the injuries on his legs, her touch as gentle as if she were handling fragile porcelain. “Does it hurt?” She looked up, her deep eyes overflowing with concern. Johnny shook his head, numbly. “The discharge papers are all handled.” Sarah pushed open the door, holding a brand-new jacket. “It’s windy outside, Johnny. Bundle up.” As she leaned over to drape the jacket around him, Johnny caught a familiar citrus scent. It was the same scent from the perfume he’d given her for her eighteenth birthday. A sudden wave of nausea churned in his stomach. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from retching right then and there. The wheelchair rolled across the polished floor of the hospital lobby, and Johnny could feel the gazes from all directions. The catheter bag hung discreetly on the side of the chair, making a faint rustling sound with each movement. A passerby looked at it with curious eyes, and Sarah immediately shot them a cold glare. “What are you staring at?” Veronica’s warm hand covered his eyes. “Don’t be afraid.” Her voice was impossibly soft, dripping with false comfort. “We’ll protect you.” Johnny trembled, unsure if it was from fury or sorrow. If he hadn’t overheard their conversation with his own ears, how could he possibly believe that these two women, who outwardly showered him with such care, were the very demons who had shoved him into hell? “Johnny, wait here for a moment,” Veronica said, pushing his wheelchair to a shaded spot near the entrance. “We’ll go get the car.” Watching their retreating figures, Johnny suddenly turned his wheelchair. He’d rather crawl away than accept their hollow pretense of care. Just as his wheelchair rounded the hospital corner, familiar voices drifted from a secluded corner of the parking lot. “Have all the ugly rumors about Johnny been leaked?” Sarah’s voice was chillingly sharp. “Yes.” Veronica’s response was hesitant. “But Johnny’s already in such a bad state. Do we really need to fabricate these humiliating rumors about him?” “Of course, we do!” Sarah’s voice turned harsh. “Only by completely destroying his reputation in the art world can we ensure he’ll never pose a threat to Leo again!” The wheelchair slammed violently into the wall. Johnny clapped a hand over his mouth, the metallic taste of blood spreading in his mouth. They not only wanted to ruin his life, but also to tarnish his name? He spun his wheelchair frantically, desperate to escape, but instead, he collided headfirst into a throng of reporters gathered at the hospital entrance. “Mr. Blackwood! Is it true that your injuries are a result of you maintaining ambiguous relationships with multiple women?” “Can you explain your ties to those women?” “As a once distinguished artist, don’t you feel ashamed of such a dissolute lifestyle?” At that moment, a frenzied mob of fans suddenly surged forward, pushing through the crowd. They began assaulting him, shouting obscenities. “Johnny Blackwood, I was blind to ever like you! You’re absolutely disgusting!” “Johnny Blackwood, I’m going to rip your face off!” Someone started it, and soon, countless hands began tearing at his clothes, slapping his face. “No… no… don’t touch me!” Johnny shrieked in terror, pushing away the grasping, filthy hands, but it was useless. Riiip! With the sound of tearing fabric, Johnny was exposed, his ragged clothes revealing the grotesque tapestry of fresh wounds that marred his skin. A wave of profound humiliation washed over him. His breathing hitched, choking him with pain. “Ugh, how sickening! He’s even wearing a catheter!” “Oh my god, quick, take pictures and post them online! Let everyone see how filthy their new artistic male god is in private!” After a momentary silence, disgusted murmurs and sneers erupted, like a barrage of stinging slaps that made his ears ring. Johnny heard nothing more. Large tears streamed down his cheeks, the salty drops stinging his raw wounds like biting ants. “Get out! All of you, get out!” Veronica’s voice suddenly bellowed. She charged into the crowd, shielding him with her body. Sarah, her face grim and furious, roughly pushed reporters aside. They worked together so seamlessly, so convincingly, that Johnny couldn’t find a single flaw in their performance. But only he knew this entire spectacle had been meticulously orchestrated by their own hands. They wanted to crucify him on the pillar of shame, utterly ruining his reputation, making him live like a rat in a sewer, forever hidden from the light. And Leo, their cherished “prince,” would stand on the most dazzling stage, basking in the adoration and praise of the world. Clearly, they had succeeded! 