My cousin, Kayla Sullivan, had been studying for years and finally, this year, secured a teaching position in the public school district. As her only close relative in the city, I felt it was only right to treat her to a celebratory dinner. Kayla specifically chose “The Gilded Spoon,” a place where a single meal could easily set you back three hundred dollars a head. I winced, but agreed. She proactively made the reservation, chirping that she had a special “gift” for me that day and that I absolutely had to dress up. On the appointed day, I put in my daily contacts, slipped into a fresh dress, and strapped on my sky-high heels. Fearing rush hour traffic would delay me, I even took a cab to the restaurant ahead of time. “Hello, I’m here for a reservation under Kayla Sullivan.” “Let me check for you… Ms. Sullivan booked our largest private dining room.” Largest room? I frowned, confused. I followed the hostess to the private room, pushed open the door… A massive dining table sprawled before me, surrounded by over a dozen people. They all turned, as one, to stare at me. “There must be a mistake,” I said, “there are only two of us.” “No mistake at all! This is it!” “Rachel! You’re finally here!” Kayla, in a vibrant red cocktail dress, emerged from the crowd, pulling me by the arm to sit down as she spoke. “Didn’t you say you were taking me out to dinner? I ordered the food ages ago! We’ve just been waiting for you!” “Oh! Sis, that bracelet is gorgeous.” I quickly twisted the jade bracelet away from her view. Kayla had a habit of “borrowing” my things since childhood, and “just looking” often meant “never returning.” I hissed at her in a low voice, “Kayla, I said I’d take you out to dinner. Who are all these people?!” “Oh, these are all my study buddies and future colleagues from various universities!” she chirped. “You said you were treating me, right? So I just invited everyone along!” Excuse me? Doesn’t she understand basic etiquette? You don’t bring your own guests to someone else’s treat! I managed a weak, awkward laugh. “Well, since you have friends here, I won’t intrude. I’ll just head out.” “You’re not going anywhere, Rachel Green!” Kayla’s voice suddenly pierced the air. “It’s just dinner, you’ll get to know them! Besides, how much can it possibly cost? You own a house in the city, what’s a little cash to you?” I’m poor because I bought a house! Mortgage payments! Renovations! They’re crushing me! There are over a dozen people here, at three hundred a head, this meal is going to be almost five thousand dollars! Are you kidding me?! Her gaze remained fixed on my bracelet. “Look at that clarity! How much was it?! Honestly, Rachel! You buy yourself such expensive things, but you’re too stingy to spend a little on me!” Are those even comparable? Before I could even retort, Kayla’s so-called ‘friends’ chimed in. “Is this your rich cousin? It’s just one meal, why be such a miser?” “Exactly! Your sister finally landed her dream job! Don’t ruin the celebration!” Kayla grabbed a bottle, ready to pour me a drink. I recognized it: Dom Pérignon?! “This is all about networking, Rachel, don’t look so glum! Come on, let’s toast!” she continued. “Didn’t I say I had a gift for you? Take a look!” A guy who looked old enough to be my father winked at me. “To my left, this is Gary. He’s forty, divorced with two kids, and works at a local university. Then there’s Steve, a little heavier but younger, he’s your age and landed his job with me. And there’s also…” She rattled off a list of ‘gifts’ – potential suitors, apparently. I waved my hand, resisting. “These are your ‘gifts’?” “Yeah! You’re in your thirties and still single, right? I’m just trying to set you up with a few good catches!” With that, their glasses clinked against mine. I looked at balding Gary, pot-bellied Steve, and pock-marked Mark, as Kayla whispered excitedly in my ear, “These are all rock-solid government jobs! You’d be marrying up!” I forced a strained, unconvincing smile. “Why does your cousin look so unhappy? Does she think we’re not good enough?” “Even if I’m on my second marriage, I’ve got full benefits and a pension! I’ll be set for life!” “She’s no beauty queen, just a plain Jane really. And I’ll be clear, after we get married, you’ll still have to work.” … “Rachel, just for my sake, have a drink!” I was seconds away from smashing my glass and walking out when, fortuitously, my mom called. “You took Kayla out to dinner? Do you have enough money?” Kayla was the middle child, with an older and younger brother. Her family wasn’t well-off, and she’d always felt a bit neglected. Her pocket money often came from petty theft, a habit the family knew about but rarely confronted. Because of her tendency to freeload and her light fingers, she almost didn’t get into college. In the end, it was the relatives who chipped in for her tuition. Mom always said Kayla had it tough, and since we were in the same city, I should look out for her. Growing up steeped in her struggles, I felt a deep sense of sympathy. I personally drove her to her university, but when I turned around, I noticed five hundred dollars missing from my purse. I didn’t say anything; I knew her family gave her no allowance. From then on, I started giving her five hundred dollars a month for pocket money. By her senior year, I’d increased it to a thousand. She never once thanked me, instead always complaining she was broke and that the allowance was too little. She majored in literature, which didn’t lead to many job opportunities, and she refused to go back home to take the civil service exam. So, as a compromise, she decided to pursue teaching. After graduation, with nowhere to go, I let her stay with me rent-free. She used my things without asking, wore my clothes, used my bags without hesitation, always brushing off my concerns with a breezy, “Aren’t you my sister?” After watching her struggle to find a job for over six months, I pulled some strings, tapped into my network, and found her a substitute teaching position at a private academy. Instead of gratitude, she accused me of trying to sabotage her. “A private elementary school?! Don’t you know I’m qualified for middle school? And it’s just a contract position! How can that compare to a tenured role? The pay is half, and I’d be stuck with all the grunt work!” Plenty of people work while studying for certification, but with her, it became my fault. Furious, I told her to get out! But then she demanded three thousand dollars a month in living expenses, saying it would help her “get by” until she “made it big” and could pay me back. I know the difference between generosity and obligation, and how favors can turn into resentment! I flat-out refused to fund her and kicked her out. She secretly called me heartless, blocked my number in protest, and for the first couple of years, she didn’t show up at family gatherings or visit our home during the holidays. I didn’t care; I just figured my kindness had been wasted. But in the last year or so, she reconnected, even asking if there was any chance for another contract teaching gig. “No way! They only hire recent graduates! You missed your window, you just need to focus on passing the exam yourself!” She underestimated the exam. Many schools require teaching experience, and aside from a few openings for exceptional teachers, most positions go to those already working under contract. To survive in the city, she worked DoorDash by day and burned the midnight oil studying by night. Her social media, once full of ambitious pronouncements, grew silent. She took the exam for four years, and finally, she passed, securing a spot at a new suburban elementary school. Mom suggested I treat her to dinner, and I figured, as her only close relative in the city, I should acknowledge her achievement. But she couldn’t pull a stunt like this on me, could she? After my call, I returned to the dining room to find Kayla telling the waiter she wanted to box up leftovers. “You haven’t even eaten much yet? Are you leaving?” “Oh, I’m not leaving~ My boyfriend hasn’t eaten yet, I’m ordering some fresh dishes to take back to him.” Seriously? Eating here and taking food to go! “Um… Kayla, my husband didn’t get dinner tonight, could I get a doggy bag too?” An older woman suddenly turned to me and asked. I was stunned into silence. What in the world was happening? Kayla interjected before I could speak: “Of course! My cousin Rachel is the most generous person ever!” “Then I’ll pack a little too, I have two kids at home…” I was completely speechless. They truly had no shame. “Rachel~ Is that okay?” Kayla winked at me, practically begging. I just smiled back, a sudden thought sparking in my mind. “Yes! Absolutely! Order whatever you want, as much as you want!” You want to eat? I’ll let you eat your fill! Want more food? I ordered double portions. Want more drinks? Only Dom Pérignon. Whether it was exotic delicacies or seafood, I didn’t even glance at the prices; I ordered the biggest, most expensive options. “Rachel! You’re giving me so much face! I thought you’d be furious that I brought so many strangers without even asking first.” Oh? So she does understand social etiquette, after all! “Today’s a huge milestone for you, how could I, your big sister, ever be anything less than welcoming?” “You’re right~ I’ve finally got a rock-solid job now~ Totally different from you, a regular wage slave!” She tilted her chin up proudly again. “Did any of those guys I introduced you to catch your eye? I’m telling you…” I quickly waved my hand. “I’m not looking to get married, thanks.” “You’re in your thirties! Aren’t Aunt and Uncle worried?” Too lazy to listen to her lecture, I poured her another drink. Watching the table of them, all flushed and giddy from the food and drinks, I prepared to make my exit. “Sis? Where are you going? You’re not planning to ditch us, are you?!” “Why would you think that? My purse is right here!” I pointed to my old canvas tote bag on the chair, and she snickered. “Your salary isn’t bad, how come you can’t even afford a mid-range designer bag~ Go on, go on~” She patted her own obviously fake designer bag as she spoke. I just smiled and said nothing. A canvas bag isn’t worth anything, which made it all the easier to sneak away~ “Sis! Where did you go?! The waiter’s trying to get the check!” “I went home! I already Venmo’d you my share and yours.” “Didn’t you say you were treating today?!” “I am! I’m treating you, not your friends!” “Sis! How could you do this?!” “How could I do this? You don’t understand basic etiquette, bringing guests to my treat! And then you try to set me up on blind dates? What kind of guys were those? Your own mother would think they’re too old! What were you even thinking?!” “But—” “No ‘buts’! I’m hanging up!” “Hey! Rachel! Sis! Rachel Green!” I leaned back comfortably in my chair as the waiter brought me a perfectly cooked steak. From where I sat, I had a perfect view of Kayla’s private dining room diagonally across from me. Inside, the whole group was staring at each other, stunned. The waiter’s face had darkened. He stood, arms crossed, holding the massive bill. “Who’s paying for this?!” Kayla looked up, mortified. “How about… we all just split the bill?” “Kayla Sullivan! You said you were treating me to dinner!” “But you guys were the ones drinking all that liquor!” “Didn’t you drink? And didn’t you say your cousin was loaded and it was time she bled a little after not giving you allowance for years?!” “Kayla Sullivan! Do you even want your job?! Don’t forget who pulled strings for you!” “She’s paying! She said she was treating!” ….

