I posted a photo of my daughter on Ins. She was lying in bed, staring at her phone. My caption read: [Why is she always like this the second winter break starts?] The comments immediately turned toxic and snarky: [Who knows? Maybe it’s because scrolling on a phone is the cheapest form of relaxation.] [My mom usually gives me around $15,000 so my friends and I can go on a trip. What about you, ma’am?] I replied, feeling incredibly embarrassed: [I guess I’m not as successful as your mother. I can’t afford that much.] The mockery only intensified after that. Until five hours later, when I updated with my next video. It was a vlog of my daughter at the airport, embarking on a spontaneous trip. My caption: [I couldn’t give you $15,000, but here’s $5,123.67 for your trip. Have fun.] The narrative shifted instantly. [Who gets it?! She wasn’t criticizing; she was just genuinely asking a question!] [It could be $5,000, but it had to be exactly $5,123.67… Does anyone else realize how heavy that specific number is?] Many others started tagging their own mothers, asking: [Will you treat me like this one day?] The text on the screen became denser and denser. Under that comment tagging a mom, many accounts with middle-aged women as profile pictures replied. [Baby, of course not. I wouldn’t have the heart to do that to you. /sarcasm/] I stared at these words, almost laughing out loud. This back-and-forth felt exactly like girls tagging their boyfriends or husbands on relationship posts. Sliding my finger across the screen, my thoughts drifted back to a few hours ago. At that time, I had just posted the photo of my daughter lying in bed playing on her phone. Honestly, I just wanted to ask. Why does a child seem to turn into a different person the moment winter break starts, holding onto their phone all day and never letting go? Who knew the comment section would be submerged so quickly. [Who knows? Maybe it’s because scrolling on a phone is the cheapest form of relaxation.] [My mom usually gives me around $15,000 so my friends and I can go on a trip. What about you, ma’am?] Those words were like needles piercing my eyes. I didn’t have much of an education. I didn’t really understand the twists and turns of the internet. And I certainly didn’t grasp the sarcasm between the lines. I just felt my cheeks burning, my heart heavy with guilt. Other people’s children could go on trips during their break. But my daughter could only curl up in a cramped, dark bedroom, scrolling through free short videos over and over again. I opened my mobile banking app, looking at the remaining five thousand dollars in the account. That was money I had saved bit by bit, clipping coupons and scraping the bottom of the grocery budget. Without hesitation, I transferred the entire $5,123.67 to my daughter. “Go buy a plane ticket. Go have some fun.” I pushed open her door and spoke to her softly. Watching her back as she packed and left, I felt a sense of profound relief in my heart. At least my daughter could be like other people’s children and go see the outside world. But this peace didn’t last long. My mother-in-law, Martha, came back and, out of habit, called for my daughter to come rub her shoulders and fetch her things. I lowered my head and told her that Lily had gone on a trip. The air seemed to freeze. In the next second, she slammed her grocery bags onto the floor. “Where did you get the money? Did you steal it from my son?” I shook my head. “That’s money I saved myself.” A few onions rolled into the corner, covered in dust. “You’ve gotten brave, haven’t you? What do you mean you saved it yourself? That is our family’s money!” She pointed at my nose, her spit flying in my face. “Thousands of dollars, and you just threw it down the drain? You absolute parasite, do you even want this family to survive!” She cursed while brutally tearing at my pockets. I didn’t dare resist, letting her steal the remaining few dollars of change I had on me. “What is this pittance good for? You aren’t eating today!” Martha slammed the door and went into her bedroom, leaving me standing alone in the messy living room. In the evening, my husband, David, came home from work. His mother immediately went up to him, exaggerating the story as she retold it. I thought he would at least understand my feelings as a mother. But he just looked at me coldly, his eyes filled with disgust. “Are you sick in the head? Why are you posting our private business on Ins? Don’t we have enough shame as it is without you looking for more?” He took off his coat and violently flung it onto the sofa. “I didn’t… I just…” I tried to explain. “Shut up! Delete that account right now!” “If you ever dare to go online and post this garbage again, wait and see how I handle you!” He threatened viciously. I didn’t dare disobey. I could only silently turn off my phone screen. However, the storm on the internet did not subside because of my silence. Because I hadn’t updated or replied to comments, netizens began to speculate maliciously. [Why isn’t that mom talking? Is it because we hit a nerve, and she’s at home taking it out on her daughter?] [I looked at her previous videos. Her face just looks mean. She must be an abuser!] [Everyone, dox her. Find out who she is. We have to rescue this child!] Those vicious words came like a tide, almost drowning me. Until five hours later, when I posted the video of Lily at the airport again. In the video, she was smiling brightly. The caption read: [I couldn’t give you $15,000, but here’s $5,123.67 for your trip. Have fun.] The narrative shifted instantly. Netizens began to praise me. They said I was a good mom, that even though I was poor, I gave my daughter all my love. Looking at those warm comments, my tight nerves finally relaxed. I was even a little happy. They praised me. This meant I must have done the right thing, right? Giving the money to my daughter so she could travel was the correct choice for a mother. However, the accolades on the internet did not change my reality. David saw that the online storm had calmed down, but his anger had not cooled. He felt I had exposed myself online, damaging his reputation. “Get out! You aren’t sleeping in this house tonight!” With one violent shove, he pushed me out of the apartment and heavily slammed the security door. The wind in the hallway on this winter night cut like a knife. Wearing only a thin sweater, I curled up on the freezing concrete floor. For the entire night, I didn’t close my eyes. My legs and feet were numb with cold, but my heart retained a little warmth from those praises online. At dawn, I received a call from my parents. I thought they were calling to express concern. Tears fell uncontrollably. “Mom…” Just as I opened my mouth, my mother’s piercing screams came from the other end of the line. “Rachel Barnes, you think you’re a big shot now, don’t you?” “You disrespect your husband, and you even dare to air your dirty laundry in public! Do you think it’s easy for your in-laws to support your family?” “Go back to your mother-in-law right now, get on your knees and apologize! Don’t ruin our family’s reputation!” My father chimed in from the background: “Truly an ungrateful wretch. If I had known, I never would have had you!” The call disconnected. The busy tone echoed in my ear. I leaned blankly against the wall, my tears already dried up. Just then, the security door clicked open. David stood at the door, his face grim. Before I could react, he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me inside. My old sweater, which I had worn for three years, was brutally torn by him. Cold air rushed inside my clothes, causing a flare of goosebumps. A loud backhand landed on my face. My ears were ringing, and I tasted blood in the corner of my mouth. “I’m warning you. If you ever dare to go on Ins and embarrass me again, I will break your legs!” He pointed at my face, speaking through gritted teeth. I covered my cheek and lowered my head, not daring to make a sound. David grabbed my phone and violently smashed it onto the floor. The sound of the screen shattering echoed in the living room. That wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger. He stomped on it viciously several times until that old phone was turned entirely into a pile of scrap metal. “Call that brat and get her back here right now! Using the family’s money to run wild outside—she’s out of control!” He roared at me. Martha also walked out of her room. Holding a broom in her hand, she stared at me maliciously. “Hurry up! If she doesn’t bring that money back today, don’t expect a single moment of peace!” I looked at the wreckage of the phone on the ground, and a wave of indescribable peace suddenly welled up in my heart. In this house, only I had Lily’s phone number. But I hadn’t saved the number in the phone’s contact list. Now, aside from being furious and taking their anger out on me, they had absolutely no way to contact our daughter. They couldn’t find her. I lifted my head, looking at the exasperated faces of my husband and mother-in-law. The corners of my mouth couldn’t help but slightly upturn. At this moment, I was even celebrating in my heart. Thank goodness my daughter wasn’t home. Thank goodness she had already flown toward that sky of freedom that belonged to her. Even if I suffered torment here, as long as she could be alright, everything was worth it. The phone was smashed into a floor full of broken glass, but David’s rage did not subside. He couldn’t find our daughter. It was like punching cotton; his face turned completely red with pent-up frustration. This evil fire, naturally, was poured entirely onto me. Every day, the moment he got off work, even if the slippers in the shoe rack were slightly crooked, it became a reason for him to get violent. He grabbed me by the hair and slammed me against the wall. Martha just watched coldly from the side. I was like an old, discarded rag, thrown back and forth in this cramped apartment by them. My body was always covered in bruises, some green, some purple. Even a slight movement caused a deep ache to radiate through my joints. But I didn’t cry. Taking advantage of the moment I went out to throw away the trash, I rummaged through the garbage bag to find the phone. I pried out the SIM card, which fortunately wasn’t broken. There was an old man collecting recyclables at the street corner. I used a few flattened cardboard boxes I had saved, plus the only ten dollars remaining in my pocket, and traded with him for a second-hand smartphone with a leaking LCD screen. I inserted the card and connected to the neighbor’s unsecured Wi-Fi. Messages from Lily immediately jumped out. They were a few photos. In the photos, she was wearing that washed-out white puffer jacket, standing at the foot of a snow-capped mountain. Sunshine hit her young face. Her entire being was glowing, and there was a brilliance in her eyes I had never seen before. I hid in the cramped bathroom. Sitting on the toilet lid, I gently rubbed my rough finger against my daughter on the screen. The black leak spot covered half the sky, but it couldn’t cover her brilliant smile. So beautiful. As long as I could make her smile like a normal child, those punches and kicks I endured in this apartment were all worth it. Though the second-hand phone screen was blurred, I could still see the comments on Ins. Netizens were still in my thread urging me to update, wanting to see my daughter’s follow-up. In the comment section, a netizen whose profile picture was a little girl asked me: [Ma’am, since you love your daughter so much, why did you never think about sending her out to travel before?] Seeing this sentence, I froze for a long time. Yes, why? I honestly typed on the keyboard, replying to her: [Because I didn’t have money. The family bank cards are all in my mother-in-law’s hands. That five thousand dollars was saved bit by bit, dime by dime, from my grocery budget over the past few years. Before, I didn’t even dare to dream about the word ‘travel’.] Not long after this reply was sent, comments underneath flooded in. [I’m sorry, ma’am. I misunderstood you.] [Turns out you are living such a hard life. I thought you were one of those parents who favored boys over girls. Truly, I apologize.] The screen full of apologies made my eyes turn red. Among these messages, one netizen gave me a suggestion. [Ma’am, you cannot keep enduring this!] [Next time he hits you, don’t sit there stupidly behind closed doors and take it.] [Run outside! Go cry to the community outreach center!] [Make a scene! Attract the attention of the staff so they come to mediate, force your husband to open the door, and let everyone see his true face!] I stared at these words, reading them over and over a dozen times. Go to the community center? Make a scene? This was something I absolutely wouldn’t have dared to do in the past. My parents taught me from a young age that family shame should not be aired in public. If you get beaten, you endure it yourself. Making a scene will only make people laugh at you. But, looking at the sincere advice from netizens on the leaking screen, a slightly different thought suddenly emerged in my dried-up heart. Since the first time I followed their advice it had such a good effect, following it again shouldn’t hurt. The opportunity came quickly. Friday night, David came back completely drunk. Just as he entered, he threw his briefcase against my back, knocking over the hot soup I had just brought out. “Call that brat and get her back here!” His breath reeked of alcohol. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and dragged me toward the bedroom. “If you can’t contact her today, I’m gonna skin you alive!” His grip was incredibly strong; his nails almost embedded into my flesh. If it were in the past, I would definitely curl up into a ball, letting him hit and curse at me. But today, my mind was entirely focused on that phrase from the netizens: Run outside. I was very obedient. Following the force of his dragging, I suddenly grabbed the heavy glass ashtray from the coffee table and smashed it backward with force. The glass shattered against the wall, making a dull thud. David was startled; the force in his hand loosened by half. Seizing this gap, I used all my strength to break free. Clambering and rolling, I rushed toward the entryway, twisted open the security door, and ran out with all my might. “You bitch! You dare to run!” He roared in exasperation behind me.

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On the day of the divorce, my husband Cedric gave me an old, run-down little house and told me to get lost. He said, “You haven’t worked a single day since we got married. Giving you this house is already more than generous.” But he forgot—it was his idea for me to quit my job and be a stay-at-home wife in the first place. After marriage, all the household chores fell on me. Since his father Anderson got seriously ill, I’d been the one taking care of him. Now, for the sake of his first love Alice, he wanted a divorce. But I calmly took the property deed without shedding a single tear and signed readily. “Deal.” He was stunned and scrutinized me. “Wesley, you better not try anything funny.” I smiled. He had no idea that a real estate developer had contacted me last week—this run-down house was about to be demolished for redevelopment, and they’d offered compensation of up to ten million dollars. What he knew even less was that I’d just received a report confirming I was the only person in the world with the same blood type as his critically ill father.

I put away the divorce agreement and property deed and stood up. Alice clung intimately to his arm and said in a saccharine voice, “Wesley, please don’t blame me for speaking out of turn. These past few years you’ve been at home living off Cedric. It’s only because Cedric is kind-hearted that he’s willing to give you a house at all—otherwise you’d be out on the streets.” I ignored her and looked at Cedric. “Is that what you think too?” Cedric looked completely at ease. “Is Alice wrong? You’ve been enjoying an easy life at home every day while having no idea how exhausted I am at the company.” Looking at him, I felt nothing but bitter irony. These past three years, living in this so-called wealthy family mansion, I’d been treated like a high-class housekeeper. My father-in-law Anderson had serious patriarchal attitudes. Because my first child was a daughter, he’d never given me a single kind look. My mother-in-law Judith was a status-obsessed snob who looked down on my ordinary background and resented that I was no help to Cedric’s career. As for my husband Cedric, at first I thought I’d found a good man. He said I made him feel the warmth of home. He said I only needed to take care of the household for him, and I didn’t need to worry about anything else. I agreed. Outsiders all thought I was living the good life. Only I knew he gave me just ten thousand a month to cover all household shopping and social obligations—even the housekeeper’s wages had to come out of that. Meanwhile, he could turn around and buy his first love Alice a boutique studio in the city center. After our daughter Betty was born, they got even worse. Using the excuse that girls were delicate, they forbade me from taking the child to visit my parents, yet never bothered to help care for her themselves. “Oh, by the way,” Alice smiled maliciously at me, “Wesley, you absolutely must keep Betty under control. Don’t use Betty’s issues to bother Cedric.” She placed a hand on her belly. “After all, I’m carrying Cedric’s family’s eldest grandson. I’m afraid the family might not have enough attention to spare afterward.” So that’s why they were in such a rush to divorce me. I suppressed my emotions and responded calmly, “Don’t worry. Once I walk out this door, my daughter and I will have nothing more to do with Cedric.” I turned and left without looking back at their reactions. The demolition household communication notice with its bright red stamp in my bag was all the confidence I needed right now. Taking my daughter with this fortune about to land in my hands, completely rid of this family of horrible people—it was like winning life’s biggest lottery. The taxi stopped with my daughter and me in a narrow alley. I got out and looked at the dilapidated two-story building before me. This was the wedding gift my parents had scraped together everything to prepare for me when I married Cedric. They feared I’d be mistreated at my in-laws’ and wanted me to at least have a way out. At the time, to give me face in Cedric’s family, both our names were on the property deed. Now, it had returned to my hands. I took out the key and opened the rust-covered door. Betty asked in her sweet little voice, “Mommy, aren’t we going back to Daddy’s house anymore?” Holding her small body, my heart ached. “That’s right. From now on, we’ll have our own home.” The next day, I took all my documents to the real estate company. After verifying my information, the staff warmly received me. “Ms. Wesley, your property’s size and location are both excellent. According to current compensation policy, you can receive around ten million dollars.” I chose the latter without hesitation. “I want the money.” That afternoon after signing, I took Betty for her favorite strawberry cake. Watching Betty’s happy face covered in cream, I felt more at peace than ever before. Thank you for your charity, Cedric. You used a run-down house you looked down on to buy out our three-year marriage. And I used the key you handed me to open the door to a new world.

