The War of the Realms ended. My sister’s husband returned home, safe and sound. But my husband fell in battle. Everyone pitied me. Yet I knew. It wasn’t my brother-in-law who returned. It was my husband, Kaelen. He and my brother-in-law were identical twins, their magical prowess so evenly matched that no one, not even their own kin, noticed the deception. Kaelen explained it to me, his voice a low murmur: “Aelia, I did this for the greater good. My brother, Orion, is the Crown Prince of the Dragonkin. If our people were to learn that the Prince had fallen, it would surely plunge the kingdom into chaos. And your sister, Lyra, is so pure and gentle; she could never bear the sorrow of losing a loved one. I am simply taking Orion’s place, caring for her for a while. Once stability returns, I will rejoin you, truly.” I believed him. Until Kaelen condemned me to be torn to pieces on false charges of conspiring with fiends. It was only then, as I watched him embrace my sister, their closeness a dagger to my heart, that I understood it had all been his cruel design. I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day the Dragonkin celebrated their great victory, the day the grim news of my husband’s death arrived. Kaelen held Lyra close, silent, while the clan looked upon me with pity. Without hesitation, I chose to remarry. Kaelen believed that by impersonating the Dragonkin Crown Prince, he would bask in endless glory and power. He had no idea that by casting me aside, he had forfeited his only chance to become the Sovereign of the Dragonkin… … “Aelia, Kaelen… he fell!” The agonizing torment of being flayed alive still vibrated through my body, leaving me trembling. When I opened my eyes again, those words reached me. It was King Theron, the Lord of the Dragonkin, who spoke. He had only two sons: one, the Crown Prince, who had taken my sister as his Crown Princess. The other was my husband, Kaelen. Now, King Theron, who should have been mourning the genuine loss of his son, sat on his throne, gazing at the coffin before him, his face etched with profound grief. My own heart, however, surged with an uncontrollable, silent joy. I had been reborn! Before I could speak, my sister’s voice drifted from beside me: “Sister, I know your heart aches. Weep if you must.” Lyra looked down at me, her face carefully composed into a mask of pity, yet her powdered cheeks remained perfectly unblemished. I lifted my gaze, not to her, but to the man standing at her side – my brother-in-law. No, that wasn’t Orion. Orion already lay within that coffin. The man before me was my husband, Kaelen. The one who should have been embracing me in intimate sorrow now stood with his fingers intertwined with Lyra’s. Noticing my gaze, he turned to me, his eyes wide with an exaggerated surprise. A bitter, mirthless laugh rose in my chest. Kaelen’s acting, as always, was flawlessly convincing. In my past life, even when I sensed something was wrong, it had taken me agonizingly long to confirm that the man by Lyra’s side was truly Kaelen. Now, I saw through his charade instantly. A fresh wave of wails broke the silence. “My son! My beloved son!” Queen Seraphina, Kaelen’s mother, threw herself onto the coffin, fat tears streaming down her face. She then turned, pointing a trembling finger at me. “It’s you! You, the bringer of ill fortune! You cursed my son to his death!” The Queen had never liked me. She believed I lacked decorum, lacked grace, that I was simply unworthy of her son. I had always harbored doubts about Kaelen’s promises on this front. He had sworn to me, time and again, “If Mother ever clashes with you, I will always, always stand by your side, no matter what.” Slam! The Queen’s hand lashed out, a brutal slap across my face. Still not appeased, she raised her hand to strike again. King Theron, momentarily forgetting his grief, quickly ordered the guards to intervene. The hall dissolved into disarray. Through it all, Kaelen held Lyra’s hand, standing silently to the side. He even pulled her closer, as if to shield her from the unsightly scene. From his pocket, he produced a gleaming, vibrant Water Arcane Crystal, presenting it to Lyra like a prized treasure, his voice soft, coaxing. “My Lyra, this is something special I prepared just for you.” A bitter smile touched my lips. As a Phoenix, I was attuned to fire, yet I had always longed for a Water Arcane Crystal. In my previous life, I had pleaded with Kaelen, begging him to bring one back for me. He had promised, but it had never materialized. Now I knew. He hadn’t failed to find one; he had simply never intended that gift for me. Not even when Lyra had no need for such a gem. Not even when he had once sworn he would always protect me, yet now stood by, watching. Lyra, sensing my gaze, subtly stepped in front of Kaelen, shielding him, a hint of displeasure in her eyes. She reminded me, “Sister, why do you keep staring at my husband? Father King is speaking to you.” King Theron sighed, his voice weary. “Aelia, according to tradition, when one’s spouse falls in battle, the survivor must observe a century of mourning. I won’t force you, but I must ask, what are your intentions?” I shook my head. “I choose the second path. I will remarry.” The entire hall fell silent, everyone staring at me in utter disbelief. Kaelen was the first to speak. “Nonsense! Aelia, how can you marry another?” This time, King Theron and Lyra also sensed something was amiss. Though confused, King Theron spoke gently. “Orion, this is your sister-in-law’s private matter. It should be her decision.” Kaelen was speechless, his eyes fixed on me. Lyra was even more agitated than Kaelen. She stepped forward, her gaze filled with condemnation. “Aelia, your husband has just fallen. His body isn’t even cold, and instead of mourning him, you’re clamoring to remarry. If this news spreads, do you mean to let everyone think that all the Phoenix Lineage are as heartless as you?” Queen Seraphina stared at me, her eyes venomous. “Had Kaelen not been so insistent on marrying you, I would never have let a scheming wretch like you into our house!” I replied, my expression calm, “Since Kaelen loved me so much in life, he surely wouldn’t wish me to mourn for him, wasting away my entire existence. I will remarry!” Kaelen cried out, anxious, “You—” King Theron cut him off. “Enough. Since Aelia’s mind is made up, let it be as she says. However, the ancient compact between the Dragonkin and Phoenix Lineage states clearly, Aelia, you may remarry, but you must choose a male of our Dragonkin.” I turned, looking out at the throng of onlookers, and asked in a clear voice, “Is there anyone here willing to take me as his wife?” No one stepped forward. Some looked as though they wanted to, but were pulled back by their families. Others, meeting my gaze, quickly averted their eyes, as if encountering a venomous serpent. A wave of helplessness washed over me. The Divine Order had given me only two paths: widowhood or remarriage. Could fate truly not be altered? Kaelen, seeing the situation, couldn’t help but add a sneering remark. “Aelia, no one would dare marry a heartless woman like you. You might as well just mourn properly.” His voice was filled with a certainty that churned my stomach. Just then, a figure descended from the heavens. “I will!” I stared, my eyes widening. It was Roric, the Dragonkin’s War Lord! He was known for his fierce, almost ruthless reputation, yet at this moment, he knelt on one knee before King Theron, addressing him with sincere earnestness. “King Theron, I am willing to take Aelia as my wife.” Kaelen instantly bristled. “Roric, what business is this of yours? A word of friendly advice: my brother barely just died, and Aelia is already desperate to remarry. How dare you take a woman like that into your home? Are you not afraid she’ll bring misfortune upon you?” Roric stepped in front of me, frowning. “Crown Prince, Aelia is your sister-in-law. Instead of protecting her, you slander her with false accusations.” Kaelen retorted, indignant, “I speak only the truth!” Roric ignored him, turning to me. “Aelia, will you marry me? I will pledge my loyalty to you, to be by your side for all eternity. The Divine Order bears witness: if I ever break this vow, my soul shall be utterly shattered!” My heart trembled. In his gaze, I saw only unwavering resolve. I couldn’t help but nod. “Yes.” With this, Kaelen had no further grounds for objection. Roric and I sealed our union on the spot. King Theron, seeing the matter resolved, waved a weary hand at me. “Go.” He then announced to all present, “I am old, and have lost a son. I no longer have the heart to continue as Dragon King. Three days from now, I shall pass the throne to Orion.” Orion was my brother-in-law’s name, now usurped by Kaelen. I mused silently. In my previous life, King Theron had never passed the throne to Kaelen, not even when Kaelen orchestrated my death with false charges. Why had he moved so quickly now? Before I could dwell on it, as the crowd dispersed, Kaelen passed by me. I heard his words, clear as a bell: “Wretch. You will regret this, eventually.” That very night, I moved from Kaelen’s palace to Roric’s domain. The servants whispered, their voices carrying through the halls: “The War Lord is admirable in every way, but his judgment is clearly flawed.” “The Second Prince’s body isn’t even cold, and Aelia is already desperate to remarry. How could such a woman be a suitable match?” “Didn’t Queen Seraphina say Aelia is cursed to bring ruin upon her husband? I truly fear the War Lord will fall to her curse.” … I listened to the whispers outside the window, a faint, wry smile on my face. I turned to Roric, nudging him lightly, a self-deprecating laugh escaping me. “My Lord War Lord, your noble reputation is completely ruined because of me, isn’t it?” Roric frowned. “Don’t speak such nonsense. Aelia, give me half a day. You won’t hear them speak ill of you behind your back ever again.” I sighed. “In truth, I don’t care.” Compared to my previous life, where I mourned Kaelen as a living widow, endured endless humiliation, and was finally torn to pieces in public… Roric had provided me with the finest food, clothing, and comforts, no less than what the royal family enjoyed. I was already more than content. Before the lights were extinguished, I heard him murmur softly, “Let my reputation suffer. As long as I could marry you, nothing else matters.” I lay awake that night. Not long after, Lyra sent for me to come to the palace. She was soon to become the next Dragon Queen. Her maidservants brought her heavy, ornate robes. She eagerly held the Crown of the Dragon Queen to her head, turning to me. “Aelia, between Queen Seraphina and me, who looks better in this?” I remained silent. She continued, oblivious to my quietude, “Some people, you know, just have to accept their fate. What does it matter if your talents surpass mine? In the end, it’s I who will become the Dragon Queen.” She had always been like this, ever since we were children, always trying to outdo me. My gaze drifted to the cluttered tabletop, then fixated on the Water Arcane Crystal Kaelen had given her. A sudden spark of insight flickered in my mind. When Lyra was a child, during one of her training exercises, she had been dragged into the sea by a mer-fiend. Since then, she had detested Water Arcane Crystals. Orion, thoughtful and attentive, remembered this perfectly. After a long pause, my voice was strained as I asked, “Did you truly not realize that wasn’t Orion?” Lyra’s hand froze. In that instant, I knew the answer. In my previous life, no matter what, I had never once suspected Lyra. In my eyes, even if we had always been at odds, Kaelen was the sole perpetrator in this matter. But now, Lyra’s reaction told me she was complicit. Tears welled in my eyes, and I couldn’t help but demand, “Lyra, have you gone mad?” Slam! Lyra impatiently slammed a winged circlet onto the table, turning to me. “So what if I did?” I flinched. Lyra sneered. “Let me tell you the truth: as long as he is the Crown Prince, as long as I can become the Dragon Queen in the future, I don’t care who my husband is.” She glared at me, her eyes narrowed in warning. “As for you, stay a good widow. If you behave, once I become Dragon Queen, I will not treat you poorly. But if you reveal this, I will never let you go.” A chill seeped from my heart. Her words were identical to Kaelen’s from my previous life. But in the end, neither of them had spared me. Just then, voices sounded outside the door. Kaelen, King Theron, and Queen Seraphina entered, pushing aside the hanging tapestries. Seeing me, all of them paused, surprised. Kaelen frowned, his voice laced with guilt as he demanded, “Aelia, what are you doing here?” Queen Seraphina spoke with an acid tone, “Why aren’t you with your new husband? What are you doing running around the Dragon Palace?” Lyra squeezed out two crocodile tears, nestling against Kaelen. “Aelia didn’t mean it. She’s just suffering too much from losing her husband, so she…” Kaelen put an arm around her, speaking bitterly. “Aelia, none of us wished to see my brother fall in battle. Yet not only do you refuse to mourn him, insisting on remarriage, but you also take out your resentment on your sister. Get out!” I gazed steadily at Kaelen, then a slow smile touched my lips. “Alright.” Reckoning would come, but not yet. … The next day, Roric and I received an invitation to Kaelen’s coronation ceremony. He had successfully impersonated Orion and was now recognized by King Theron as the next heir. Although he still needed the approval of the Divine Order to complete the coronation and receive the royal inheritance, in everyone’s eyes—even Kaelen’s own—it was a foregone conclusion. Now, he stood proudly in shimmering silver armor, arm around the equally exquisitely adorned Lyra, greeting everyone with a triumphant smile. I watched him, unable to help but remember my past life. King Theron had once asked Kaelen if he harbored any resentment over Orion being named Crown Prince, as his twin brother. At the time, Kaelen had sworn, “Brother is upright and kind, his talents are brilliant, and his abilities far surpass mine. That he should become the Dragonkin Crown Prince, I, his brother, naturally accept with a willing heart.” His actions now were a stark contrast to his words then. I shook my head, a bitter smile on my face. Such a hypocritical man, and yet in my last life, I had been utterly blind. Soon, Kaelen and Lyra approached me. Kaelen glanced at Roric beside me, a flicker of jealousy in his eyes, and deliberately said, “Aelia, I know you still think of Kaelen, but you insisted on remarrying, so you should live your new life properly.” Before I could speak, Roric casually replied, “There’s no need for the Crown Prince to worry. Aelia treats me very well.” A warmth spread through my heart. I looked at their triumphant smiles and offered a warning. “Crown… Prince. Are you truly certain you can successfully receive the inheritance today?” Lyra immediately frowned. “What do you mean? Aelia, are you cursing us?!” Kaelen’s eyes burned with resentment as he stared at me. But with so many eyes watching, he merely restrained Lyra, saying gently, “Why bother with her? Let’s go.” I sighed, leaning into Roric’s embrace, saying nothing more. The coronation ceremony soon began. Kaelen ascended the steps, one by one, stopping before King Theron, his gaze greedily fixed on the royal crown that symbolized authority. The High Priest of the Dragonkin stood beside him, casting spells and chanting aloud, “We humbly beseech the Divine Order to bestow its inheritance!” Rumble! Thunder roiled incessantly in the sky. Just as the Phoenix Lineage’s leader must endure a fiery rebirth, every Dragon King must undergo a Celestial Trial. If deemed worthy by the Divine Order, the Dragon King and Queen would emerge unharmed. Kaelen held Lyra’s hand, standing at the center of the altar.