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1 On my first day back in the States, I walked straight into a scene I’d dreaded for years: my estranged sister, Lily, being publicly humiliated. Smack! A sharp, stinging slap landed squarely on Lily’s face, the sound echoing, drawing every eye in the crowded college quad. “Lily, I considered you a sister, how could you be so cruel? You take everything from me, even my boyfriend?!” The girl shrieked, her voice morphing into a simpering whine after delivering the blow. “Huh, I always thought Lily seemed hard to get along with, but a home-wrecker? Didn’t see that coming.” Whispers rippled through the onlookers. … My first day back in the country, my immediate thought was to visit my sister at her university. I also planned to scout the campus, considering a potential investment. I never imagined I’d arrive to such a spectacle. Lily was trapped, encircled by a hostile crowd, her face a mask of weary helplessness. I recognized the ringleader: Chad Worthington, her boyfriend. Next to him, a girl clung to his arm, looking utterly helpless and demure. “Lily Ellis, you’ve gone too far! We tolerate you bullying Lily, but now you’re accusing her of ruining your watch? What kind of cheap watch is worth five million dollars, anyway?!” Chad lectured my sister, his voice dripping with self-righteous indignation. “Oh, Chad, she copied my senior thesis! It almost kept me from graduating, but thankfully, Principal Evans saw through her plagiarism.” The girl, Lily, simpered, batting her eyelashes. “Lily, that’s a lie! You copied my senior thesis!” Lily’s voice was barely a whisper, weak and trembling. Lily. Her name jolted my memory. That was Lily, the daughter my stepmom brought into our lives. Lily was my full sister, born of the same parents. Not long after our mother passed, Dad brought home my stepmom, along with a little girl Lily’s age. Looking back, Dad must have already been having an affair while Mom was still pregnant with Lily. Later, under my stepmom’s relentless manipulation, Dad sent me away. She’d claimed our horoscopes clashed, that I’d jinx the family business, even curse Dad’s luck. He’d believed her, banished me abroad, leaving me to fend for myself. In truth, I never brought him bad luck; our family business had only boomed after I was born. My stepmom’s real fear was that Dad, always favoring sons, would leave her own daughter with nothing. “Lily Ellis, if I copied your work, why was it your graduation status that was revoked? If you get on your knees and apologize to me, I’ll let it go.” Lily’s arrogant tone snapped me from my thoughts. “Ben,” I said to my assistant, “get Principal Evans here. Now.” “Right away, sir,” Ben replied, nodding. “Lily Ellis, that broken watch of yours was already garbage, and now you’re trying to frame me, demanding five million dollars? Are you out of your mind? I’d say you’re worth more than that watch. If you want money, why don’t you just sell yourself?” Lily giggled, a cruel gleam in her eyes. “Lily, do you think this is worth five million dollars? Oh, wait, no. I’d say it’s worth ten million.” Chad pulled out his phone, a few taps, and then, a series of revealing photos flashed before everyone’s eyes. “Wow, Lily Ellis, who would’ve thought she’d take pictures like that? She always seemed so innocent, but look at her, playing dirty.” “Man, if I could spend just one night with her, I’d die a happy man!” The students surrounding them jabbered, their voices growing louder. “Ben, find out the truth about those photos.” I couldn’t believe my sister would do something like that. I had to know. “Now,” I added, my voice tight. “Yes, sir, immediately.” More and more people gathered, their faces alight with morbid curiosity. “Lily, how about a little game? For every minute you delay paying Lily, I’ll post one of your photos in the campus group chat.” Chad’s grin was sickeningly lecherous. “Yeah! Post ’em! Post ’em fast!” “Go, Chad!” “Wait, isn’t Chad Lily’s boyfriend? Why would he share his own girlfriend’s private pictures?” Finally, someone asked the obvious question. “Boyfriend? Please. Chad and Lily are the real couple. Lily was just a plaything.” 2 “You’re right, why else would he treat Lily like this?” The students babbled, a cacophony of judgment, and then, in the very next minute, a photo was indeed posted to the campus group chat. The group chat exploded, the comments even more vile and disgusting than the whispers. “Chad Worthington, you are absolutely despicable!” “Lily Ellis, all you have to do is kneel and apologize to Lily, plus pay ten million in compensation, and I’ll delete all these photos.” “Apologize? You wish! I have proof that Lily plagiarized my work. Who apologizes to whom is far from decided!” Lily seemed to remember something, a flicker of defiance returning to her eyes. “Proof? Haha! If you had proof, you wouldn’t have been expelled, would you? Stop putting on a show!” Lily laughed, her head tilted condescendingly. “Exactly! If you have proof, show it!” A student, eager for more drama, chimed in. “Forget the plagiarism for a second, Lily. Let’s talk about you damaging my watch.” Only then did Lily pull out a watch. I recognized it; it was a gift I’d given her years ago. “Lily Ellis, you’re just trying to extort me, aren’t you? A broken watch, you say it’s worth five million? Who knows what garbage dump you found it in?” Lily rolled her eyes, her tone dismissive. “Lily, why are you being so aggressive? Lily is your sister, after all. Are you trying to destroy her?” Chad said, feigning concern. “Chad Worthington, I can’t believe I ever fell for a wretch like you!” Lily’s voice trembled with fury. “Lily, I always side with justice, not people. If you’re in the right, I’ll definitely help you,” Chad said, posting more photos to the group chat. “Chad Worthington! Stop! Please, for the sake of our childhood, don’t post anymore!” Lily’s composure crumbled as she saw the new photos. “Besides the photos, I have videos too. Does anyone want to see them?” Chad asked the crowd, his voice laced with menace. “YES!” The crowd answered in unison, a hungry roar. “Sir, the photos are real. No Photoshop traces,” Ben reported, having finished his quick investigation. “How could Lily have taken photos like that?” I asked, my gut churning. “It’s Chad Worthington. He’s manipulated more than just Lily. There are so many other girls he’s tricked. He’s a total scumbag.” Ben’s voice was laced with disgust. “Principal Evans? How long until he gets here?” I pressed Ben. “He’s on his way.” “Tell him if he’s not here in ten minutes, I’ll tear this school down.” “I’ll hurry him up.” At that moment, the onlookers buzzed with anticipation for Chad’s promised videos, and Lily looked even more helpless. “Lily, I told you, I can let the senior thesis issue go. But you damaged my watch, and you’ll pay for it. My brother gave me that watch.” As soon as Lily’s words left her lips, Lily burst out laughing. “Haha! Your brother gave it to you? You’re such a liar, you can’t even blink when you say it! Dad forbade you from contacting your brother, so how could he give you a gift? Have you secretly been in touch with that unlucky brother of yours?” Chad sneered. “Even if your brother did give it to you, how would he have the money to buy you a watch like that?” Lily challenged. “That’s none of your business! Either fix my watch or pay up!” “That broken antique of yours? How am I supposed to fix it? You’re clearly just trying to extort me!” Lily whined, affecting a pitiful expression. “Move it, everyone! What’s all this commotion about?” A greasy, portly man pushed through the crowd, squeezing his way to the front. 3 “Dean Miller, you’re just in time! Quickly, while everyone’s here, tell them about the senior thesis plagiarism! Let everyone know how Lily Ellis copied my work!” Lily said to the man. “Ahem… well, about that!” Dean Miller hemmed and hawed, clearly reluctant to speak. “Oh, Dean! Just say it! After all…” Lily leaned in, whispering something into his ear that no one else could hear. “Yes, Lily is correct. Lily Ellis did plagiarize Lily’s senior thesis. The school has investigated thoroughly, and a formal announcement will be made on Monday,” Dean Miller declared, his voice suddenly authoritative. “Wow! So it’s true!” A murmur of shock rippled through the students. “No, I didn’t! Dean Miller, you’re mistaken!” “Lily Ellis, didn’t you say you had proof? Just show it!” A student reminded her. “Don’t listen to her nonsense. If she had proof, would the school have ruled against her like this?” “Lily Ellis, I told you, if you get on your knees and apologize to me, I’ll forgive you! If you don’t, you can forget about ever making it in this industry!” Lily tossed her head back at a forty-five-degree angle, her voice dripping with malice. “Forget it, Lily. I think these photos are worth more than any apology. Now, I wouldn’t trade them for ten million dollars. I’m raising the price! Let’s get her to sign an agreement to transfer all her assets to you. What do you say?” Chad said, looking at Lily. “Good idea. Get the lawyer here. We’ll sign it now.” “No matter how good the photos and videos are, nothing beats a live show. Let’s strip her clothes off, piece by piece, and give the students a little treat.” Chad leered, his large hands gripping Lily’s collar, tearing savagely. Lily didn’t have time to react; her shirt ripped in two. Lily burst into tears, frantic and exposed. “Why are you crying? Lily Ellis, you always bullied Lily in the dorms, we all know that. You deserve this!” A girl in the crowd, eager for more drama, sneered. “Jenny, what are you talking about?! When did I ever bully her? You guys ganged up on me, pouring water on my bed when I was out, putting something in my face wash that made my face break out for a month! I’m the one who’s always been bullied!” “Lily Ellis, do you have proof? If you do, show it. If not, stop slandering us.” Jenny clearly belonged to Lily’s clique. Lily’s eyes darted around, as if a new thought had struck her. “Lily Ellis, how about this: I’ll make you a bet. If you can provide proof, we’ll call it even. If you can’t, you sign the asset transfer agreement we just discussed.” “Lily, you dream big, don’t you? You want to pull a fast one? I’ll put all my assets on the line, but what about you? Nothing? I’ll only bet if the stakes are equal!” Lily countered. “Lily, bet her! She can’t possibly prove herself, what’s there to be afraid of? Surely your assets are more than hers? Just the outfit you’re wearing is worth infinitely more than anything she owns! We’ll just swallow up all her assets, won’t that be better?” Chad urged. “Fine, Lily Ellis, you asked for this. I’ll bet you! All my assets, plus five percent of Ellis Industries!” Lily declared. “Haha, forget it. You’re not worthy of betting against me!” Lily chuckled, then continued, “I have more shares than you. I have ten percent. All your assets combined probably don’t even make up for that extra five percent, do they?”