Cedric probably assumed I’d take that broken-down house and come crawling back home in tears, or return begging him when I had nowhere else to turn. So when his assistant told him that house had already completed demolition procedures, he froze for a moment. “Lucky for her.” Cedric’s brow furrowed tightly. This was completely different from the script he’d envisioned. The feeling of things spiraling out of his control made him very uncomfortable. Just then, his first love Alice pushed the door open, carrying a bowl of elegant bird’s nest soup. “Cedric, still busy? I made you bird’s nest soup—drink it while it’s hot. You haven’t rested properly these past few days dealing with your father’s situation.” She spoke gently and considerately, naturally nestling beside him. Cedric smelled her expensive perfume, but the irritation in his heart didn’t dissipate—it only grew stronger. His mind involuntarily flashed to images of Wesley. She always carried a faint scent of soap. She never disturbed him while he worked, always quietly placing warmed soup by his side before silently leaving. “What are you thinking about?” Alice playfully pushed him. “Nothing.” Cedric collected his thoughts and accepted the bird’s nest soup. “Alice, about my father—has the hospital found suitable bone marrow?” At this mention, Alice’s expression grew heavy too. “Not yet… The hospital says the blood type is too rare. On top of that, finding suitable bone marrow with a successful match probability is almost negligible. The doctor told us to prepare ourselves mentally.” Cedric’s heart sank bit by bit. Anderson was the anchor of Cedric’s family. Once he fell, those circling vultures in the corporation would definitely seize the opportunity to strike. His position as heir wasn’t secure at all. “Cedric, don’t worry.” Alice grasped his hand. “I’ve already mobilized all my connections to search. There will be a way.” Cedric looked at her and forced out a smile. He didn’t know that his only real solution had already been pushed away by his own hands. Meanwhile, after receiving the first demolition payment, I immediately rented a large flat in a quiet neighborhood downtown. Next, I used this money to take over a ceramics studio near the west side of the city that was on the verge of closing. In college, I’d studied sculpture. Opening my own ceramics studio was a dream I’d shelved for years. I renovated the shop, added new pottery wheels and kilns, using half the space to sell pottery I made myself and the other half for pottery experiences. I registered a social media account and shared daily pottery-making content and cute moments with Betty. No sob stories, no complaints—just love for life. The warm tones and healing content quickly attracted my first batch of followers. Late at night, I’d sit by the window watching the city lights in the distance. I no longer had to watch anyone’s face, no longer had to hear those harsh comments about bearing sons, no longer had to face a husband who never came home. This freedom made me feel richer than that twelve million dollars.

Alice’s path to integrating into Cedric’s family was proving exceptionally difficult. She thought driving me out as the legitimate wife would let her smoothly take my place, but she underestimated Judith’s fighting power. That day, she accompanied Judith to the hospital to visit Anderson. In the doctor’s office, the attending physician gravely informed them, “Mr. Anderson’s condition isn’t good. We’ve tested samples from all direct and collateral relatives—not one matches. The bone marrow bank has also reported that there are currently no suitable donors.” Judith’s body swayed, nearly unable to stand. Alice quickly supported her and asked urgently, “Doctor, is there really no other option?” The doctor sighed. “No. Currently we can only gradually expand the search starting from people he’s had contact with. Though the hope is slim, it’s the only hope.” Leaving the hospital, Judith’s expression remained terrible. Alice tried to comfort her, saying carefully, “Don’t worry too much. Cedric has already brought in expert teams from abroad. I’m sure…” “What do you know!” Judith suddenly cut her off sharply, her gaze cutting like knives. “Besides spending Cedric’s money, what can you do? I must have been blind to think you were better than Wesley!” Alice’s smile froze on her face. Judith seemed to have opened a floodgate and began criticizing indiscriminately: “Wesley may have come from a poor background and wasn’t good with words, but at least she knew how to take care of people! Look at you—you don’t even know to pour a glass of hot water! Before Anderson got sick, Wesley personally prepared all those medicinal meals for him every day. And you? You just buy flashy, useless things!” These words woke Alice up. She finally understood that in the eyes of people like Judith, there was no such thing as true love—only utility value. When she couldn’t provide practical help, she wasn’t even as good as me. That night, Alice and Cedric had a huge fight. “Cedric! How did your mother treat me today! She actually compared me to Wesley! Didn’t you say that as long as I came back, you’d make her accept me?” Cedric was already overwhelmed by company and hospital matters. Hearing Alice’s tearful complaints now only made him feel irritated. “My mother is just anxious about my father’s illness. Can’t you be understanding?” “Understanding? How am I supposed to understand? Every word out of her mouth was praising Wesley! Are you regretting this too? Do you also think Wesley is better than me?” “Can you stop being so unreasonable!” Cedric slammed the door and left, not turning back to comfort her for the first time. He drove aimlessly through the streets. Almost as if possessed, he opened my social media account. He’d had his assistant go through some trouble to find it. On the screen was my latest video. In the video, I wore a simple cotton apron, sitting at a pottery wheel with my hands covered in clay, focused on shaping the beginnings of a vase. Sunlight streamed in from the window, my profile soft, my gaze calm and bright. Betty sat on a small stool nearby, also clumsily kneading a lump of clay, humming an off-key tune. The comments section was peaceful. “The shop owner is so gentle!” “This is what life should be like!” “The daughter is so cute. The blogger seems really happy now.” The word “happy” stabbed painfully at Cedric’s eyes. In his memory, I always had a hint of sadness and humility in my expression that wouldn’t dissipate. But this woman in the video was composed, confident, radiant. This huge contrast stirred an unprecedented sense of loss and panic in him. He irritably closed his phone and called his assistant. “How’s the hospital screening going? Has everyone been notified?” “Almost everyone, but… there’s one person we haven’t been able to reach.” “Who?” “Your ex-wife, Ms. Wesley. She’s changed all her contact information and hasn’t responded to private messages on social media.” “Useless!” Cedric roared and hung up, punching the steering wheel. The horn let out a piercing long blare, like mockery of his current state of mind. He didn’t know why he was so angry. He was the one who initiated the divorce. So why, when she truly disappeared without a trace, did his heart feel so panicked?

The turning point appeared in a place no one expected. At the blood bank center conducting bone marrow screening for Anderson, an elderly professor about to retire happened to see my name while doing final file archiving. Wesley—the name seemed familiar to him. He pulled up my blood donation records from years ago and my registration with the bone marrow registry. When he saw my blood type report, his eyes behind reading glasses widened instantly. “Quick! Pull up Mr. Anderson’s matching data immediately!” he shouted excitedly to his assistant. The two sets of data were placed side by side. The loci—a complete match. A miracle with odds of one in hundreds of millions had just occurred. The news reached Cedric’s ears immediately. After a brief moment of wild joy, he immediately fell into even deeper panic. Wesley, the ex-wife he’d dismissed with a broken-down house, was actually the only hope for saving his father. He immediately mobilized all his resources, even hiring a private investigator at great expense, searching frantically for my whereabouts. Two days later, the investigator placed a stack of photos and documents on his office desk. The photos showed my little shop, me playing on a swing with Betty in the yard, me shopping and eating ice cream with my best friend. In every photo, I smiled so happily, so relaxed. Cedric grabbed his car keys and practically tumbled out of the office. He sped all the way, running several red lights, finally parking on that quiet street corner half an hour later. He saw my shop. Through the glass window, he saw me sitting inside, head lowered, patiently teaching a young woman how to throw pottery. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Wind chimes rang out crisply. I looked up. The moment I saw him, I wasn’t surprised. I knew he’d find his way here eventually. The smile on my face didn’t even change. I just said to the young woman, “Feel it out on your own for now. I’ll be right back.” Then I wiped my hands and walked toward him, as if approaching an ordinary customer. “Sir, how may I help you?” My voice was calm and flat. Cedric looked at this face so close yet utterly unfamiliar, his throat tight. He spoke with difficulty, his voice hoarse. “Wesley, let’s talk.” “Sure.” I pointed to the small stone table in the yard. “Let’s talk here. I’m busy in the shop.” We sat across from each other. He looked at me with complex emotions in his eyes. He pulled a document from his suit pocket and pushed it in front of me. “Wesley, I know you hate me. But this time, I’m begging you. As long as you’re willing to donate bone marrow to save my father, I’ll agree to any condition. This is an asset transfer agreement. My large flat in the city center, plus twenty million in cash from my personal account—it’s all yours.” He thought this was the greatest sincerity he could offer. I didn’t even glance at the document. I simply picked up my teacup, blew on the steam, then raised my eyes to look at him calmly. “Cedric, did you forget? We’re already divorced.” “According to the law, we’re strangers now.” “What makes you think a stranger has any obligation to undergo a risky major surgery for your father?” My words drained all color from his face instantly.

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Beauty invites jealousy, doesn’t it? As the undisputed queen of the entertainment industry, the highest peak and the longest river of trending topics, I could post a selfie, and the comments would casually break a hundred million. Topping the trending list was a daily affair. People would either call me a pure pretty face, or blast me for sensationalizing trivial matters just for attention. I don’t care! The most crucial thing to dominate this industry wasn’t my acting skills or talent, but my devastatingly beautiful face. While the entertainment world never lacked stunning women, there’s a difference between a pretty swan and a gorgeous swan. Even if my acting was a train wreck, my singing off-key, my dancing a stumble, my professional skills abysmal, and my emotional intelligence nonexistent, audiences just ate up my face! 1 My social media backend crashed again. My assistant, Liam, called, his voice on the verge of tears: “Aurora! You have to see the trending topics!” “Selene Blackwood just shaded you in an interview!” I was examining my freshly manicured nails in the vanity mirror. At his words, I simply hummed lazily. Oh, a rival trying to stir up trouble? Just another Tuesday. Beauty invites envy, always. “She said, ‘An soulless facade won’t get you far’!” “Now her fans and ours are tearing each each other apart online!” “The PR department’s phones are ringing off the hook, they say this is a tough one. They’re asking how we want to respond.” On the other end of the line, Liam was frantic, like a cat on a hot tin roof. I held my hand up to the light, admiring the sparkle of the shattered diamonds on my nails, and asked casually, “Those photos I shot yesterday, are they retouched yet?” “Aurora! What time is it?!” Liam sounded like he was losing his mind. “Selene just won a Golden Trinity Award, she’s absolutely red-hot right now, what she says carries weight!” “The entire internet is mocking us as a pretty face, saying you have nothing but your looks!” “Oh,” I finally showed some interest, lowering my hand. I opened my phone’s front camera, tilting it left and right to find the best angle. “Isn’t that perfect?” “The more they curse, the more it shows how much they care about this face.” Online, Selene Blackwood’s fans cited literary references, elevating her to an artist untainted by worldly desires. My fans, on the other hand, were simple and direct. They flooded the internet with iconic images of me from past red carpets, captioned: “Beauty is enough. Does your idol have this face?” A war between “talent and looks” raged across the internet, turning it upside down. Selene’s team was clearly pleased with the outcome, seizing the opportunity to buy up a flurry of marketing accounts, pushing the hashtag “#Actor’sConviction” to the top of the trending list, attempting to nail me to a pillar of shame. Liam reported over the phone: “Aurora, they’ve jumped into the fray again. The public opinion is really against us right now.” “Should we release a statement, just saying…?” “No need,” I cut him off, having already selected nine perfect selfies. “Post this set of pictures. The caption should read: ‘Today’s face, also looking pretty good.’” “Huh? That’s it?” “That’s it.” Minutes later, “#AuroraSterlingNineGrid” descended, obliterating everything in its path, directly snatching the number one trending spot. The server, predictably, crashed again for ten minutes. By the time the tech team restored it, seven of the top ten trending spots bore my name. #AuroraSterlingDivineBeauty #GoddessCreationAuroraSterling #SawAuroraSterlingNowIWantFaceSurgery As for Selene Blackwood’s “#Actor’sConviction,” it had long been pushed beyond the twentieth spot, utterly ignored. Liam’s call came in again, this time his voice filled with glee and adoration: “Aurora! Selene’s PR director reportedly threw their phone in rage!” I chuckled softly, turned off my phone, and picked up the mirror again. Dear Selene, in this industry, being beautiful truly allows you to do whatever you want. Especially when you’re a dazzling, unbelievably gorgeous woman like me. PR? Not needed! After all, there’s a persistent rumor in the industry: people watching me act only want to poke out their own eyes. But then they remember that if they blind themselves, they’ll never see my face again. And thinking, ’Oh, what a waste,’ they give up. 2 It was an unfortunate coincidence: Selene and I ended up in the same production, an annual S-tier blockbuster titled Chronicles of Grandeur. She was the leading lady, and I was the confirmed second female lead. At the launch ceremony, her team’s press release listed her name followed by a long string of acting awards. My name was followed by only four words: “Queen of Trends.” On the first day of shooting our scenes, she flubbed her lines seventeen times. When the director asked what was wrong, she rubbed her temples, looking at me with an agonizing expression. “Director, facing Miss Sterling’s face, I simply can’t get into character.” The entire set went silent. Her reason was that my face was too “modern,” my features too perfectly sculpted, like a soulless piece of art. It disrupted the period authenticity and sense of vulnerability the film required. As she spoke, her gaze was cool and detached, as if discussing some profound artistic dilemma. Over the next few days, this became her routine. Whenever she had a scene with me, she would endlessly flub her lines. Either she’d get distracted by my face while delivering dialogue, or she’d suddenly call for a halt mid-scene, claiming my beauty made her “break character.” While my mouth uttered, “Oh, but I’m not that pretty~” In my heart, I was cursing this pretentious woman, knowing she was deliberately making things difficult for me. After the production schedule was severely delayed, the producer and director’s expressions finally changed. Their gazes towards me held displeasure, only to soften once they landed on my face. Liam stomped his foot in frustration. “Aurora, she’s doing this on purpose!” “What actor complains their co-star is too pretty? She’s using this to get back at you!” I was reading my script, not even looking up. “Let her play her part.” Liam was puzzled. “Play what?” “Play a dedicated award-winning actress pursuing art, whose progress is hindered by a pretty face.” Sure enough, a few days later, various on-set sneak peeks surfaced online. The topic #SeleneBlackwoodDedicated trended, and marketing accounts gushed about her pursuit of artistic perfection, even at the cost of offending a trending star backed by capital. And I, naturally, became the “villain” who “weaponized her beauty,” “lacked any acting skill, dragging down the entire crew.” Eventually, the director called me for a talk. The meeting was held in Selene’s luxury van. She and her junior colleague, fresh out of film school, were also present. The director rubbed his hands, looking troubled. “Aurora, you see… Selene’s really not in her best state.” “For the artistic integrity of the entire film, we’ve discussed it…” Selene leisurely sipped her pour-over coffee beside him, not even raising an eyelid. I looked at the director, waiting for him to continue. “The second female lead role we offered you might have to be changed.” “We’d like Selene’s junior to try it out. They’re from the same school, so they might have better chemistry.” Liam was about to explode on the spot, but my gaze held him back. Of course, I knew this was aimed at me. I subtly glanced at the junior colleague’s face. She was pretty, the sweet, girl-next-door type. Most importantly… she didn’t seem to overshadow Selene. Instead, she subtly enhanced Selene’s sophisticated, classic actress aura. I put aside my thoughts and asked