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1 For five years of marriage, Andrew Hayes had slept his way through half of Hollywood. I pretended not to see, commuting daily between the hospital and the film set. My mother’s leukemia demanded astronomical treatment costs, and Andrew held the reins of Hayes Enterprises’ medical resources. Until that day, when the new starlet he was promoting “accidentally” severed my safety wire on set. I plummeted from a ten-foot platform. The three-month-old life within me stilled. My hand trembling, I dialed his number. “Andrew, please, save our baby.” From the other end, a woman’s soft moans reached me, followed by Andrew’s voice, a languid drawl of satisfaction. “Evie, I’m utterly sick of your pathetic ploys for attention. If you truly want to die, do it far away from me.” By the time the crew rushed me to the hospital, the heartbeat had stopped. My mother, upon hearing the news, pulled out her oxygen tube in the hospital room. “My sweet Evie, Mom won’t be a burden to you anymore.” Those were her last words. Three lives for one. My debt to him, I thought, was finally repaid. From now on, the world was vast, and we would never cross paths again. Andrew arrived as I was signing the death certificate. He snatched the paper from my hands, tearing it to shreds. “Are you done with your theatrics? All you want is money, isn’t it? Name your price! Who are you putting on this pathetic dying act for? When your mother was on her deathbed, she practically groveled at my feet, begging for medical funds!” I stared at the shredded paper on the floor and offered him a docile smile. “What if I told you I don’t beg anymore?” Three seconds later, the slamming door rattled my very bones. Andrew had barely left when his assistant appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Hayes, Mr. Hayes instructed me to inform you: if you’re willing to apologize, your mother’s burial plot will be chosen in the most prime location.” “No need. Please tell him that we are completely even now.” By the time I returned from the cemetery, night had fallen. Pushing open the villa’s heavy front door, grating laughter echoed from the direction of the pool. Andrew was lounging by the poolside, an arm slung around a scantily clad model. Another face I didn’t recognize. Yes, he had never truly cared about me. Not even on the day I personally laid my mother to rest, he still brought a woman home. For three years, I had watched him replace one woman after another, my heart slowly hardening from agony to numb indifference. He claimed he wanted an apology from me, but in reality, he just wanted to use my mother’s final resting place as leverage, to grind me into his palm. I wouldn’t give him that chance again. “Stop. What was that message your assistant gave me supposed to mean?” I paused, but didn’t turn back. Andrew sneered, pushing the woman from his lap. “Your mother’s dead. You think that clears the debt? When your father forced my mother to her death, did he ever consider this day would come?” I looked at him and smiled faintly. “If she lacked the ability to protect herself, who else could she blame?” Andrew’s hand shot out, seizing my wrist. “Since you admit my mother was too weak to protect herself from your father, then the one lacking ability now is you! So I’m justified in tormenting you.” He snapped his fingers. His assistant immediately approached, holding a polished mahogany box. My pupils constricted. It was clearly my mother’s urn, the very one I had just buried with my own hands! “I heard you spent all your savings on that burial plot?” Andrew nudged the box with the tip of his leather shoe. “Pity, I just had someone dig it up. Guess what happens if my hand ‘slips’ now?” That was my mother. How dared he? For three years, I had endured his humiliation, his betrayal, even watching my own child vanish into blood. I thought I had reached the very depths of hell. But it turned out Andrew could be even more cruel. In a daze, I saw my mother’s face as she opened her eyes for the last time. Her thin fingers clutching the oxygen tube, offering me a smile of sweet release. “My sweet Evie, Mom won’t be a burden to you anymore.” She was the one person in this world who loved me most, who even chose death for my freedom. And now, the urn containing my last hope was being toyed with so casually by Andrew’s wedding-ringed hand. I lunged, mad with grief, but he easily restrained my hands, pinning me against the wall. He savored my breaking expression, then spoke slowly, methodically. “Want your mother to rest in peace? Fine. From today on, you’ll stay by my side and serve me. Until every last bit of what you owe me is paid back.” His words hung in the air, and then Andrew glanced towards the model approaching. “Go, dry her off. Quickly now.” 2 For the sake of my mother’s ashes, I had no choice. I picked up the towel, my fingers trembling uncontrollably. Four years ago, by this very pool, Andrew had wrapped this same towel around my body, kissing me amidst cheers and playful taunts. His ears had been flushed crimson, yet he had pulled me into a fierce embrace. Now, I was forced to act like a servant for Andrew’s latest conquest. The model suddenly giggled, complaining of tickles, deliberately wriggling her body. It was then I noticed her phone screen, placed beside the pool, was lit up – she was live-streaming! The comments scrolled wildly: “Isn’t that Evie Hayes? Working as a maid?” “Heard she’d stooped to anything to get ahead.” “Serves her right! Always hated her.” I snapped my head up, meeting the model’s challenging gaze. Andrew leaned back in his lounge chair, enjoying the spectacle. He was doing this on purpose. I turned to leave, but Andrew’s hand shot out, seizing my wrist. “Where are you going? Your father made my mother suffer a hundredfold. I’ll make you repay every single bit of it.” The model’s live video went viral that very night. #EvieHayesServesOthers and #EvieHayesExposed trended, racking up hundreds of millions of views. My phone vibrated endlessly, bombarded with abusive texts and death threats from unknown numbers. I switched off my phone. A single tear splattered onto the back of my hand. Andrew watched me cry, finally satisfied. After he left, the butler, Mr. Finch, approached, offering me a tissue. “Madam, please don’t blame the master. He’s just…” I waved him off, turning into my bedroom. The next morning, my door was violently kicked open. Andrew stood in the doorway, a petite figure clinging to his arm. It was her—Scarlett Davies, the starlet who had “accidentally” cut my safety wire on set. She stood behind Andrew, looking innocent and fragile, just as she had cried to the media, claiming it was “not on purpose.” My vision blurred. My mother’s last moments, pulling out her oxygen tube, flashed before my eyes, alternating with the image of the tiny, formed life on the ultrasound screen. He knew full well those hands were stained with our child’s blood, yet he indulged her, letting her trample over my heart again and again. Yes, this child was merely an accident to him. He wouldn’t care. Scarlett suddenly dropped to her knees, her tears flowing on cue. “Evie, I’m so, so sorry. That day, I really didn’t mean to.” Then, she looked up, her voice barely a whisper, for my ears only. “But a bastard should never have been born anyway!” I lunged to slap her, but Andrew’s hand clamped down on my wrist, hard. He looked down at me, and from his pocket, he produced a familiar silver locket. It was the family heirloom my mother had worn her entire life. “Remember this? I found it in the urn.” I struggled to snatch it, but he casually tossed it to Scarlett. Scarlett caught it with a gasp of delight, then, right in front of me, she put it around her neck. This locket was a cherished Hayes family heirloom. When my mother had given it to Andrew years ago, she had smiled and said, “From now on, we’re family.” Back then, Andrew would respectfully call my mother “Aunt Evelyn.” He would anxiously offer her warm water when she coughed. He would arrange the best hospital for her the moment she fell ill. But later, he had savagely thrown the locket onto my mother’s hospital bed, declaring it a jinx. My voice trembled. “Andrew, you know what that locket meant to my mother.” He gripped my chin. “When your father forced my mother to jump to her death, did he consider what that meant?” Scarlett flinched at the sudden intensity. The locket slipped from her grasp, falling onto the marble floor. Scarlett frantically bent down, but as she picked it up, she fumbled and dropped it again. Time seemed to stop. I knelt on the floor, staring at the shattered locket. It was like that misunderstanding from years ago, tearing two families apart. “Tonight, Scarlett will stay in the master bedroom. You, clean this up.” Andrew put an arm around Scarlett and walked upstairs. Mom, I lost your last keepsake too. Outside the window, thunder cracked, and rain poured down. Just like that rainy night many years ago, when Andrew, drenched, stood outside my house just to coax me to sleep. And now, he was holding another woman, sleeping in the marital bed my mother and I had picked out together. This time, I didn’t cry. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to a number that had been dormant in my contacts for years: “Attorney Miller, regarding my father’s case from back then, I need all the information.” 3 The message had barely sent when I heard faint laughter echoing from upstairs. Rain lashed against the window, like countless tiny needles pricking my heart. At three in the morning, I got up to pour myself some water in the kitchen. In the darkness, Scarlett suddenly appeared before me. “Evie, still awake so late? Oh, that’s right. Your mom’s dead, your baby’s gone, and even your last shred of dignity has been trampled by Andrew. Of course you can’t sleep.” I slammed the water glass onto the counter. “Scarlett, Andrew has so many women. Why are you so fixated on me?” She poked my shoulder. “How could those other women compare to you, Evie? Are you angry? How about we play a little game?” The next second, she turned and walked towards the balcony. “Evie, what do you think would happen if I jumped from here?” Before I could react, she had already climbed onto the balcony railing. “Ah! Evie, don’t push me!” My instincts took over, and I lunged, grabbing her arm. Just then, Andrew’s furious roar erupted from behind me. Scarlett’s body leaned backward, her terrified eyes reflecting my outstretched hand. Just like all those years ago. Andrew’s blood ran cold in that second. Memories flooded him like a tidal wave. Ten years ago, on a rainy night, he stood downstairs, watching his mother fall from the window. And in the window, my father’s silhouette flickered past. And now, I stood in the same position, my fingers almost touching Scarlett’s shoulder. “No!” His rage exploded like magma, incinerating his last shred of reason. How dare I? How dare I use the same method, once again, to take someone he cared about! In his vision, my face slowly overlapped with my father’s cold countenance. Of course, we shared the same blood. The next second, a massive force sent me sprawling to the ground. Andrew seized my throat, pressing me against the wall. “You and your father, you’re both murderers!” “No, it was her own choice.” I managed to gasp, the words raw and strained. Scarlett cried out, throwing herself forward to clutch Andrew’s leg. “Andrew! I’m so scared! Evie suddenly said she would make me pay, that she would push me off!” The butler, Mr. Finch, rushed in at the sound, desperately pulling at Andrew’s arm. “Sir! Sir, calm down! Miss Scarlett is unharmed!” I clutched my throat, my voice hoarse. “The security… the security footage…” “Enough!” Andrew bellowed. “I saw you standing behind her with my own eyes! My mother was killed by your father in the very same way!” He wouldn’t even listen to an explanation. It was always like this. Three years ago, it was like this, and now it was like this again. He would always only believe the truth he decided upon, never giving anyone else a chance to speak. But the cruelest irony was this: If he hated me so much, why wouldn’t he let me go? My mother was dead, I had endured endless humiliation for three years, and I had even lost our child. Wasn’t all that enough? Did I have to die to repay his mother’s life? Andrew finally calmed down after hearing Mr. Finch’s voice. He left, holding Scarlett, with a chilling “Be careful” for me. After his footsteps completely faded down the hallway, the old butler dared to step forward and help me, where I was slumped on the floor. “Madam, please don’t blame the master. He just… he doesn’t recognize his own heart!” The butler’s voice was filled with a poignant sadness. “All these years, everyone at the estate has seen it. The master’s study drawer still holds the gifts you gave him, the jasmine scent you love is replenished precisely on time every month, and your favorite foods…” Doesn’t recognize his own heart? I remembered Andrew’s furious eyes as he choked me. I remembered Scarlett’s triumphant smile as she wore my mother’s locket. I remembered the moans from my phone, the night our unborn child turned to blood. Enough. Three years of enduring, of conceding, of pain—it was all enough. I pulled my arm from the butler’s grasp and walked towards the bedroom. The next morning, I opened my eyes. My phone screen lit up, a text from Attorney Miller. I stared at it for three seconds, then, with a faint, detached smile, I opened my contacts. “Andrew Hayes, I need to see you.” This time, I would not hesitate, I would not be soft-hearted. Either we would go to hell together. Or I would personally tear apart the lies of these past three years. My phone screen lit up, Andrew’s name flashing. “3 PM, Northwood Studios, Stage 7. Kneel and apologize to Scarlett, or you’ll never see your mother’s ashes again.” 4 Scarlett had a new project recently, so Andrew must have been staying with her. As I pushed open the heavy, soundproof studio door, I found the entire set deserted. Suddenly, the clang of an iron door closing echoed behind me. Three men in crew uniforms emerged from the shadows. “Mrs. Hayes, isn’t it? Someone wants us to add a little extra scene for you.” I understood instantly. It was Scarlett. I stumbled backward, hitting a prop stand. My self-defense spray slipped from my bag. The men chuckled, one of them kicking the spray away with his foot. “Don’t be nervous, this scene is simple. Our client said she wants it filmed clearly.” I snatched up a prop knife and lunged, but received a sharp slap across the face instead. The sky had fully darkened by the time I stumbled out of the studio. My phone screen lit up, displaying a new message from Scarlett: “The video turned out really professional, want to see it? Andrew will be able to enjoy it soon, too! Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Andrew was in my bed all day today! He watched me send that message to you!” The night wind whipped my torn clothes, revealing the dried blood on my legs. I slowly sank to the ground, burying my face in my knees. So Andrew knew. This was his tacit approval. I thought his torment and humiliation were merely forms of revenge. But I never imagined he would allow something like this to happen to me. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, dripping onto the cold studio floor. In a daze, I remembered that summer night four years ago. At a noisy night market barbecue stall, a drunkard’s hand had just grazed my waist when Andrew seized a beer bottle and smashed it over his head. The man, face covered in blood, begged for mercy, but Andrew was like a furious beast, his fists breaking two of the man’s ribs, refusing to stop. Finally, I hugged him from behind, my voice trembling as I said, “Enough, Andrew, I’m scared.” Only then did he stop, turning to embrace me tightly, his voice hoarse and broken. “Whoever touches you, I’ll take their life.” And now, the man who once fought for me, had hired others to ruin me. I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling. The moment the screen lit up, Andrew’s heart skipped a beat. “Andrew Hayes, why won’t you let me go?” “Do you hate me or do you not want to let me go?” “Will you only be satisfied when I’m dead?” Every word was a needle pricking his heart. He stared at the message, his brow furrowing unconsciously. The tone of this message wasn’t about the apology he’d demanded earlier today. Last night, when he choked me, the look in my eyes exploded in his mind. In those eyes, besides hatred, there was a raw, unreadable pain. He turned to Scarlett, who was applying lipstick in front of the vanity mirror. “Has Evie arrived at the studio yet?” Scarlett’s movement paused imperceptibly, then she flashed a sweet smile. “Why are you asking about that, Andrew? Don’t worry about her. Shall we watch the rushes from yesterday, first?” Andrew didn’t move. He looked back at his phone, scrolling up. It was the message telling me to go to Stage 7. He scrolled further up. It was the text I had sent him, asking to see him. Andrew suddenly stood up. He clearly remembered he hadn’t sent Evelyn any messages today. Half an hour later, when Andrew arrived at Northwood Studios, Stage 7, it was completely empty. In the dim studio, there were only a few torn scraps of fabric. Looking closely, dark red bloodstains remained on the floor. His heart plummeted. His phone suddenly vibrated. It was a text from his assistant:

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Eleanor Thorne’s husband of three years, Julian, had a rabid admirer. The girl, Scarlett Quinn, was unremarkable in every way, not particularly attractive, but she pulled out all the stops to force Julian into a divorce, committing outrageous acts. She knelt in the pouring rain on the street for three days and nights just for a glimpse of him; she crashed their wedding in a bridal gown, attempting to abduct the groom; she spiked his drink, shedding her clothes and brazenly attempting to force intimacy… Her insanity had rocked all of Sterling City. Many gossips even placed bets on how long it would take Julian to finally be swayed. Yet Eleanor had never truly worried about her. She was beautiful, wealthy, and successful. She and Julian had been childhood sweethearts for over a decade, having navigated the toughest times together. Most importantly, Julian’s own father had succumbed to temptation and had an affair, ultimately driving Julian’s mother to her death. Julian, therefore, utterly despised those who lacked all decency. Until their wedding anniversary. Eleanor went to Julian’s office to surprise him. Instead, she found Scarlett Quinn, utterly naked, inside. Scarlett’s eyes narrowed, as she lay brazenly on the executive chair, her fingers toying with a wet fountain pen. A soft, suggestive moan escaped her lips: “Julian, gently…” Eleanor felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. Just then, Julian’s voice suddenly sounded from behind her. “Eleanor, why aren’t you coming into the office? I just finished a meeting.” Julian walked over and put an arm around her. Catching sight of the scene in his office, his eyes widened, then narrowed, and he roared, “Scarlett Quinn! What are you doing!?” Caught red-handed, Scarlett showed not a shred of shame. Instead, her movements grew even more brazen. The bodyguards, alerted by the commotion, rushed forward, about to burst in. But Julian moved faster, slamming the door shut, cutting off everyone’s view. His gaze swept the room, finally landing on Eleanor. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke, his voice strained and awkward. “Eleanor, could you… could you go in first and help her get dressed? She is a woman, after all. We should consider her reputation…” At his words, Eleanor froze for a second, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. This wasn’t the first time Scarlett had pulled a stunt like this. A year ago, when Julian was on a business trip abroad, Scarlett had secretly sneaked into his hotel room, stripped, and climbed into his bed. Startled awake, Julian hadn’t bothered about her lack of clothes. He’d simply called security and had her thrown into the hallway. That incident had even caused quite a stir online. But somehow, somewhere along the line, his attitude towards Scarlett seemed to have shifted… The click of the door opening snapped Eleanor from her thoughts. Scarlett was now dressed, her eyes blazing with an obsessive adoration as she stared at Julian’s face. “Julian, I love you. That fountain pen was a gift from me. Let it stay by your side every day, in my place…” As her words hung in the air, the earlier image flashed through Eleanor’s mind. A wave of nausea surged in her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth and rushed into the washroom, emptying her stomach until she felt lightheaded. A few minutes later, Eleanor emerged, her face pale, her steps unsteady. She reached the office door, about to speak. But then she saw a sight that chilled her to the bone— Julian picked up the fountain pen, carefully wrapped it in a handkerchief, and gently placed it into his pocket. Eleanor stood frozen, as if plunged into an icy abyss. She knew better than anyone how much Julian had once detested Scarlett. He wouldn’t just discard the gifts Scarlett painstakingly prepared; he would even toss clothes she had touched into a fire, his face contorted in disgust. Yet now, he kept the pen Scarlett had “used”… Seeing Julian about to turn around, Eleanor didn’t dare to think twice. She instinctively spun around and fled, rushing downstairs to hail a taxi home. Once inside, she went straight to her study, retrieving a divorce agreement from the safe. Her fingertips lightly traced Julian’s signature, and memories from the past resurfaced, one by one. Her father-in-law’s affair had been a massive blow to Julian back then. He couldn’t accept that his father, whom he had idolized since childhood, had secretly kept a mistress, a woman even younger than Julian himself. And he had even allowed her to torment his mother to death. Julian had spent his days holed up at home, drinking heavily, the golden boy utterly ruined, fallen from grace. It was Eleanor who had stayed by his side, steadfastly, pulling him out of the darkness, helping him secure control of Vance Corp. That’s why, when they registered their marriage, he personally drafted this agreement. Should their marriage ever dissolve, all his personal assets and half of Vance Corp.’s shares would be hers. Julian had signed it, then personally handed it to her. “My love, if I ever betray you, then sign this divorce agreement. Don’t give me the chance to hurt you!” He had so vehemently despised his unfaithful father back then, yet in the end, he had trodden that very same path himself. Eleanor had witnessed firsthand how Julian’s beautiful, gentle mother had been tormented by a failed marriage, turning into a hysterical, broken woman. Eleanor refused to allow herself to suffer such a fate. After signing her name, Eleanor picked up her phone, retrieved a contact from her blocked list, and composed a text message. [The shares are yours, but the price is double. I want half a billion dollars.] A voice call came through almost instantly. “Miss Thorne, have you finally come to your senses? I’ll transfer the money in a month. I thought your bond was unbreakable, but it seems it was nothing special after all. Why don’t you divorce him and come to me?” Eleanor ignored his taunts, her voice calm. “You have two weeks. After that, the offer is off the table.” With that, she hung up. Eleanor knew that given Julian’s nature, he would never easily agree to a divorce and let her go. So, she needed someone to rein him in, and his fierce rival, Leo Sterling, was the perfect candidate. Footsteps in the living room pulled her back to the present. “Eleanor, why didn’t you call me when you came home? The front desk said you looked upset when you left. Is something wrong?” Seeing no obvious distress in her expression, Julian visibly relaxed. He presented a gift box to her like a prized treasure. “An anniversary gift. See if you like it?” Eleanor’s expression faltered slightly. Half a month ago, she had been traveling abroad with friends when she saw this bracelet at an auction. But the price had exceeded her budget, so she had reluctantly given up on it. She never imagined Julian would buy it for her… “On our wedding day, I told you I would love and protect you for life. Anything you desire, I will fight with all my might to get for you.” His eyes were earnest, his voice solemn. Yet Eleanor merely curved her lips into a faint, cynical smile. What she truly desired was a loyal partner, and Julian was not that. She raised her hand, offering him the box containing the signed divorce agreement. “I’ve prepared a gift for you too. But you have to wait seven days to open it.” A flicker of confusion crossed Julian’s eyes, but he obediently nodded. “Alright. I’ve booked your favorite restaurant. After dinner, we can go for a stroll.” With that, he gave Eleanor no chance to refuse, pulling her into the car. All the way, he chatted about amusing things, trying to lift her spirits. But Eleanor remained silent. Ten minutes later, Julian’s phone suddenly rang. Seeing “Scarlett Quinn” flash on the screen, Eleanor’s body stiffened imperceptibly. Hadn’t Julian blocked her number ages ago? While she was still bewildered, Julian had already answered the phone, letting out an impatient roar. “Are you ever going to stop!? I told you, stop bothering me! Can’t you understand plain English?” Scarlett’s trembling voice came from the other end. “Julian, someone’s following me. I’m scared. Can you come pick me up…?” Julian paused, but his tone remained cold. “You should call the police. Telling me is useless.” With that, he ruthlessly hung up. The shrill ringing echoed again and again in the silent car. Eleanor finally broke the silence, her voice icy. “I don’t feel like dinner anymore. You should go find Scarlett.” Before she finished, Julian cut her off. “Don’t mind her. With her kind of reputation, who would even bother following her? And even if someone was, it serves her right for being so shameless…” Despite his words, Julian’s tightly furrowed brow and the surging speed of the car betrayed his inner unease. Eleanor was about to warn him that he was speeding. Then, a black sedan suddenly darted out from the left intersection. Her pupils instantly constricted. CRASH! A deafening roar, and the world spun violently. In a daze, Eleanor felt someone pulling her from the wreckage. Julian’s voice was frantic. “Eleanor, how are you feeling? Are you hurt anywhere?” The searing pain in Eleanor’s chest made it almost impossible to breathe. “It… hurts…” Her faint voice was swallowed by the incessant ringing of Julian’s phone. This time, Scarlett’s voice was thick with desperate sobs. “Julian, I’m so scared. Please, please help me.” Before Julian could speak, a few more screams echoed from the other end, then the call disconnected. His face instantly changed. “Eleanor, I’ve checked. You have no external injuries. The ambulance will be here soon. Wait here… I’ll be right back after I deal with this!” With that, he gently laid Eleanor on the roadside and rushed away. The intense pain blurred Eleanor’s consciousness. She couldn’t speak, could only watch helplessly as Julian got into a passing taxi. Then, her vision swam with black spots, and she completely lost consciousness. Eleanor opened her eyes again two days later. The nurse, changing her bandages, stopped her from sitting up. “Don’t move. You have a fractured rib that nearly punctured an organ, which could have caused a major hemorrhage. You need to rest properly in the hospital for a few days.” With that, she called Julian, who was waiting anxiously outside the room. His eyes were bloodshot, his face etched with anguish. “Eleanor, does it hurt? I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault for causing your injuries. You don’t know how worried and scared I was when the doctor said your condition was critical. Thankfully, you’re alright in the end, or I wouldn’t be able to live either…” Eleanor’s voice was hoarse as she interrupted him. “How is Scarlett?” At her question, Julian’s expression stiffened for a second. “She’s fine. The whole ‘being followed’ thing was fake. I was just worried about her, being a young girl. What if something really did happen…? Eleanor, don’t worry, I promise I won’t pay any attention to her ever again!” Eleanor looked at the fresh bite marks on his neck, her heart feeling as if it were being sliced by a thousand phantom blades, each breath carrying a sting. She forced herself to pull her hand away. “I’m tired.” After that day, Julian stayed glued to her side, never leaving. He even avoided sleeping at night, terrified she might accidentally jostle her wound. In just a few days, he had lost a significant amount of weight, looking even more haggard than a patient. Yet, Eleanor felt nothing. One afternoon, she was taking a nap when a shrill shriek suddenly echoed from outside the room. Scarlett Quinn stood in the center of the crowd, a deep gash marring her right wrist, her left hand still tightly clutching a dagger. Her voice was piercing. “Julian Vance, you finally came to see me! For three whole days, no matter if I called or texted, you ignored me! What did I do wrong? Why are you doing this to me?!” Blood slowly pooled at her feet. Julian’s face was ashen. “I’ve made it clear to you, Scarlett. I will never love you. Don’t ever bother me again!” With that, he turned to leave, but Scarlett’s shriek stopped him. “Julian! You can’t leave! Or I’ll die right here!” Before anyone could react, she savagely sliced her wrist several more times. Blood gushed forth, instantly staining half of her body crimson. Julian rushed forward, his face etched with terror, covering her wound with his hands. “Scarlett Quinn! Are you trying to die?!” Scarlett’s entire face was utterly drained of color. But she seemed to feel no pain, her eyes fixed on him in a desperate, unwavering stare. “As long as I can be with you, even throwing my life away is worth it.” Julian looked at her, his expression complex. His voice was strained. “I think you’ve truly gone mad…” Before he finished, he scooped up Scarlett’s limp body and strode quickly towards the operating room. Eleanor watched his receding back in silence. That night, Julian didn’t return. He only arranged for a nurse aide. In the hallway, a nurse whispered to a colleague after completing her rounds. “Did you hear? That crazy girl, the one named Quinn, lost so much blood today. She almost didn’t make it off the operating table. Mr. Vance had to spend a fortune to get blood transferred just to save her!” “Didn’t they say Mr. Vance hated her? Why would he go to such lengths to save her?” “Hate her? If you ask me, it’s all an act for his wife. Who would refuse a woman throwing herself at them?” Eleanor curved her lips in a self-deprecating smile. Yes, who would refuse a woman throwing herself at them? She was the only fool who truly believed Julian wouldn’t be swayed by Scarlett… Thankfully, she had finally seen the light. On the day she was discharged, Eleanor completed her paperwork herself. As she stepped out of the hospital, about to hail a taxi, she saw Julian approaching. “Why didn’t you wait for me? Why did you come out on your own?” As he spoke, he smoothly took off his jacket, intending to drape it over Eleanor’s shoulders, but she sidestepped him. His hands froze mid-air, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Eleanor, are you mad at me? I’m so sorry. The company has been incredibly busy these past few days, I just couldn’t find the time. But I asked the nurse aide about your condition every day. Please, forgive me, just this once?” By the end, his eyes were visibly red-rimmed, his voice tinged with a tremor. Noticing passersby casting curious glances, Eleanor, not wanting to be an object of public scrutiny, mumbled a vague assent and got into the car first. On the road, Julian kept trying to engage her in conversation. But Eleanor had no desire to play along, so she simply closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. After what felt like an eternity, the car slowly pulled to a stop. She opened her eyes, finding they were outside a restaurant. “Eleanor, we missed our anniversary celebration last time. I’m making it up to you today.” Julian walked around and opened the car door for her. The restaurant had been meticulously decorated, with flowers adorning every visible surface. The central dining table was laden with all of Eleanor’s favorite dishes. They sat opposite each other. Julian, just as he used to, served her food, spooned soup into her bowl, peeled shrimp, and deshelled crab. The atmosphere was so harmonious it was as if no rift had ever existed between them. Until the waiter brought over a cake. Eleanor’s fingers paused. She was about to say something, but Julian stood up, cut a slice, and placed it in front of her. “The other day, you mentioned wanting mango cake. I made this myself. Try it, tell me if it’s good?” Meeting his expectant gaze, she sighed wearily. “Julian, I didn’t say I wanted mango cake. Besides, I’m allergic to mango.” Her words coincided with the special notification tone from Julian’s phone. He picked up his phone. With just one glance, his face changed. “Eleanor, something’s come up at the company. I need to go now. Can you take a taxi home after you finish eating?” Eleanor said nothing, merely nodding silently. Watching him walk out of the restaurant, she stood up and hailed a taxi by the roadside. “Please follow that car ahead.” The car finally stopped outside a tattoo parlor. Eleanor stepped out, and as she reached the second floor, she heard a furious roar. “Why aren’t you staying in the hospital? What are you doing causing trouble here?!” Julian’s face was etched with undisguised fury, but also a worry he couldn’t hide. Yet Scarlett showed no fear. In fact, her lips curved into a smile at his appearance. “It’s my birthday today, so I got myself a present.” With that, she turned her back to him, slowly raising her hands and taking off her top. Revealing a large, fresh tattoo on her back. Perhaps because it was newly done, her skin was still red and weeping slightly. But it was unmistakably Julian’s portrait! Julian raised his hand, lightly tracing the tattoo, his voice hoarse. “I told you, I only love Eleanor in this life. Why must you…?” He clenched the hand hanging by his side, his deep eyes churning with dark, unreadable emotions. Scarlett, naked from the waist up, walked towards him, step by deliberate step. “From the moment you saved me, the meaning of my life has been to love you. I’ve loved you for eight whole years. You’ve consumed my entire existence. If I don’t have you, I’d rather just die!” As her words fell, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. That fleeting kiss seemed like a key, unlocking the shackles deep within Julian’s heart. He could no longer control the surging emotions and clamped a hand on the back of Scarlett’s head, deepening the kiss. Eleanor’s nails dug deep into her palms. Despite being prepared, seeing this scene firsthand felt like a gaping wound tearing through her heart. The pain made her eyes sting with tears. Inside the room, the sounds of their lips meeting grew bolder, unmistakably intimate. Eleanor wiped away her tears, turned, and strode away. Back home, she meticulously packed all the gifts and jewelry Julian had given her over the years and listed them online. Perhaps because the prices were surprisingly low, orders came in quickly. The next morning, Eleanor was still asleep when her bedroom door suddenly swung open. “Eleanor, why did you sell our wedding rings?!” Julian was half-kneeling by the bed, his face etched with panic. “We promised we’d never be apart. Are you angry? What did I do wrong? Tell me, I’ll fix everything, won’t I?” Looking at the distinct bite marks beneath his collar, Eleanor longed to ask him, Don’t you know what you did wrong? But in the end, she asked nothing. She merely uttered a casual lie. “Yesterday, while tidying, I sold some jewelry I didn’t like. The wedding rings must have gotten mixed in by accident.” Despite the glaring flaws in her explanation, Julian believed her. “Eleanor, don’t do something like that again. You don’t know how scared I was. We can never be apart…” Was he only scared because she sold the wedding rings? What would his reaction be if he knew they were already divorced? Eleanor lowered her head, hiding the mockery in her eyes. Perhaps sensing her low spirits, Julian canceled all his work commitments, dedicating himself entirely to staying home with her. He personally cooked for her, made her soups; he sent her a bouquet of fresh flowers every day; he purchased countless pieces of jewelry; he acquired a new lavish estate for her; he even arranged a city-wide fireworks display that captivated everyone… The top trending post every day was titled, “Guess what surprise Mr. Vance prepared for his wife today?” Everyone envied their deep affection. But only Eleanor knew that for everything Julian prepared, Scarlett also received a duplicate. He had, in the end, become the very person he once despised… Late the night before her departure, Eleanor got up for a drink of water and heard Julian on the balcony talking on the phone. “Mr. Vance, Miss Quinn swallowed an entire bottle of pills. She’s extremely agitated and refusing to cooperate with our emergency treatment. Please, try to talk her into it!” Julian irritably pinched the bridge of his nose. “Put her on the phone.” The next instant, a hysterical scream tore from the other end. “Julian Vance! I want you to divorce Eleanor right now, or I swear I won’t accept treatment even if I die!” Her madness and stubbornness could be felt through the phone. But this time, Julian didn’t compromise. His voice was cold. “Scarlett Quinn, I’ve told you, I will not divorce Eleanor. Even if you threaten to die, I won’t give in. That’s my red line.” The last sentence carried an undeniable firmness. A cynical smile touched Eleanor’s lips. He had already slept with Scarlett, yet he was still putting on an act of profound devotion, clinging to this broken marriage. A long silence followed on the other end of the line, then a soft sob. “Then… then will you come see me? Julian, stomach pumps are so awful. I just… I just want to see you…” After a long pause, Julian sighed wearily. “Alright. Be a good girl and wait for me at the hospital.” He hung up the phone, pulled a sticky note from the table, and scribbled a few lines. [Eleanor, urgent company business requires me to travel for two days. Be a good girl and eat your meals. I’ll be back to take you to the beach to clear your head.] Then he grabbed his jacket and strode away without a moment’s hesitation. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that Eleanor emerged from the bedroom and began packing her suitcase. After an unknown period, muffled, suggestive sounds drifted from the media room. She frowned and walked over, pushing open the door. Her body stiffened as she saw what was playing on the large screen— Scarlett, scantily clad, was draped over Julian, her face flushed. “Julian, I miss you so much. Please, take me…” Her hand slowly reached towards him. Julian’s breath hitched, his throat working, his eyes darkening with desire. “You asked for this,” he muttered, “so no matter how intense it gets, you’ll endure it.” The next moment, he reversed their positions, pulling her beneath him. Low, guttural breaths mingled with Scarlett’s soft moans. His hands gripped her waist tightly, pressing kisses along her neck… Eleanor’s stomach churned. She could no longer control herself and rushed to the bathroom, emptying her stomach in a fit of revulsion. She spent the night in a numb stupor in the living room. As dawn broke, her phone received a text message. Eleanor saw the half a billion dollars transferred into her account, and the pent-up frustration in her heart immediately dissipated. She called a courier to deliver the signed stock transfer agreement to Leo Sterling’s company. Then, she picked up her suitcase and walked out. But she never expected that as she pushed open the door, she would see a familiar figure. Scarlett Quinn was still wearing her hospital gown, her face ghostly pale, as if she might faint at any second. Recalling the scene in the video, Eleanor felt a wave of disgust. She turned away, her face cold, intending to leave. But Scarlett suddenly reached out and blocked her path. Her voice was hoarse. “Eleanor Thorne, I’m the one who truly loves Julian, so why did he marry you? Even when I swallowed an entire bottle of pills, almost dying, he still wouldn’t agree to divorce you! Why?!” As she spoke, Scarlett’s eyes turned bloodshot, glaring at her with venomous hatred. An inexplicable chill rose in Eleanor’s heart. She was about to say that they were already divorced, but before she could open her mouth, Scarlett clamped a towel over her mouth and nose. As consciousness faded, she heard a cold sneer. “Since he doesn’t want a divorce, then it can only be… widowhood.”