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1 The day my mom was cremated, I collected her ashes with my own hands. I buried the urn, I burned the paper offerings. She died, and for three straight years, I barely slept. But last night, she came back. She stood at the door, wearing the same nightgown from the fire, tapping softly. Her voice, gentle, called out, “Ethan, Mom’s home.” I didn’t dare open the door, didn’t even dare breathe. But she knew I was inside. She pressed herself against the wood. “I made your favorite chicken and wild rice soup. It’s still warm.” Her voice carried the faint, acrid scent of char. My name is Ethan Vance. I’m 28, and I live alone on the seventh floor of an old apartment building in the suburban sprawl. Three years ago, a fire devoured our home, and it took my mom with it. I remember that night, her body a shield, burning around me. That smell… I’ll never forget it. The police said she was unrecognizable, a brutal death. I identified her by the jade bracelet on her wrist. My mom was a good person, lived a life without a single regretful act. She shouldn’t have come back—not like this. I desperately tried to convince myself it was a hallucination. But the ‘her’ outside the door suddenly used my childhood pet name: “My little stink bug, come out. Mom saved a chicken leg for you.” My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor. Only she ever called me that. I’d never told anyone, not even my ex-girlfriend. I called the police. Two officers arrived. I steeled myself, opened the door, and she was gone. On the balcony, the chicken soup was still steaming, wisps of warmth rising into the cool air. The officers did a quick sweep, then suggested I might be having a mental health crisis, offering to arrange a hospital visit. I handed them my security footage. The result? All recordings from 2 AM to 4 AM were blank. They patted my shoulder. “Tough break, kid. Our condolences.” After they left, I found a fragment of a bloodied jade bracelet on the doorstep. It was my mom’s. The next day, she came again. This time, she didn’t knock. She used a key. I watched, horrified, as the lock clicked open, the deadbolt retracting with a soft clack. She walked in. She carried a grocery bag, a container of hot food, as if nothing unusual had ever happened. She headed straight for the kitchen to cook. I cowered in my bedroom, peeking through the crack in the door. A patch of burnt flesh on the back of her head was still faintly smoking. She was chopping vegetables, using the rusty cleaver I’d thrown away before she died. I swore I’d tossed that knife into the river after the fire. Yet, she chopped with practiced ease, humming a lullaby. “Dark skies, gonna rain…” She never sang. Not once in the twenty-five years I’d known her alive. I couldn’t take it anymore. I burst into the kitchen, slamming the knife from her hand. “Who are you?!” She paused, then slowly turned, a gentle smile still playing on her lips. “What’s wrong, Ethan? Didn’t you say last night you wanted pot roast?” A chill snaked down my spine. I hadn’t said that. But… I had, years ago, when I was a child. Fifteen years before she died. My voice trembled. “You’re not her… You’re not human.” Her smile vanished. She bent down, picking up the cleaver, and in a tone that sounded almost like a complaint, she said, “Little Ethan, why are you still upset?” On the third day, a neighbor dropped by. It was Old Man Johnson from downstairs. He glanced at ‘my mom,’ a cheerful grin spreading across his face. “Well, if it isn’t Eleanor! You look wonderful, dear. Did you go on a long trip these past three years?” My mind went blank. “She… you’ve seen her?” “Of course! Just yesterday, bumped into her at the complex entrance!” “But… she’s dead?!” Old Man Johnson’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about?” I roared, “She burned to death! You were at the funeral!” His expression froze for two seconds, then he suddenly slapped his thigh. “Oh, my memory these days. I’ve been having so many dreams lately, maybe I mixed them up.” As he turned to leave, I saw a burn on the back of his ear. A fresh burn, blistered and weeping yellow fluid. I started to believe it wasn’t just my mom who had changed. It was the whole world. A new contact suddenly appeared in my phone: “Mom.” Her profile picture was taken six months before she died, the caption: “My sweetest son.” I’d never set up WeChat for her; she could barely use a phone when she was alive. My hands trembled as I tapped on the chat. The first message: “Ethan, Mom bought your favorite sugar figures today, just like when you were little.” I typed: “Who are you?” A reply, instant: “I’ve always been your mom. Don’t you want to come home?” I yanked out the internet cable and smashed my phone. But the next day, my phone was back to normal, and there was a new voice message on WeChat. I put on my headphones— It was my five-year-old self, crying and calling for Mom. That audio clip only existed in my head; it had never been recorded. I rushed to the cemetery. Her tombstone was still there, the name unchanged. But the urn had been dug up, placed on the ground, and opened. It was empty. I frantically dug at the earth, desperate to confirm if it had been stolen. My hand hit something solid. I pulled it out, and my heart nearly stopped. It was the paper airplane I’d placed at her grave when I was a child, inscribed with, “Mom, I miss you.” I had clearly burned it. Burned it to ashes. Yet here it was, clean and undamaged, buried in the soil. My scalp prickled with raw terror. My mom truly had “returned.” But how could she bring back burned paper? Unless she retrieved it from hell itself. That night, I dreamt she sat by my bed, whispering, “Ethan, our family should be together now.” In her hand, she held that rusty cleaver, lightly tracing its edge along my neck. The blade was cold. The dream was real. I woke up with a red mark on my neck. And she was standing outside my window, watching me through the glass. Smiling. 2 My mom never liked fish. I remembered that clearly from childhood; she wouldn’t touch it even if it was boneless, claiming a fish bone had once lodged in her throat when she was little, nearly killing her. But now, she cooked fish every day. Steamed, braised, stewed in sauce – different ways, always fish. If I didn’t eat, she’d put it in my bowl, watching me swallow each bite. Once, I asked her, “Don’t you hate fish?” She paused for two seconds, her expression momentarily stuck, her lips moving before a suddenly benevolent smile spread across her face. “Yes… Mom’s getting old, I misremembered.” But her eyes were fixed on my throat. I swallowed a mouthful of rice, my throat stinging. A fish bone. I watched her lips slowly curve upward. It was a smile of pure satisfaction. More and more “memories” began to tumble from her lips. Some were about my childhood, unnervingly accurate, even down to which shoe I wore out in third grade. Others, however, simply weren’t mine. She said I used to love folding paper boats and floating them down the river. But I never learned to swim; I was scared of water. She claimed I had a high fever when I was three that summer, and she rushed me to the Downtown Medical Center emergency room. I’d only ever stayed at the local hospital, never the Downtown Medical Center. I asked her, “Mom, was I afraid of shots when I was little?” She said, “You always cried when you got shots, especially that time you were hospitalized for pneumonia—” I cut her off sharply. “I’ve never had pneumonia in my life.” Her expression went blank for two seconds. The next moment, she was smiling again. “You don’t remember.” It wasn’t that I didn’t remember. It was that it simply wasn’t me. She was carrying the memories of more than one son. She was “piecing” me together. Or maybe, she wanted me to believe that she was the real one. In the mornings, she started using a bowl I’d never seen, calling it my “favorite patterned bowl” from childhood. She pulled out a family photo. “Your dad doted on you when you were little,” she said. My dad died when I was five. The ‘dad’ in that photo was a stranger. I picked up the photo. The child in it wasn’t me either. It was a pale-skinned boy with big eyes and dimples. I’d been chunky, with single eyelids and prominent front teeth. She looked at the picture. “This was taken on your fourth birthday, when we went to Westside Park.” She was becoming more serious, more natural, as if truly believing that photo was me, that past was me, that life was me. She looked at me, her voice soft as a lullaby, like a hypnotic whisper. “Ethan, are you… forgetting yourself?” I was losing my mind. I rummaged through all my old family photo albums. They were all gone. Three days