calmly, “What about me?” “The production team still hopes you can stay,” the director’s posture became even more deferential. “There’s a maid role in the script. Although the screen time isn’t much, it has some great moments.” “There’s even a pivotal scene where the lead actress slaps her, which demands significant emotional outburst…” The humiliation was now laid bare. Everyone watched me, waiting for me to explode, waiting for me to break my contract and walk away. Then they could legitimately label me a “diva.” Selene finally put down her coffee cup, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. I ignored her, simply saying calmly to the director, “Alright, I’ll take it.” The air in the car seemed to solidify in that instant. The director was stunned, and the junior colleague’s expression froze. Even Selene’s triumphant face showed a faint crack. The day the slapping scene was filmed, the entire crew was present. They weren’t there to watch a scene; they were there to watch me. The director called action. Selene’s palm swung out, no cheating, no trickery – it was a solid impact of skin against skin. Crisp, loud, and stinging hot. “Cut!” The director’s voice held a hint of hesitation. “Selene, the emotion is good, but… you can dial back the force a little.” Selene rubbed her wrist, looking at me with an innocent expression. “Director, for the sake of realism, the immediate reaction to being hit can’t be faked.” “Miss Sterling, what do you say?” She threw the question to me. All eyes on set focused on my face, waiting for my reaction. My assistant, Liam, clenched his fists, his eyes red. I raised a hand, signaling him not to move. I smiled at the director. “Selene is right. For the sake of the scene, it’s fine. Let’s do it again.” And so, there was a second take, a third, a fourth… Each time, Selene demanded a retake, citing “insufficient emotion” or “not real enough reaction.” And each time, her slap was harder than the last. By the eighth take, I could even taste the metallic tang of blood welling up at the corner of my mouth. My left cheek was numb, swollen high like I had a hot bun stuffed in it. “Print!” The director finally called a stop. Liam immediately rushed over, holding an ice pack to my face, his voice choked with tears. “Aurora, they’re going too far!” I stopped him, calmly telling the makeup artist nearby, “Please touch up my makeup, cover the bloodstain at the corner of my mouth.” Then I turned to the director, still looking unperturbed. “Director, is the effect satisfactory?” The director looked at my swollen face, his gaze complex, and finally just nodded. The incident quickly spread. The internet was flooded with press releases touting Selene Blackwood’s professionalism, claiming she was willing to offend others for artistic authenticity. And I became the useless actress who couldn’t even convincingly take a slap, my public image plummeting. My team was in a frenzy, but I had no time for it. Because the endorsement deal with the international luxury brand V&L was in its final stages of contract signing. This was my best weapon for a comeback. Once announced, it would prove that my commercial value was unshakable. But the night before the signing, Liam burst into my room, his face white. “Aurora, V&L just announced… the endorser isn’t us.” My hand, which was removing my makeup, paused. “It’s Selene Blackwood,” Liam’s voice trembled. “I found out she personally flew her team to V&L headquarters yesterday.” “She told the brand that she was willing to sign a five-year, no-pay, ironclad contract.” A Golden Trinity Award winner, lowering her status to earn nothing. No brand could refuse such a temptation. She wasn’t doing it for the money, nor for the endorsement itself. She was doing it simply to snatch it away from me. Suddenly, the entire internet erupted in celebration. “Hahaha, a pretty face is still just a pretty face. Her commercial value is crushed by a true talent.” “Even her sugar daddy has abandoned her. Looks like Aurora Sterling is really finished.” “She used to be able to live off her looks, but now her face is swollen, and her rice bowl is gone too.” The hashtag #PrettyFaceShattered surged to number one on trending topics within an hour. Liam, looking at the cruel comments on his phone, fretted. “Aurora, what do we do now? The PR department’s phones are being blown up!” I looked at my swollen face in the mirror, clearly showing five finger marks. My phone screen lit up with a news notification. “Star-studded! Nominations for the Annual Entertainment Gala announced.” I tapped it open. In the list of nominees for “Artist of the Year with the Most Commercial Value,” I saw two names listed side-by-side: Aurora Sterling, Selene Blackwood. The Annual Entertainment Gala. Selene and I met face to face. We were both nominated for the “Artist of the Year with the Most Commercial Value” award. The cameras at the event were very cooperative, switching back and forth between our faces. Selene sat poker straight, chin slightly raised, a faint, confident smile playing on her lips. She had just won an international film festival award, and then snatched the global endorsement for V&L from me. She was at the peak of her popularity. The entire venue, no, the entire internet, assumed the award was already hers. When the camera cut to me, I was looking down, adjusting the hem of my dress, not giving it any extra expression. But the other artists around me looked at me with a mix of pity and schadenfreude. A mere pretty face, whose face had been slapped raw, and whose livelihood had been stolen. Now, to be dragged onto the stage for public humiliation, it truly was the joke of the year. The presenter was a highly respected veteran of the industry. He slowly opened the envelope, deliberately drawing out his words, building up the suspense. “The winner of this year’s Artist of the Year with the Most Commercial Value is…” All the spotlights instantly converged on Selene. She was already preparing to stand, the draft of her acceptance speech written clearly on her face.

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Three years into reconciling with Vernon Cumming, he cheated again. His mistress was the same woman from three years ago. When we ran into them at a restaurant, he lied and said she was a client. The next moment, he shielded his “client” behind him, watching me with defensiveness and wariness. I knew he was afraid I’d lose my temper again and hurt the woman he held dear. But I simply stepped forward, straightened his slightly crooked tie, and said gently, “Alright, I understand.” “Don’t get too drunk. Remember to use protection.” After saying that, I suddenly felt my admonitions were unnecessary, so I changed my mind. “Or don’t, it’s fine.” I considered myself gentle and considerate enough. But for some reason, Vernon’s face darkened anyway. 1. The restaurant was quiet. Even conversations were deliberately hushed. Only occasionally could one hear the faint clink of cutlery against plates. The decor was thoughtful, with roses being the only flowers visible. Of course, those dining here were lovers. Perhaps some were like Vernon. But both sides were discreet, playing the part of a loving couple. As if I hadn’t noticed Vernon’s darkening face, I gave the lady he was shielding a slight nod and turned to leave. My friend, walking with me, whispered, “Why aren’t you angry?” Angry? It seemed I genuinely wasn’t. Perhaps I had been before, but it hadn’t done any good. And I had paid a heavy price for it. Such a price, for the current me, was one I couldn’t afford a second time. I smiled calmly. “There’s nothing to be angry about. He’s just meeting a client.” My friend looked at me silently, her gaze complex. I knew what she was thinking. But I couldn’t tell her that this was the first lesson Vernon had taught me: To learn to turn a blind eye to his affairs. When dinner ended, Vernon was waiting for me in his car outside the restaurant. Seeing the long queue on the ride-hailing app, I didn’t refuse. I opened the back door and got in. Sure enough, the passenger seat was occupied. She turned, smiling at me with a reserved yet haughty air. “Excuse me, Mrs. Cumming, I get carsick.” “Vernon felt sorry for me, so he let me sit here. No other meaning, don’t misunderstand.” Vernon opened the car door, got into the driver’s seat, and explained casually, “It’s just a seat. If you mind, I’ll have Selena switch with you.” I nodded gently, still appearing kind and understanding. “It’s alright, I understand.” “I have motion sickness patches. Miss Quinn, would you like one? It might help you feel better.” Selena Quinn didn’t speak. Vernon also fell silent. The car instantly returned to quiet. Outside, it had started raining at some point, and it looked rather cold. My friend texted me, asking if I had gotten into a car, or if she should pick me up. I looked down to reply, not noticing Vernon gripping the steering wheel tightly. After a long moment, he finally started the car before the rain grew heavier. Selena spoke again. “Drop Mrs. Cumming off first. Her place is closer.” Hearing this, Vernon and I spoke almost simultaneously. “Okay.” “No need.” I paused, then understood Vernon’s intention and quickly interjected, “Indeed, it’s too late today, and raining heavily. It would be too much trouble to go back and forth.” “Why don’t you stay over? I just texted the housekeeper to prepare both the master bedroom and the guest room…” Before I could finish, Vernon suddenly slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched against the asphalt. My forehead hit the back of the passenger seat hard. Before I could even register the pain, I heard Vernon say in a low voice, “Get out!” I realized I had once again misread his mood, so I shut my mouth. Then I decisively took a folding umbrella from my bag, opened the car door, and got out. The rain was heavy, and the folding umbrella couldn’t cover me completely. I was soon drenched. Vernon drove past me, and the splash from the puddles soaked my pants. I looked down, and when I looked up again, even the exhaust fumes were gone. Finally, I had no choice but to sheepishly text my friend, asking her to pick me up. My friend appeared quickly. She looked at my soaked self, her eyes filled with frustration. “You deserve this!” I forced a smile. “Clara, thank you.” “I know you mean well, but I can’t. I can’t leave him.” It wasn’t that my emotions prevented me from leaving him. It was the harsh reality that forced me to stay. 2. I finished showering. When I emerged from the bathroom, Vernon was back. He sat on the sofa, head bowed, smoking—he had probably been at it for a while, as the living room was thick with smoke. My motion of wiping my hair paused. I suddenly felt this scene was a re-enactment of three years ago. That was the day before our first divorce. He chain-smoked, cigarette butts nearly filling the ashtray. Finally, shrouded in a haze of smoke, he handed me the divorce papers, his expression resolute and cold. I walked over somewhat stiffly, smiling as I gently removed the cigarette from his mouth. “Don’t smoke so much, it’s bad for your health.” Vernon looked up, his eyes holding a complex emotion I couldn’t decipher. I forced a smile, trying my best. “Don’t worry, I haven’t misunderstood anything about you and Selena.” “If you say she’s a client, then she’s a client.” “You already had plans with her. It was only right to have her in the passenger seat and drive her home. I was the unexpected one.” “Don’t worry, I won’t cause any trouble for her.” I was considerate and generous, thinking from Vernon’s perspective. But for some reason, Vernon still looked displeased. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his face incredibly grim. I grew anxious, almost panicking as I told him, “If you want to bring Miss Quinn back, I don’t mind.” “If she finds me annoying, I can move out…” “Enough!” Vernon suddenly spoke, his voice sharp, cutting off my words. He gripped my hand tightly, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. “Since you’re so gentle and considerate, why don’t you just give up the title of Mrs. Cumming?” I gritted my teeth, enduring the pain in my wrist, and looked at Vernon, asking, “Then will you stop my mother’s medication?” Vernon’s eyes suddenly widened. Receiving no answer, I pressed on, unwilling to give up. “If I give up this position, will you still continue to pay for my mother’s treatment?” “Vernon, I can give it up, as long as you keep paying for my mother’s medicine, okay?” Vernon’s pupils constricted, then he violently flung my hand away, standing up from the sofa with a dramatic movement. He stared intensely at me, scrutinizing every expression on my face. I wasn’t lying. It was all true. I could give up my place for Selena. Really. Vernon didn’t know what he saw on my face. He laughed to himself. “Still saying you haven’t misunderstood?” He walked over again, took my hand, and gently rubbed the spot he had just squeezed red. “Selena is my client. I’m not lying, truly.” “Elara, don’t be jealous. It’s annoying. You know I’m not in the mood to coax you.” I looked down at the spot he was rubbing, wanting to say I wasn’t jealous. But it seemed pointless. So I didn’t defend myself at all. I simply followed Vernon’s words and nodded gently. “Mm, I understand.” 3. From that day on, Vernon seemed like a changed man. He suddenly stopped going out, returning home early. In the mornings, he would have me see him off at the entryway. After he put on his shoes, he would turn back to kiss my forehead. In the evenings, he would bring me a bouquet of flowers—sometimes pansies, sometimes irises… Different every day. Then he would kiss the corner of my lips and tell me, “Today, I missed you very much.” Yet, the man who said he missed me spent his days shopping and going to spas with Selena. He pretended to be in love, and I pretended to be in love, asking no questions, saying nothing. Until Mrs. Cumming’s birthday. Vernon said he wanted to take me along to celebrate. I agreed. When he came to pick me up that evening, the passenger seat was already occupied. It was Selena. She smiled at me, completely unapologetic. “Excuse me, Mrs. Cumming, I get a little carsick.” Was this Vernon’s test for me? I smiled faintly, nodding gently, not caring. “It’s alright, carsickness is terrible. I understand.” With that, I opened the back door, about to get into the car, when Vernon got out. He opened the passenger door and looked at Selena. “Get out.” Selena’s face changed. She tried hard to force a smile. “Mr. Cumming, I…” Vernon leaned against the car door, his face cold. “Don’t make me drag you out myself.” Selena’s face grew even uglier. The atmosphere was tense. Just as I was about to speak to break the awkward silence, Vernon pulled Selena out. “Either sit in the back, or call a cab yourself.” He said this, not looking at Selena’s expression, but instead shielding me as I got into the passenger seat. I felt a little awkward, but I also knew this wasn’t the time to contradict Vernon. So, I said nothing. Selena didn’t call a cab; she got into the back seat. Once the car started, Vernon handed me a gift box, explaining simply, “It’s for my mother. Give it to her later.” I hummed softly. Before I could speak, Selena interjected, “It’s an emerald necklace. I went with Vernon to pick it out. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I felt the gift box, smiling faintly. “Yes, it’s very beautiful.” See? The man who said he missed me. His body was always with someone else. How could I possibly believe him? 4. Mrs. Cumming’s birthday wasn’t a grand affair, just a few family members. She really liked Selena, finding her articulate and endearing. I heard that when Vernon and I first divorced, she had actively tried to set him up with Selena. But Vernon hadn’t agreed. Perhaps he thought a secret affair was more exciting. Today was no different. Vernon bypassed me, reaching directly for Selena’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for you.” “You child, you rarely come to visit me. Without you, I don’t even have anyone to confide in here.” She took Selena’s hand, making her sit beside her. She didn’t spare me a glance the entire time. Accustomed to this, I calmly placed the gift on the table. “Vernon’s gift for you, chosen by Miss Quinn.” Mrs. Cumming, who hadn’t looked at me once, unexpectedly glanced my way. After a moment, she picked up the gift box, examined it, then had Selena put it on. “Your taste is so good.” “Unlike some people, not only do they have bad taste, they lack common sense.” “Such an eyesore.” If it were before, I would have certainly been unable to bear it and would have turned and left. However, I simply stood by, listening quietly, reacting like a dead person. Vernon frowned, suddenly feeling something was off. It seemed that ever since that incident at the restaurant where Elara ran into him and Selena, she had been like this. Overly calm. Or rather… indifferent. For the first time. Vernon got drunk in his own home. For some reason, Elara remained in his mind: standing to the side, head down, silent, seemingly indifferent to everything. Was she truly… indifferent? Vernon drank even more. Unable to return home, he had to stay overnight at the ancestral estate. Selena also stayed overnight. In the room next to Vernon and mine. A deliberate arrangement. I understood Mrs. Cumming’s intention. So, when Vernon, fueled by alcohol, pressed me down that night, trying to kiss me, I pushed him away. I straightened his lapel, smiling faintly. “Wait a moment.” Then I went out and called Selena over. Under Selena’s shocked gaze, I closed the door on her and Vernon. Afterward, I drove away from the Cumming ancestral estate. Ten minutes later, I received a call from Vernon. He suppressed his voice and asked me, “What do you mean by this?” I looked at the road illuminated by the car headlights and said softly, “Last time when you were drunk and held me, you called out Miss Quinn’s name all night.” “I thought this time would be the same.” Vernon roared into the phone, “I didn’t call her name this time!” My voice remained soft. “Hmm, I know.” “But what if you did call her name midway? I was thinking of you.” The call ended. He never called again.