3 Back at the Blackwood family manor, Leo was waiting at the entrance. He wore Johnny’s favorite pale blue hoodie, his hair styled into the very same wolf-tail cut that had once been Johnny’s signature look. “Brother!” he chirped, scampering over, his face etched with a veneer of false concern. “I’m so sorry, the competition was so hectic, I’ve only just managed to come see you.” Sarah and Veronica’s eyes immediately lit up. “How was the competition?” Leo strode into the living room, triumphantly holding aloft a gleaming gold trophy. “First place! The judges said my painting was flawless!” Johnny stared fixedly at the trophy that should have been his. A phantom pain flared in his left hand. He remembered the last time he’d stood on a competition stage, brush in hand, painting freely under the spotlight. But now, thanks to his own sister and fiancée, even standing was an impossible dream. The three of them huddled around the trophy, laughing and chatting, completely oblivious to the crippled man in the wheelchair. Johnny pushed his own chair towards the elevator. Leo immediately hurried after him, offering, “Let me help you, brother…” When they reached the third floor and stepped out of the elevator, Leo suddenly leaned close to Johnny’s ear. “Brother, you’re so disgusting, with that catheter bag. Tell me, when Sister Veronica touches you later, will she smell stale urine?” Johnny’s face went white. Before he could speak, Leo suddenly shrieked, “No, brother!” then dramatically arched his back, tumbling down the stairs. “Leo!” “What happened?!” When Sarah and Veronica rushed over, Leo was curled on the floor, sobbing. “Sister Sarah, Sister Veronica, it’s not brother’s fault… he’s just so upset… he said why should his hands and legs be ruined when I can still live normally…” “Johnny Blackwood! Are you out of your mind?!” Sarah grabbed the wheelchair’s handle, her grip so strong that the metal groaned under the strain. She leaned in close, her eyes, which had always gazed at him so tenderly, now burned with fury. “Do you have any idea what his legs mean to a dancer, Leo?” Johnny looked up at his sister, and a bitter laugh escaped him. The mirth never reached his eyes, instead making his pale face appear even more gaunt. “So, Sister knows, too,” he murmured, his fingers unconsciously tracing his numb legs. “Knows how important legs are to a dancer.” Veronica stood by, her long fingers clenched into fists. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but seeing Leo’s swollen ankle, she clamped her lips shut. “Apologize.” Sarah’s voice was as cold as ice. “Apologize to Leo, now.” The boy in the wheelchair straightened his back, just as he had done a thousand times on stage. “Why should I apologize? He fell on his own.” The air in the hallway solidified. Leo suddenly sniffled, then limped forward. “It’s okay, Sister Sarah… Brother’s just in a bad mood, I understand…” “Leo!” Sarah held him, her voice thick with concern. “You’re just too understanding.” Johnny turned his wheelchair, the metal wheels grinding a grating sound against the marble floor. He didn’t want to watch this farce any longer, nor did he want to see the triumphant gleam in Leo’s eyes. Night fell. Johnny leaned against the headboard, staring out at the stark moonlight. The bedroom door creaked open, and Veronica entered, carrying a glass of milk. “Johnny, drink some milk, it’ll help you sleep.” She placed the glass on the nightstand, her voice soft. “Come on, be a good boy, finish it all.” The moment the door closed, Johnny’s eyes turned completely cold. He picked up the milk, then unhesitatingly poured it into a potted plant. Around midnight, a rustling sound startled him from his shallow sleep. He squinted, seeing a dark silhouette standing by his bed. “Johnny?” Veronica’s voice was barely a whisper. Johnny held his breath, his body rigid as a corpse. After confirming he was unresponsive, a pair of large hands suddenly grabbed him roughly, and a burlap sack was yanked over his head! “Mmph!” He struggled instinctively but was slammed hard onto the floor. The searing pain of his spine hitting the ground made his vision swim, but he bit down on his lip, refusing to make a sound. “Sarah, aren’t we going too far?” Veronica’s voice trembled. “Johnny’s legs are already like this, and you want me to drug him, then tie him up and bring him here to support Leo?” “Feeling bad?” Sarah’s cold laugh felt like a knife twisting in Johnny’s gut. “He wasn’t gentle when he pushed Leo. Anyway, his hands and legs are numb, a few blows will serve as a lesson.” The rough burlap scratched his skin. Johnny clenched his fists, knuckles white. They were right; his legs truly felt no pain. But his heart felt as if it were being torn in two. “Do it.” Sarah commanded, her voice icy. When the first blow landed, Johnny heard a dull thud from his leg bones. The second, the third… he was tossed around like a broken rag doll, repeatedly struck. “Ugh…” A cry of pain, finally