after my mom died, when I packed up her things, I’d carefully put those photos in a box and hidden them in my closet. The box was still there, but all the photos had been swapped. Not a single one of me. They were all of that “dimpled boy.” I looked at my own ID photo, confirming I hadn’t had plastic surgery, wasn’t delusional. Then, suddenly, she patted my shoulder from behind. “Ethan, Mom got you a new ID. You didn’t like that photo.” I picked up the new ID she handed me—it bore the little boy’s face. The name was still Ethan Vance, the birthday the same. My hands started to shake. I opened my laptop, checked my social security records—gone. My work files—blank. My bank account balance read “0,” and the account holder was listed as “Ethan Vance (Minor).” My entire life had been overwritten. She hadn’t just come back; she was replacing me with someone else. That night, she said she wanted to take me to see someone. She led me to a house in the old city outskirts. The door opened, and an old woman emerged, grinning widely at my mom. “Oh, Eleanor! It’s really you, dear! I heard you were back, but I didn’t believe it!” I stared at the old woman, feeling a vague sense of familiarity. My mom asked me, “Who is this, Ethan?” I was stunned. “…I don’t know.” The old woman chuckled. “You rascal, I took you to the zoo when you were three, and you don’t remember me?” She turned and pulled out a photo. It was that “dimpled boy” again. The old woman’s tone suddenly shifted. “If you don’t recognize me, you’re not my grandson anymore.” My body stiffened. I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I do, I do.” Only then did she nod, satisfied. On the way home, my mom chuckled. “Remember that oak tree outside her house? You used to pee on its roots every day when you were little.” I looked down, saying nothing. I’d lived in a different complex when I was little. My home had a maple tree, not an oak. If I didn’t keep up the charade, they’d “cleanse” me. They weren’t trying to make me accept her return; they were trying to transform me into the ‘child’ she desired. Back home, I secretly took scissors and made a shallow cut on my wrist. The pain was excruciating, the blood real. She came in, saw it, but showed no anger or surprise. She merely sighed. “You’re still being stubborn.” She walked over, took my wrist, and wiped away the blood. She spoke, word by word: “Ethan, don’t mess with this body. You haven’t adjusted to it yet.” I completely panicked. I rushed into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw my reflection suddenly wink its left eye—but I hadn’t winked. In the mirror, I made an expression I hadn’t made, a strange, unfamiliar smile. I stared at the mirror. The me in the mirror whispered, “Mommy’s waiting for you to wake up.” When I went to sleep, I locked my door. I woke up at 3 AM to sounds from the kitchen. She was cooking soup again. This time, it wasn’t chicken soup. It was pork brain soup. As she cooked, she murmured, “He was so smart as a child, needs a little boost.” I crept closer to the kitchen and saw her add something to the pot—a strand of hair, still clinging to its root, tainted with blood. I recognized it. It was mine. She turned around, slowly smiling at me. “Ethan, be a good boy. Drink one more bowl, and you’ll remember.” “Once you remember, you can stay forever.” 3 I started to wonder: Who was crazy? Me, or the entire world? At 7 AM, my mom called, announcing breakfast was ready. Three minutes ago, she was in the kitchen, I’d seen her with my own eyes, hacking at bones, red meat still clinging to them. But now, her number appeared on my phone, her voice gentle. “My little stink bug, time to get up.” That was exactly how she’d woken me every morning when I was small. She had completely reverted to ‘herself’—no, she was simulating a more perfect version of herself. I walked into the kitchen. She wore an apron, cooking. On the table, my favorite fried eggs, soy milk, plain congee, and pickled vegetables were perfectly arranged. There was even a glass of milk, with “Best Son Ever” printed on it—the exact mug I’d used as a child, which had been reduced to ashes in the fire. Now, it looked brand new. She slid a fried egg onto my plate. “Eat up. Aren’t your friends coming over today for a project? I remember you mentioning it.” I had never said that. But then the doorbell rang. I opened the door—it was Kevin Davis, my closest friend from college. The moment he saw ‘my mom,’ his eyes lit up. He smiled politely. “Mrs. Vance, long time no see. You look great.” I was stunned. “You’ve seen her?” “Of course!” He laughed. “I came over to your place the year you graduated, and Mrs. Vance even cooked me some congee.” “She died three years ago!!!” I roared. Kevin flinched, frowning at me. “Are you having too many dreams? Your mom just chatted with me a few days ago, even told me to convince you to find a girlfriend.” I stared, aghast. “You were chatting with her?” “Yeah, WeChat video. We even added each other. I’ve liked all her posts.” “My mom can’t even use WeChat…” Before I could finish, Kevin had already wandered into the living room, chatting with ‘my mom’ about recipes. I watched their conversation, feeling as if a glass wall separated us, and only I couldn’t understand the language. I opened WeChat. It was true. She was posting. The first one: “Ethan finally ate his dinner, such a good boy.” And the likes? They were from my friends, my colleagues, even my unit supervisor. Comments below: “Auntie is such a great cook!” “A son is a mother’s soft spot.” They all truly believed it—she was alive, had never died. I privately pulled Kevin into my room, closed the door, and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Please, I beg you, listen to me. Three years ago, the fire department pulled my mom from the rubble. I identified her body. I burned her ashes. I personally put them in the columbarium. I swear I’m not crazy, she is not my mom!” Kevin looked at me strangely, silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “Why are you still living in the past?” “I’m not living in the past! I’m living in the present—but she doesn’t belong in this present!” Kevin sighed, patting my shoulder. “Ethan, I know that fire really hurt you, but she’s really fine. You should take your medication.” I stared at him, testing. “Do you remember that day you came to help me identify the body?” “What?” “Didn’t you see my mom’s body after the fire?” “Stop joking. Your mom never died.” I took a step back, my voice dry as kindling. “Look into my eyes—are you thinking right now that I’m crazy?” Kevin didn’t answer. He only said, “If she’s not your mom, then who is she? She’s the mom we all recognize. If you keep talking nonsense, everyone will really think you’re unstable.” Before he left, he threw out one last line: “If you keep this up, don’t bother calling me again.” That night, I went to find my middle school deskmate, Sarah Chen, the only friend who knew my mom had truly died. I sent her photos, pictures of the empty urn. She was silent for a long time, then replied: “Are you trying to get attention, or are you really having a breakdown?” I opened her social media. She had also liked that post, “Ethan finally ate his dinner.” I hid on the balcony, watching ‘my mom’ in the living room clear the table, fold clothes, wipe the floor, and hang photos. Every movement was perfectly theatrical. She even pulled out my favorite childhood teddy bear from a cabinet and placed it on the sofa. I didn’t believe she could find it—I’d thrown that thing away before the fire. But she found it, and it even had the bite marks I’d made on it years ago. She turned and smiled at the balcony. That smile told me she knew I was watching. I went to check my household registration. The City Hall clerk flipped through the system and said my mom’s registration had been active for three years, with no record of any fire incident. I said, “Can I access the resident death records from the year of the fire?” She tapped a few keys, then frowned. “Which apartment complex did you say?” I gave her the address. She stared at me. “Are you mistaken? That building has never caught fire.” “What?!” “I checked the street records. The fire report for your complex that year was zero.” My body went cold, my legs turned to jelly. I forced myself to speak. “Then… can I access my medical records from those days?” “Were you sick?” I nodded. “That year… I had psychogenic aphonia, and I was admitted to the city hospital.” She checked, her expression growing stranger. “You were hospitalized, but it wasn’t for psychogenic aphonia.” “What was it?” She turned the screen toward me: “Cause of death: moderate burns, crushed airways, irreversible organ damage. Died despite resuscitation efforts.” Cause of death? I was looking at my own death certificate. I staggered back two steps. My phone chimed. My mom had sent a WeChat voice message: “Ethan, come home for dinner. Today, Mom made your favorite roast chicken, just like when you were little.” I hadn’t told her what I wanted to eat. And I had never eaten roast chicken as a child. But I remembered a detail—the night of the fire, I dreamt I was gnawing on a chicken leg. In the dream, my mom was peeling the skin, saying, “Son, is it good?” That was the only time in my life I’d dreamt of her being alive and on fire. Now, she was turning the dream into reality. I started to fear the dark. My room had four lamps, and they burned all night. My mom didn’t force me to turn them off; instead, she said, “You were afraid of ghosts when you were little. Mom won’t let you be afraid.” I hadn’t told her that either. Yet she always knew my little secrets, secrets I’d forgotten years ago. How did she know? Or was it that she wasn’t “knowing,” but rather digging out my memories one by one, reflecting them back on herself? If that were the case… then she was “emptying” me.