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Simon’s best friend opened a swanky new club. He sweet-talked me, saying it was just a one-time thing to support his friend. But then “one time” turned into many. “Ann is so pitiful, unloved by her parents, forced to make a living here at such a young age.” That’s why he needed to go often, to “support” her. I couldn’t understand, so I decided to visit the club myself. There, I unexpectedly stumbled upon Leo, who was being bullied. Similarly unloved by his parents, he also had a sickly younger sister. Seeing the boy’s cold, broken demeanor, I thought, perhaps I could be his supporter. 1. Originally, I had no intention of meeting Ann. As my husband’s suspected, or actively ongoing, affair partner, we were destined to be on opposing sides. Unless, of course, she was completely oblivious, but the reality was clearly otherwise. So, I despised her. And meeting someone you dislike is an utterly draining experience. I refused to put myself through that. But today—it was my birthday, and our seventh wedding anniversary. The candlelight dinner, the exquisite cake… neither had been touched. Ann’s call came through. “They’re all forcing me to drink, but I really can’t. I’m so scared, brother, please come and save me, okay?” The girl was crying hysterically. Fragile, pathetic. It instantly ignited Simon’s protective instincts. He hung up the phone, mumbled an apology to me, and got up to leave. Without a moment of hesitation. I stopped him: “Do you have to go?” The same excuse, time and again. I was tired of hearing it. Yet, Simon remained consistently worried. Stopped by me, his usual composure vanished. His tone even carried obvious impatience. Every word a reprimand. “I’ve told you repeatedly, Ann is unloved by her parents, forced to make a living in that kind of place. She’s already so pitiful.” “Celeste, don’t be so heartless. Have a little more sympathy, alright?” With that, he disregarded my protests and left decisively. I watched his retreating back, and then the dining table. The birthday candles he had just lit, then abandoned. The candlelight flickered, beautiful. But wax had dripped onto the cake. It was ruined. I had a slight germ phobia, so I couldn’t eat it anymore. As for the candles, I leaned down and gently blew them out. Then I made a wish: “Celeste, don’t feel wronged, and don’t run away.” 2. The club was lavish, and clients were strictly invitation-only. Fortunately, I had the backing of my parents. The Harrington family was one of the most prominent in the city. They wouldn’t dare block my entry. Initially, I intended to go straight to Ann. But as I stepped into the main hall on the ground floor, I noticed several tipsy socialites. They were circling a young man, laughing and teasing. They even poured their drinks all over his head, tormenting him for amusement. I happened to know a bit about these young men. Because of their shared preferences, they often ganged up, ruining one pretty boy after another. This time, I supposed, was no exception. I hadn’t planned to help. There were too many pitiful people in this world. I wasn’t a saint. I couldn’t save everyone. Donating a large sum to orphanages every year was enough for my conscience. So, I hadn’t intended to interfere. Until he suddenly pushed through the crowd, stumbled, and then tripped deliberately. He fell right in front of me. How to describe it? He was utterly captivating. His delicate features were beautiful, and that went without saying. He was originally dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, thin and slender. But with several drinks spilled on him, the defiant, handsome boy now had an added air of cold, shattered vulnerability. What was subtly visible beneath his shirt only made one want to explore further. The term “fragile beauty,” usually reserved for girls, suited him perfectly. Humans, with their inherent flaws, always show more patience towards beautiful things. I was no exception. “Leo, we’re doing you a favor by letting you serve us drinks! Don’t you dare disrespect us!” the leader of the group shouted, rushing over. He looked down at Leo, who was sprawled on the floor, his eyes full of anger and menace. But as he recognized Leo’s face, his expression shifted to lust and greed. He even reached out, uncontrollably, to touch the boy’s face. Leo tried to dodge, but he seemed to have twisted his ankle. He struggled several times but couldn’t get up, his eyes filled with helplessness and humiliation. Finally, his pleading gaze fell upon me. His voice was soft. He said, “Help me.” Looking at Leo’s face, more beautiful than any girl’s, now pale from the bullying, his lips even bruised. He looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed, vulnerable and utterly endearing. It was hard to be heartless and not help him. In that instant, I thought of Ann. The girl Simon described as—equally fragile and pitiful, needing protection. So, this was the so-called protective urge. It was indeed hard to refuse. I tugged at the corner of my mouth. A little self-deprecating, but I still stepped in front of Leo. Facing those detestable socialites, I declared my identity directly: “My name is Harrington, Celeste Harrington.” No need for further words. Customers who could afford to patronize Moonlight were all influential figures in our circle, and the Harrington name spoke for itself. The young men exchanged glances. Finally, they backed down. But as they left, they couldn’t help but look back at Leo with resentment, a sinister smile playing on their lips. “Miss Harrington already has a husband. Even if she’s interested in you now, it’s only temporary. One day, you’ll still fall into our hands!” This wasn’t untrue. If my marriage to Simon hadn’t been troubled, and with the Harrington family’s strict upbringing, even if I saved Leo temporarily, at most I’d help him leave this place. I wouldn’t interfere much beyond that. After all, everyone has their own fate. He and I were not related; helping once could be considered a kindness. But I had no obligation to manage his future. He seemed to understand this. Struggling to get up from the floor, he ignored the menacing socialites. Instead, he sincerely thanked me. “Thank you, big sister, no matter what.” He was likely young, eighteen or nineteen, radiating youth and freshness, perfectly complemented by that captivating face. The address “big sister” touched my heart somewhat. However, just as I was about to speak, a loud commotion suddenly erupted nearby—drawing the attention of almost everyone in the lobby. 3. Simon had gotten into a fight. Three against one. While fighting, he didn’t forget to shield the young woman behind him. Three executives whose names I knew. In no time, Simon had kicked them all to the ground, even stepping on one’s chest, his eyes ruthless. “Ann is under my protection. How dare you force her to drink?” At his words, the executive with a black eye, fuming, retorted, “If she doesn’t drink, then what is she selling?” Another executive, still bleeding from his nose, also accused, “Besides, we had an agreement! She said for every drink she had, we’d buy a bottle. She’s the one who told us to buy ten bottles!” The executive with Simon’s foot on his chest was the most aggrieved. He practically roared, “She tricked us into buying a million dollars worth of alcohol, then didn’t drink a single drop, making it seem like we were bullying her! Do we look like such suckers?” In clubs like this, it was an unwritten rule: to get customers to buy drinks, you had to at least have a few with them. After all, with a 10% commission, a million dollars in alcohol meant a hundred thousand for her. If you wanted to make money fast, you couldn’t have it both ways. Of course, not drinking was fine, it just meant it would be hard to sell much alcohol and earn significant commission. But Ann’s behavior—making an agreement with customers and then going back on it—I had never seen before. Others likely hadn’t either. So, the crowd in the lobby, after hearing the executives’ accusations, couldn’t help but whisper among themselves. But it didn’t matter, in this circle, it was all about power. So Simon could be unreasonable. Because his name was Harrington, and he was the heir to the Harrington family, one of the top elite families. He naturally spoke up: “Ann is pitiful, unloved by her parents. She just wants to earn some money for her tuition. Do you really need to pressure her like this? Can’t you be more understanding?” At his words, not only were the executives dumbfounded, but even I couldn’t help but want to laugh. Ever since Simon first “accidentally” rescued Ann at Moonlight, he had learned about the stubborn and tragic fate of this girl. The young woman’s delicate face, streaked with tears, made his heart ache. That’s why he repeatedly came to Moonlight to stand up for her. He even declared to me, emphatically, that he was merely pitying a young girl. Even when I suggested: “If he’s truly honorable and genuinely wants to help her, he could offer her a small clerical position in one of our companies. Wouldn’t that be better than working here?” A Fortune 500 company, even a minor clerical role, was an offer countless students from top universities would claw their way to get. Now, it was being offered directly to her. Wasn’t that enough? No. Not only was it not enough, it was an insult. Ann said: “Here, I earn money with my own skills and hands. I live with integrity. If I went to your company, that would be through favoritism. I don’t want to be a hothouse flower; I can grow into a towering tree on my own!” Her words were firm and ringing, and Simon admired her even more, turning to scold me. “Celeste, don’t insult people with your money and connections!” That was the first intense argument Simon and I had. Then came the second, and the third. Even now, I still couldn’t understand Ann’s claims of independence and relying solely on herself. After all, she called Simon two out of three days, asking him to come to Moonlight to rescue her. The remaining day, under the guise of gratitude, she spent twenty-four hours by his side, acting as a dutiful “little maid.” Whether it was genuine gratitude or a form of flirtation, only they knew. However, at this moment, Ann, hiding behind him, couldn’t help but speak up: “I really didn’t mean to deceive you. I just wanted to save up for tuition and living expenses, which is why I came here to make a living. But I genuinely can’t drink; I get dizzy, I get sick.” Ann cried as she spoke, also eighteen or nineteen, full of youthful collagen, and her crying was truly pitiful. Simon’s heartache was almost expected. He pulled her into his arms, then took out a black card from his pocket, looking at the Moonlight manager standing nearby. He simply said coldly: “I’ll cover all of Ann’s future earnings.” Ann shook her head, biting her lip stubbornly. “Brother, I know you mean well, but I still want to earn money with my own abilities. Besides, you’re already married. If you spend more money on me, your wife would be unhappy.” Hearing this, Simon’s eyes softened even more, tinged with helplessness. “I offered you a job at my company before, where I could protect you. It would be safer than here, wouldn’t it? Why did you refuse?” “Because I don’t want people saying I got in through favoritism. I want to earn money with my own skills.” Ann shook her head, her attitude still firm. Simon chuckled, his tone impossibly doting: “How can there be such a stubborn, silly girl in the world?” With that, he dropped his smile, then leaned down and publicly kissed Ann on the cheek. In front of everyone, he declared: “Ann has me to back her up from now on. Let’s see who dares to bully her again.” 4. Ann was well-behaved, leaning against Simon, her face flushed. She then playfully punched Simon a few times, her lips slightly pouted: “Who needs your protection? I can live very well on my own.” Simon coaxed her: “Yes, yes, Ann is the most amazing.” They laughed and played around so brazenly. Many people recognized Simon’s identity. And the marriage between the Harrington and Sterling families. The grand wedding seven years ago was known to almost everyone in the city. So, while teasing Simon about his new conquest, they couldn’t help but mention me. “In our circles, which husband doesn’t have a few women outside? But I thought Simon would be an exception.” “Who wouldn’t agree? Celeste and Simon, childhood sweethearts, a truly perfect match. I remember Simon offered his entire fortune as a dowry just to marry Celeste, which finally convinced Old Man Harrington to agree.” “And that’s not all. A few years ago, when the Cloudhaven Mall caught fire and Celeste was trapped inside, Simon didn’t care about his own life and rushed into the blaze just to save his wife.” “For these past seven years, Simon and Celeste’s relationship has been incredibly good. How many aspiring actresses and models tried to gain favor, only to be firmly rejected by Simon?” “Ultimately, it’s just that he hadn’t met the right person before.” “Miss Harrington is going to be heartbroken this time.”