escaping his tightly clenched teeth. The thudding of the stick abruptly ceased. “Who’s there?!” Sarah’s voice shot up, piercing the silence. The next second, Johnny felt trembling hands grab the edge of the burlap sack, slowly peeling it back… 4 “Meow!” A sharp, piercing cat’s cry sliced through the night air, and Sarah’s hand, which had been peeling back the burlap sack, suddenly froze. Veronica let out a long, shaky breath. “Just a stray cat.” In the darkness, Johnny’s nails dug deep into his palms, blood oozing from between his fingers, leaving dark red stains on the sack. … Morning light spilled through the curtains, bathing the room. Johnny quietly observed the fresh bruises blooming on his legs. “What happened here?” He pointed to the jarring marks, his voice unnervingly calm. Sarah’s gaze flickered. “Perhaps… you didn’t sleep well last night, and fell out of bed?” Veronica quickly interjected, changing the subject. “Johnny, your birthday is next week. What do you want for a gift?” She knelt, gently taking his hand just as she used to. “How about I throw you the grandest birthday party?” Johnny remembered his birthdays before he turned fourteen. He’d wear a custom-made suit, Sarah would personally fasten a necklace around his neck, and Veronica would be waiting in the luxurious car gifted to him, clutching a bouquet of flowers. But everything had changed since Leo arrived. The favored one at the party became Leo. “No need,” he said softly. “Of course, we will!” they both exclaimed in unison, their eyes shining with a fervor that suggested genuine concern. Veronica knelt down, taking his hand. “We’re going to throw you the grandest party.” In the following days, Sarah and Veronica were rarely home, leaving early and returning late. Even Leo was nowhere to be seen. Johnny watched their dusty, tired appearances with cold detachment. Until his birthday arrived— “Johnny, these are the clothes and accessories I’ve prepared for you.” Veronica hastily placed a delicate gift box on the bed. “I’ll go set up your special seat. Once you’re changed, we’ll leave.” After the door closed, Johnny noticed Veronica’s phone lying on the bed. The moment the screen lit up, his blood ran cold. It was a group chat, the glaring name “Little Prince and His Two Princesses.” The latest message was a photo from Leo: Sister Veronica, Sister Sarah, do my clothes look good today? Johnny’s trembling fingers scrolled upwards: a selfie of Leo at the Eiffel Tower; a photo of Sarah arm-in-arm with him, eating ice cream; a video of Veronica fastening a limited-edition watch on his wrist… So, all their “preparations” these past few days had merely been an excuse for a trip to Europe with Leo. And the formal wear in his hands now? The tag clearly read “Complimentary Gift.” Tears splattered onto the phone screen. Johnny mechanically put it back. When Veronica returned, she seemed surprised to find him still unchanged. Just as she was about to speak, he said softly, “My legs are too ugly. I don’t want to change.” “Don’t say that.” Veronica cradled his face in her hands, her expression heartbroken. “You’ll always be my little prince.” With that, she instructed the staff to help Johnny change into the formal wear and accessories, then pushed him into the car. The banquet hall glittered with opulence, yet no one spared a glance for the birthday boy in the wheelchair. Sarah remained at Leo’s side throughout, helping him cut the cake, while Veronica fussed over his hair. Johnny felt like an outsider, watching his own birthday party transform into another boy’s grand showcase. Suddenly, the ground beneath them lurched violently! “Earthquake!” The crowd instantly erupted into chaos. Johnny watched, paralyzed, as Sarah and Veronica simultaneously dashed towards Leo. His wheelchair was knocked over. As the ceiling crashed down, he heard Veronica’s distant cry: “Johnny—” Darkness swallowed everything. “Aftershocks are coming! Both young masters are trapped, who do we rescue first?” A frantic rescue worker’s voice pierced the debris. “Mr. Blackwood’s position is more dangerous, if he’s not rescued immediately, he might need an amputation!” “Then let it be,” Sarah’s voice was terrifyingly calm, “Rescue Leo first.” 