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I was born into a wealthy family, yet I lived a life worse than a dog. My mother, Eleanor, believed her child had been swapped with my father’s mistress’s daughter. She tormented me endlessly, while doting on the other girl. My father, Robert, despised Eleanor, calling me a disgusting bastard. He let me be bullied for over a decade, turning a blind eye. The mistress’s daughter, Chloe, flourished under their combined cultivation, becoming a celebrated socialite. And I, battered by my own mother, was married off to Silas, an old bachelor from a rural town, aged fifty. Later, they discovered I was their only biological child. Both were consumed by regret, scrambling up the mountain that very night to find me. The old monk, beads clutched in his hand, looked at them, bewildered. “Who are you? The young woman, before she passed, said she never had parents.” 1 “Control your daughter.” Chloe, chin held high, yanked my hair, then shoved me toward Eleanor. “Her filthy hands touched my new dress! Dad just bought me this limited edition one!” Even though she was the mistress’s daughter, she acted like a proper heiress in front of Eleanor, commanding more authority than the lady of the house herself. Eleanor, far from being angry, offered a fawning smile. “Chloe, your new dress must make you so sad. Auntie will wire you money. Go buy the latest, the very best.” With that, she grabbed my collar, forcing me to the ground, and slapped me across the face. “Idiot. You made a mistake, now get over here and apologize!” I looked at my own mother, filled with nothing but raw terror. I held out my reddened palm for her to see. “I… I didn’t mean to. The coffee was just so hot, I couldn’t stand the pain and accidentally touched it.” Before I could finish, Eleanor cut me off. “I don’t care if you meant to or not. Have you forgotten what I told you? You’re an unspeakable thing, destined to be beneath everyone!” She loomed over me, pressing the toe of her shoe into my back. “Go on, crawl over and kowtow to Chloe.” I bit back a cry and complied. Chloe deliberately positioned her diamond necklace near my forehead. In moments, my cheek was streaked with flowing blood. Eleanor watched, her face impassive, showing not a shred of pity. Instead, she invited Chloe inside, personally serving her tea. I was left trembling, cowering on the cold ground. Eleanor was known in our circles as a woman consumed by resentment. She’d used every trick to force Robert to marry her, securing her title as matriarch of the Vance family. But on their wedding day, Robert was already cavorting with his first love, Vivian, never stepping foot in our house again. Eleanor hated the woman kept outside, but she was powerless. All her hopes were poured into her womb. She yearned for me to be born exceptional, hoping I’d make Robert glance her way. But fate was unkind; Vivian and Eleanor became pregnant at the same time. Robert showered all his affection on Vivian. From birth, I knew I was the child no one wanted. Robert would yell at me, call me disgusting, declare me the biggest stain on his life. Eleanor would curse me as a worthless disappointment, incapable of even earning affection. Then one day, I noticed Eleanor changed. She stopped wallowing in self-pity, no longer shedding silent tears. Instead, she found joy in tormenting me. In our sprawling mansion, with so many empty rooms, I was relegated to the dog kennel in the yard, spending my days with mastiffs. My meals were three-day-old leftovers, my water the dirty run-off from watering plants. Even the household staff felt free to kick me. Eleanor’s mind grew increasingly twisted; the more I suffered, the happier she became. Many times, she’d grip my throat, laughing maniacally. “If only you’d die in my hands, how wonderful it would be if you just died.” But then she’d release me. “No, I can’t kill you yet. I haven’t had enough fun, hahahaha.” That time, I truly couldn’t take it anymore. I cried, asking her, “Am I really your biological daughter?” 2 Eleanor didn’t hesitate, biting out her words with certainty. “Of course you’re my biological daughter. I carried you for nine months and gave birth to you with great difficulty.” “Then why do you treat me like this?” My heart burned with raw indignation. Born into wealth, I didn’t ask for luxurious food and clothing like other young masters and ladies. I didn’t ask to attend elite schools or travel the world. I had only one wish: to eat enough, to be warm. Yet the mother who birthed and raised me wouldn’t even grant me that. Chloe emerged from the house, adorned in sparkling jewelry. Eleanor fussed over the driver, repeatedly telling him to ensure Chloe arrived home safely. I stood there, like a dog kicked from pillar to post, watching them with desperate, pleading eyes. “Want to wear pretty clothes like her?” After seeing Chloe off, Eleanor’s expression instantly twisted, her voice turning cold and ruthless. “Yes,” I whispered. I dreamed of it. She pinched my chin. “Then go beg your father to come home. If he agrees to return, I’ll buy you dresses and treat you to a fancy meal.” I was abandoned at the doorstep of Robert and Vivian’s house. When Robert returned from work, he saw me, disheveled and cowering on the ground, and his eyes filled with contempt. “Autumn? What are you doing here?” Though I’d been alive for over a decade, my encounters with my father were few and far between. Hearing his icy question, I cautiously tugged at his sleeve. “Please, Dad, come home with me, okay?” He cruelly shook me off. “What new scheme are you and your mother cooking up now? I left that woman plenty of money, enough for you two to live comfortably for generations. Why are you here playing pitiful?” I pulled up my sleeve, showing him the bruises and cuts on my arm. “It’s not pretend. If you don’t come home with me, she’ll beat me to death.” I expected him to show some sympathy, seeing the marks of physical abuse on his own flesh and blood. Instead, his contempt twisted into outright fury. “Autumn, you’re as worthless as your mother. She tricked me into marrying her step by step. If I ever feel an ounce of pity for either of you again, I’ll change my name!” He clutched a takeout bag from a five-star restaurant. He stood at the door, composing himself for a moment before daring to step inside. Just a wall separated us, and from within, Chloe’s high-pitched voice chirped, “Daddy!” Vivian, too, emerged, smiling, taking the food from his hands. The three embraced, bathed in the warm glow of the lights, a picture of impossible happiness. I had never experienced a single day like that. Lost and despondent, I returned home. A maid, sneering, informed me, “Hurry up. The mistress has prepared a grand meal for you.” My heart fluttering with a fragile hope, I rushed into the living room. The table was indeed laden with a feast. Chicken, fish, meat, and many dishes I couldn’t name. Eleanor sat nearby, smiling as she watched me. “Autumn, you must be hungry. Come quickly, taste it. This is Aunt Grace’s cooking.” My face full of disbelief, I cautiously asked, “Can I really eat?” Eleanor nodded. “Of course. Come sit down.” I excitedly picked up a piece of fish and put it in my bowl. “Mom, I promise, I’ll be filial to you from now on. Just be a little kind to me, just a little.” “And…” I couldn’t help but offer her a piece of advice. “If Dad makes you unhappy, maybe we could leave him, okay?” Eleanor’s smile didn’t waver. She gently stroked my tangled hair. “Oh, speaking of your father, I asked you to invite him. How did that go?” I answered casually, “I asked him, but Dad wouldn’t come.” The next moment, Eleanor’s face darkened like a storm. The serving dish, a plate of steamed crab, crashed down on my head, stunning me. 3 The plate of steamed crab shattered, and the sharp crab claws sliced, leaving a red gash on my cheek. Eleanor stood under the light, a furious beast. “What good are you to me? You can’t even handle this one simple thing.” She forcefully pried open my mouth, sticking her fingers in and rummaging frantically. “Where’s that piece of fish you just ate? Spit it out.” I gagged, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, I swallowed it. I really did swallow it.” Eleanor seemed to feel profoundly wronged. She slapped me, knocking me to the ground. “You worthless wretch, why are you so greedy? You didn’t accomplish my task, and you still want to eat my food!” I frantically apologized. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I won’t eat anymore.” I understood Eleanor’s temperament. If I didn’t bow down and admit my mistake now, she would only grow more insane. Sure enough, seeing me so submissive, her mood brightened slightly. Suddenly, a thought seemed to strike her. She produced an iron chain from somewhere, binding my hands and feet. That night, I wasn’t even allowed the dog kennel. Eleanor shoved me into the basement. “Autumn.” She grinned menacingly at me. “I suddenly have an idea.” “My grandmother has a relative, he’s over 50 and hasn’t married yet. How about you marry him?” I had never felt such sheer terror. “No, Mom, please. I’ll stay here, I’ll work like a dog, a horse, anything.” “I’m not even eighteen yet. I can’t marry him.” These few pleas only displeased her further. She traced her fingernail along my cheek. “Nonsense. Your face looks exactly like Vivian, that wretch. He’ll surely like you when you marry him.” I actually didn’t look like Vivian at all. If Eleanor would just calm down and look closely, she’d see that from my high nose bridge to the mole at the corner of my eye, I was remarkably similar to her. But she couldn’t see it. “You stay here and be a good girl. Tomorrow night, Mom will personally send you off to your wedding.” My last shred of hope was replaced by mounting dread. I realized I couldn’t just sit idly by. I had to escape. Eleanor was usually so good at disguising herself; if I called the police, I’d only be sent back to this house. Without an ID, I couldn’t run far; I’d be caught no matter what. The immediate priority was to find Robert. Only he truly understood Eleanor’s nature. If he knew the truth, he surely