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Liam, my boyfriend, deliberately locked me on the rooftop the day before my piano competition finals, just so his childhood friend could win. He stared at me intently, his voice low: “You’ll have plenty of other opportunities later. What’s the big deal about letting her have this one?” Later, to secure his childhood friend a spot in the orchestra, he even shattered my fingers with his own hands. I angrily confronted him, demanding to know why, when we were the couple. He replied: “Willow, Eloise’s mother saved my life back then. I have to fulfill this wish for her.” But what he didn’t know was that, without my hands, I was as good as dead. When I decided I no longer loved him, he smashed his own hand, begging for my forgiveness. … “Please, Liam, please don’t hurt my hands!” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face, twisting and struggling, shaking my head desperately. In this moment, I had no dignity, begging Liam to spare me. All because tomorrow was the day for orchestra auditions. If I performed exceptionally, I wouldn’t only secure a spot in a renowned orchestra, but I’d also have the chance to become a student of the legendary piano master, Mr. Fletcher. For tomorrow’s performance, I had tirelessly practiced in the music room, all to seize this once-in-four-years opportunity. Because this wasn’t just my dream; it was also the heartfelt wish my late mother had entrusted to me. With the long-awaited opportunity finally within reach tomorrow, my boyfriend, Liam, was paving the way for his childhood friend, Eloise Clark. Right now, he was using two bodyguards to hold me down, intending to smash my hands. All to ensure I couldn’t participate in tomorrow’s orchestra selection, thus allowing his childhood friend to win the competition. I knew Liam was biased, but I never imagined he would be this biased. Liam clearly heard my pleas, yet he still approached me step by step, a dark expression on his face, holding a stool. He stared at me intently, his voice low: “I’m sorry, Willow. You’re a genius, everything has come easily to you, so you don’t understand how difficult Eloise’s path has been. You’ll have plenty of other opportunities later. Just let her have this one, alright?” Just because Eloise’s path was difficult, did that mean mine wasn’t? I stared at him in disbelief, my heart filled with anguish: “So, for her, you’re going to smash my hands?!” “Do you remember? You once said you’d protect me and cherish me for life. But now, for Eloise Clark, you’re doing this to me.” Hearing my words, Liam’s body stiffened, his expression visibly wavering. I noticed his hesitation and felt a flicker of hope, quickly continuing: “Liam, for the sake of all these years we’ve been together, please let me go. Playing the piano has always been my dream too.” The next second, Liam’s phone rang. I caught a glimpse of “Eloise” on the screen, and my heart sank. Liam put it on speaker, and Eloise’s pitiful voice clearly reached my ears. “Liam, I get so nervous thinking about tomorrow’s performance, what should I do?” “I know I’ve always been no match for Willow all these years, but entering the orchestra is my dream, and it’s also my mother’s dream. I…” Hearing Eloise’s voice, a trace of heartache involuntarily flashed in Liam’s eyes. He lowered his voice, gently comforting her: “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you.” I stared at him, my unease intensifying. With that, Liam hung up. His gaze returned to me, cold once more. “I’m sorry, Willow. Eloise’s mother saved my life back then, so I have to fulfill this wish for her.” “Don’t worry, I’ll compensate you.” I was so terrified my voice trembled: “Liam, you… you can’t do this to me!” But Liam had already raised the stool in his hand, and meeting my terrified gaze, he brought it down heavily. “Ah!” Ten fingers, ten pains. The searing agony made me unleash a desperate scream. My fingers were instantly a bloody, mangled mess. I stared blankly at my hands. The physical pain, however, was far less than the emotional torment. Ruined… Everything was ruined… My hands, and my mother’s dream, all vanished with Liam’s single blow. Large tears streamed down my cheeks. At this, Liam rushed forward and embraced me. I leaned quietly against his broad, warm chest, but the voice above my head was chilling: “I’m sorry, Willow, just forgive me this once.” “I know this isn’t fair to you. But Eloise’s mother died saving me. Once she successfully joins the orchestra, I’ll have repaid my debt.” “Repaid your debt?” I repeated bitterly. “Liam, so your way of repaying Eloise Clark’s debt is to hurt me.” I pushed him away with all my might, holding up my blood-soaked hands, a flicker of hatred in my eyes: “Do you know how long I’ve worked tirelessly for tomorrow’s opportunity?” Perhaps startled by the hatred in my eyes, Liam’s face actually showed a hint of guilt. But quickly, he became impatient again, his voice cold: “Enough, what are you still making a fuss about? This has always been Eloise’s dream, and her mother’s dying wish.” In that moment, I finally, completely gave up on this callous and ungrateful man. I sneered: “How dare you destroy me for her dream?” Liam spoke indifferently: “It’s alright, Willow. I know you’re upset. Don’t worry, I’ll compensate you well. Once Eloise is in the orchestra, I’ll bring you into the Thorne family, ensuring you’ll be well-provided for for the rest of your life.” Hearing those words, my stomach churned with disgust. I took a deep breath, speaking each word distinctly: “Alright, then let me tell you, I don’t need your so-called compensation. From now on, I’m breaking up with you.” “Are you serious?” Liam’s face suddenly changed, and he said darkly: “I don’t agree.” He frowned, glaring at me, almost gritting his teeth: “Willow, I’ll let this slide this time. If you dare to say that again, I really will break up with you.” With that, Liam no longer looked at me, turning angrily and walking away. I watched his retreating back, helplessly collapsing onto the cold floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Liam and I met in college. He pulled me out of the way when I was lost in thought crossing the street, saving me from being hit by a car. I looked up, still shaken, and met a handsome, aloof face. It was because of his life-saving grace that I fell uncontrollably in love with him. With my fervent pursuit, Liam agreed to be with me. But as our relationship progressed, I gradually discovered that in Liam’s heart, there seemed to be someone more important than me. That was Eloise Clark, his childhood friend, who had grown up with him. Each time Eloise made a call, Liam would rush to her side without a second thought. He even, for Eloise, tricked me onto the rooftop and locked me in, the day before a major piano competition final. And so, I was locked on the rooftop for an entire night, not only missing the competition the next day but also developing a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Eloise, meanwhile, smoothly won first place. Afterward, Liam lightly explained that he did it only to repay a debt. Eloise came from a single-parent family; her mother was the Thorne family’s housekeeper. She had lived with her mother at the Thorne estate since childhood. During a large fire, Eloise’s mother had already escaped, but she returned to the burning building to save Liam. Ultimately, Liam was rescued safely, but Eloise’s mother suffered severe burns and passed away in the hospital not long after. Out of this gratitude, the Thorne family raised Eloise almost as their own daughter. They cherished her, sympathized with her. And whenever Eloise had a request, Liam would fulfill it. Just like now, to prevent me, Eloise’s most formidable competitor, from appearing in tomorrow’s audition, Liam ruthlessly shattered my fingers. But why should his debt to Eloise be repaid with my hands, with my dreams? Whenever I questioned his relationship with Eloise, Liam would furiously tell me that he only saw Eloise as a sister. He told me not to overthink things. Before, for Liam’s life-saving grace and the admiration in my heart, I had chosen to forgive him again and again. But now, looking at my bloody, horrific hands, I cried and laughed, laughed and cried. At six years old, my father had an affair and abandoned my mother and me. My mother was devastated, driven to self-harm by his departure. Her profound depression, coupled with the scars on her hands, once made her abandon her dream of playing the piano. Until one day, my despondent mother heard me playing a song at the piano and her eyes lit up. She began to pick herself up, working tirelessly to earn money. She personally taught me piano and hired renowned teachers for me, sending me to various competitions. My mother delivered food, washed dishes, and single-handedly raised me with great difficulty. Perhaps because she suffered so much to raise me, my mother died prematurely of cancer during my college years. On her deathbed, she held my hand and told me her dying wish. It was for me to continue to pursue piano, to join an orchestra, and to become a student of the great Mr. Fletcher. But now, because I fell in love with Liam, I missed the competition, my hands were ruined, and perhaps… I would never be able to play the piano again. I used to not understand why my mother was so despondent and even self-harmed because of my father’s departure. So, Mother, is this the price of loving someone? Then this time, I truly don’t dare to love again…

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My husband, Sebastian, carried the “super-male” gene. He became obsessed with me, hounding me for three years, simply because I saved his life. He intentionally ran over and crippled my childhood sweetheart, Liam. He threatened to murder my entire family if I didn’t marry him. Seven years into our marriage, his possessiveness turned monstrous. He had a tracking chip implanted in my body, ruthlessly controlling my every move. Yet, at the same time, he showered me with affection and indulged my every whim. When his mother dared to point a finger at me in anger, he snapped it clean off. When his sister’s child disturbed my afternoon nap, he threw both of them out of the house and severed all ties. I refused to bear a child with his “super-male” gene, so he invested his entire fortune into developing cutting-edge gene screening technology, allowing me to conceive a healthy baby. But on the very day my pregnancy test came back positive, his mother burst into our home with a group of people. She accused me of infidelity, of carrying a bastard child, and beat me until I miscarried. As I lay there, clinging to life, Sebastian finally arrived. His mother held up a doctored video and declared, “Son! Your wife has been cheating and is carrying a bastard! Look, this is the proof!” … Staring at the two lines on the pregnancy test, I fell into a deep contemplation. After almost a decade of this twisted entanglement with Sebastian, a child was finally on the way. Maybe it was time to just give in. Even if he was a rabid dog, I was the one holding the leash. With that thought solidified, I snapped a photo of the test and sent it to Sebastian, who was away on a business trip. A moment later, a furious clamor erupted downstairs. I peered out the window to find his mother, who I hadn’t seen in ages, leading a gaggle of white-haired old women. They were striding along, shouting insults. “What a disgrace to our family, to suffer such a thing.” “Ladies, if she hadn’t gone too far, would we ever air this dirty laundry in public?” “Today, I’m willing to sacrifice my reputation to tear that cheating tramp to shreds!” I listened for a few sentences, then lost interest. After Sebastian and I married, his mother always believed I’d stolen her son. She subtly, then overtly, antagonized me until Sebastian broke her finger and banished her from our lives. Our relationship was, to say the least, abysmal. Minutes later, a knock echoed at the door. I checked the time. It was only nine. Why was our cook here so early today? Puzzled, I opened the door. His mother, trailed by her entourage of old women, barged in without an invitation. Before I could even grasp what was happening, his mother’s crooked finger jabbed at me. “Everyone, look! This is the wicked daughter-in-law who, shortly after marrying my son, convinced him to break my finger!” “She also made my son throw me, my daughter, and my grandson out of the house, cutting off all contact!” My brows furrowed in displeasure. “This is my home. Please leave.” But his mother suddenly raised her hand and slapped me. “You little hussy! My son poured his heart and soul into you all these years, but you cheated on him and shamed him!” A searing pain flared across my face, leaving my head ringing. Since marrying Sebastian, if anyone so much as brushed against me accidentally, he’d immediately beat them to a pulp. If he ever found out his mother had struck me today, she would be in for a world of pain. To avert a potential family tragedy, I swallowed my anger and warned, “Leave now, and I can pretend today never happened.” Sebastian, for all his gentle demeanor with me, was genuinely dangerous. With others, he was utterly ruthless. But his mother showed no signs of backing down. She lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “Tramp, feeling guilty, are we? If you dare to cheat, you’d better be ready to face the consequences.” I wrenched myself free, my face cold. “Dare to accuse me of cheating? Have you forgotten how your finger was broken?” Sebastian’s possessiveness was disturbingly extreme. After we married, to constantly monitor my whereabouts, he’d had a tracking chip implanted in my body. There wasn’t even a male mosquito in my vicinity, yet she claimed I was cheating. It was utterly ridiculous. I’d thought reminding his mother of that incident would make her back off. But she simply slapped me again. “Still playing innocent! Such good acting, why don’t you become an actress!” “Since I dared to come, of course, I have undeniable proof.” With that, his mother pulled out her phone, tapping to play a video. It showed a scantily clad woman passionately kissing a man. The woman was then pushed down, emitting suggestive moans. The video was incredibly explicit, and most disturbingly, the woman’s face was identical to mine. One of the old women with his mother gasped, “Shameless! Back in the day, a woman like this, who betrayed her husband, would’ve been drowned in a pig cage!” “If that were my daughter-in-law, I’d beat her to death today!” “The world is truly going to ruin. She looks so demure, but behind closed doors, she’s doing such disgraceful things.” Listening to the endless barrage of insults from these old women, I felt a surge of both fury and panic. Never in my life had I endured such humiliation. The video was clearly a deepfake, AI-generated. I knew there was no reasoning with these old, dim-witted hags. I pulled out my phone, intending to call Sebastian. It was his mother; he should be the one to deal with her. How he chose to handle it, however, was no longer my concern. But his mother, seeing my move, snatched my phone and smashed it to the floor. The device shattered instantly. I stared at her thuggish behavior, utterly shocked. “You’re acting completely out of control today. If Sebastian finds out, even I won’t be able to protect you!” His mother scoffed. “If my son finds out about your cheating, he’ll show you who’s truly in trouble!” I glared at his mother and her group, issuing a final warning. “Your actions constitute a crime. I’m giving you one last chance to leave.” One of his mother’s old friends sneered, “Preposterous! Cheating and still acting so self-righteous!” “Exactly! Eleanor, you need to assert your authority as a mother-in-law today and teach this hussy a good lesson!” Spurred on by their words, his mother strode forward and kicked one of my prized, intricately carved golden sandalwood chairs, snapping it in two. “You eat and live off my son! Without him, you’d still be sleeping on a hard cot in the slums! What right do you have to tell me to leave!” His mother’s act instantly drew cheers from the old women, who hailed her as powerful and intimidating. Encouraged, they began to mimic her, smashing the remaining three chairs. This set of golden sandalwood furniture had cost Sebastian a fortune, bought specifically to make me happy. One woman grabbed a precious antique glass chalice from my table, clearly intending to smash it. My face darkened. “That chalice is an antique, worth twenty million.” At my words, the woman visibly flinched. Seeing this, his mother stepped forward, grabbed the chalice, and hurled it to the floor, shattering it. “Everything here belongs to my son! I said, today, everyone is free to smash things. We need to show this tramp a lesson!” With his mother’s declaration, the group of old women went wild, wrecking the house. I watched their every move, my expression cold. Every item they destroyed would become evidence for their eventual imprisonment. Suddenly, one old woman patted his mother’s shoulder. “Eleanor, look at her, she’s glaring at you!” “Everything you’re smashing now is your son’s hard-earned money. It won’t affect this hussy at all.” “Only by teaching this tramp a severe lesson will she remember it.” Hearing this, his mother looked up at me, a cruel glint in her eyes. She stalked toward me. They outnumbered me; I knew I was outmatched. A smart woman doesn’t suffer immediate defeat. I quickly ran toward the door. But his mother grabbed my arm, yanking me back. A sharp pain shot through my knee, and I crumpled to the floor. His mother planted her foot on my thigh, grinding it down with force. Pain flared, and I cried out. She cursed, “You little hussy, so good at faking weakness! I barely touched you, and you’re moaning like that for who?” I glared at her. “Eleanor Finch, you will regret everything you’ve done today!” “Still defiant, are we? Today, I’m going to teach you manners and show you how a daughter-in-law should behave.” From the day I married Sebastian, his mother had been desperate to teach