5 “Are you insane?” Veronica’s voice was trembling. “Johnny is already crippled! He loves himself so much, and you want him to lose his legs? Do you want him to die?” “Veronica, I know you love Johnny, but don’t forget, five years ago, during that fire, who rescued us from the blaze? If it weren’t for Leo, risking his life to save us, you and I would be dead!” Johnny’s eyes widened in the debris. Five years ago, it had been him who had desperately dragged them out of that fire! But they had mistaken it for Leo? So… this was the reason for their favoritism towards Leo?! Finally, after much heated argument, the two women reached an agreement. “Rescue Leo first!” Johnny lay in the darkness, his eyes wide open, watching the searchlight beams of the rescue team gradually recede. Their retreating figures, cradling Leo, were so hasty they didn’t even glance back at the wreckage. When the aftershock struck, the ceiling collapsed with a thunderous roar, and his last shred of consciousness, too, was utterly extinguished. Johnny opened his eyes in agonizing pain, the glaring white fluorescent lights on the ceiling stinging them with tears. He instinctively reached for his legs— Thank goodness, they were still there. “Half an hour later, and you would have lost those legs.” The nurse said, changing his dressing. “Mr. Blackwood, you’re incredibly lucky to be alive.” Johnny stared at the pristine white ceiling, a smile stretching his lips that was more grotesque than a sob. Lucky? He wished he had died in that earthquake. The ward door was suddenly flung open, and Sarah and Veronica burst in, looking disheveled, their faces etched with a carefully crafted “concern.” “Johnny!” Sarah grabbed his hand. “It was so chaotic then, we didn’t see you…” Veronica knelt by the bed, delicately stroking his plaster-casted leg. “Johnny, I’m so sorry. Next time, I absolutely won’t let you out of my sight.” Johnny slowly withdrew his hand, his eyes hollow like stagnant water. He didn’t want to hear these clumsy lies, not a single word. “Johnny?” Veronica finally sensed something was wrong, and her voice began to tremble. “Will you say something, please?” Silence. For three whole days, Johnny remained like an exquisite puppet, neither crying nor laughing, nor speaking. Sarah finally panicked and forcibly took him for a full body check-up. “Physical indicators are basically normal,” the doctor pushed up his glasses. “I suggest a consultation with the psychology department.” After the door to the psychology clinic closed, Sarah irritably exclaimed, “Is it really that serious? To actually need a psychologist!” Veronica slammed her fist against the wall, blood seeping from her knuckles. “Small matter? He’s crippled, can no longer pursue his passion, and has to live with a catheter for life! Do you think that’s a small matter? A perfectly healthy person, driven to this by us…” She gripped Sarah’s collar, her eyes red. “Sarah Blackwood, Johnny is the man I’ve loved for half my life! That was the last time I listened to you. Even if Leo saved me, my debt to him is paid. From now on, I will never listen to you if it means hurting Johnny!” “He’s my brother!” Sarah roared. “Do you think I want to treat him like this? It’s all for Leo!” She slumped, releasing her grip. “Fine, fine. Anyway, Leo’s got his championship, and Johnny won’t stand in his way anymore. From now on, we’ll just be good to him.”

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The elevator doors closed behind me. When I reached the first floor, I rushed to my car and drove straight home. I ignored my mom’s texts about wedding venues, just staring at the clock. Time passed. Mia came back with lavender and takeout – shrimp tortellini soup, forgetting my allergy. “Eat up,” she said. I ate every shrimp. The rash spread up my arms. “Oh no! Are you allergic?” Mia gasped. I didn’t care. “Come celebrate your birthday with me tomorrow,” I said. Mia hesitated, then nodded. I went to get my allergy meds. I’m a terrible cook. The only thing I can make is birthday pasta. But tonight, I kept messing up. Bowl after bowl ruined. I ate them all anyway. I’d planned to leave after celebrating her birthday. She never came. Just called. “Alex, that clumsy idiot, burned his finger cooking. I have to take him to the ER first. You go ahead and eat.” Mia’s lies were always so transparent. My main social media account was blocked from seeing her posts, but my burner account lit up with a new update. The photo showed them, side-by-side, in front of a cake, streamers fluttering. It was a frozen moment: them, laughing, holding hands. “Hello? Hello?” Mia hadn’t hung up yet. I let out a slow breath. “No worries. Take your time.” My burner account ‘liked’ her post. The birthday pasta, uneaten, went straight into the trash. Mia had no love left for me. And if I let go, she’d probably be thrilled. I dragged my suitcase out of the house, leaving it all behind. On the way, I organized all the private, incriminating photos of Alex and Mia from years of their ‘ambiguous’ relationship. Then I posted them to my social media feed, where all their mutual friends would see. I was leaving, and I wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Just before the plane took off, I sent Mia a text: “Happy Birthday. Goodbye forever.” I didn’t say ‘we’re breaking up.’ After seven years, she’d never once publicly acknowledged me as her boyfriend. Maybe I deserved to be cuckolded. Maybe I was just blind, stubbornly fixated on her. The second before I powered down my phone, it exploded with calls. I accidentally swiped to answer one. “Ryan, what the hell did you post on your social media? Delete it now! Where are you going? Get back here and apologize to Alex!” I forced the phone off. It was laughable, really. She never bothered to reply to my messages. I used to think she was too busy. Now I knew: she saw everything, she just chose not to respond to anything concerning me. It was Mom, whom I hadn’t seen in years, who picked me up. She wore a vibrant red dress, looking dazzling, but even through the brightness, I could see the subtle lines of age around her eyes. Mom pulled me into a hug, murmuring about all I’d suffered. Even though I’d been estranged for years, Mom and I had never truly lost touch. She knew all about the messy entanglement with Mia, had seen it with chilling clarity from the start, declaring we’d never last. I’d never believed her then. I did now. All the way home, Mom talked about the changes in the family. I already knew most of it, but I listened intently anyway. The moment I powered on my phone, it began to vibrate wildly. I ignored every call, just put it on silent. To Mom’s questioning glance, I simply said, “Spam calls.” She seemed to understand, though she didn’t press the issue. With the wedding date fast approaching, my schedule was packed. I followed Mom to coordinate venues and meet Lily for the wedding photo shoot. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I felt like a stranger. Mom’s eyes were rimmed with red; she dabbed at the corner. “Ryan, Lily is a million times better than that Mia.” I nodded, uncaring. I’d already met the worst kind of person; there was nothing left I couldn’t endure. To my surprise, Lily arrived right on time. The woman from the photos suddenly materialized, and I felt a strange flicker of unreality. “Well, hello there,” Lily chirped, her eyes dancing as she took me in, a playful smile curving her lips. It softened her generally cool demeanor, making her seem almost approachable. “Thank you,” I murmured, looking down, adjusting my clothes, a prickle of awkwardness rising. Mom quickly chimed in, “Lily’s here! Why don’t you two take a picture together, for posterity?” Lily glanced at me, seeking my approval. I nodded. Mom, beaming, snapped a photo of us. She loved social media, so she immediately posted it: “My son, handsomest of them all! /Image/” I never expected Mom’s casual post to go viral. Suddenly, hashtags were trending: #SterlingHeiressGettingMarried #LilyAndRyanWeddingShoot. Mom was thrilled, even screenshotting some of the congratulatory comments for me. “Let that Mia see this! See if she thinks she’s good enough for you now!” I was past caring, though. She never loved me; how could she hurt me? But then, she messaged me. I’d blocked her main number long ago, but she found my burner phone. She sent the photo of Lily and me, then called me, a voice call. The wind howled on the other end of the line. “You packed up and went home because of that woman? Is it just because her family has money? Ryan, I never thought you’d be such a gold-digger! I know you’re just jealous. You come back now, and I’ll marry you immediately.” I looked up at the moon outside my window. A cold, stark silver disc. “Yes. Exactly. Because she’s rich, beautiful, and knows how to be charming. A hundred times better than you. No man wants to be a cuckold, Mia!” Mia’s breathing grew ragged, as if she were restraining a wild beast within. Her voice turned vicious. “Ha, she doesn’t know, does she? That you and I slept together? That I was pregnant with your child? Those high-society girls, they’re so squeaky clean. Who would want damaged goods like you, Ryan? I forbid you from breaking up with me!” A dull ache spread through my chest, my eyes burning. The first time she was pregnant, I wanted to get married, make it official. But she refused, accused me of being a misogynist, of treating her like a broodmare. So I had no choice but to agree when she decided to terminate the pregnancy. Mia never held back, always going for the deepest wounds. For a long moment, I couldn’t utter a single word. Mia must have sensed my silence, because her tone softened. “Ryan, all those years we had… can you just say you don’t love me anymore?” She seemed about to say more. But then, a man’s voice, clear as a bell, drifted from her end of the line: “Mia, you’d look amazing in this lace lingerie. Come on, try it on…” I couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter, hollow sound, and hung up. Then I deleted the burner account completely. Still furious, I slapped myself across the face.

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