wouldn’t abandon me. While the maid came in to dress me, I knocked her unconscious. I found the keys, unlocked the chains, and fled, running wildly to Robert’s house. To avoid drawing the attention of Chloe and Vivian, I aimed for the second-floor balcony, planning to sneak in and hide in the study until Robert returned. But the moment I got onto the balcony, I overheard a shocking secret in the hallway. Chloe and Vivian were whispering conspiratorially in the bedroom. “Mom, what are you saying? Dad has been so good to us, why are you trying to harm him?” 4 Vivian shed her pretense, no longer the gentle person I usually saw. She said coldly, “Why? Because he’s not your biological father.” That statement not only stunned Chloe into silence but utterly shook me to my core. “I didn’t tell you this before because you were too young. Now you’re almost an adult; it’s time to plan for our future.” Chloe’s voice was hesitant. “But Dad has doted on us for so many years, I can’t bring myself to do it.” Vivian scoffed. “You’re foolish. No matter how good he is to us, he hasn’t given me a legal status all these years. If something happens to him, what share of the inheritance would we have? It’s better to humor him now, get him to write a will, and then find an opportunity to take care of him.” Chloe argued, “But even if we don’t kill Dad, we’ll still get the inheritance, won’t we?” Vivian lowered her voice. “Are you crazy? Your real father is a low-life. If he ever finds out I’ve cheated on him all these years, do you think we’d have a good life?” At that thought, Chloe also sobered up. “Okay, I’ll do whatever you say, Mom.” I waited outside all night. They discussed tampering with Robert’s car brakes. The next morning, mother and daughter appeared completely normal. Chloe specifically came out to see Robert off to work. She thoughtfully prepared his lunch, telling him, “Dad, drive quickly, or you’ll be late.” Robert smiled widely, a look of gratification on his face. “Chloe’s grown up, making lunch for Dad now.” “My little sweetheart prepared this for me, I’ll definitely eat every last bite.” Just as he was about to start the car, I couldn’t help but leap out from behind the door. “Dad, don’t drive! They tampered with your car!” Robert saw me, and his brows furrowed deeply. “What nonsense are you talking about? How dare you slander Chloe like that? Do you think this will make me look at you more? Too bad. I only acknowledge Chloe as my daughter.” Chloe, seeing me interfere, shoved me to the ground. “Your mom stole my mom’s position, and now you want to steal my dad too?” She clutched Robert’s arm, crying with a heartbroken expression. “Dad, Mom and I have suffered so many years of injustice with you. Do you also think I would harm you?” From birth, she had been served with luxury and comfort. Anyone who dared to anger her, Robert would make them pay a hundredfold. Now, seeing Chloe’s face streaked with tears, Robert’s anger soared. He deliberately slammed the car door shut, brutally severing my hand from where it clung to the door. “Enough! Stop being so unreasonable! Chloe would never harm me. I’m calling your mom right now to discipline you!” “No!” I knelt on the ground, begging him. “I won’t stop you from driving, just don’t tell Mom. She’s going to marry me off. I’ll die, I really will die.” Robert sneered. “Even a tiger doesn’t devour its cub. And you’re still lying, even now.” Without another word, he called Eleanor. Eleanor saw me, put on a show of false kindness, constantly apologizing to Robert. But when she faced me, her eyes suddenly blazed with a vicious light. I was utterly despairing. As I was dragged away, I cried out to him, “We’re both your daughters, so why do you never believe me? Not even once.” I knew I would eventually die by Eleanor’s hand. Before I was taken away, I performed one last filial act. I grabbed handfuls of dirt and stones from the roadside and violently hurled them at Robert’s car. Robert cursed me as a lunatic, his face etched with disgust, and told the butler to drive it for repairs. Meanwhile, as soon as I got home, Eleanor tied me up, shoved me into a car, and headed towards the mountains. Not long after, the Vance family’s maid received a call. She rushed to Robert, reporting frantically, “Sir, bad news! Mr. Davies, the butler, was driving your car and got into an accident. He’s gone…”

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1 Every time Sylvie returned home from visiting her hospitalized childhood sweetheart, she’d banish me to the hallway as punishment. “If you hadn’t stopped me from going out that day, Trent wouldn’t have drunk-driven, and he wouldn’t have crashed!” Today, Sylvie once again threw me out of the house, threatening to call off our engagement. Freezing and starving, I collapsed on the spot. When I woke, the first thing I did was agree with Sylvie. “Fine, cancel it.” Because every time she’d mentioned breaking up, I’d torn a page from the journal I kept for her. And today, with ninety-nine pages already ripped out, only the last one remained. My love for her, too, had finally dwindled to nothing. I had undergone memory erasure surgery. “How long will it take to forget everything about her?” “Seven days.” … I returned home from the surgery to an empty house. Everything was exactly as I’d left it three days ago; even the fruit on the table had begun to mold. It was clear Sylvie hadn’t been home in three days either. No wonder. Not a single text, not a single call from her in that time. In the past, I would have already been meekly calling to beg for reconciliation. Now, I felt a strange relief that she wasn’t there. The doctor had said I needed to rest well for seven days. Only when every memory of Sylvie completely faded would the surgery truly be a success. I yearned for that success, feeling the occasional, faint prickling in my brain. Many memories of Sylvie slowly began to blur. I sank onto the sofa and, without realizing it, drifted off to sleep. “Ethan! I’ve only been gone for three days! Are you trying to turn this place into a pigsty?!” A furious shout jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to see Sylvie walking through the door. She chastised me, her gaze sweeping over the cluttered table. Clearly, she had no idea I’d spent three days in the hospital. Of course, her time was entirely devoted to Trent; she had no energy to worry about me. Too tired to argue, I stood and headed for the bathroom. She irritably blocked my path. “I’m talking to you! Did you lose your tongue?” I sighed. “I didn’t do it. I haven’t been home these past few days, I…” “You haven’t been home?! Where were you?!” she snapped, cutting me off. The next second, she muttered to herself, “Never mind. You have nowhere to go here anyway, except the internet café downstairs.” Suddenly, like a blast of winter air, a chilling realization hit me. She knew I had nowhere else to go. Seven years ago, Sylvie and I began an online romance. For her, I had a massive fight with my parents, then moved across the country to her city. She’d told me she didn’t care about my background or my poverty, only my ambition. I worked myself to the bone, earning every penny. Aside from essential expenses, my socks were threadbare and my shirt collars frayed, but I couldn’t bring myself to replace them. I wanted to build her a beautiful future with my own two hands. Seven years passed. I finally had the car and the apartment she’d wanted, and she finally accepted my proposal. I thought a life of perfect harmony awaited us. But then, three months ago, her ex-boyfriend, Trent, returned from abroad. When he heard she was marrying me, he got completely plastered. I refused to let her, a woman, go pick him up. Trent, in a fit of pique, drunk-drove and shattered his leg. I honestly didn’t feel I was much to blame for that incident, yet Sylvie laid all the fault squarely on me. For three months, she cooked meals and simmered soups, taking them to the hospital to visit Trent, while I was met with humiliation, beatings, and banishment from our home. The moment I collapsed outside the door three days ago, she was inside, on a video call with Trent. In that moment, my seven years felt like a cruel joke. And now, I would spend seven days erasing her completely. 2 “I just came back to shower and change. I’m heading back to the hospital to take care of Trent. You know he can’t be left alone right now.” Sylvie didn’t notice anything amiss, muttering on and on, not even giving me a chance to react. With that, she simply walked into the bedroom to change. I headed into the bathroom, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. A moment later, she knocked on the bathroom door. “Ethan, don’t be mad. I’ll bring you something good to eat tonight when I come back.” Unsurprisingly, she didn’t come home all night. And unlike before, I didn’t wait up for her. Instead, I cooked myself a meal and ate without a single care. The next day, she still didn’t return, only sending me a text. “Trent has a fever.” I just found it amusing. She seemed to have forgotten I had her burner account. She’d just posted a video of her and Trent at an amusement park, watching fireworks. In the bottom right corner of the video, two hands were clasped tightly together. The caption was explicit: Nothing is happier than having the one you love most by your side. Trent was the one she loved most. So what about me? Who would love me? Day five of the countdown. Sylvie returned. She walked in without even glancing at me. “Ethan, I went to see the wedding venue yesterday. Since you wouldn’t pick up my calls, I asked Trent to come with me. Oh, and by the way, his leg’s much better, he’s already been discharged.” Seeing her lie so effortlessly, I couldn’t help but blurt out, “When did you call me?” At my words, she nervously averted her gaze. “Maybe I misremembered… I’m just going to the restroom.” She fled in a rush. The moment she closed the door, her phone, left on the sofa, vibrated. The glowing screen showed her chat with Trent. It was impossible not to see it. Trent asked, “You secretly changed the wedding theme. Ethan won’t be upset, will he?” Sylvie replied, “What