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When my mother, at 55, finally spoke of divorce, My father roared, “Then be gone!” My brother sneered, “Ungrateful old woman!” I stepped through the scattered chaos, grabbed her hand, and said, “Mom, I’m taking you home.” 1 I walked into a living room brimming with people. My father, my brother, my sister-in-law Brittany, and what seemed like every single one of Brittany’s relatives. My mother was alone in the kitchen, silently washing dishes. Seeing me, Dad stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, his voice grating with impatience. “Go on, talk some sense into your foolish mother. Your in-laws are staying with us, what’s she kicking up a fuss for?” I scanned the crowded room. “Why are they staying here?” Brittany’s mother, Sharon Jenkins, offered a saccharine smile. “Brittany’s grandma is in the hospital, stroke. Needs constant care. And wouldn’t you know, our place is so much farther from Metropolitan General…” Before she could finish, my brother Kevin cut her off. “Enough, Mom, why are you explaining anything to an outsider?” He turned to me, his lip curling. “Don’t know what bug Mom’s got up her butt. Asking for a divorce at her age? Embarrassing.” “My Mom?” I scoffed, a cold laugh escaping me. “Were you born under a rock? No mother at all?” “You…” Kevin spluttered, caught off guard by my retort. Brittany jumped in, playing peacemaker. “Mia, your brother just spoke without thinking. We asked you to come back to talk to Mom. This fuss she’s making isn’t good for anyone.” “Fine. I’ll talk to her.” I strode directly into the kitchen, picked up the stack of unwashed dishes my mother was about to tackle, and with a resounding crash, I slammed them down on the living room floor. 2 Even as a child, two things became clear to me. I was the least favored person in my family, and my mother was the one who toiled the most. When we visited my grandparents, I was never allowed to eat at the main table. After my mother had painstakingly cooked and served all the food, Grandpa would always feign politeness, saying, “Ellie, there’s not enough room. You take little Amelia to the kitchen to eat.” I was named Amelia when I was born. My mother, who hadn’t had much schooling, later thought the name was too common. She secretly took me to the county office to change it. When the clerk asked her what she wanted to change it to, all she could think of was “Mia.” She said I deserved to be cherished and loved by everyone. So, I became Mia Hayes. Eating in the kitchen was actually a delight, because my mother would always secretly save me a few pieces of meat. While the big family feasted raucously outside, my mother and I would share our quiet, warm meal in the kitchen. My grades were always excellent in school. But when I was in ninth grade, my father wouldn’t let me continue. He said he had connections to get me a factory job, where I could earn at least fifteen hundred a month. I could send a thousand home each month, and with the family’s savings, they could buy my brother a house in the city, helping him get married. My mother refused. Father beat her for it, but she wouldn’t budge. With a bruised and swollen face, she went to my homeroom teacher, begging for a few more days, promising she would find a way to pay my tuition. She went to a construction site, hauling bricks for pennies a piece, working day and night until her fingers were raw and bleeding. Finally, she scraped together enough for my tuition. The day she paid for my schooling, she was brutally beaten by my father again. 3 To take my mother away from that house, I poured all my energy into studying. After getting into a top university, I never stopped urging her to divorce him. But back then, my brother was getting ready to marry. My mother said her children were both “flesh and blood,” and she had to stay to help him with the wedding arrangements. That’s just the kind of person my mother was. She was endlessly loving and nurturing to everyone else, but utterly clueless about loving herself. After Brittany moved in, she took advantage of my father and brother’s backing to blatantly exploit my mother. Every meal had to have at least four different dishes, or else Mom wasn’t “taking her seriously.” If someone in Brittany’s family got sick, my mother had to make nourishing soups daily and visit them, or else she wasn’t “taking her seriously.” My mother had to hand-wash Brittany’s intimate clothing every day, or else she wasn’t “taking her seriously.” My brother had no objections to any of this. In fact, he felt my mother should be even more attentive. My father also saw no problem. He felt incredibly proud when entertaining his in-laws. Both father and son were obsessed with appearances. So, when I smashed that stack of dishes in the living room, their faces turned purple with rage. “Mia Hayes, what the hell are you doing, making a scene like that?” My brother looked ready to charge me, but his mother-in-law held him back. I smiled, a cold, sharp edge to my lips. “I’m ‘talking to’ my mother. She’s divorcing, so there’s no need for her to cook and clean for you leeches anymore. Even a dog, fed a few times, knows to wag its tail. You lot are less human than a canine.” At my words, the faces in the living room shifted, turning ugly. Brittany, in particular, tore off all pretenses and began to shriek at me. My mother, hearing the commotion, rushed in from the kitchen. The moment my father saw her, he unleashed a torrent of curses. “Eleanor, look at what kind of monster you raised!” My mother, gentle by nature, had never cursed anyone in her life. Her lips trembled, but for a long moment, no words of rebuttal came out. In the end, she simply whispered, “Frankie, I told you. I want a divorce.” My father’s voice climbed higher. “Then pack your bags right now! If you want to leave, damn it, then leave! You think I’m giving you a choice?” The others in the living room made a few half-hearted attempts to mediate. I wanted to retort, but my mother gently patted my hand, shaking her head. I reluctantly followed her into the bedroom. Just before I closed the door, I heard my brother snarl, “Two ungrateful bitches.” 4 I’d been on a business trip in New York City recently. Work had been hectic, and I hadn’t kept much in touch with my family. As my mom packed her things, I pieced together the approximate story from the scene outside and her fragmented whispers. Brittany’s grandmother had been hospitalized with a brain hemorrhage at Metropolitan General. Under the guise of taking care of the elderly, Brittany’s parents, Sharon and Gary Jenkins, and her younger brother, Kyle, had all moved into our house. They claimed to be looking after the patient, but in reality, it was my mother who brought the patient’s meals, fed her, emptied her bedpan, and even bathed her. Besides caring for the patient, my mother also had to cook for the entire extended family at home. Brittany insisted that since her parents rarely visited, they had to be well-fed for every single meal. On top of all this, my mother had to look after Brittany’s brother, Kyle. He’d tripped and fallen, complaining of pain all over. My thick-headed brother, eager to curry favor with his in-laws, stupidly boasted that he’d once fallen as a child and my mother had massaged him every night, helping him recover quickly. At their collective insistence, my mother had to spend half an hour every night massaging Kyle’s aching body. My mother said these things didn’t bother her much. “Who cares for whom?” she’d say. “As long as the family is together and happy.” What truly broke her heart was when she fell ill recently, so sick she couldn’t get out of bed. She asked my brother to drive her to the hospital, but he said he had to take Brittany and her family out sightseeing. He told my mother to just lie in bed and, if she felt better, to go visit Brittany’s grandma at the hospital. They all fit perfectly into one car, along with my father. They stayed out all day and didn’t come back. My mother lay in bed for a full day. She hadn’t eaten anything. In the end, she had to call 911 herself. The paramedics asked the building manager to unlock the door, then took my mother to the hospital in an ambulance. When my father and brother returned, they heard the news from the neighbors. Then they went to the hospital and yelled at my mother. My father said my mother was just being dramatic, calling 911 for such a minor thing, costing money and making them look like a joke. My brother said my mother had gotten sick at the worst possible time; Brittany’s grandma was already ill, and now there was one more person to take care of. Brittany herself claimed my mother must have been jealous that my brother took them out, so she’d gotten herself sick out of spite, saying my mother was too petty. Hearing this, I trembled with fury. My mother was incredibly frugal. She would endure pain rather than take medicine, only going to a small clinic for something if she truly couldn’t bear it anymore. How much pain must she have been in to call 911 herself? I looked at my mother’s small, bony back, subtly wiping away the tears that streamed down my face. They wouldn’t stop. My mother said Brittany, afraid of catching something, had left the hospital room after only a few minutes, dragging everyone else with her. An elderly woman in the same hospital room, seeing my mother’s plight, specifically asked her family to bring extra food and shared half with my mother. It was then that my mother realized that, in my father and brother’s eyes, she was worth less than a stranger. It was then that she finally conceived the idea of divorce. 5 My mother’s belongings were few. After toiling for this family for half a lifetime, everything she owned fit into a single duffel bag. As my mother carried her bag out of the room, my sister-in-law’s mother, Sharon Jenkins, came over, feigning concern, and tried to snatch the bag from her hand. “Oh, dear! My dear in-law, what are you doing?” she wailed. “It’s all our fault! We shouldn’t have moved in and caused all this trouble between you two. Oh, what a terrible sin we’ve committed!” Brittany’s mother, a large, beefy woman, barely tugged at my mother’s bag twice before letting out an “ouch!” and clutching her back, claiming she’d twisted it. Brittany’s father, Gary Jenkins, lunged forward, pushing my mother toward the wall, but I stepped in, blocking him. My father and brother stood by, hands in pockets, watching the spectacle. As if the person being bullied wasn’t his wife and his own mother. My mother didn’t spare a glance for anyone else in the house. I shielded her, guiding her directly toward the front door. As my mother was changing her shoes, my father finally spoke. “Eleanor, if you walk out that door today, our family disowns both you and your daughter!” “Disown us then! Who cares?” I couldn’t hold back the seething anger any longer, unleashing it on everyone in the room. I pointed at my father. “You’re nothing but a coward who only acts tough at home, selfish and self-serving. You can’t even speak up in front of strangers, but you’re a bully to my mother.” I pointed at my brother. “You’re a spineless leech, always turning your back on your own family, with no backbone of your own. All you do is grovel and flatter your wife’s family, you pathetic excuse for a man.” I pointed at Brittany. “Every meal can’t have less than four dishes? Did you never eat at home? Did you come to my house begging for food?” I pointed at Sharon Jenkins. “Your mother’s sick, and you expect my mother to make her soup, sit by her bedside, and clean her? Is your whole family dead?” I pointed at Kyle. “You fell and hurt yourself, and you want my mother to massage your back? What, did you break your legs and become a cripple?” And finally, I pointed at Gary Jenkins. “And you! My mother cooked and cared for you, and you still had the nerve to push her? You heartless bastard!” “Mia Hayes, you wanna fight, you little B-word?” My brother rolled up his sleeves, ready to lunge. I pulled out the small fruit knife I’d hidden in my pocket, my voice chillingly calm. “Try me, if you’re not afraid to die.” “Mia, have you lost your mind?” Brittany quickly pulled my brother back. I swept my gaze across everyone in the room. “I’ll have a lawyer draft the divorce papers and send them over. From now on, whether you live or die, it has nothing to do with my mother or me!” With that, I picked up my mother’s duffel bag with one hand and pulled her out the door with the other. “Mom, I’m taking you home.” 6 Last year, I bought a small two-bedroom apartment, telling no one. After my mom put her few things away, she still looked shaken. “Mia, why did you pull out that knife? What if you’d hurt yourself? Don’t be so foolish next time.” I sat beside her, gently putting my arm around her. “Because I was determined to take you away, Mom. Just like that year after I graduated high school, when you took a knife and dragged me away from the old place.” When I got my college acceptance letter, my grandparents, uncharacteristically, invited us back to the old homestead for a gathering. They said it was to celebrate my getting into college. But when we arrived, it was clearly a trap. My grandparents had heard from others that once a girl went to college, she was like a kite with a broken string—she’d never come back. This made them, who had always planned to use my “settlement” to subsidize their precious grandson, extremely anxious. They conspired with my father and brother. They found a family in the village with similar standing, accepted a significant payment from them for my hand, and planned a meal to serve as the “wedding feast.” Then, they’d let the man take me away to make sure the deed was done, and the marriage would be irreversible. Sensing something was terribly wrong, I kicked over the table and ran. But I was outnumbered and caught. The man’s mother, seeing my fierce spirit, urged him to take me home immediately and “finish things.” They stuffed my mouth with a rag and bound me tightly with rope. The man lifted me onto his shoulder, walking step by agonizing step toward his house. Just as I despaired, wishing for death, my mother, who had been locked in the woodshed, burst out from somewhere, brandishing a kitchen knife. Her hair was disheveled, and she swung the knife wildly at anyone who came near, single-handedly rescuing me. “I’d like to see who dares touch my daughter! If you’re not afraid to die, come closer!” she screamed. “My daughter is capable, and she’s going to college! If you dare ruin her, I’ll fight you to the death!” That year, despite being malnourished, I had grown to five feet seven inches. My mother was barely five feet two. Years of constant labor had reduced her to skin and bones. But in that moment, I saw her as monumental. More monumental than the sky or the earth. My grandparents threatened suicide, hanging and drowning, to force her hand. My mother’s resolve remained unshaken. She called the police. My father and that man were held for two weeks. My mother, fearing they’d plot against me again, gave me every penny she had. “My girl,” she’d said, “your mother is useless. Take this money, go far away, and don’t ever come back.” I begged her to come with me, but she steadfastly refused. At first, I resented her for her apparent ignorance. Later, I realized she wasn’t ignorant. She was simply trapped by her generation’s beliefs. She had been taught from childhood that men were everything, that women were born to serve men, that a woman must bear sons to continue the family line. She hadn’t received a proper education, hadn’t seen the grand, vibrant world outside. But her love for me gave her the courage to defy every principle she’d been taught. 7 The day after my mother moved into my apartment, my uncle called her. He chided her for being irresponsible at her age, for abandoning the family and living luxuriously with her “ungrateful” daughter. “Ellie, how can you be such a mother? Frankie and your nephew don’t know how to cook. Are you trying to starve them?” he scolded. “A man is the most important, a man is someone you can truly rely on. How long do you think you can stay with Mia? She’ll get married eventually, she’ll become someone else’s family. In the end, you’ll just slink back!” “Listen to your brother, go back and apologize to the family, and this whole thing will blow over. What kind of scene are you making?” My mother sat on the sofa, clutching her phone, looking helpless. She tried to explain the whole story to my uncle. On the other end of the line, my uncle scoffed, “Oh, what’s the big deal? Your in-laws rarely visit, your nephew had to entertain them properly. And honestly, when else could you get sick but then? Whose fault is that?” “If your nephew keeps his wife happy, and she gives the Hayes family a big, healthy grandson, it’ll bring so much honor to your family name!” My mother’s eyes dimmed, a flicker of hope dying within them.

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For five years, our secret affair as boss and employee unfolded, every morning I’d rise at six, concocting his favorite dishes with an almost obsessive dedication. Curry had to shed a touch of its fieriness, greens needed to retain their perfect crispness, and beef, always, had to be stewed to melt-in-your-mouth tenderness. I even bought a kitchen timer, just to nail the cooking times with pinpoint accuracy. My boyfriend claimed the company strictly forbade office romances, demanding discretion, so each day I’d ask the cafeteria lady to pass him his lunchbox. Yet, he never once said, “It’s good.” Sometimes, when he was swamped with tasks, the lunchbox would return untouched; other times, he’d take a couple of bites, then set it aside, merely remarking, “Too salty,” or “Too greasy.” I always comforted myself, at least he still accepted it. Until that day— Chloe Davis, the new intern, posted on social media: “Love-filled lunch from my senior! So delicious!” The accompanying picture was the tomato beef brisket I’d made. Even the tiny cherry tomato I’d carefully placed that morning was highlighted in her close-up shot, poked with a chopstick. Turns out my handiwork wasn’t bad; it was just the person eating it who didn’t care. When colleagues whispered about his special attention to the intern, it hit me: his “discretion” was only for me. That night, I handed in my resignation and bought a one-way ticket home. But he drove like a madman, blowing through a dozen red lights, chasing me across five train stations, begging me to come back. 1 The station announcement crackled to life, signaling boarding. I stood in the waiting area, gazing one last time at Southville, the city where I’d spent five years. All because Ethan Blackwood was still here. The thought of leaving had been brewing since late last year. It was during the year-end financial review when bonuses were distributed by project. The major project, which I had personally spearheaded from start to finish, only had a new intern, Chloe, assist with the final wrap-up. Yet, when the final assessment came, ninety percent of the bonus was allocated to her. That was two months of my blood, sweat, and tears. Dave Miller, my colleague, looked at me awkwardly. “Director Hayes, this was Mr. Blackwood’s decision…” Chloe, the intern, was someone I had personally vouched for, brought onto the project team as an exception. I’d wanted to mentor a junior, give her an opportunity to shine, but I never imagined two months of my hard work would become her stepping stone. Dave helplessly added, “Mr. Blackwood emphasized that ‘outstanding newcomers like Chloe Davis’ needed to be rewarded significantly.” Chloe Davis, indeed. And Mr. Ethan Blackwood, the man I’d been secretly dating for five years. 2 A chill wind cut through the platform. I stood by the designated car, systematically deleting our photos from my phone. Ethan always stressed that office romances violated company policy, so our five-year relationship had always been hidden, never seeing the light of day. These few photos were only kept after much nagging, let alone being shared on social media. He deliberately maintained a distance, letting everyone assume he disliked me. Even when he arbitrarily reassigned my project bonus, my colleagues thought it was perfectly normal. As I deleted the photos, the scene from that bonus allocation day flashed back. I suppressed my rage and dialed his number in the hallway, only for it to be, predictably, hung up. For five years, he almost never took my work calls. Then a text popped up: “Busy.” But this time, it wasn’t a personal matter. I headed straight for the top-floor office. Through the glass partition, I saw him leaning over, explaining a proposal to Chloe. As the girl leaned in, the flowing ends of her scarf softly brushed his neck. He was young, yet he commanded the Capitol City branch, quickly gaining recognition from New York HQ in just a few years. His abilities truly were outstanding. Once upon a time, I too longed for his guidance, but I was always met with impatient rejections: “Learn the basics yourself, I’m busy.” When I made a mistake at work and faced disciplinary action, he never bothered to inquire: “You learn from your mistakes.” Yet now, he was patiently explaining basic concepts to Chloe, who didn’t even know how to use a pivot table. On his desk sat the “loving” lunchbox I prepared daily — to avoid suspicion, I could only entrust it to the cafeteria lady. “Mr. Blackwood, I didn’t have breakfast, I’m starving. Can I have your lunchbox? I’ll treat you to lunch later.” Chloe pointed at the container. “Take it.” He said, not even looking up from his emails. The girl happily opened the box, tasting the beef brisket and praising it profusely. In that moment, it suddenly struck me that confronting him about the bonus allocation was utterly pointless. As I turned to leave, the entire building suddenly lost power. A torrential downpour had led to an emergency company announcement for remote work. Fumbling my way down the stairs in the dark, I caught sight of two figures walking side-by-side in the rain — Ethan holding an umbrella, carefully shielding Chloe as they headed to his car. I arrived home, soaked and miserable, just as Ethan’s call came through. “Abby,” he said, his voice distant. “Figured you had an umbrella. Made it home, right?” In the background, Chloe was asking if he wanted ginger slices in his ginger tea. “Today I made tomato beef brisket,” I gripped my phone tightly. “Did you like it?” “Hmm… it was alright.” He answered distractedly. After hanging up, I saw Chloe’s new social media post: Inside a warm, softly lit room, two hands clinked glasses: “The taste of being cherished, it’s truly wonderful.” 3 The train slowly pulled into the platform. I pulled my suitcase and boarded the car, faintly hearing a call from behind. Perhaps it was for me, perhaps not. But I wouldn’t look back. This journey home from Southville, its first stop was Riverbend. And the story of Ethan and me, it also began in Riverbend. That was the first time I was solely responsible for a bidding project in Riverbend. The subway was down, the taxi queue had over four hundred people, and the deadline was fast approaching. In desperation, I contacted Dave, who grumbled and then begrudgingly gave me Ethan’s number, telling me to ask him for help. On the phone, Ethan listened to my trembling plea, then sighed softly. “Don’t panic, wait for me where you are.” In the pouring rain, he sped through the streets, simultaneously calming my panic and reminding me to allow ample time in the future. Finally, I submitted the bid just in time, drenched in cold sweat. He leaned against his car, offering me a steaming cup of coffee. That night, I posted an update visible only to him: “In this rainy weather, I met my saving grace.” He silently liked it. Now, I too had liked Chloe’s post, and a minute later, that post disappeared. Ethan quickly called, testing the waters. “I’m on my way back.” My voice was calm; I simply told him to drive safely. He seemed to relax. “You too, be careful not to catch a cold.” “Ethan,” I suddenly said. “This Christmas, can we tell my parents about us?” He had always refused to go public, always saying the time wasn’t right. “Forget it.” His voice was low. “They’re pushing for marriage so hard, let’s not stir up trouble.” “Okay.” I smiled and hung up. The fever from the rain came on suddenly. For the first time ever, I took a cab to the office. Staring blankly out the window, Ethan’s car flashed by. My apartment was actually very close to his house. But picking me up meant driving down the perpetually congested Victoria Avenue, a half-hour crawl. So I never hoped he’d give me a ride, and he was happy to avoid suspicion. Only today did I realize that road had been rebuilt months ago, now a mere ten-minute drive. For half a year, he had driven past my door daily, yet never offered me a ride. And today, he was coming from the direction of Cedar Creek Apartments, where Chloe lived. Not on his way, but expressly for her. At the office, I put on a fever patch and buried myself in organizing handover documents, until a familiar yet rare figure appeared. Ethan frowned. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say anything?” I didn’t lift my head. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t care for me like other boyfriends do.” Glancing at colleagues slowly arriving, I lowered my voice. “Go on, aren’t you afraid of being seen?” He was silent for a moment, then turned and left. 4 The train’s second stop was Sterling Heights. My connection with Ethan also had roots in Sterling Heights. I had just been promoted and went with Dave and Ethan to Sterling Heights to finalize a project contract. The night before the signing, after reviewing the bidding proposal, we went out for a late dinner. Suddenly, several masked figures rushed out of the darkness, making a beeline for Ethan, their moves vicious. Dave called the police and shouted for help. If anything happened to Ethan, the next day’s signing would definitely be off. Without thinking, I grabbed a brick from the roadside and charged. Both of us ended up getting beaten. As a knife swung toward Ethan’s head, I threw myself forward, blocking it with my arm. He held me as we tumbled to the ground. As I drifted into unconsciousness, the only sound left was the shrill wail of police sirens. When I woke again, only he was in the hospital room. “Was it worth it?” He stared at me. “You almost died?” “I couldn’t… just watch you get hurt.” My voice was weak. “You helped me last time, now it’s my turn.” Looking down, I found he was holding my hand. This scene felt eerily familiar. I froze. “Mr. Blackwood…” “Call me Ethan,” he whispered. The day I was discharged, the company should have sent a car, but he came to pick me up himself. He took me to Riverbend Lake. His gaze was as gentle as the shimmering water. “I thought about it for a long time. That girl who shielded me from the knife, if she’s willing to walk towards me, I’ll cherish her completely.” The sunset painted the lake red. I reached out and hugged him. He lowered his head and kissed my forehead. Back then, he looked at my wounds with such heartache. Later, seeing me with a fever patch, he only frowned. After I finished organizing the handover documents, a colleague nudged me to check the work group chat. In the new project chat, Dave had added Ethan. Ethan only posted one comment: “Project is nearing completion. Full handover to Chloe Davis for final responsibility.” Colleagues secretly eyed me, waiting for my reaction. Everyone knew Ethan was annoyed with me, but this arrangement was downright humiliating. I simply replied, “Understood.” Good. The handover would be easier. I transferred all the materials to Chloe, then submitted a leave request for sick leave. It was approved instantly. I also left my resignation letter on the desk. 5 The third stop was Edenwood. Edenwood was the last place Ethan and I traveled together. At that time, his appointment announcement was about to be published, and I was so happy for him. We bathed in Edenwood’s renowned hot springs. The owner said couples who took photos and checked in on social media, gathering thirty likes, would receive complimentary passes to the Ferris wheel next door. You could skip the line and go straight to the top. Legend had it that if a couple kissed at the very top of the Ferris wheel, they would be happy forever, never separating. I wanted to post a private update for a selected group, but Ethan wouldn’t let me. “Company strictly prohibits office romances, you know that.” “I know, I set it to a private group. Colleagues won’t see it.” “Haven’t you heard of the six degrees of separation theory? Every six people are connected. No, too risky.” Later, we bought tickets and went to the amusement park. But the lines were too long, and we never got to ride the Ferris wheel. Seeing my dejected expression, he comforted me: “Abby, it’s precisely because I love you that I want to protect you, protect our love, even more.” “Are you willing to protect our love with me?” I naively agreed, and thus began five years of struggling to keep it secret, all on my own. Compared to all the heartache of those five years, that day’s fever was nothing. After submitting my resignation, I went home, packed my bags, and waited to catch my night train. Suddenly, the door opened. Ethan, having changed into slippers, walked in. “Why is so much stuff missing from the house?” He held a bag filled with porridge and soup, scanning the room. “New year, decided to do a big clean-up.” I coughed slightly. He set his bag down on the coffee table in front of me, and as he unzipped it, he visibly froze. “Where are our photos?” I had placed polaroid photos of us in various spots around the house: on the coffee table, the dining table, the bookshelf, every corner. I closed my eyes. “A few colleagues came over the other day, so I put them away.” He helped me sit up, offering me chopsticks. I looked at the table full of light porridge and fresh soup, but I had no appetite. “Don’t you want to eat?” He sat beside me, reaching out to hug me. “How about some hot water first?” I subtly shifted away, and his phone rang. Chloe’s voice was filled with panic: “Mr. Blackwood, what do I do?! I can’t find the engineering acceptance sign-off sheet for the Tech Park project!” He stood up. “Wait, I’ll be right there.” His gaze returned to me, now strictly business-like. “Is this how you hand things over?” He didn’t even wait for me to explain, just grabbed his jacket and walked out the door. Just like countless times before, he had left me for work. Except this time, it just made me look even more foolish. The folder for the sign-off sheet and the cabinet number were clearly written on the last page of the handover documents. Chloe had even worked on the PPT for this project; she knew better than anyone. Sure enough, soon after, a message from Ethan arrived. “Found it. You wrote it very clearly.” Followed by a bank transfer — exactly the amount of the missing bonus. I clicked “return.” He sent a helpless emoji. “You rest. I’m going to a meeting.” Every Friday at this time, he had a video conference with New York HQ; he wouldn’t check his phone for three or four hours. I sent him one last message. “We’re done.” I blocked his number, then called my landlady to terminate my lease. 6 The fourth stop was Willow Creek. I was transferring here; two more stops and I’d be home. But the train was delayed, expected to be at least an hour late. I wasn’t in a hurry. I found a small coffee shop to pass the time. Willow Creek also had a branch office for the company. Ethan and I often came here for meetings. Usually, it was two cars with six or seven people, and no one ever suspected our secret. I slowly began to make a name for myself under Dave, but because Ethan was so demanding, everyone advised me to schmooze him. I took the advice, proactively buying him a Yuenyeung milk tea, handing it to him with a serious expression. “Is this a Yuenyeung milk tea?” he asked, taking it. “Yes,” I smiled. “Mr. Blackwood only drinks coffee, right?” Dave laughed. “Changing your taste just for Willow Creek?” Ethan didn’t say anything, his index finger gently tracing the characters for “Yuenyeung” on the cup, then he nodded at me. “Thank you.” I light-heartedly returned to my seat, picked up my own cup, and slowly sipped it, hiding a smile. This was our private little secret, a subtle intimacy beneath outwardly formal interactions. That’s why, later, when I saw him accept a Yuenyeung milk tea from Chloe, I froze. I ordered and sat down, then pulled out my phone. Dave’s messages instantly bombarded me. “You’re resigning?! Because of the project bonus? You’re a senior, you should be more understanding…” “Mr. Blackwood saw it too! He ripped it up! He was furious!” I was annoyed and promptly blocked him too. Right after, my landlady called. “Sweetie, your boyfriend went to the apartment about three or four hours ago. My daughter-in-law was there, so I found out, and I thought I should tell you.” Ethan must have seen my message after his meeting and learned I was resigning. “He renewed the lease,” the landlady continued. “Said you’d be coming back.” “My daughter-in-law said he rummaged through the cabinets, grabbed his car keys, and left in a huff. Sweetie, it’s the holidays, don’t fight too much.” I laughed humorlessly. Fight? How could we fight? I no longer had the energy for it. My phone alerted me to 99+ blocked calls. I didn’t even bother to open it to see who. I sipped my milk tea, watched a movie, and when I figured it was time, I stood up to head for my train. Just then, the cashier called out to a new customer: “What can I get you, sir?” “Yuenyeung milk tea.” A familiar voice echoed through the bustling shop. I looked up. Ethan Blackwood stood there, his face ashen, shoulders dusted with melted snow, his teeth practically grinding as he answered her.

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The instant I decided to jump, clarity shattered through me. I was the tragically short-lived “first love” in a redemption story. My suicide would seal the male lead’s heart, transforming him from a bright, hopeful young man into a dark, ruthless mogul. He would only find solace and healing years later, in the warm glow of a new, sun-like heroine. But I knew the truth: I was on this ledge because he had driven me to the brink. 1 “Jump already! What kind of coward just stands there?” “I’m starving, heading to the dining hall. When are you actually going to jump?” “Isn’t this just a fake suicide attempt to get a scholarship for grad school?” Sharp, mocking jeers pierced the air, growing even louder after the police tried to quiet them. I bit back the desperate urge to leap, slowly turning on the rooftop’s edge. The female officer, who had been trying to subtly approach me, immediately froze, her voice soft and soothing as she begged me not to be impulsive. My academic advisor and my roommate pushed Ellias closer. His eyes were a harsh mix of annoyance and blame, a flicker of irritation deep within them. Not a trace of worry. Even his voice was flat, devoid of emotion: “Lila Evans, stop being ridiculous.” The female officer gently patted his back, a hint of prompting in her tone: “Ellias, weren’t you so worried you almost fainted just now?” She smiled tightly. “Go on, talk to your girlfriend. There’s no problem that can’t be solved.” I knew she was improvising, inventing an excuse for his belated arrival, terrified his coldness would push me over the edge. In reality, Ellias had been convinced I wouldn’t actually jump. He’d simply turned off his phone when he got the news. It was Sarah, my roommate – who often called me “love-drunk” – who had rallied all our friends, scrambling across campus to find him casually playing tennis. It had taken all their convincing power to drag him here. Ellias, seeing no reaction from me, impatiently sharpened his tone. “Lila Evans, come here. Everyone’s busy. We don’t have time for your childish games.” His callous demeanor made me doubt the strange flashes of memory in my mind were anything more than a desperate hallucination. How could Ellias ever be heartbroken by my death? He’d likely be relieved to finally shed a burden. Just like my own biological parents. Long-term medication had dulled my thoughts, but as I mused, someone suddenly tackled me. “Good girl. There’s endless possibility in life.” The female officer held me tight, her voice thick with relief. “Look at you, out in the wind for so long, you must be frozen solid. My treat, hot chocolate to warm you up.” From afar, I heard cheers from the onlookers. So many people, I realized, were actually happy I was alive. Seeing that I was no longer resisting, the officer carefully helped me to my feet, guiding me swiftly away from the edge of the rooftop. “See, Ellias? I told you she was just faking it!” 2 I looked up at the girl who spoke. Brooke Thompson. Two years younger than Ellias, his next-door neighbor, who had followed her “Ellias” to our university. She’d always been tactless, but her words now were particularly sharp. Her smile stiffened abruptly under the disapproving stares of the crowd, quickly replaced by indignant fury. “What are you looking at? This isn’t Lila Evans’s first time threatening suicide!” she spat. “She just loves attention. You’re all being fooled!” The female officer’s face darkened. “Young lady, please show some basic respect for life.” Brooke huffed, pouting. “I didn’t say anything wrong.” She wasn’t wrong. This attempt was my thirteenth time trying to end my life. Starvation, overdose, cutting, carbon monoxide poisoning – each time I was rescued, Ellias’s attitude toward me grew a little colder. Yet, he always saved me. I hated inconveniencing anyone; even in my despair, I chose methods I thought wouldn’t bother others too much. If I hadn’t yearned so desperately for Ellias’s attention, I would never have dared to jump in front of a crowd. My body hitting the ground would undoubtedly mean a grueling cleanup for the janitorial staff, and that thought, almost more than the pain, gave me pause. In the original plot, I wouldn’t have waited for Ellias. Amidst the jeers, I would have thrown myself off. Ellias would arrive a moment too late, witnessing my horrific death. This would shatter him, driving him to mental breakdown, consumed by endless regret for not saving me in time. He would unleash his fury on Brooke, the girl who’d held him back playing tennis. He would manipulate her into developing anorexia, until she withered away, barely fifty pounds, before she finally succumbed. Those who’d egged me on to jump would either be expelled or suffer mysterious accidents. No one who’d ever wronged me would be spared. No one would question Ellias’s ruthless revenge. Instead, they would sigh over his deep love for his tragic first love, hailing him as the epitome of devotion. Later, the heroine would patiently counsel him, telling him everyone deserved forgiveness. I merely lost my life, yet Ellias, even after achieving great success, would remain utterly tormented. They’d say he loved me to the core, a love so profound it became legendary. But now, I hadn’t died. All I could do was watch Ellias step in front of Brooke, defending her. “Officer, ‘respect for life’ is a conversation more suited for Lila Evans.” Brooke smirked at me, raising an eyebrow. “Lila, Aunt Carol really doesn’t want to see you waste your precious life, either.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, but it carried. “After all, you were so desperate to live back then that you even pushed your own mother—” “Brooke!” Ellias cut her off, his voice sharp. “We need to go.” “Oops, almost spilled the beans again!” Brooke clapped a hand over her mouth, her smile oozing malice. “My bad. I shouldn’t provoke Lila.” “Miss Evans, don’t get upset!” “Lila Evans!” “Lila!” The words “own mother” echoed like the gaping maw of a beast, swallowing all other sound. I stared at Ellias, my gaze fixed, muttering, “You promised me. You promised me. Why did you break your word?” Ellias’s indifferent expression finally shifted, but not because of my questions. It was for Brooke, who had clutched her chest and collapsed, seemingly in pain. A deafening roar filled my head, like a thousand steel needles stirring within. The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was him scooping Brooke into his arms, turning his back, and walking away without a moment’s hesitation. 3 When I opened my eyes again, Sarah was sitting by the bed, grimacing as she played on her phone. “Damn it!” She tossed the phone down, met my surprised gaze, and irritably scratched her head. “What, not happy it’s me sitting here?” She rolled her eyes. “Too bad your precious Ellias is busy playing nursemaid to his ‘sick’ little sister.” Her words were sharp, but beneath them, a familiar closeness, and if I listened carefully, a hint of anxiety. “No… no, not at all. Thank you.” I hadn’t spoken normally with anyone in so long; the more eager I was, the harder it was to express myself. Even my thanks came out haltingly. “Thank you, really, Sarah.” Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t thank me, thank Officer Miller. If she hadn’t asked me to look after you, I wouldn’t bother with your dramatic, love-struck nonsense.” Her face was grim, her short hair damp with sweat and sticking up in disarray. She was still wearing the same dust-stained clothes from earlier, and there were large, treated scrapes on her knees and arms. Probably from a fall. Guilt surged from deep within me. “I’m so sorry.” Sarah had been the first to reach the rooftop to stop me. She’d called the police, then alerted professors and my advisor. When I’d desperately threatened my life to see Ellias, she’d rallied friends to search for him. She’d poured all her energy into saving a roommate who had once betrayed her. If I hadn’t awakened, all her efforts would have culminated in witnessing my brains splattered on the pavement – a lifelong trauma. Meanwhile, Ellias, who had been too busy playing a sappy game of tennis with Brooke to arrive in time, was somehow seen as the greatest victim. All because after my death, he’d found countless ways to torture himself. Even my biological father, who had abandoned his wife and daughter, was moved by Ellias’s apparent devotion, actively seeking him out to drink and offer solace, commiserating with him like a kindred spirit, urging him to let go and start anew. Only Sarah had pointed a furious finger at Ellias, tearing into him as a “performer,” asking why he didn’t just join me if he was so bent on revenge against Brooke and everyone else. Ellias, unable to stand the mockery, had run off to jump into the river, only to accidentally save an influential figure, gaining a boost in his career. Sarah, however, was accused of inciting suicide, subjected to relentless cyberbullying, and lost her chance to study abroad. Years later, the heroine would even dig her up, draining her of her last bit of worth to aid in the male lead’s healing. No one remembered she was once my only friend. Until Ellias claimed Sarah was trying to seduce him. He presented chat screenshots, photos, and even “witnesses.” I hadn’t dared to ask Sarah, trying to pretend I didn’t know, hoping to remain her friend. When Sarah heard the rumors, she confronted me, asking who I believed. Like many times before, I chose Ellias. She’d been furious, immediately calling the police, forcing Ellias into a confrontation at the station. It turned out the chat logs were faked by someone impersonating her, the photos were ill-timed shots, and the “witnesses” were known for casually spreading baseless sexual rumors. Ellias had promptly apologized to her. But I, overwhelmed by guilt, had been unable to open my mouth. From that day on, Sarah drew a clear line, emphasizing that we were just ordinary roommates, and she would never be friends with a love-struck girl who put a man above all else. I was already awkward and unlikable. After that, beyond necessary communication, only Ellias would talk to me. But he was always busy: student government work, art department events, and countless parties where I wasn’t welcome. Our chat history was filled with my one-sided messages. Even after my suicide attempt and subsequent collapse due to Brooke’s provocation, Ellias only sent a cold, terse command in the brief gaps between attending to her: [Once you’ve calmed down, we need to talk.] 4 A familiar dull ache spread through my chest, yet my thoughts were clearer than they’d ever been. I took a deep breath, my fingers trembling as I typed a reply: [No need. I agree to break up.] Whether those melodramatic plot points were the reality of my future or just hallucinations brought on by too much medication, one thing was certain: Ellias didn’t love me. And I was tired of being a crazy person. “You’re actually blocking your most beloved boyfriend?” Sarah blinked her clear eyes, not even trying to hide her peeking. She looked almost… happy. Gathering my courage, I asked her to come home with me. In the second semester of sophomore year, Ellias had filled out an application for me to live off-campus, citing my unstable mental health. The house was one of the inheritances my mom left me. She had once wanted to drag me with her, to die there together, to make my cheating father regret. After my mom’s death, I used the rent money to pay for high school, letting tenants completely transform the house until no trace of my childhood trauma remained. Now, the house was filled with Ellias’s belongings. His gaming room, his art studio, his bar. The living room displayed his annual birthday gifts for me, only three of them. Last year, I had lost my “reward” for not being obedient. Sarah stood in the doorway. “Alright, pack your stuff and move back to the dorm. I’ll have Chloe and Emily clear out a bed for you.” She added, “Make sure to calculate the rent, don’t let him take advantage.” “This house is mine,” I said, unable to meet Sarah’s “are you crazy?” look. “Sarah, I want Ellias to move his stuff out.” “Wanting it won’t do anything. Make him get his butt over here and move it!” Ellias wasn’t answering calls or texts. Sarah scoffed, then called a moving company to come pack everything up. She even took photos and posted them to her social media: [Helping a friend clear out her ex-boyfriend’s relics.] I stared unblinking at the word “friend” until my eyes stung, then splashed cold water on my face. That’s when I noticed Ellias’s new directive: [Tell Sarah to leave immediately.] [Lila Evans, you’re testing my limits.] [You have one hour to restore everything, or face the consequences!] Sarah snorted. “He really thinks he’s king of the world.” The complex emotions swirling in my heart were dispelled by her words. I calmly typed four words in reply: [This is my home.] 5 Ellias never showed up. He was sure I wouldn’t dare. So I had the moving company deliver a dozen large cardboard boxes to the school gates. I heard Ellias’s face was a sight when he arrived. The campus gossip pages were buzzing, debating if I’d finally come to my senses or completely lost it. My advisor, fearing another breakdown, proactively granted me a month’s medical leave, urging me to rest thoroughly before returning to classes. I needed the time to sift through the ruins of my life anyway. An entire month passed. Ellias never contacted me, and I never sought him out. Brooke, though, posted daily nine-panel grids of her lavish meals and adventures, showcasing how much fun she was having with her “Ellias.” As the furor over my suicide attempt gradually subsided, I invited Sarah to lunch. “Thank you for being there for me for so long. Can I treat you to burgers?” Sarah hesitated for only a second. “Burgers, yes!” After two long years, I was finally sitting down to a meal with a friend again. The cool carbonation of the cola warmed me from the inside out. Ellias only liked Chinese food. Whenever I suggested trying foreign cuisines, he would reprimand me, saying I was brainwashed by consumerism. Yet, the restaurants he took his friends to often cost hundreds of dollars per person. I felt that socializing among students shouldn’t exceed a college student’s budget, but he would impatiently insist it was a “reasonable investment,” unlike my wasteful spending on mere cravings. To “correct” my bad habits, he demanded I hand over my monthly allowance of two thousand dollars for him to manage. Ellias never asked what I liked to eat. He simply arranged my meals according to his idea of a balanced diet. He’d watch me finish the broccoli I hated, demand I drink every drop of the intensely gamey lamb soup from the cafeteria, and, citing my “family history of illness,” would beg others to stop me from drinking bubble tea or sodas. Back when I still had friends, they would jokingly say they envied my “dad-like boyfriend.” The more they said it, the more I believed it, grateful to Ellias for filling the void left by my father. I didn’t even realize the allowance was from my own father. Even if it was a love only expressed through money, it was still cold, hard cash. And Ellias’s “love” for me was merely arranging custom meals from a mild Cantonese restaurant. Sarah stared at me, wide-eyed. “Lila Evans, do you know how many meals you could get at ‘Chen’s Bistro’ with two thousand dollars?” I hadn’t calculated it. Thanks to Ellias’s superficiality, Mr. Chen, the owner, remembered me well as a loyal customer of over two years. He quickly sent me the menu prices and mentioned that the anniversary special could be stacked with a renewal discount. Three hundred dollars a month for a balanced diet of meat and vegetables, plus after-meal fruit – less than a sixth of my allowance. And even though I hadn’t been attending classes, the meals were still being delivered to the school. No wonder one of Brooke’s recent meal photos had looked so familiar. Ellias truly knew how to infuriate me. 6 “He needs to pay up!” Sarah declared, her voice firm. “Ellias has to give you your money back!” With that, she frantically rushed out to call her aunt, who was a lawyer. I thought it wouldn’t be that complicated. I just sent Ellias the itemized breakdown: [Ellias Reed, please return my remaining allowance, totaling $32,510.00.]