me “manners.” She’d even drawn up a list, including washing her feet and underwear daily. I’d heard that Sebastian’s grandmother had treated his mother the same way, and his mother was eager to inflict it upon me. It was an age-old tradition: women often tormented other women. But she’d forgotten that my husband had the “super-male” gene, and I hadn’t married him willingly. The list never even reached my hands before Sebastian tore it to shreds, yelling at her. His mother, furious but terrified of her son, had been unable to vent her anger on me. Today, she finally had her chance. She instructed her old companions to fetch a basin of water from the bathroom. Grabbing my hair, she snarled, “In the old days, women who cheated were drowned in pig cages. Today, you’ll get a taste of it.” With that, she shoved my head into the basin filled with icy water. The cold enveloped my mouth and nose, and an instant wave of suffocating pain washed over me. My body thrashed violently, desperate to escape her grip, but I couldn’t. Just as I felt I was reaching my limit, on the verge of drowning, she yanked my hair again, pulling my head from the water. I gasped for air, my face and body drenched, utterly humiliated. “Tramp, will you still dare to be arrogant, relying on my son? I raised him with such difficulty, and you treat him like a servant? Did I give you permission for that?” After I’d regained my breath, I glared at her, an infinite hatred welling up inside me. “If you have the guts, kill me today. Otherwise, I will make you pay!” In that moment, I hated Sebastian with all my heart. It was because he’d forced me to marry him that I was enduring all this. Eleanor, fueled by rage, slapped me again. A thin trickle of blood traced the corner of my mouth. “Still defiant! If I can’t humble you today, my life has been a waste!” With that, Eleanor shoved my head back into the basin. This time, she held it down even longer than before. The cycle repeated, leaving me utterly exhausted and drained. At this point, someone, seeing my pale face, interjected, “Eleanor, just teach her a lesson. Don’t actually kill her.” “Exactly, it’s not like the old days. Killing a daughter-in-law means jail time, and we’d all be accessories!” At the mention of jail, more voices joined in, urging Eleanor to stop. Eleanor, with a harsh yank, flung my hair, and I lay half-drenched on the floor. She sneered, “Today, I’ll let you go for now, you drowned dog. But I’ll make my son deal with your cheating myself!” I thought weakly, When Sebastian makes you beg on your knees, I won’t utter a single word to help you, not like before. Just then, an old woman emerged from the bathroom, holding my pregnancy test. She handed it to Eleanor. Seeing it, Eleanor’s eyes blazed, and she delivered a furious kick to my body. “You wretched woman! You’re even pregnant with a bastard!” My body instinctively curled, my hands flying to shield my stomach. Eleanor moved to kick me again. Fearing for my unborn child, I quickly cried out, “It’s not a bastard! It’s Sebastian’s baby!” Eleanor roared, “You tramp, don’t try to fool me! Don’t think I don’t know you never wanted my son’s child! You made him get a vasectomy ages ago!” She pointed at me, incensed. “You vile woman, you want to leave my family without an heir!” When Sebastian and I first married, he constantly refused to use protection. I’d bought dozens of birth control pill packs, throwing them in front of him, declaring that every time he touched me, I’d take a pill. I refused to bear a child with his “super-male” gene. Worried about the medication’s harm to my body, he’d eventually gotten a vasectomy. His old companions, hearing this, were equally outraged. For women their age, nothing was more important than progeny. “This woman’s heart is too wicked! Not only did she make her own husband infertile, but she wants him to raise another man’s child!” “Oh, these women’s minds are completely twisted now! My last daughter-in-law also cheated on my son and bore a bastard child. I served her for three years before I found out!” “If I had known earlier, I would have aborted her bastard child, no matter what!” Stung by the old women’s words, Eleanor’s eyes fixed on me with malevolent intent. “That’s right! Today, I’m going to abort the bastard in your belly, to prevent it from growing up and harming society!” A panic I’d never known surged through me. I looked at Eleanor, desperately explaining, “He’s truly not a bastard! Sebastian’s company developed cutting-edge gene screening technology, allowing me to conceive a healthy baby!” “If you don’t believe me, call Sebastian and ask him!” “You wretched woman! Do you think I don’t know what you’re plotting? Sebastian is so utterly bewitched by you, he wouldn’t hurt you even if he knew you cheated!” “But I, as his mother, cannot let him endure this utter humiliation!” With that, she brutally kicked me in the lower abdomen. A searing, bone-deep pain spread from the depths of my core.

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On my fifth year of courting the villain of this novel, he finally agreed to marry me. The day of the wedding, the grand chandelier in the hall suddenly plunged. In that critical moment, he violently pushed me aside, shielding the trembling protagonist, his true love, Eleanor. His arm was gashed, a large stain of blood blossoming across his white tuxedo. Eleanor, in his arms, was completely unharmed. Clutching the bleeding gash on my neck, I finally accepted the truth: he didn’t love me. The System appeared, asking, “Do you want to end the mission early?” I nodded. “Since he’s destined to lose his limbs and suffer a fate worse than death because of her, I’ll grant him that wish.” 1 “Are you sure, Host? Once confirmed, there’s no turning back, no room for reversal.” The System sighed, a touch of regret in its tone. After all, the System was born from my wish. It had sent me into this book when I despaired over Elias’s tragic fate, hoping I could change his ending. I pressed a hand to my neck, where blood was faintly seeping, feeling lightheaded. “I did my best…” Elias was the villain of this story, his character twisted by a childhood devoid of love. As an adult, he would go to hell and back for even the smallest kindness from Eleanor. In the end, saving her would lead to him losing all his limbs, becoming a mere torso—a living death. I’d been in this world for five years, meticulously documenting his every joy and sorrow, staying by his side to redeem him. Everyone knew I loved him. I was the only one who had seen his dark side and wasn’t afraid. Initially, he was hostile towards me, distrusting my words, his eyes only for Eleanor. I knew his cruelty. When he deliberately aimed a small knife at me, I stood still, letting him stab me near my heart. The smile on his lips froze, replaced by shock and confusion. I smiled and told him that in this world, he wasn’t the only one willing to give everything for the person they loved. I was too. I won that gamble. He personally took me to the hospital. From then on, he stopped speaking to me with malice. He loved racing. I knew nothing about cars, but to earn a smile from him, I worked desperately, barely sleeping three hours a night, to buy him a global limited edition helmet. But in the fifth year, he had an accident during a race and disappeared. I searched for him tirelessly, without sleep, for an entire day. When he awoke and saw me, his eyes were red-rimmed. He cradled my face, murmuring against my ear. He held me so tight, as if wanting to crush me. Then, suppressed sobs echoed by my ear, and I held him back, comforting him. After he was finally discharged, the first thing he did was grab my hand, his gaze heavy. “We’ll get married someday. You won’t be able to leave then.” His words were soft, laced with a threat, but they left me stunned, unable to recover for a long time. My heart pounded so hard it made my ears ring, and my cheeks flushed. After a long while, I squeezed his hand back firmly, my eyes locked on his. “Then it’s settled, we’ll get married!” That very day, I began planning every detail of the wedding. From selecting the grand ballroom to pairing the smallest accessories on my gown, I handled everything myself. My heart and mind were completely consumed by the final vision. I even invited Eleanor to our wedding. I had been so confident, believing Elias would no longer be captivated by her. But the moment the chandelier crashed, it shattered all my beautiful dreams of these past days. I pressed my hand to the freshly bandaged wound on my neck. It still throbbed. I smiled bitterly, lowering my head to hide my tears. I pulled out my phone, telling the wedding planner to cancel everything, then removed my wedding gown and accessories, folding and sealing them away. I had thought that Elias and I had been through hardships together, that he would treat me differently. But I underestimated Eleanor’s devastating power. No matter how long I’d been with him, how much I’d given, as long as his true love was still around, I would always lose. The System couldn’t help but ask, “Host, are you truly going home?” I nodded. “Why don’t you tell me when I can go home?” “Approximately one day from now, the tunnel will reopen. During this time, you can do whatever you wish, leave no regrets.” 2 I handed the bag to Elias’s sister, Selena, who had been kind to me over the years. “After I leave, please burn this dress for me.” “I’m no longer worthy to wear it.” Selena clutched the bag, a hint of indignation in her voice. “My brother is truly awful. I’m going to go confront him right now, make him give you some severance pay before you go…” She turned to leave, but I pulled her back. “No need.” She had seen how I had treated her and Elias over the years, and she remembered it. The easing of her relationship with Elias was also something I had worked to achieve. Just as I finished speaking, Elias appeared, clutching his freshly bandaged arm, his voice icy. “Where are you going?” I looked up at him, feeling a strange disconnect after only half a day apart. I suddenly remembered the first time I saw him. The bar was dimly lit. He leaned against the table’s edge, drinking alone. He wore a utility jacket, his posture tall and straight. His eyes were dark, his lips a thin line, as if pushing the world away. But with just one glance, I was captivated, unable to tear my eyes away. Over the years, I had seen so many expressions from him, but the gentleness he reserved for Eleanor, I had never witnessed. My thoughts returned to the present. I spoke. “You misheard.” “I was just asking my sister to dispose of some unimportant things for me.” The more I spoke, the more my gaze drifted, as if trying to convince myself. Yes. I came empty-handed, and I’ll leave empty-handed. Elias stared at me for a long moment, seemingly unable to find fault with my words. Finally, he conceded and left. That’s right, I thought. This is the normal him. He was always so taciturn with me, only becoming more talkative when Eleanor was mentioned. Why would he genuinely care where I was going? 3 Soon after, the front door opened. I watched, utterly invisible to Eleanor, as she rushed upstairs to find Elias. It was as if this was her home, and I was merely a phantom. I followed her up. As she knocked on the door, a muffled “Get out” echoed from inside. Eleanor grew more frantic. “Elias, it’s me…” Click. The door quickly opened from within. I realized then that the “Get out” had been meant for me, Elias mistaking Eleanor’s knock for mine. Restraining his desire, Elias asked, “Why are you here?” “Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out you came to see me?” Eleanor’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “He’s not with me yet, he can’t control me.” “Besides, you were hurt because of me. How could I rest easy without knowing you’re okay?” I froze. My heart felt as if it had been struck by a hammer, aching dully. Her words were spoken as if I didn’t exist. Even though I had spent half a day trying to sever their ties, in their eyes, I was still nothing more than cannon fodder. Eleanor’s tears began to fall. “Don’t you want to see me?” Elias could no longer hold back. Right in front of me, he embraced Eleanor tightly. “I need you, I’ve always needed you.” I watched his eyes, red-rimmed, as if he were holding a precious treasure he had thought lost forever. Those words cruelly twisted my heart. So, what about me? Had I been a joke all along? After they had held each other long enough, Eleanor began to inspect Elias’s wound, caressing it while sniffling. “Does it hurt?” Elias looked at her, his heart aching even more. He took her hand from his neck and held it with both of his. His gaze was tender and lingering. “Don’t be scared, Eleanor. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” “Look, the doctor bandaged it well. As long as I change the dressing carefully, I’ll be fine.” “…You should go back.” Five years. I had never heard such a gentle voice from him. Clearly, only the female protagonist deserved it. 4 I couldn’t bear to watch any longer and quietly slipped away. The tears in my eyes refused to be held back, streaming down my cheeks and staining the floor. I sat in the living room for a long time, silently watching the wall clock, counting down the hours. Thankfully, only two more days, and I could leave. Never to return. After a long while, Eleanor carefully came downstairs. Her lips were redder than when she arrived. I averted my eyes, pretending not to notice. But Eleanor walked directly toward me, giving me careful instructions. “Elias is asleep now, don’t wake him.” “I’ve been a bit busy lately and can’t come often. You must take care of him, don’t let him get hurt again.” “Although he has a bad temper, he’s a good person. If he ever yells at you, just come to me, and I’ll get justice for you.” She held my hand, her smugness barely concealed. I subtly pulled my hand away, unable to resist snapping back, “I’m his fiancée, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” The smugness on her face grew more pronounced. She scoffed. “If I hadn’t allowed it, do you think you’d have had a chance to be with him?” “You think too highly of yourself. I’m his true love; you’re just my stand-in.” “Do what a stand-in is supposed to do.” It was strange. It felt as if I had been utterly broken. There was no ripple in my heart. “Whether I’m a stand-in or not, you don’t need to tell me.” “At least, I’m his fiancée. If we don’t marry this time, we can always marry next time.” “You—!” Eleanor was furious, her voice rising considerably. Then she took a deep breath, composing herself. “Hmph, you only win with your mouth. I’m happy this time, so I’ll let you win.” “Next time, I’ll make you roll out of this house.” “Guess if Elias listens to me or you.” With that, she strode away, the door slamming shut. I instantly lost all strength, collapsing onto the sofa, breathing heavily. Elias came down from upstairs, unable to resist scolding me. “Why do you argue with her? I just see her as a sister…” My gaze fell on the redness at the corner of his lips, and I couldn’t help but mock him. “It seems your relationship is truly close.” He flinched, quickly raising a hand to wipe away the red on his lips. “That was just an accidental smudge. Can you stop overthinking things?” He walked over, his gaze heavy on me. But the excuse was too flimsy. I couldn’t fathom how his lips could have gotten red in such a way. When I first arrived in this world, I knew no one. I only knew to stay by his side. Everyone thought I was mad, shamelessly trying to seduce Eleanor’s man, unafraid of being bitten back. He never offered explanations, only saying, “Don’t even think about it. I won’t abandon Eleanor to be with you wholeheartedly.” I cried until my eyes were red, locking myself in my room, refusing to eat or see Elias. He broke down the door, dragged me out, his expression cold. “Do you think if you starve yourself to death, I’d spare you a second glance? You might as well make the most of things.” I understood his underlying meaning, taking it as comfort. And just like that, I was placated. After that, no matter what outsiders said, I remained indifferent. When someone called me his lapdog, his expression never changed. Yet now, he was worried I would suspect his true love, forbidding me from insulting her. I lowered my head, wiping away my tears. “You’re overthinking. I’m not imagining things.” Elias looked at me with a questioning gaze. I continued, “Next time I see her, I’ll apologize.” 5 Late at night, I looked at my neck in the mirror, unable to stop tracing the wound. An entire day had passed, and such a visible injury, yet Elias hadn’t noticed it. It was as if he was certain I couldn’t be hurt. That day was pure chaos. Only Selena helped me up and took me to the hospital. “After all this time, I really thought my brother loved you. He’s such a private person, yet he was willing to invite so many people to his wedding.” “But you were right beside him, and he still pushed you away to save Eleanor, who was some distance away!” “It’s clear he doesn’t love you at all!” My face was ashen that day, speckles of blood staining my wedding gown. But Elias’s eyes didn’t spare me a single glance. His arms were wrapped tightly around Eleanor, shielding her from all the glass shards, protecting her so she was completely unharmed. Eleanor huddled in his arms for a long time before she reacted, pushing him away with restraint. “Your wife is hurt, you should go check on her.” Elias didn’t listen. Instead, he scanned Eleanor up and down several times before sighing in relief. “It’s good that you’re alright. I knew she wouldn’t be seriously hurt.” Selena helped me stumble out of the banquet hall, tears of pain streaming down my face. Recalling that day, the pain seemed to return once more. I couldn’t help but flinch, trying to shake it off. But a bitter ache still lingered in my heart. Only in moments of life-threatening danger could one truly see if someone loved them. As long as I left this place, I could heal myself. With time, I would completely forget Elias. It would be as if I had never been here.