matters is what you like. As for him, I’ll just sweet-talk him a bit. Wrapping him around my finger is as easy as training a dog.” The wedding theme, originally my preferred white, had been changed to blue. And her opinion of me? That I was like a dog. My brain throbbed with intense pain, like a blender churning wildly. In that moment, I decided. The wedding in five days would be for her and Trent. Just then, HR from my company called, informing me that my resignation, submitted two days prior, had been accepted. I needed to pick up my belongings. I walked out of the house and called a colleague. He was a co-worker, and my only friend in this city. We agreed to meet at a restaurant. I told him I was leaving. His eyes reddened. “Ethan, you should have lived for yourself a long time ago. A woman like her isn’t worth this much from you.” Suddenly, a call from Sylvie interrupted my friend. “Ethan, why did you go out without telling me? Also, I heard you resigned. Why did you suddenly quit without discussing it with me?” Her quick grasp of the news caught me off guard. My heart sank. “Work was too exhausting. And our wedding is coming up soon, so I want to focus on planning it.” At my words, Sylvie was silent for a few seconds. “I knew it. You wouldn’t be so unreasonable.” She was always so domineering, so convinced I could never leave her. Before I could speak, she commanded me again. “I’m coming to pick you up. Where are you?” Half an hour later, Sylvie drove up to the restaurant entrance to get me. She didn’t ask who I was having dinner with, but subtly scrutinized me. “Next time you go out, dress better. Don’t let people laugh at you.” I dressed warmly, like a bear, because I was sensitive to cold. I’d always dressed like this, but she’d never commented before. Soon, I understood why she suddenly said that. Because there was a comparison. She drove me to another upscale restaurant. The moment I pushed open the private room door, I realized with a jolt that it was a banquet. Everyone present was impeccably dressed, especially Trent, who was surrounded by the crowd. Suit and tie, the picture of an elite. Sylvie shoved me into the private room. My pilled jacket, under the bright lights, looked so shabby, so utterly out of place. 3 As everyone started talking, I realized this banquet was Sylvie’s specially prepared birthday party for Trent. “You just got out of the hospital a few days ago, so consider this your welcome-back party.” Sylvie’s gaze was fixed on Trent, utterly unable to move. I sat in the corner, watching her and Trent, surrounded by well-wishers, their eyes conveying their deep love for each other. Even though I’d forgotten many things, even the beginning of my acquaintance with Sylvie, the pain in my heart was undiminished. “Ethan, you’re really something, managing to snag our school’s most beautiful girl!” “Yeah, back then, the guys pursuing Sylvie stretched all the way to Paris! Ethan, you’re so lucky!” “Ethan, what’s your secret? Tell us.” Everyone looked at me with eager gossip. I found it amusing. What secret? It was just that Sylvie had just broken up with Trent back then, and she was nursing a broken heart. I became her tool to forget him. Now Trent was back, and it was time for this tool to step aside. Seeing the conversation shift to me, Sylvie spoke up to save me. “What secret could he possibly have? He’s just an ordinary guy. Stop making fun of me.” Her expression was genuine, tinged with obvious disdain. Just then, Trent suddenly raised his glass and walked towards me. “Mr. Reed, it was very kind of you to allow Sylvie to visit and care for me every day while I was in the hospital. I want to thank you for your generosity.” It was meant as a toast, but it felt more like an insult. Sylvie had been visiting and caring for her ex-boyfriend every day, and I, her fiancé, was supposed to be “generous” enough not to care. Others looked at me with amusement and mockery. I didn’t want to cause a scene; after all, they outnumbered me. “I’m not feeling well. I can’t drink.” The next second, Trent’s face darkened. “What do you mean ‘not feeling well’? I think you just don’t want to give me face. If you’re not going to be respectful, why even come and embarrass me?” He set down his glass, looking utterly wronged. “Fine, I’m leaving.” As I turned to go, Sylvie suddenly blocked my path. She shoved the glass into my hand, then leaned close, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s Trent’s birthday. Don’t ruin the mood right now!” “He just got out of the hospital, and he hasn’t even said he’s not feeling well, but you are?!” “If you don’t want to stand in the hallway as punishment tonight, then drink up!” The liquor sloshed out, splashing onto my already shabby clothes. Sylvie pulled her hand back in disgust. I clenched the glass, looking at her, and suddenly remembered when I first started working. Back then, I often had to attend dinner parties with my bosses, forced to drink. Once, I got drunk and took the subway home, only to have my phone stolen and my ticket disappear, leaving me unable to exit. Before the staff arrived, I suddenly broke down, hiding behind a pillar and sobbing uncontrollably. At that time, I missed home, I missed my mom, I couldn’t understand why I’d thrown everything away to come to a strange city. Later, Sylvie found me in the subway station, holding me, tears of sympathy streaming down her face. “Ethan, if you don’t want to drink, then don’t. We’ll never drink again, okay? If anyone ever forces you to drink again, I’ll tell them off! We’ll never drink again!” She held me tightly, promising me forever. I thought I had finally found my place in life. But now, the person forcing me to drink was the same person who had once cried for me. Many memories suddenly became blurred in my mind, and Sylvie’s face slowly lost its clarity. I raised the glass. “Fine, I’ll drink.” Consider it a farewell drink. The moment I set the glass down, my phone chimed. A text message from the bank. “Mr. Reed, today is your birthday. Happy Birthday!” 4 My eyes red-rimmed, I left the private room amidst a chorus of mockery. Sylvie didn’t come with me; she personally shut the door in my face. I walked out into the cold wind, rushing to the main entrance where I emptied the contents of my stomach, throwing up all the alcohol. My head throbbed, a relentless pounding, and more memories began to blur. Back home, I collapsed into bed, falling into a deep sleep. For the next two days, Sylvie still didn’t come home. I didn’t look for her. Instead, I busied myself with preparing for my departure. I thought she wouldn’t return before I left. Yet, the morning before our wedding, she appeared in my bed. She wore a thin nightgown, burrowing into my arms. “Husband, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to drink in that private room. My parents have been scolding me terribly these past two days, I know I was wrong…” If it weren’t for the suggestive red marks on her neck, I might have almost believed she had truly come home. I pushed her away and got up. “I’m not angry.” Many things were unclear in my mind now, and many emotions had simply vanished. At my words, she hugged me from behind and chuckled. “Tomorrow’s our wedding! You promised to treat my close relatives to a dinner first. You can’t go back on your word, okay?” Had I promised? I didn’t remember. But I didn’t ask. I just nodded. “Okay.” That evening, she left to pick up her relatives first. When I rode my bike to the destination, I was hit by someone, scraping my knee. But fearing I’d delay dinner, I refused to go to the hospital, just bandaging it haphazardly. I never expected Sylvie to vanish without a trace. For three whole hours, I couldn’t find her. I clutched my wound, standing in the cold wind. Just as I was about to give up, Sylvie’s call came through. “Ethan, Trent’s leg was hurting, so I took him to the hospital first. Forget about dinner with the relatives. Anyway, tomorrow’s the wedding.” Her voice was so light, so indifferent, not once asking about my situation. The next second, Trent’s voice came through the phone. “Sylvie, after you marry him, will you still have dinner with me like this?” “My marriage to him is just a formality. It won’t affect our relationship.” So, while I waited in the cold wind, she and Trent were having a romantic dinner for two. My dream of a marriage, for her, was just a formality. My injured knee throbbed even more, and my memories of Sylvie blurred further. I hung up the phone and returned home alone. The entire house was filled with Sylvie’s traces. I packed all her belongings and threw them outside. Just as I took out the journal I’d written for her, seeing it completely blank, Sylvie’s frantic call came in. “Ethan, what are you doing?! Trent’s leg hurts, and no one’s taking care of him. What’s wrong with me bringing him some food?!” “Do you want me to stay home forever, never going anywhere, for you to be satisfied?!” “Don’t even think about sleeping in our bed tonight! Stand in the hallway! Stand there until the wedding party arrives tomorrow morning!” She was still demanding I stand in the hallway as punishment, just as she had a hundred times before, completely disregarding my well-being. In the past, I would have meekly begged for her love, terrified of displeasing her. But in that moment, I found myself smiling as I agreed. “Okay.” After hanging up, I got into a car heading for the airport. As the plane took off, large blank spaces appeared in my mind. I seemed to have forgotten something, yet I felt a lightness I’d never experienced before. The morning of my second day home, my parents called me down for breakfast. They said, “Mr. Nelson’s daughter heard you’re back from working out of state and wants to meet you. Do you remember her? You two used to play house when you were little, even saying you’d marry when you grew up.” I couldn’t quite recall, but I agreed to meet her. When I arrived at the coffee shop, an unknown number called. A strange woman shrieked on the other end of the line. “Ethan Reed! Did you forget it’s our wedding today?! Where are you?! Where did you run off to?! Do you even want to marry me anymore?!”