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1 My mother, Matron Aelys, the Azure Dragon, often forgot about me after birthing me, this half-dragon, half-human anomaly. It was Lord Kaelen, the Archmage of the Celestial Spire, who took me in. He was my sole anchor in a chaotic existence. Until the Wellspring of Fates, within Lady Seraphina’s Oracle’s Grove, revealed that I was his destined, inescapable match. From that moment, he grew distant, eventually abandoning me. A century later, I found him again, but he was a mere mortal healer, vehemently denying his past as an Archmage, refusing to acknowledge me. … My mother’s dragon life was refreshingly simple: sleep and eat. Beyond that, she’d seek out handsome males from various species for an evening of shared revelry. If an egg appeared, she’d lay it and leave its hatching to fate, letting it fend for itself. But this time, she unexpectedly birthed me, a peculiar creature. Scaleless, naked, squirming, and crying – I was truly an enigma that caught her off guard. “No fangs, no claws, not even a shell.” She poked me curiously with the tip of her claw, then tried tossing me high into the sky. When I plummeted straight down, she frantically caught me, murmuring, confused, “Nor can it fly.” Fortunately, I was, after all, her flesh and blood. Though perplexed, my mother understood she couldn’t leave me to perish. So, she carried me everywhere, sometimes clamped in her jaws, sometimes balanced atop her head, never letting me out of her sight. Even when she transformed into human form to savor delicacies in the mortal realm, she’d absentmindedly tuck me under her armpit. Until the old crone, her hands trembling, asked her, “Lady, what… what is that creature under your arm?” “A human babe. Mine,” my mother replied, chewing on a candied nectarine. The old crone nearly fainted upon hearing this, only then pointing out that I was on the verge of starvation, not peacefully asleep. “Babe needs feeding every hour,” the old crone patiently informed her. “Why not let the maids feed it once and for all? I, myself, can go sixty years without sustenance,” my mother pondered, utterly baffled. The old crone looked at her deeply, shaking her head with a sigh. “No wonder you know nothing of nurturing young. You are truly an outsider.” Before, my mother’s life revolved solely around sleep and food. With me, a new task was added: finding milk for me. In her eyes, all beings across the realms were equal, noble or lowly. So, her quest for milk knew no bounds: whenever she spotted a lactating female, regardless of species, she’d simply pick me up and command them to nurse me. Thankfully, my mother was Matron Aelys, the Azure Dragon, and few in all the realms dared to refuse her. Thus, my mother carried me across the realms for an entire year. I transformed from a toothless infant who could only suckle into a mischievous sprite capable of snatching food from a dragon’s maw. Though my front teeth hadn’t fully emerged, my four canines were already sharply pointed. More strangely, two bumps appeared on my forehead. Upon first sight, my mother frowned, poking and prodding them. “Is this ugly thing a dragon’s horn?” she muttered uncertainly. Later, the bumps receded, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Just bumps from a knock, then.” Seeing that I could now gnaw on beast bones on my own, my mother concluded I could also forage for food. She reverted to her true dragon form, balanced me atop her head, and plunged straight into the deep ocean. “My child, your mother will treat you to seafood.” I could only make gurgling sounds, helplessly bobbing in the waves. My mother soared through the deep sea, chasing fish and feasting. But I, caught in the tumultuous currents, choked on mouthful after mouthful of saltwater. For dragons, born to the water, the word “drowning” simply didn’t exist. By the time she realized I wasn’t close behind her, I was already floating lifelessly on the surface, eyes rolled back. “My child has no appetite? Why is it sleeping here?” Seeing no response, my mother simply hoisted me back onto her head and shot straight into the clouds. My mother often recounted how, if it hadn’t been for Emissary Aerion, a celestial envoy, who stopped her, insisting I was on the verge of death… After a hearty meal, my mother and I squatted on the edge of the cloud sea, meticulously picking bits of leftover food from between our teeth. A wisp of white cloud suddenly zipped past us. Whoosh! The magical current flung me to the ground. As I struggled to my feet and steadied myself, I saw my mother standing with her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. “Which mage was so rude? Flying through the clouds, crashing into a pedestrian, and not even an apology?” My mother roared towards the clouds, but no one answered. A dragon’s roar sliced through the sky, and my mother instantly transformed into a massive azure dragon, soaring into the distance, leaving me, a small dragonling, standing alone and bewildered in the chilling wind. Watching my mother disappear, I sighed deeply. This wasn’t the first time I’d been forgotten on a desolate mountain. Hopefully, this time she’d remember sooner that she still had a daughter. Alas, the sky cycled through day and night, darkness and light, yet my mother never returned. Suddenly, a celestial figure, robes billowing, descended from the clouds. He rested his chin on his hand, observing me for a moment, then chuckled softly. “A dragon hatchling, still clinging to life.” What a handsome being! More elegant than any mountain herb. Could this be Emissary Aerion, whom Mother often spoke of? I lay weakly on the ground, wanting to rise but lacking the strength. “Rare. The Azure Dragon lineage is usually neglectful of its young. It’s truly remarkable you’ve survived with her to this age,” he observed. I moved my mouth, but no words came out. Only then did he notice my condition. He gently pinched my wrist. “Starving to the brink of death, indeed.” He flipped his hand, revealing a delicate jade vial in his palm. “Why is it that every time we meet, I find myself saving your life? Do we share some profound destiny?” Ignoring his words, I clutched his hand and gulped down several mouthfuls of the liquid from the jade vial. The liquid was cool and sweet, not only quenching my thirst but also filling my empty stomach. This was surely the finest celestial elixir. I drank without restraint, yet he showed not a hint of stinginess; instead, his smile grew even gentler. This being was even more generous than my mother. Once fortified, I immediately gesticulated wildly, describing how that rude mage had crashed into me and how my mother had chased after him. “Crashed into you then fled?” he asked softly. “Yes!” I nodded vigorously. “Truly despicable.” “Mmm!!!” I nodded in agreement, like a frenzied woodpecker. “Your mother hasn’t returned. What are your plans?” he asked. “Garlic? Don’t eat that!” I misunderstood him. “…I asked if you wish to wait here, or descend the mountain?” I pondered for a long time. Waiting might mean starving to death, but what if I left and Mother returned, unable to find me? A sudden idea sparked. I tugged on his robes, delighted. “Take me to find Mother!” Emissary Aerion sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Little Dragonling, how can I carry you?” “You can carry me in your mouth.” “I am not your mother.” “Then I’ll sit on your head.” “My head isn’t that large.” I scrutinized the celestial being’s human form, then it dawned on me. When Mother transformed into human form, she either carried me by hand or tucked me under her armpit. “Then you can carry me, or tuck me under your armpit.” The celestial being was speechless for a moment. Finally, Archmage Kaelen sighed, bending down. His hands gently slipped under my armpits, and he carefully lifted me. Being carried like this was far more comfortable than being dangled. I instinctively nestled against his shoulder, happily swinging my legs. Archmage Kaelen let out a soft chuckle. He patted my back lightly, sighing. “Is it your boundless luck, or my destiny? Little Dragonling, stop kicking your legs.” Only later did I learn that this man, who carried me across the celestial realms searching for my mother, was none other than Lord Kaelen, the Archmage of the Celestial Spire. The Archmage was known for his solitary asceticism; few in all the realms had ever seen his true face. Some said he had cultivated for thousands of years, others for ten millennia, and rumors even claimed he was as ancient as the cosmos itself, his age immeasurable. Few rumors about Archmage Kaelen circulated among the celestials, mostly concerning his profound magic and divine abilities. Even the rare gossip was merely “the Archmage is in seclusion for enlightenment,” “the Archmage is lecturing at the Jade Blossom Terrace,” or “the Archmage is attending a Grand Convocation.” Until today, the Archmage himself had just heard an unprecedented piece of news: “The Archmage’s companion is missing!” The Archmage was carrying a little dragonling, searching for its mother across all realms! I gnawed on my favorite mystical meat bone, my face slick with grease, completely oblivious to the murmurs at the next table. Archmage Kaelen propped his forehead with a hand, slowly swirling his jade tea cup, and sighed faintly. “Would you prefer not to look for your mother?” “No,” I shook my head. “How about I find you a master?” “Don’t want one,” I continued to shake my head. “Your mother never returned to that Celestial Peak.” I just kept gnawing on the mystical meat. “Little Dragonling, the Azure Dragon lineage isn’t known for raising young. Her leaving you is quite normal. Why insist?” My lip quivered. I tilted my head back and wailed, “Want mommy, want mommy, only want to find mommy…” “Alright, alright, we’ll keep looking.” I immediately stopped crying, pointing to the empty plate on the table. “More mystical meat!” “…” The day Archmage Kaelen took me from the Celestial Peak, he had already declined the invitation from the Jade Blossom Terrace. Later, failing to find any trace of my mother, he consecutively turned down several Grand Convocations. In the span of two years, he carried me from the highest Celestial Kingdoms to the darkest Underworld, consulting All-Seeing Orbs and the Ledger of Souls, yet he found no trace of my mother. “Kaelen, Kaelen, you are eternally wise, yet occasionally foolish,” Emissary Aerion chuckled. “What do you mean?” “With such a grand search, if she were in the celestial realms, even a wisp of her would have been found. Since there’s no news, she must be hidden in the mortal coil.” “Do you think I don’t understand that? But the mortal lands are vast. I can’t possibly go door-to-door with a little dragonling.” “Have your profound powers made you forget Lady Seraphina’s three Fated Wellsprings?” I rested my chin in my hands, watching Archmage Kaelen and Emissary Aerion play their game of celestial chess, completely engrossed, when Archmage Kaelen suddenly tossed down a piece. “Haha! Could it be you were so bothered by Lady Seraphina’s persistence that you simply erased her from your mind?” Emissary Aerion clapped his hands and laughed mischievously. “Now, how will you ask for her help?” “Thanks to your reminder, I had indeed forgotten about those three mystical wells.” “Archmage, what three wells are those?” I asked curiously. They sounded like they could help me find Mother. The Archmage sipped his tea without answering. Emissary Aerion picked me up and explained, “Those are Lady Seraphina’s three mystical wells: one reveals past and present lives, one reflects blood kinship, and the third… it shows you your fated one.” “What’s a fated one?” I asked. “That’s the Archon who will fly to meet and marry you when you grow up.” “Aerion, you’re becoming increasingly undignified. How old is she? Why speak of such things?” I knelt at the well’s edge, anxiously waiting for the Wellspring of Fates to reveal Mother’s whereabouts. “Archmage Kaelen, do we really have to wait here until dusk?” I pleaded, looking up at the tightly shut grand gates, clutching the hem of his long robes. “Easy, Lyra. Lady Seraphina is usually quite accommodating; she won’t keep us waiting long,” Archmage Kaelen said calmly, his gaze fixed on the closed gates. A soft chuckle suddenly drifted from the clouds. “So, you’re not her actual kin, Archmage Kaelen of the Celestial Spire.” As the voice faded, the tightly shut grand gates slowly swung open. “A millennium, and you haven’t brought your daughter to greet me. Truly heartbreaking,” Lady Seraphina, draped in flowing white silks, floated gracefully, landing before me. She first cast a sidelong glance at Archmage Kaelen, then knelt down, gently tapping my nose with her fingertip. “How old is this little one?” “Hello, Lady Seraphina! I’m five years old,” I answered politely. Lady Seraphina covered her mouth with a soft laugh. “By age, you should be calling me ‘Ancient One.’” “Hello, Ancient One!” I immediately corrected myself. No sooner had the words left my lips than Archmage Kaelen suddenly clapped a hand over my mouth. Simultaneously, a bolt of divine lightning struck, searing Lady Seraphina, leaving her charred and smoking. “Wh-why can’t I bear even a greeting from her?” Lady Seraphina coughed out wisps of black smoke, still frozen in the pose she’d been in when struck. “The laws of the cosmos,” Archmage Kaelen stated coolly. Lady Seraphina scoffed. “I crossed the Dragon’s Gate millennia ago. Besides a true dragon, who can humble me?” She trembled, pointing at me. “Could it be… this child has true dragon blood?” “Lady Seraphina, you misunderstand. I’m human. My mother is the dragon,” I hastily explained, waving my hands. Before I finished speaking, several more bolts of divine lightning descended, scattering Lady Seraphina like a dandelion puff. While she retreated to her chambers to recompose herself, Archmage Kaelen carried me to the three Wellsprings of Fates. “Finally, I can find Mother!” I exclaimed, but I noticed the Archmage hesitating. “Which well was it again?” he muttered, frowning in thought. I couldn’t wait. I jumped from his arms and dashed straight to the middle well. “Mother, where are you?” Peering in, I yelped and recoiled—the well reflected a glaring, ferocious tiger! “It seems our little Lyra was quite formidable in her past life,” Archmage Kaelen said, stroking my head, a faint smile on his lips. I turned to another well, cautiously peeking in—this well held neither tiger nor Mother, but a familiar figure. “Archmage, why are you in the well too?” I looked at his reflection, then at Archmage Kaelen beside me, and suddenly understood. “Could it be I was an Archmage in my past life too?” Archmage Kaelen remained silent. Just then, the distant jingle of ornaments announced Lady Seraphina’s hasty return. She placed her hands on my shoulders, looking into the well again. When Archmage Kaelen’s reflection reappeared, she slumped to the ground. “No wonder this well never showed my fated one. You were never meant for me.” A gentle breeze swept past, and another pair of hands pressed me to the well’s edge. As the figure in the well reappeared, I turned to Archmage Kaelen beside me. “Huh? Archmage, why do you look so pale?” It was strange.