Five years after my death, my doctor husband, Sauron, demanded once again that I take the fall for a medical malpractice suit involving his first love. He burst into my old apartment, clutching a forged agreement, only to find a house thick with dust. In a panic, he grabbed the corner store owner downstairs, questioning my whereabouts. The owner, however, told him: “Chloe Finch? She died five years ago. I heard the family from that malpractice suit, driven by grief, ambushed her in an alley one night and stabbed her over a dozen times.” My husband refused to believe it, convinced the owner had been paid to lie for me. He raised an eyebrow, a cold sneer on his face. “So, just because I suspended her for two years, she’s throwing a tantrum now?!” “Tell her, if she doesn’t show up in three days, I’m stopping her sister’s cancer treatment payments!” With that, he cursed and slammed the door behind him. The owner watched his retreating back, shaking his head with a sigh: “What sister? Her sister died years ago, unable to afford treatment…” … In the hallway, the deadbolt clacked as a key turned. I floated on the ceiling, watching Sauron burst into my old apartment, clutching the forged agreement. He covered his nose, fanning away the dust, his hurried footsteps echoing on the floor. “Chloe Finch, get out here! Eleanor’s about to lose her license, and you’re still hiding?” I chuckled to myself, a bitter sound. After that medical malpractice incident five years ago, Sauron and I had lost touch. I never imagined his next visit would be to demand I take the blame for Eleanor’s new medical error. I couldn’t help but marvel at how deeply connected he and Eleanor still were. Sauron walked through the rooms twice, his gaze sweeping over the dusty sofa and the cobweb-strung window. His mouth twisted into an even sharper sneer. “What are you trying to do, disappear? Where could someone like you, fired from the hospital, possibly hide?” “Eleanor just texted that the police have started their investigation. You want her to go to jail, don’t you?” “I’ll give you ten seconds. Get out here now!” I watched his impatient face, thinking, Five years, and he’s still so entitled. But no matter how many sets of ten seconds he gave me, I wouldn’t obediently appear before him like I used to. Because I was dead. “Chloe Finch! Do you hear me? Why are you being so difficult about helping me out?!” He suddenly turned and kicked the bedroom door, which groaned dully. But it remained empty. Sauron impatiently “tch’ed,” then searched the rest of the apartment fruitlessly. He finally realized there truly was no one there. He muttered to himself, gritting his teeth, and slammed the door shut. The convenience store door downstairs was yanked open. Sauron grabbed the owner, who was scanning items. “Have you seen Chloe Finch? The one on the third floor.” The owner paused, wiping oil from his hands. “Chloe Finch? She died five years ago.” I saw Sauron falter, then sneer. “Who are you trying to scare? How could someone like her die?” “No, really.” The owner pointed toward the alley entrance. “Five years ago, the family from that medical malpractice suit ambushed her in the alley and stabbed her over a dozen times. She died on the way to the hospital. Who are you to her?” The overly fluent answer made a flicker of surprise cross Sauron’s eyes. His brows furrowed, and his expression showed a hint of pain that I didn’t understand. But then, his attention was drawn by a message on his phone—it was from Eleanor: “Forget it, Sauron. I’m sure Chloe still resents me and will make excuses. Don’t trouble yourself for me, I’ll just go to jail. Without me, you must take care of yourself.” That single message was enough for Sauron to conclude that my death was merely an excuse to refuse them. His fingers trembled as he replied: “What right does she have to refuse? I gave her a huge sum of money back then; when I need her, she has to show up!” “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely drag her back to take the blame. I won’t let anything happen to you!” The “message sent” notification popped up. Sauron looked up, glaring at the owner. “Don’t play this game with me! She’s definitely hiding. Did she pay you?” The owner sighed. “Young man, is this something to joke about? It was in the news back then…” “News reports are always true?” Sauron unconsciously raised his voice. He took a step closer, his eyes full of menace. “Tell her, if she doesn’t show up in three days, I’m stopping her sister’s cancer treatment payments!” The owner opened his mouth, about to say something, but Sauron sharply waved him off. “Don’t waste my time! Either she comes out, or she waits to claim her sister’s body!” With that, Sauron turned and left. The convenience store door slammed shut with a bang. The owner watched his retreating back, shaking his head, and sighed to the empty air: “What sister? Her sister died years ago, unable to afford treatment…” I floated nearby, looking at the water bottle kicked aside on the ground. My soul felt as if it were soaked in that icy liquid. That money never reached my hands. When my sister lay in her hospital bed, waiting for money to save her life, Eleanor was using it to buy imported medical equipment. And when I was stabbed and left to die in that alley, he was accompanying Eleanor at a medical seminar. Now, he was threatening a long-dead person, in the name of another long-dead person. My soul seemed trapped beside Sauron, forced to follow him home. The moment he pushed open the door, Eleanor rushed to meet him, her face alight with anticipation. “Sauron, well? Did you find Chloe Finch?” Sauron shook his head, his expression a little dazed. “No… And, they said Chloe Finch is dead?” “Dead?!” Eleanor’s eyes widened abruptly. She stumbled back half a step, her hand instinctively grabbing Sauron’s arm. “How is that possible? Is she… is she deliberately hiding from us, making that up to fool you?” Sauron frowned, saying nothing. Seeing his expression, Eleanor quickly forced a bitter smile. “It must be! Chloe must still resent what happened five years ago and doesn’t want to help me, so she made up such a lie.” “Sauron, how about… we just drop it? Don’t trouble her anymore. At worst, I’ll just turn myself in…” Sauron was silent for a while, finally nodding. “You’re right, she must be hiding.” “But this can’t just be dropped. Even if I have to dig three feet deep, I will find her and get you exonerated!” Eleanor’s eyes reddened with emotion, her voice choked. “Sauron, you’re so good to me…” “However…” Sauron suddenly cut her off, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Chloe Finch can come up with such an excuse; it seems she’s genuinely furious.” “Eleanor, this is the last time. Once she takes the fall for you and gets out of jail, let’s end things.” I stood by, so shocked I almost forgot I was dead. Sauron actually suggested breaking up with Eleanor? I remembered how he had fought with me fiercely for this woman, turning our world upside down. We had been married for less than a year when Eleanor returned to the country, even specifically transferring to our hospital. From then on, the two of them carried on an open affair right under my nose. If I so much as questioned it, he’d accuse me of being narrow-minded and paranoid. Yet now, he was actually proposing to end the relationship? Sauron didn’t notice the stiff expression on Eleanor’s face. He turned his head away, his voice softer. “I need to return to my family, eventually. I did give her money last time, but these past few years, I’ve truly neglected her.” “Honestly, deep down… I feel quite guilty.” Eleanor looked at him in disbelief. “Sauron… are you leaving me?” “I don’t know,” Sauron evaded her gaze, his brow furrowing even deeper. “Ever since I left Chloe’s apartment, I’ve felt a constant unease, like something terrible is about to happen.” He paused, his voice firming up again. “But I will definitely help you with this! I won’t stand by and watch you go to jail. I’m going to find her now. You wait for me.” With that, he turned and left, his back conveying a sense of determination and finality. Eleanor remained still. But when she looked at him, her pitiful expression was completely gone. I clearly saw her eyes, like venom-tipped blades, sinister and vicious. And the name she ground out through gritted teeth was mine. Sauron was desperate to find me, so the first place he thought of was my sister. I followed his car straight to the city hospital. This road was all too familiar to me, for before, my life had been a straight line between the hospital and home. So many years, never changing. I watched Sauron press the accelerator to the floor, his brow remaining furrowed since he got in the car. It was clear he was still fretting over Eleanor’s situation. He didn’t even bother to properly park the car, rushing into the inpatient ward and grabbing a nurse at the station. “Can you check the room number for Hazel Finch?” “…Oh, okay.” The nurse responded blankly, then began to search through records. Unexpectedly, a cold sneer suddenly echoed from nearby. “Well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Sauron, himself? What brings you to our humble little place?” Sauron turned, his face instantly darkening. It was Dr. Thorne, a chief physician who used to be in the same department as him. As far as I knew, the two had been at odds for a long time. But later, for some unknown reason, after my medical malpractice incident, Thorne had also resigned and left. Now, enemies meeting, their eyes were red with animosity. Sauron scrutinized him, responding testily, “Where I am? What’s it to you?” Thorne crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his lips. “It’s nothing to me, truly. Just curious, how can you be so cold-blooded?” “You didn’t come when they were critically ill, but now that they’re gone, you suddenly decide to look for them?” “Critically ill?” Sauron frowned deeply. “Who was critically ill?” Sauron looked completely bewildered, as if he didn’t understand. But I knew Thorne was talking about my sister and me. Back then, I was stabbed multiple times in the alley, already on the verge of death in the ambulance. They called Sauron, hoping he, as family, would come to see me one last time. But he was with Eleanor, not wanting to disturb their private time, so he hung up without even answering. When they called again later, his number was already blacklisted. My sister, too. Back then, Hazel was given a critical condition notice because she couldn’t afford treatment. When I tried to contact him, he was enjoying a carefree trip with Eleanor. As a result, my sister passed away utterly alone, with no one by her side. Watching Sauron’s bewildered expression, Thorne stared for a few seconds, then suddenly scoffed. “You’re quite the actor. Never mind, I truly don’t know what’s so good about you, to be worth so much to her.” Thorne didn’t say much more, leaving only that cryptic remark before returning to his office. Sauron stood there, his fingers slowly, unconsciously clenching into fists. This was a small gesture he made when he was nervous or afraid. But… what was he afraid of? “Dr. Sauron?” The nurse’s voice pulled him back to reality. “The patient you’re looking for…” She hesitated, then continued, “Hazel Finch, she passed away three years ago.” Sauron’s pupils constricted sharply at those words. He stood frozen, as if nailed to the spot. “What did you say? Hazel Finch is dead? Three years ago?” The nurse nodded timidly. “The system recorded it as spring, three years ago, advanced lung cancer with complications…” “Impossible! This is impossible!” Sauron suddenly lost control, banging on the nurse’s station, drawing stares from surrounding patients. But he quickly forced himself to calm down. As a fellow medical professional, he knew the hospital’s archive system couldn’t be wrong, let alone tampered with. He gripped the nurse’s wrist tightly, his voice trembling. “How could this happen? Isn’t your oncology department the best here? How could she die? And…” He suddenly remembered something, his face growing even paler. “And, I deposit money into that card every month. Eleanor just told me last week that Hazel was doing very well, all her indicators were improving…” The nurse winced at his tight grip but quickly pulled up the system records. “Dr. Sauron, that bank card was unlinked three years ago. And according to the medical records, the patient’s condition was consistently very grim, never improving.” “During the patient’s hospitalization, most of the time she used affordable alternative medications. Because a lady came several times, saying she wanted to save money, and swapped out the imported medications prescribed by the doctor.” “Later, she even completely stopped all medical payments…” Every word from the nurse was like a knife, savagely twisting in my heart. That venomous woman, Eleanor! She knew that was Hazel’s life-saving money, yet she still had the gall to take it! Sauron, upon hearing the nurse’s words, also began to tremble. Of course, he knew who did it. After all, besides Eleanor, no one would be so audacious as to touch his money. I imagine he also recalled the condition I made five years ago when I took the fall for Eleanor—to take good care of my sister. At the time, he had promised faithfully, but the result… Sauron clutched his head, crouching down, his shoulders shaking violently. “How could she… she promised me she would take good care of Hazel!” “How could she do this…” I watched Sauron in his shattered state, feeling not an ounce of sympathy. If not for his indulgence and tacit approval, how would Eleanor have dared to do such a thing? Ultimately, they were two of a kind. Suddenly, Sauron stood up abruptly, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes. He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling so much he could barely dial the number. “Detective Miller, I need you to find someone for me.” I vaguely heard a man on the other end of the phone ask who he was looking for. Sauron spoke calmly, “Chloe Finch. Find out where she is now; I need to see her immediately.” “Chloe Finch? Is there a new breakthrough in Miss Eleanor’s case, and you need to find her urgently?” “No.” Sauron’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter. After a long pause, he finally whispered, “I just want to apologize to her…” The car suddenly shot forward, tires screeching against the asphalt. I floated in the passenger seat, watching Sauron’s tense profile. Sunlight streamed through the car window onto his face, revealing fine lines at the corners of his eyes. So, after five years, no one remained unchanged. But he didn’t know that the person he wished to apologize to had died in a pool of blood in an alley five years ago on a rainy night. What he owed me, what he owed Hazel, could never be repaid in this lifetime. Returning from the hospital, Sauron practically broke into the house. Eleanor, on the sofa, immediately put on her innocent expression when she saw him. “Sauron, why are you back? Did you find Chloe Finch?” Sauron completely ignored her question, simply throwing his jacket onto the coffee table. “Eleanor, what exactly happened with Hazel Finch?” Eleanor’s hand, holding a teacup, paused. Her brow furrowed. “Hazel? Isn’t she fine? I deposit money for her every month.” “Fine?” Sauron scoffed, pulling out his phone and showing her the death certificate photo the nurse had sent him. “She died three years ago! You swapped her medication and unlinked the bank card. Do you dare say you didn’t know?” The date on the photo was clear. Eleanor’s face instantly paled. She set down her teacup, wringing her hands as she explained. “This… Sauron, let me explain. I had no choice at the time!” “Research funding was tight then. I thought I’d just borrow some, and pay it back once the project progressed…” “Borrow some? You say it so easily!” Sauron took a step closer, his eyes red-rimmed. “That was Chloe Finch’s only sister! Her only condition for taking the blame for you back then was for us to take good care of Hazel! How could you do this?!” Seeing Sauron truly enraged, Eleanor suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud. “I know I was wrong, Sauron! Please forgive me! When I wanted to pay the money back later, I couldn’t find anyone… I was just confused for a moment!” Watching her feigned remorse, I only felt revulsion. When she was using my scapegoat money to buy imported equipment, I didn’t see a shred of guilt in her. The two remained at an impasse. Eventually, Sauron was the first to sigh, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Forget it, get up. I’m also at fault in this; I shouldn’t have given you all the money and not supervised Hazel’s treatment.” Eleanor’s eyes brightened, thinking he had forgiven her. But just as she was about to speak, Sauron cut her off. When I looked up, I saw a clear look of disappointment in his eyes. “Eleanor, I’ll help you resolve the medical malpractice issue, but once this is over, we’re through.” “I already owe Chloe Finch too much; I can’t wrong her anymore.” “Sauron!” Eleanor suddenly looked up, her face filled with panic. But Sauron didn’t look at her again, turning to leave. As he walked halfway, he suddenly stopped—his jacket was still on the coffee table. He sighed, turning back. But as he reached the hallway, he heard Eleanor’s hushed voice from the bedroom, chillingly vicious. “…We must find Chloe Finch immediately, and somehow, we have to kill her!”