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1 The whispers claimed a curse clung to the Sterling men, a dark shadow that ensured any woman who dared betray them would face a grim fate—death or disfigurement. Elite society, from Manhattan to the Hamptons, heard these tales and recoiled, the most coveted debutantes shying away from any Sterling suitor. Yet, Natalie Hayes, who’d grown up beside me, defied her family, slipping into a pristine white gown to propose. “Ethan,” she’d murmured, her voice steady, “I don’t fear any curse. Because I will never betray you.” Her words resonated deep within me, stirring something fragile and profound. I married her. Five years into our marriage, her first love, Dylan Miller, returned from overseas. His reappearance ignited a relentless storm of arguments between us, each one deepening the rift. The breaking point arrived when Natalie, who had insisted on our agreement to remain child-free, was discovered to be carrying Dylan’s baby. To circumvent the curse, set to activate seven days hence, I initiated divorce proceedings. But Natalie tore the divorce papers to confetti, a sneer twisting her lips. “Ethan Sterling, you really think I’d believe your family’s silly curse? I’d like to see you lay a finger on me!” In the city’s most exclusive circles, bets were placed. Everyone was gambling on whether Natalie would face the curse’s wrath, or if I’d swallow this bitter humiliation, becoming the laughingstock of the East Coast elite. I didn’t linger, didn’t argue further. I simply turned and walked away. I had offered her a chance to live, out of deference to the years we’d shared. She simply hadn’t cherished it. … I’d barely stepped out of the Hayes mansion when Natalie’s guards blocked my path. “Ethan Sterling, I’m pregnant! Where do you think you’re going, abandoning me like this?” she demanded, her tone self-righteous. “Dylan said he’s too rough, too preoccupied with his own affairs. He said I still needed you to take care of me.” My gaze turned to ice. “And you’re not afraid I might harm the child?” Before I could finish, the wine glass in her hand splintered against my cheek. “Ethan Sterling, how dare you threaten me? Watch yourself! Don’t forget, your father is still in a coma at the hospital, his life clinging to the expensive medication only my family provides!” My hands clenched into fists, my body trembling with suppressed rage. Blood mixed with red wine streamed down my face. She’d forgotten, hadn’t she? Forgotten that my father had taken a blade meant for her, scarring his brain and leaving him trapped in silence. Just then, Dylan Miller strode over, a towel in hand, his voice dripping with condescension. “Mr. Sterling, you two have been married for years and no children. Are you even capable of having kids? Maybe the problem lies with you. But don’t worry, I’m a generous man. I don’t mind if my and Natalie’s child carries your name.” He offered me the towel. I was about to refuse, but then he suddenly collapsed backward, his hands gushing blood from the wine glass shards. Natalie rushed forward, slapping me across the face. “Ethan Sterling, you dare to bully Dylan in front of me? Drop to your knees and beg his forgiveness, or I’ll unplug your father’s life support!” I wiped the blood from my lips, a chilling smile spreading across my face. “I’ll kneel, Natalie. But I wonder if Mr. Miller can bear the consequences that would follow…” Dylan, seeing the glint of malice in my eyes, felt an inexplicable unease. He quickly urged Natalie, “Natalie, let’s just drop it. Everyone’s watching.” Natalie helped him up, her eyes brimming with concern, then led him towards a private room with a doctor. As she passed me, she stopped. “Guards! Lock Ethan Sterling in the isolated guest suite! Don’t let him out without my permission!” I stared at her retreating back. “Natalie Hayes, you’ll regret this.” She let out a cold laugh. “Still trying to scare me with that cursed nonsense? Ethan Sterling, spare me the theatrics!” Watching her silhouette, resolute and unyielding, I sighed internally. If only she had agreed to the divorce, perhaps the curse would have never claimed its due. 2 Three days later, Natalie finally released me from the isolated guest suite. My throat was raw, my body a hollow ache. I couldn’t even summon the strength to meet her gaze. She walked in, delivering a sharp kick to my stomach. “Ethan Sterling, I never thought you’d be so malicious!” “What have I done?” I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. She didn’t answer. Instead, she ordered the guards to drag me to the back garden. The rough cobblestones scraped my skin raw, painting my legs in shades of purple and blue. Seeing my agony, a flicker of disgust crossed her face. “You knew Dylan was allergic to flowers, yet you deliberately filled the garden with roses. Were you trying to kill him?” My lips parted, but no words came. She’d forgotten, hadn’t she? Forgotten that the one who truly loved roses was herself, and that this sprawling sea of blossoms was a surprise I’d cultivated for her over a year and a half ago. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ll clean it up now.” I struggled to my feet, limping into the flowerbed, tearing out the roses with my bare hands. Thorns tore at my palms, blood bloomed against my skin, trailing crimson down my wrists. Natalie’s eyelids fluttered at the sight, but she coolly averted her gaze. “Don’t bother with the dramatics. It only makes me loathe you more.” With that, she clenched her fists and departed. When I pulled out the last rose, my body gave out. I collapsed onto the ground. The next morning, I woke to find my hands and face bandaged. I got up to look for Natalie, and as I neared her study, I heard her furious voice from within. “Why are they tearing up signed contracts? I’ve sunk every liquid asset we have into those deals! Why am I suddenly plagued by such bad luck? Go deal with those cancelled projects first. I need to figure something out…” The curse, I realized, was beginning its dance. I pushed the door open and walked in. Natalie put down her phone and looked up at me. “Ethan Sterling, what do you want? Now that you’re awake, go whip up some soup for me in the kitchen.” “And remember to add plenty of salt. Dylan wants a bowl too, he prefers his food extra savory. Go on, get to the kitchen.” I, who had barely lifted a finger in the kitchen my entire life, had learned to cook and make soup for her, all because she once murmured about wanting the warmth of a homemade meal. Now, my hands were still stinging and scabbed from the roses; I couldn’t even touch water. I scoffed. “I can make it. Just don’t complain if it tastes like poison.” “Are you itching for another stint in that room?” Natalie’s face darkened. I sat down in the chair opposite her, crossing my legs. “Natalie Hayes, I advise you to sign the divorce papers while there’s still something left to salvage.” “You’re already carrying another man’s child. Let’s part ways amicably.” Natalie stared at me, her eyes hardening with a bitter venom. “You think I’m behind these… setbacks? That you had someone tamper with my projects as revenge?” Her accusation made me laugh, a short, sharp sound. “Miss Hayes, you had me locked away for three days! How could I possibly orchestrate such a grand scheme?” “You’d better not have!” she scoffed. “Don’t even think about divorce. You won’t get to just walk away now.” “If you hadn’t lied to me, Ethan, I never would have mistaken you for Dylan. I wouldn’t have wasted five years of my life with you, and he wouldn’t have been hurt so badly.” I frowned, trying to make sense of her words. “What lie did I tell you?” She sneered. “Still playing innocent? I know everything. Ten years ago, you dragged me from the cliff…” Dylan burst in, cutting her off. “Natalie, darling, we need to head to the hospital for our prenatal appointment. The car’s already waiting.” 3 I tried to press her for answers, to continue the conversation. But Natalie simply shrugged me off, a dismissive gesture, and allowed Dylan to pull her away. I stood there for a moment, stunned, then hailed a car to the hospital, needing to see my father. In his hospital room, I gripped my father’s inert hand. “Dad, you told me before that Mom’s betrayal, her affair, led to that car crash on their holiday, plunging you into such deep despair and sickness.” “That’s why you always warned me against marriage, against trusting anyone with your heart.” “I know I made a mistake, Dad. But don’t worry, I won’t let someone else’s mistakes define my own future. I’ll be here, waiting for the day you wake up.” Visiting hours ended, and a nurse politely escorted me out of the room. As I reached the hospital’s bustling main lobby, I came face-to-face with Natalie. “What are you doing here? Stalking me?” Natalie’s face contorted with disgust. I ignored her, turning to leave. But she wasn’t letting go, stepping forward to grab my arm. “Ethan Sterling, I’m talking to you! Are you deaf?” I recoiled, shaking her off with a snarl. “Natalie, go see a shrink! You’re clearly unhinged, snapping at anyone who crosses your path.” “Why would I be here to stalk you? Have you forgotten my father is also a patient here? I visit him every single day.” It was the first time I’d ever truly raised my voice, ever let loose with such venom. For a moment, she was stunned, her carefully constructed composure cracking. “Why are you suddenly yelling at me like this…” Just then, Dylan appeared, inserting himself between us. He brandished an ultrasound printout like a trophy, waving it in front of Natalie. “Natalie, darling, the doctor says our little one is perfectly healthy! Those eyes, that mouth, they’re just like yours! So beautiful.” Natalie’s face softened into a sickly sweet smile. “Our child is, of course, beautiful.” Dylan chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Natalie, why don’t we let Ethan name our little one? It’ll give him a sense of… contribution.” The old me would have lunged at him, fist flying. But now, I simply turned and walked away, my face devoid of emotion. Dylan, however, called out to me. “Ethan Sterling, tomorrow is mine and Natalie’s wedding day. How about you be our Master of Ceremonies?” My footsteps faltered. I turned, staring at Natalie, a sneer on my face. “You and your… plaything are getting married? And you want me, your husband, to officiate? You two really know how to put on a show, don’t you?” “Ethan, must you always be so crude?” Natalie’s face darkened, though a flicker of guilt, quickly masked, danced in her eyes. “You’ve had me, Ethan. I’m merely granting Dylan his wish, a small ceremony. Why are you so possessive?” I was about to refuse, but she cut me off. “You must be there tomorrow. Don’t forget, your father still needs the imported medication only my family provides.” My fist tightened, the half-healed wounds on my palm bleeding anew. Natalie and Dylan’s wedding, held the next day, dwarfed our five-year-old ceremony. Guests whispered as I made my entrance. “Ethan Sterling truly is a live-in son-in-law, isn’t he? Attending his own wife’s wedding to another man.” “Maybe Ethan really is… incapable. Why else would he willingly wear a cuckold’s crown?” “I think that Sterling curse is just a fabrication, a trick to keep their women in line.” I took a slow sip of my wine, every whispered word a phantom breeze. I’d loved the wrong woman. Simple as that. I’d endured the whispers, the snide remarks, living under her family’s roof because she claimed it felt like home. I even underwent a procedure, sterilizing myself because she whispered of a child-free life. The truth of the curse? Three days would tell. A wave of cheers erupted as Natalie, radiant in white, walked down the grand crystal staircase, her arm linked with Dylan’s. Step by step, they descended to the swelling music. Then, Natalie’s face suddenly contorted. Her body twisted, and she tumbled, losing control, spiraling down the remaining steps. She lay sprawled on the ground, clutching her stomach, a raw, piercing wail tearing from her throat. A collective gasp tore through the crowd. “Did she… lose the baby?” 4 Someone brave enough to get close knelt, checking the hem of her gown. Then, with a terrified shriek, he collapsed back onto the floor. “Blood. So much blood…” They scrambled, rushing Natalie to the hospital. The wedding was over, a chaotic, bloody spectacle. But the curse? It was just clearing its throat. I spared a glance at Dylan, still frozen on the stairs, his face a mask of shock. In that split second, Dylan could have caught her. But he’d chosen himself, not just letting go, but shoving her away when her hand instinctively reached for him. “Ethan Sterling, was this your doing?” Dylan’s accusing voice cut through the stunned silence behind me. I ignored him, simply turning and walking away. After Natalie was discharged, she ordered me to the hospital. “You think by taking my child, you’ll make me believe your Sterling curse? I’m telling you, you can’t trick me!” I gave her a cold, hard stare. “What in God’s name are you babbling about?” Beside her, Dylan, his face a shade of sickly green, trembled with rage. “Ethan Sterling, I had people investigate! You drugged Natalie’s water, making her legs give out! She fell, she lost the baby, she almost lost her life!” “It was my fault,” he added, his eyes brimming with tears. “I panicked. I didn’t grab her. Natalie, I’m so sorry…” Natalie shook her head, clutching his hand. “Dylan, I don’t blame you. Everything happened so fast.” Then, her gaze snapped to me. “Ethan Sterling, you killed my child. You owe a life for a life.” “But don’t worry. I won’t take yours.” “Cut off Ethan’s father’s imported medication. It’s time he learned a lesson.” My breath hitched. I lunged forward, desperate to stop her. “No! Natalie, you can’t! You want to hurt someone, hurt me! Not him!” “My father was injured saving you! If you stop his meds, he might never wake up!” Her eyes, cold and sharp, cut through me. “Spare me the theatrics. You ruined my wedding with Dylan! You killed my baby!” I pulled out the freshly printed divorce papers from my bag. “I told you it’s the curse! If you sign these, none of this will happen again!” She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound, and ripped the papers to confetti again. “Ethan Sterling, you think I’m a fool? Still peddling that curse nonsense?” “Divorce? Out of the question!” Then, she had me dragged back to the Hayes mansion, thrown once more into that suffocating room. I pleaded with the guard outside the door. “Please, open the door! Let me out! I need to see Natalie!” “Open up! I have to save my father! How much? How much to open the door?” The guard’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t make this harder on us.” For three days, I screamed until my voice was a raw, useless rasp. I hammered on the door until my hands were pulp, stained crimson with my own blood. Just as despair began to consume me whole, Natalie finally opened the door. “It’s Grandfather’s eightieth birthday. You’re coming with me. Don’t you dare try any of your tricks again.” “Get him cleaned up,” she ordered the guards. “We leave in thirty minutes.” The moment I got my phone back, I powered it on. A barrage of missed calls from the hospital. My hand trembled as I dialed back. “Mr. Sterling, why did it take you so long to answer? Your father… he passed away last night.” I was a phantom, numb and hollow, as I was led to Natalie. She slid into the car I’d bought for her, Dylan already nestled beside her. She rolled down the window, looking out at me. “This car’s full. You’ll take the other one.” With a nod, she ordered the driver to leave. I stared at the death certificate the hospital had sent to my phone. Hatred, cold and bitter, surged through me, eclipsing everything else. At that exact moment, an out-of-control semi-truck veered directly towards the sedan Natalie was in.

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1 I, a hopeful valedictorian, endured the crucible of the national college entrance exams not once, but twice. The first time, I earned a coveted spot at Harvard. The second, Yale. Each attempt, my scores soared above 700 points, yet neither of these esteemed institutions dared to admit me once they saw my name. I initially believed it was a problem with my background check, some unseen stain that made both universities recoil. But my parents were honest, hardworking blue-collar laborers; far from any criminal activity, they couldn’t even bring themselves to harm an animal. Then came my third attempt. Again, I scored over 700 points. This time, I set my sights on the University of Chicago, convinced that surely, this time, nothing could go wrong. Yet, the admissions officer from UChicago, who had greeted me with a beaming smile, froze the moment he saw my name. His pronouncement was definitive, unwavering: the University of Chicago could not admit me. I couldn’t fathom why. What was so wrong with my name? Why, despite such exceptional scores, did everyone who saw my name refuse me admission? … “So you’re Lily Hayes, this year’s state valedictorian.” The admissions officer from UChicago, having meticulously cross-referenced my family records right in front of me, finally shook his head, a weary resignation in his eyes. “We cannot admit you to the University of Chicago. We simply cannot take a student like you.” The hope blooming in my chest crumbled like an ancient ruin. A crushing wave of helplessness washed over me, threatening to drag me under. I yearned for an answer, a reason, and couldn’t help but cry out, “Why won’t you admit me? I’m the valedictorian! Even if you’re shattering my dreams, at least tell me why!” He merely cast a cold, indifferent glance my way. “A student like you, no university will take you.” I chewed on his words, tasting their bitter, inexplicable meaning. My mind spun, trying to grasp at meaning, but my thoughts tangled into a knot of utter confusion, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes. Devastated, I collapsed to the ground, cradling my head in my hands, sobs wracking my body. My mind was a whirlwind of questions: Why had I aced the exams three times, yet no university would accept me? The first time, my score of 730 crowned me valedictorian. I was thrilled, eagerly awaiting my Harvard acceptance letter, only to receive a rejection notice instead. Disbelief clawed at my throat. I called the admissions office, but the moment the director heard “Lily Hayes,” he dismissed me without further explanation, cutting me off with a chillingly terse: “We will not admit you.” After a year of rigorous prep, I sat for the exams again. My score of 735 made me valedictorian once more, earning me a spot at Yale. I believed Yale would surely accept me, but the outcome was the same: another rejection. When I called again, the Yale admissions director echoed Harvard’s chilling refusal, turning me away the instant he heard my name. I simply couldn’t understand. My scores were getting higher, yet Harvard and Yale seemed even more hesitant to admit me. At first, I suspected a problem with my background check. I meticulously researched my parents’ records, only to find our family history spotless, stretching back three generations. Besides, my parents were diligent, down-to-earth farmers; they couldn’t even bring themselves to harm an animal. Unable to find the truth, a stubborn defiance took root. I decided to try for a third time. This time, I scored 738, still the state’s top performer. Learning from my past two rejections, I avoided the Ivies, instead choosing the University of Chicago. With my scores, admission should have been a certainty. When the UChicago admissions officer arrived at our home, I was certain my dream of college was finally within reach. But the moment he saw my name, he delivered the same crushing verdict: UChicago could not admit me. Three rejections. The weight of it plunged me into an abyss of despair. My parents, seeing me sobbing uncontrollably, their own eyes reddened with a mixture of helplessness and grief, kept asking, “How could this be?” “Our daughter is the valedictorian! How can she not get into college?” The old couple simply could not accept this cruel reality. My mother, her eyes swollen and red, dropped to her knees before the admissions officer with a soft thud. “Please, sir,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper, “please let our daughter go to school. We’ll find any amount of money, we promise!” The officer remained unmoved, his face a mask of polite indifference. My mother began to kowtow, her forehead hitting the worn floorboards with painful thuds, leaving angry red marks. She clung to his pant leg, gasping through her tears. “Sir, our child needs an education! Her father and I have toiled in the fields our whole lives. Our greatest wish is for our daughter to live a good life, not to suffer like us. Please, have mercy!” My father, his back stooped from years of labor, knelt beside her. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a cheap, crinkled pack of cigarettes and offering one to the officer. “Sir, I may not be educated, but I know my daughter is the valedictorian. She has to go to college! If she doesn’t, her life will be ruined. Please, help us!” To afford my education, my father only allowed himself the cheapest, dollar-fifty-a-pack cigarettes. My heart twisted, a sharp, visceral pain, watching my parents—people who had never bowed their heads to anyone—beg with such crushing humility. Though we were poor farmers, my parents, no matter how hard they worked or how much they suffered, had never endured such blatant indignity. A man, they always said, only bent his knee to God. Yet here was my father, kneeling on the cold floor, begging for a chance at life for his daughter. But it was all in vain. The admissions officer remained unmoved, repeating the same chilling mantra: “There’s no need for this. We will not admit Lily Hayes.” My father, believing his sincerity wasn’t enough, even pulled at his sleeve and began to rub the officer’s polished leather shoes, kowtowing as he scrubbed. The officer merely retorted, his voice chillingly detached, “Don’t play these sympathy games. They won’t work. We will not take Lily Hayes, no matter what.” No matter how my parents pleaded, the officer offered no further response. After he left, the University of Chicago quickly rejected my first choice application. As the person at the center of this bewildering storm, I felt utterly lost, adrift in a fog of confusion. I desperately searched for answers within myself: What did “a student like you” even mean? What terrible wrong had I committed? But in my memory, I was always a model student, excelling in academics and character, lauded by our neighbors as the perfect child, without a single blemish on my record. My parents, seeing my agony, gathered around, their voices soft with comfort. My father gently stroked my hair. “Lily, it’s alright. If this school doesn’t want us, we’ll find another. There are so many universities in this country; surely one will accept you.” My mother wiped away my tears, adding, “My Lily is the valedictorian! How could she not get into college? Your mom and dad will fight for you, I promise.” Each rejection carved new lines of worry onto my parents’ faces, weaving more silver into their once dark hair. After the first rejection, they’d willingly paid for a top-tier prep course, telling me, “Don’t worry, Dad’s got this.” After the second, they hired expensive tutors, working multiple jobs to save every penny for my education. My parents always gave everything, holding nothing back. My rising scores were a testament to their boundless sacrifice. But this third chance, too, had vanished into thin air. Their faces, now etched with deep lines of worry and age, their hands calloused and gnarled from years of relentless toil, brought a fresh wave of tears to my throat. “Dad, Mom, I’m so sorry,” I choked out. “It’s my fault. I’ve disappointed you again… I’m just a burden, dragging you down…” My parents, of course, wouldn’t hear it. They simply told me not to worry, to put such dark thoughts aside. That night, I tossed and turned in bed. With UChicago’s rejection, all my hopes now rested on my next choice. In my previous two attempts, my overconfidence in getting into Harvard or Yale had led me to neglect other options, a costly mistake. Thankfully, this time I had been more cautious. Despite my scores being well above average for most state universities, I’d applied to a few mid-tier schools. And, just in case, I’d even applied to a community college, the lowest admission threshold. I thought, if the elite universities wouldn’t take me, surely a regular state university would. After all, I was the state valedictorian. And indeed, hope arrived as expected—my name appeared on a mid-tier state university’s provisional acceptance list. The school, upon learning that a 738-point state valedictorian had applied, arrived at our house the very next day with a full procession of fanfare and banners, creating a joyful spectacle. My parents and I watched the bustling crowd outside our door, a rare smile finally gracing our faces. The university president quickly stepped forward, shaking my parents’ hands warmly. “It is an immense honor for our university to be chosen by the state’s top student! You two have raised such an exceptional daughter. Please rest assured, Miss Hayes will be treated like a national treasure at our institution.” Hearing these words, my parents’ eyes shone with a profound joy. My mother squeezed my hand tightly, exclaiming that my perseverance had finally paid off. My father straightened his shoulders, a rare show of pride. The scene was filled with warmth and harmony. The president eagerly produced the prepared acceptance letter, inviting us to pose for a photo. Then, with a wide smile, he unfolded the letter and began to read: “To Lily Hayes, upon review, we are pleased to offer you admission to…” Mid-sentence, he abruptly stopped, his gaze fixed on the letter, his entire body stiffening. Two minutes later, he looked up at me. “Are you certain your name is Lily Hayes?” Seeing his expression, my heart plummeted, a chilling premonition seizing me. Before I could speak, my parents confirmed it. Hearing their reply, the president swayed, then quickly waved his hand, signaling the celebratory procession to cease. The joyful din vanished, replaced by an unnerving silence. My parents panicked, turning to look at me, but my eyes were fixed on the president’s lips. I heard him say, his voice colder than ice, “I’m very sorry, but our university cannot admit you. I will report this to the admissions office and revoke your admission.” My head buzzed, my vision swimming, but my parents caught me just in time. I stared hard at the university president, articulating each word with deliberate force. “Sir, I demand a clear reason! Your institution already admitted me; you cannot simply revoke my acceptance with such vague excuses!” My hands clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms, the pain a sharp anchor in the storm. I vowed to myself: no matter what, today I would unearth the truth. My parents chimed in, their voices rising with anger. “That’s right, sir! You’ve already admitted her! You can’t just go back on your word! Isn’t this just bullying?” “We may be uneducated, honest folk, but you can’t treat us like this! You must give us an explanation!” The neighbors, who had gathered to watch the spectacle, began to whisper amongst themselves. The news of me, the state valedictorian, failing to get into college had already spread like wildfire through our small town. They indignantly speculated if I had offended someone powerful, convinced that with my scores, every university should be clamoring for me. Yet, despite our demands, the university president remained tight-lipped, offering only the same vague, infuriating answer: “A student like you will not be accepted by any school.” I pressed him, but received no further information. After the president departed, our family became the town’s new favorite topic of gossip. “That Lily Hayes, she’s a curse, isn’t she? Three years of exams and no school wants her! What a waste of money!” “I wouldn’t even bother. Just let Lily get a job. She’s just a girl anyway, she’ll be someone else’s problem soon enough!” “Exactly! A job would at least let her earn back all the money you wasted!” The villagers’ cruel words piled on, one after another, until my parents’ faces turned scarlet, ready to lunge at them. My mother grabbed a broom, wielding it like a weapon. “You old hags, get out! Don’t you dare cast your evil eyes on our family!” “What happens to our family is none of your business! Stop your gossiping, or I’ll tear your tongues out!” My father, his face stern and cold, shielded us. “I’m telling you all, I, Frank Hayes, would sell everything I own to support my daughter!” The villagers, seeing my parents’ wrath, cursed under their breath and finally left. I stared at the rejected acceptance letter, a cold, official condemnation, utterly unable to comprehend. What was so wrong with my name? Why did every university, upon seeing it, recoil as if from a plague? My mind was a frantic hamster wheel, churning, grasping, pulling at my hair until strands littered the floor like fallen leaves. My parents, seeing me huddled on the ground, my eyes bloodshot with exhaustion and grief, felt a fresh wave of both pity and desperate worry. My father smoked in frustrated silence. My mother, terrified I might do something foolish, tried relentlessly to soothe and reason with me. But my mind was consumed by the repeated rejections, a crushing weight of failure. Would all their sacrifices, all my effort, prove to be nothing but chasing ghosts, a fruitless endeavor? Suddenly, a flicker of light pierced the darkness of my despair. Community college. “Dad, Mom, I have one last chance!” I cried. “The community college results come out in a week! Maybe, just maybe, I can get in there!” Hearing this, my parents finally let out a collective sigh of relief. I thought, a community college was the lowest rung, even the worst students could get in. How could I, with my scores in the seven hundreds, possibly be rejected? Our entire family poured our last reserves of hope into that community college acceptance. After all, with my grades, even starting there, I could always transfer to a four-year university later. We waited an agonizing week, holding our breath. But finally, the acceptance letter arrived. My parents and I huddled together, clutching the letter, tears of joy streaming down our faces. The next morning, my father went into town and bought a chicken to celebrate. My mother bought me two new outfits, insisting I couldn’t look shabby when I started college. Our family sat around the table, eating and celebrating, a rare moment of peace and joy. “Dad, Mom, when I get a job, I’ll buy a big house and bring you both to live with me. I’ll make sure you enjoy your old age!” My parents’ faces crinkled into delighted smiles. “Lily, darling, our biggest wish is just for you to be safe, and to live a life free from the hardships we’ve known.” “We believe in you, our daughter. You’ll achieve great things!” But I never imagined that the community college president would appear at our house, immediately asking for the acceptance letter. The memory of all the previous rejections turned my face white, my legs weak beneath me. Instinctively, I tried to hide the letter on the table. But the president was faster. The moment he opened it, I knew. I cried. Just as I feared, the president’s face darkened the instant he saw the name “Lily Hayes.” He snatched the letter back directly in front of us. “Lily Hayes, I’m sorry, but I have to take back your acceptance. You cannot attend our school!” I couldn’t understand why this was happening again. After the president left, I locked myself in my room, numb with despair. “Lily Hayes, Lily Hayes…” I whispered my name over and over, like a mantra, frantically tearing through my room, overturning drawers, searching for my ID. I needed to see for myself what curse clung to my name! I found my ID. I looked at the name. And in that searing instant, a cold, hard truth slammed into me, piercing through years of manufactured innocence.

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1 My younger sister, Daisy, came home with her boyfriend every day, yet she never used any form of contraception. When I finally asked why, she calmly explained she was using the “side door.” I warned her that area was delicate, that repeated use could lead to infections and other problems. I told her that in this day and age, people were more open-minded, and a man who truly loved her wouldn’t care if she was a “pure” maiden or not. Daisy took my advice to heart. Later, after she broke up with her boyfriend, our mother set her up with a wealthy heir. On their wedding night, because Daisy didn’t bleed, the groom erupted in a furious rage. The incident spread like wildfire, becoming the talk of the town the very next day. Daisy was publicly humiliated, and she blamed it all on me. Her face contorted into a hideous mask of fury as she forced my head into a pot of scalding boiling water. “It’s all your fault!” she shrieked, her voice thick with venom. “If I had remained a virgin, I could have been a socialite, and no one would be laughing at me!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Daisy told me she never used contraception. … “Sis, don’t worry. I won’t get pregnant. Every time I’m with Leo, I use the side door.” My sister said, wiggling her hips suggestively. Looking at her face, I felt a shudder of revulsion. The suffocating sensation of boiling water filling my airways, that horrifying memory from my past life, washed over me. It took immense effort to compose myself. “Wow,” I managed, my voice strained. “You’re so clever.” Daisy continued, eager to share her wisdom. “Sis, I’m telling you, that spot can give a guy just as much pleasure. Don’t listen to Mom. It’s the twenty-first century. Living in the moment is what matters.” “It’s because of your old-fashioned thinking that you can’t keep a boyfriend.” I smiled faintly. Daisy’s smugness stemmed from the fact that her current boyfriend, Leo, was my ex. We’d dated for two years, but he’d broken up with me because I refused to have premarital sex. Less than three days after our breakup, Leo and my sister went public with their relationship. It was only when I went to Leo’s apartment to collect my belongings that I discovered they’d been secretly involved for a while. Daisy visited Leo’s rental unit every day, and their raucous antics echoed from the third floor all the way up to the fifth. All the neighbors knew. When I first learned this, my initial reaction wasn’t anger, but a chilling realization: if Mom found out, Daisy would be completely ruined. Our father passed away early, leaving Mom to raise Daisy and me alone. Mom was a professional matchmaker, with an impressive network of eligible bachelors from high society. Having dealt with these affluent families for so long, Mom understood their strict requirements for a potential spouse. A key one being: “cleanliness.” So, from a young age, Mom hammered one rule into Daisy and me: dating was fine, but premarital sex was absolutely forbidden. Mom would constantly repeat, her voice earnest: “Marriage is your second chance at life. These men might say they don’t care, but deep down, they all want a pure maiden. You two must guard your boundaries, or don’t blame me for disowning you.” On the way home from Leo’s place, I kept thinking about helping Daisy confess to Mom. To my surprise, when I told Daisy this, she calmly informed me she was still a “pure maiden,” because she hadn’t used the conventional route. I stared for a few seconds, letting her words sink in. Then, my concern shifted to her health. As someone with basic medical knowledge, I knew how delicate the “side door” was. It was merely an excretory opening, with muscles around the sphincter that controlled its tightness. It wasn’t meant to be open for long, let alone violently forced open repeatedly. Such abuse would surely damage the muscles and lead to a host of complications. I immediately explained all this to Daisy, telling her, “A man who truly loves you wouldn’t make you suffer like this, nor would he care about that ‘layer.’ If you enjoy that kind of intimacy, use the normal way to experience pleasure. And if someone truly cares about it, we can always get a repair surgery.” Daisy’s eyes lit up at the mention of surgery, and she subsequently changed her habit of using the “side door.” I never imagined that after she broke up with Leo, Mom would set her up with a rich heir. Despite the repair surgery, she still didn’t bleed on her wedding night. After the divorce, she blamed me for everything. Recalling this, I still offered a kind warning. “But constantly using the side door will cause injuries, and it’s prone to infection.” Daisy blinked, a mischievous smile on her face. “As long as you’re careful, it won’t. And besides, Sis, I think I was born with a natural charm. That area can also produce… fluids.” That last part sounded exactly like something Leo would have told her to string her along. Normally, that area doesn’t secrete anything. If it did, it meant only one thing: she was infected. This realization brought a surge of grim satisfaction. I feigned envy. “Is that why Leo likes you so much?” At the same time, I used a burner account to send a bunch of “toys” to Leo’s account. 【Handsome, need some little tools? Free shipping to your door!】 Daisy had always loved stealing my things. When she heard a hint of longing in my voice, she immediately became defensive. “Of course! But you probably don’t have this kind of… constitution, Sis. Now that Leo has had a taste of me, he won’t be interested in you. You should give up on him.” I lowered my head, feigning disappointment. Meanwhile, Leo’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. I quickly recommended several “aggressive” toys. Leo picked a few, sent the money, and I promptly placed an order from a local adult store. As I finished replying, Daisy’s phone vibrated. She picked it up, glanced at it, and her face flushed crimson. A moment later, she stood up, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door. “Sis, I have to go out. Remember to keep this from Mom.” Daisy didn’t return that night. When she came back the next day, she could barely walk straight. For the next few days, Leo ordered new “toys” from me daily. The items grew increasingly… extreme, and Daisy’s gait became more and more peculiar. I knew if this continued, Daisy’s body wouldn’t be able to handle it much longer. And the day came sooner than I expected. One Saturday, Daisy clutched my arm, her voice a whispered plea. “Sis, I think… I think it’s torn.” I forced myself to remain calm. “Where?” “Just… there.” She pulled down her pants. “Can you take a look for me? A lot of blood just came out, and it hurts so much.” I grimaced, suppressing a wave of nausea, and saw that the area was indeed not normal. “Sis,” she asked, her voice trembling, “do you think I should go to the hospital? Every time I sneeze these days, I… leak.” That nearly made me vomit. “The hospital?” I frowned. “Do you want Mom to find out you’ve been using the side door?” Mom was very strict about our private lives, and with Daisy staying out lately, she was already suspicious. Daisy’s face fell. “Then what do I do?” I rubbed my hands together. “It doesn’t look too serious. Let’s just go to a small clinic and get some medicine.” Daisy was too embarrassed to go to a proper clinic. In the end, she bought some random ointments online and applied them to the area. Once the medication took effect, Daisy resumed her nightly escapades. But it was clear that the muscles in her “side door” had loosened. She always carried a faint, unsettling odor. Counting the days, I knew it was time. Mom had finally found a suitable rich heir, and the moment she walked in, she was buzzing with excitement, urging Daisy to meet him. “Mr. Chen is truly one in a million, Lily! Worth hundreds of millions, educated abroad, and most importantly, his private life is impeccably clean!” Mom clapped Daisy on the thigh, beaming. “The best part is, he has almost no requirements for his partner, except for one: she must be pure. Daisy, your good fortune has arrived!” Mom was so incredibly excited, but Daisy remained indifferent. “Mom,” she said, flatly, “I don’t want to.” Mom and I both froze. In my past life, Daisy had agreed without a moment’s hesitation. Why was she refusing so quickly now? Mom quickly asked, “Why? Daisy, getting married is like a second chance at life. Don’t you always complain that I haven’t given you good opportunities? This time, I’ve found you an excellent family.” Daisy threw up her hands. “I have a boyfriend.” “Break up with him then,” Mom frowned. “Daisy, you didn’t go and sleep with that boy, did you? You didn’t listen to your mother?” Daisy’s face paled. “Of course not, Mom. I just… don’t want to get married right now. Why don’t you let my sister go on the blind date?” Hearing this, Mom shot me a disgusted glance. “Do you think she’s suitable?” Mom’s hurtful words pierced me like needles. My heart ached. Without a husband, Mom feared gossip, so she was incredibly strict with both me and Daisy. But her strictness was applied very differently. She treated me like a prisoner, while Daisy was her precious child. If I didn’t do my homework, she’d rip up all my textbooks and throw them in the trash, leaving me to face the ridicule of teachers and classmates the next day. If Daisy didn’t do hers, Mom would just scold her softly. If I broke a bowl, she’d make me kneel all night in the freezing cold. If Daisy broke one, she’d just tap her palms twice. I always suspected I wasn’t her biological daughter, even getting a DNA test done when I was an adult. But the results confirmed it: I was indeed her daughter. In my past life, after Daisy pushed me into the scalding water, I was still clinging to life. Mom rushed in, but didn’t even spare me a glance. Instead, she worried if Daisy’s hands were scalded. With my last ounce of strength, I asked her why she played favorites. She gave me a look of pure disgust. “How am I playing favorites? You’re just petty, that’s why you think I’m biased. Daisy never says I’m biased.” But I knew the real reason: Daisy was prettier than me. Mom always said that in this era, beauty was a resource. She firmly believed Daisy could marry into wealth and uplift our family, so she gambled everything on Daisy’s marriage prospects. Despite Mom’s immense reluctance, she didn’t force Daisy to go on the blind date. Unwilling to let such a good opportunity slip through our fingers, she arranged for me to meet Mr. Michael Chen instead. All the way there, she lectured me. “Don’t you dare mention any of your past relationships to Mr. Chen. You’re already not good-looking enough, so if you talk about your past flings, he’ll definitely not be interested.” Sometimes, I wondered if Mom was blind. Daisy stayed out all night, and Mom still believed she was a good girl. I came home on time every day, checked in with her before leaving, yet she still thought I was wild and loose. Thankfully, Michael Chen didn’t seem to care about my appearance. In my previous life, because of his involvement with Daisy, I’d had a poor impression of him. But this time, after talking, I realized he was genuinely a good person. Polite, well-read, and insightful. Just as Mom had said, his only requirement for a partner was personal integrity. This standard, however, stemmed from his own aristocratic background. He was so well-off, and so many women threw themselves at him, yet he remained a virgin. His high standards for himself made his requirement for a partner seem perfectly reasonable. We hit it off. We went on several dates, and our connection grew genuinely. After our last date, a thought even crossed my mind: perhaps my rebirth wasn’t for revenge, but to correct the past, to let me marry Michael Chen. For a moment, marrying Michael Chen seemed like a wonderful idea. But I hadn’t anticipated that after Michael agreed to our engagement, Daisy would break up with Leo. That night, after returning home, she saw Michael. Later that evening, she called Mom into her room. The next morning, Mom told me, “You need to break up with Michael Chen. Your sister wants to be with him.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I froze for a few seconds. “Isn’t Daisy sick in the head, always stealing other people’s boyfriends? She wanted that trash Leo, and she took him. But now Michael and I are about to get engaged, why does she want to steal him too? Is she addicted to being a mistress?” The words had barely left my mouth when Mom’s hand connected with my cheek, a stinging slap. “Daisy is your sister! How can you say such horrible things? Michael Chen was originally for Daisy! You were the mistress, stealing what was hers!” The slap burned, but it also extinguished the last flicker of love I had for my mother. My patience snapped. “Even so, Michael Chen is my boyfriend now! If she’s so great, let her make him fall for her!” After yelling that, I couldn’t bear to stay in the house. I grabbed my bag and ran out. I knew that if Daisy wanted Michael, Mom would make it happen. But I had faith in Michael. He wasn’t like Leo. I spent the whole day outside, the events of today and my past life replaying like a broken record in my mind. Both then and now, I felt an overwhelming sense of injustice. I thought, after I got engaged to Michael, I would move out. But I hadn’t expected that just a few hours later, before I even made it home, Michael Chen would call. “Vivian,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, “let’s break up.” My voice trembled with pain. “Why? Is it because of my sister?” A long silence stretched between us. Then Michael spoke, his honesty brutal. “Vivian, you’re a smart woman. You know, people like me, from high society, need a beautiful woman to uphold our reputation. You and your sister have identical family backgrounds. I naturally have to choose the superior one.” “I’m sorry. I’ll offer you some compensation. Just please, don’t try to cling to me. In the future, when we meet, let’s be friends.” Friends? What a load of crap. I hung up, then smashed my phone to pieces. I took a few shaky breaths, but the tears wouldn’t be held back. They poured down my face, a hot, cleansing torrent. I took out my now-smashed phone, preparing to delete all the photos I’d taken with Michael Chen. As I scrolled through a few, my eyes widened. Minutes later, all my anger and resentment melted away, replaced by a strange sense of relief, as I stared at the photo album.

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