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The moment I saw my husband Henry’s name filled in the “Family Signature” section, I knew he was cheating. I’m an obstetrician, specializing in deliveries. In that instant, I stared at his name for a full five seconds. The nurse beside me stamped her foot impatiently. “Dr. Evelyn, hurry! The patient’s already in, and the family is waiting in the hallway!” I didn’t move. Because just last night, during our video call, Henry had been complaining to me. He said his business trip to Seattle would last half a month. He said he couldn’t sleep without me. With that thought, I picked up the consent form and pushed open the door leading to the delivery ward hallway. On a chair in the corridor, Henry sat, head bowed, meticulously peeling an apple. He peeled it so carefully, the skin a single unbroken coil. Yet, in our two years of marriage, he had never once peeled an apple for me. The moment he looked up and saw me, the apple slipped from his hand and hit the floor. “Ev… Evelyn? I thought you were at your fellowship…” He pointed at me, his lips trembling. I didn’t answer. I simply held out the consent form, even unscrewing the pen cap for him. “Mr. McCarthy, you missed one signature.” “Hurry, your wife is waiting for you.” 1 Henry’s face went white. His mouth opened and closed twice, but no sound came out. “Sign it.” I repeated, my voice steady, cold. He took the pen with a trembling hand, his gaze darting wildly, unsure where to look. “Evelyn, listen to me, it’s not what you think.” “I’m not thinking anything.” I pointed to the last line on the form. “Family confirms consent for delivery, sign here.” He looked down, seeing his name printed under “Spouse.” Next to it were the patient’s details: Maya Croft, 27 years old, first delivery. His pen tip hovered over the paper, hesitant to descend. “Evelyn, I can really explain.” I didn’t look at him. I pulled the form from his hand, using the pen to tick a box in the family section for him. “No time for explanations. Dilation is almost complete.” As I turned, he reached out to grab me. I sidestepped, and his hand met empty air. Nurses bustled back and forth in the corridor. Family members dozed on benches, clutching thermoses. No one saw him reach out. And no one knew the doctor walking into the delivery room had just encountered her own husband bringing another woman to give birth. I pushed open the delivery room door. The lights inside were bright. A young woman lay on the delivery bed. Round-faced, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat, her eyes red, clutching the bedsheet tightly. She saw me enter and offered a nervous smile. “Hello, Doctor. I’m a little scared.” “That’s normal. Relax.” I lowered my head, flipping through her medical chart. 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant, normal fetal position, complete prenatal check-up records. The signature for every single check-up was Henry McCarthy. From week 12 to week 39, not a single one missed. I did the math. She got pregnant about ten months ago. What was I doing ten months ago? I was discussing with Henry whether we should enclose the balcony to plant flowers. He said yes, he’d find someone to do it after his business trip. That balcony was never enclosed. He said he was too busy. Turns out, he was busy accompanying someone else to prenatal check-ups. I closed the chart and walked to the delivery bed. Maya reached out to me. “Doctor, could you please call my husband in? I want him to be with me.” I looked down at her hand. A ring adorned her left ring finger. Platinum, set with small diamonds, with an engraving inside the band. I didn’t need to get closer to know what was engraved. It was my wedding band. Three months ago, Henry said he lost it at the gym, searched for days but couldn’t find it, and promised to buy me a new one. Now it was on another woman’s hand. This woman lay on the delivery bed, calling my husband her husband. Wearing my ring. “Doctor?” Maya watched me cautiously. I withdrew my hand. “Family can’t come into the delivery room for now. He can come in after you’ve given birth.” I offered her a smile. That smile took all my strength. 2 The contractions grew more frequent. Maya’s forehead glistened with sweat, and her lips were bitten raw. But she never screamed, just endured in muffled tones, occasionally whimpering. When the pain became unbearable, she’d clutch the bedsheet, mumbling, “My husband says it’ll be over after I give birth, it’ll be over after I give birth.” I adjusted the fetal heart monitor, not responding to her words. She was probably too nervous and started talking incessantly. Some people curse when they’re in pain, some cry. Maya was the talkative type. “Doctor, my husband is really good to me.” “Mhm.” “He says he’s been waiting for this baby for a long time.” “Mhm.” “He was in a relationship before, it didn’t work out. Then he met me, and he said he knew I was the one for him, forever.” I smoothed the monitor wires, keeping silent. “We’ve been together for almost two years.” Maya added, a hint of pride in her voice. Almost two years. Henry and I got our marriage license exactly two years and three months ago. Overlap. It overlapped from the very beginning. Which meant, he started this soon after we got married. Our honeymoon period wasn’t even over. Maya probably saw my expression was too calm, assuming I wasn’t interested, and changed the subject. “Doctor, are you married?” “Mhm.” “Then your husband must also feel for you. Being a doctor is so tough.” I handed her the straw cup. “Drink some water. You’ll need the strength later.” She took the cup, drank a few sips, and started talking again. “What moves me most about my husband is that he’s willing to start over for me.” “His previous relationship ended badly. He said the other person clung to him for a long time.” “Later, he moved, changed his phone number, and finally found peace.” I heard the words “moved.” My fingers paused for a second. “Where do you live now?” I asked casually, like idle chatter. Maya didn’t think much of it and gave an address. Emerald Lakes, Building 14, Apartment 1602. My pupils constricted. Emerald Lakes, Building 14, Apartment 1602. That was my property. My parents bought it outright before I was married, in my name. Henry and I moved in together after we got married, living there for over a year. Before I left for my fellowship, Henry said his commute was too long, and he wanted to move closer to his company, suggesting I rent out the Emerald Lakes apartment. I agreed. He said he found a tenant for me, three thousand five hundred a month, paid into my account. Three thousand five hundred. He did transfer three thousand five hundred to me every month. It wasn’t the tenant’s money. It was his own money, a pretense. He was living in my apartment, with another woman, spending my money, and pretending to collect rent every month. Maya was still talking. “Our apartment is so nice. He decorated it himself, and he planted so many flowers on the balcony.” The flowers on the balcony. They were jasmine and mint that I had planted before I left. I had watered them for half a year, fertilized them countless times. Now, they were his gift of romance to another woman. “Doctor? You don’t look so good. Are you alright?” “I’m fine.” I adjusted my mask. “The air in the delivery room is stuffy. It’s normal.” Another wave of contractions hit. Maya was too much in pain to speak. She arched her back, panting desperately, her hands gripping the side rails. I looked at her, thinking, You’re living in my apartment, wearing my ring, carrying my husband’s child, and now you’re lying on my delivery bed, asking me to deliver your baby. Maya, do you know how absurd this world can be sometimes? And I am the only one in this entire room who knows the script. 3 The labor progressed faster than expected. Maya’s physical condition was good, the baby’s weight was moderate, and the fetal heart rate remained stable. It was a smooth delivery. As I acknowledged this inwardly, a bitter taste filled my mouth. Profession was profession, personal matters were personal. I stood by the delivery bed, guiding her to breathe, push, breathe, and push again. Maya’s face was streaked with tears and sweat, gritting her teeth, she strained with my rhythm. In between contractions, she kept speaking, brokenly, as if only talking could lessen her fear. “My husband said… he said he’d wait outside all night…” “He also said… if it’s a boy… we’d name him Henry Jr.… meaning ‘peaceful’…” Henry Jr. A nice name. What did Henry say when we discussed names for our future children? He said not to rush, to wait until his career was more stable. Wait until the mortgage was paid off. Wait until he returned from his business trip. Wait until next month. Wait until next year. I waited for two years, and it turns out he wasn’t waiting for the right moment. He was waiting for someone else to get pregnant. “Push, one last time.” I pushed down all other thoughts, fully concentrating as I delivered the baby. A boy. Six pounds, eight ounces. His cry was loud and clear, filling the entire delivery room with his wails. Maya lay exhausted on the bed, her face a mix of tears and sweat, a foolish grin on her lips. “Is it a boy?” “Yes.” “That’s wonderful, he finally has a son.” She emphasized “finally,” as if she had completed some monumental task for Henry. The labor and delivery nurse took the baby for cleaning, while I performed the final stitches. Maya tilted her head, watching the baby, and suddenly said, “Doctor, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” “No, I’m not talking about the delivery.” Her voice was weak but sincere. “My husband had a difficult past. His ex-wife… the woman who clung to him, she got sick and passed away.” My hand, holding the suture needle, paused. “He’s truly a good man with a loyal heart. Every spring, he says he goes to visit her grave, suffering alone.” “Last spring he took me to San Diego, saying he needed a change of scenery, but he was distracted the whole day. He said he didn’t want his ex-wife to be too lonely by herself there.” “So I’m especially grateful to fate for bringing me to him. And thank you, for safely bringing our child into this world.” She smiled through her tears. I looked at her young, unguarded face and suddenly found it absurd. He told this woman I was dead. I was alive and well, working at a hospital three miles away, delivering babies, doing rounds, writing medical charts every day. In his story, I was an ex-wife who had passed away, a dead person used to elicit sympathy. I finished the stitching, removed my gloves. “Rest for a bit. The nurse will bring the baby to you soon.” Maya hummed in acknowledgment and reached out to stop me. “Doctor, wait. Help me look at something.” She struggled to pull a velvet pouch from a small bag beside her pillow, emptying out a jade ring. Verdant green, with an orchid carved into the silver setting. “My husband said this is a family heirloom his grandmother left him. He told me to wear it after I gave birth, to ward off evil. Do you think it’s valuable?” I stared at that ring. Only one in the whole world. My mother wore it for twenty years before she died, taking it off her hand and pressing it into mine as she passed. “My little Jasmine, this is for you. Mom has nothing else to leave you.” I had locked it in my jewelry box at home. Henry had told me six months ago that we had been robbed, that the jewelry box was pried open, and my mother’s jade ring and some gold jewelry were stolen. He had even taken me to the police station to file a report. Now it was on Maya’s hand. Left by his grandmother. To ward off evil for her. “Quite valuable.” I heard my own voice. “Keep it safe.” I walked out of the delivery room. The hallway was empty. I leaned against the wall, pulling out my phone. I opened my banking app, navigating to the joint account with Henry. Balance: $1083.46. I scrolled through the transaction history. One by one. Outgoing, $50,000. Outgoing, $30,000. Outgoing, $80,000. Outgoing, outgoing, outgoing. Each transaction to the same recipient, the memo always blank. Two years, $410,000 transferred out. My hand, clutching the phone, finally began to shake. Not from fear, but my body was breaking down before my mind. 4 I stood in the hallway for about three minutes. Deep breaths, exhale, inhale, exhale. When my hand stopped shaking, I locked my phone and put it back in my pocket. Pushing the door, I returned to the nurse’s station. The duty nurse was filling out newborn records. Seeing me, she called out, “Dr. Evelyn, the family for 1602 has been asking outside if they can come in to see the baby.” 1602. Even their delivery room number was the same as my house number. “Let him in. Mother and baby are fine. Tell him to be careful not to touch the patient’s stitches.” My voice was flat. The nurse gave me an extra glance. “Dr. Evelyn, you look terrible. Do you want to take a break?” “No, I’m just going to the restroom.” One of the light tubes in the restroom was broken, flickering. I leaned over the sink, cold water running through my fingers. The person in the mirror looked unfamiliar. My eyes were red, but I wasn’t crying. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. A strange feeling, my heart empty, as if everything had broken. I pulled out my phone, opening Henry’s chat. The last message was from 11:07 PM last night, from him. “Goodnight, wife. Seattle is boiling, I miss you so much. Go to bed early.” It was accompanied by a photo of a hotel king-sized bed. I took a screenshot, saving it to my album. I scrolled up. Day before yesterday: “Meetings all day, so exhausted. More tomorrow.” Three days ago: “Seattle is so boring. Home is best.” Every message was a lie. Every message typed so smoothly, so naturally. When did it become so effortless for him to lie? I closed the chat. Opened my album, flipping to our joint photos. Last year for Thanksgiving, he took me to San Diego. In the photo, we stood by the ocean, he held me from behind, his eyes crinkling in a smile. I remembered him saying that day, “Evelyn, let’s go somewhere new every year, and when we have kids, we’ll bring them along.” I said yes. Back then, I didn’t know that in his heart, there was only an expiration date for me. I scrolled past our photos. The most recent three months of photos were all from the hospital: fellowship notes, cafeteria meals. No him. Because he wasn’t there. Or rather, he was there. In my apartment, with another woman. Peeling apples for her, taking her to prenatal check-ups, putting his ear to her belly to listen to the baby move. Then at eleven at night, he’d video call me, calling me his wife into the camera. I turned off my phone. Washed my face. Dried it with a tissue, and put on a fresh mask. As I walked out, passing the delivery room door, I heard Maya talking to Henry inside. The door wasn’t fully closed, and voices leaked out. “Honey, look, he looks just like you.” “Mhm, the nose is similar.” “Kiss him.” Henry let out a soft laugh. I stood outside the door for two seconds. Then I walked away. I finished my last two hours on shift. Changed out of my scrubs, picked up my bag, and walked out of the hospital entrance. 8:17 PM. I didn’t take a cab back to my fellowship dorm. I hailed a cab and went to Emerald Lakes. Building 14, Apartment 1602. My apartment. The elevator reached the 16th floor. I walked to apartment 1602. The door had a pink cartoon bear sticker, proclaiming “Happy Home.” I pulled out my key from my bag. The apartment was mine. The lock hadn’t been changed. The key slid in, a turn. The door opened.

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