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After Julian gave me the silent treatment for the ninety-ninth time, I finally saw him reach out. He sent a message, a peace offering, inviting me to witness a surprise tonight. My mind immediately conjured the joy that had lately been etched on his face, and the diamond ring I’d glimpsed beneath his pillow. Instinctively, I thought he was finally going to propose. I dressed meticulously and went to the appointed place. But when I pushed open the door, I saw his childhood sweetheart, Chloe, clinking glasses with him, their arms entwined in a classic toast. A giant screen behind them blazed with the words: “Welcome Home, My Princess Chloe.” Julian had told me that Chloe, in a drunken stupor, had given herself to him, and the emotional toll had left her with a delicate heart. And I, a “used woman,” dared to dream of surprises. Since he was so obsessed with “firsts,” then let him experience losing everything for the very first time. 1 Amidst the cheering crowd, Julian and Chloe drank from intertwined glasses, his face alight with a sweetness I’d never seen directed at me. Dressed like a princess myself, I instantly felt like an awkward clown, rooted to the spot, unable to advance or retreat. Chloe spotted me, stamping her foot with a childish pout. “Aurora, are you deliberately trying to ruin my welcome-home party?” So Julian’s big surprise was her return. “What are you doing here? You’re such a buzzkill.” “Chloe, ignore her. I probably sent the group message to everyone. Look, do you like this gift?” Julian knelt on one knee, pulling a small box from his jacket with an air of profound reverence. It was the ring I’d seen. The next second, he slipped it onto Chloe’s left ring finger. Everything before my eyes was an exact replica of the proposal scene I’d dreamed of. I had waited five years, hinting to Julian countless times. But on the very last day of our fifth anniversary, I watched, heartbroken, as Julian placed the ring on another woman’s hand. Julian’s friends came over, playfully teasing him. He just scowled. “Having a girlfriend who’s always spying on my schedule, I’ve had the worst luck imaginable.” Under the mocking stares of the crowd, I made a clumsy exit. Chloe triumphantly smashed her empty glass at my feet, the shards instantly embedding themselves in my calf. It was our fifth anniversary, after all. I thought Julian would surely chase after me, to explain, to apologize. But he didn’t. He only sent me a text message. “Aurora, don’t make a scene here. You’re embarrassing me.” “Chloe is back, and I just want her to be happy. She’s not like you; she gave her first time to me. I can’t be responsible for her, but I should definitely compensate her more.” Before Julian, I’d had a previous relationship, something he had constantly held against me. Even though I’d poured my everything into him, caring for him meticulously, none of it measured up to that single, fleeting moment Chloe had given him. Even if that “first time” was a drunken accident. But Chloe’s heart had been “unwell” ever since that incident, so Julian’s “compensation” to her was endless. Above that message in my phone, a text from my adoptive mother brought a bittersweet ache. “Seeing my darling daughter settled brings peace to my heart. Mom has fulfilled her mission. Don’t worry, darling, Mom will hold on with her last breath to attend your wedding.” I had grown up in an orphanage, only experiencing the warmth of family after my adoptive mother took me in. But she was gravely ill, with little time left. My future, my finding a partner, was her only remaining concern in this world. So, when I thought Julian was going to propose, I had eagerly shared the good news with her, hoping to ease her mind. But now… I looked at the cuts on my calf, the pain too deep for words. I had intended to ask Julian if he’d forgotten that today marked our five-year anniversary. But now, it was pointless. That ring I’d waited five years for? I didn’t want it anymore. And him? I didn’t want him either. 2 By the time Julian returned home, the living room clock had chimed midnight. Our five-year anniversary was over. He woke me, handing me a drink. “Alright, stop pretending to sleep. I know you’re wide awake.” “This is from Chloe. See how generous she is? When will you be as considerate as her?” I forced my eyes open, wincing at the harsh light, and glanced at the drink. It was a Mango Sago dessert. But he seemed to have forgotten again: I’m allergic to mangoes. This very cold war had started because one of his friends at dinner had insisted I eat mango, and Julian, instead of stopping them, had told me not to be rude. I was angry he didn’t care about me; he was angry I was being difficult. I took a deep breath, suppressing the bitter taste of injustice. “My mom is getting worse. She wants to see you one last time. She asked if you’re free tomorrow afternoon.” I hadn’t dared tell my adoptive mother the truth; I feared she couldn’t bear it. Likewise, I still wanted to give Julian one last chance, for the sake of our five years together and for my adoptive mother. Julian instinctively blurted out, “I’m busy. I have to be with…” Before he finished, he suddenly seemed to remember something, a hint of guilt in his voice. “Got it. I’ll make time tomorrow.” “And, Aurora, you don’t need to be so paranoid. I don’t even care that you’re not a virgin, so there’s no need for you to be hostile towards Chloe.” “You know, I accidentally touched her when I was drunk back then.” I didn’t want to speak. I just raised my hand and turned off the bedroom light. The bedroom ceiling was a custom-made star-field ceiling Julian had installed. Every time Julian gave me the silent treatment after an argument, I’d add a diamond to the star field. Five years, and I’d added too many. The ceiling was so bright now, it made it hard to sleep. As I was drifting off, Julian received a call and rushed out. I didn’t question it. I just sent him a text the next morning, reminding him not to forget about the hospital visit. My adoptive mother was in her final rally, her frail hand trembling as she pulled out the shares she’d left for me. “These funds should rightfully be yours, dear, but Julian’s career is on the rise. This is all Mom can do to help him. As long as he treats you well in the future…” I found it hard to believe. The shares my adoptive mother had guarded her entire life, she now wanted to transfer entirely to Julian, simply so he would treat me well. My adoptive mother held my hand, reluctant to let go, giving me countless instructions. She said she wanted to personally arrange some things with Julian. But she waited until nightfall, until her eyes finally closed for good, and Julian never came. I handled her funeral arrangements alone. Finally, Julian called. “Something urgent came up at the company. I’ll personally cook for you tomorrow as an apology.” Before I could speak, I heard a sweet, syrupy voice in the background. “Julian, I’m thirsty! I want that one.” The call was abruptly disconnected. I pondered for a moment, then proactively messaged my adoptive mother’s business partner. “I want to take over Mom’s projects.” 3 My adoptive mother had always wanted me to have my own career after she was gone, so she had arranged a path for me to go abroad. Before, I hesitated because I couldn’t let go of her and Julian. Now… I had no ties left. When Julian came home, I was packing my luggage. He didn’t notice anything amiss. He casually handed me a handmade ceramic piece. “A gift for you.” I remembered the social media post Chloe had made, showing her smiling radiantly at some exquisite handmade ceramics. The caption read, “He made it himself. So much better than my clumsy attempts.” So I recognized it immediately: what Julian gave me was just one of Chloe’s botched “clumsy attempts.” “You don’t like it?” Julian scoffed. “Chloe is innocent and not a gold-digger. Women your age, having experienced the world, naturally care more about money.” Julian emphasized the phrase “experienced the world,” a thinly veiled jab at my past relationship, implying I hadn’t remained “pure” for him. “You can’t find fault with this gift, can you?” Julian said, taking out a jewelry box. It was from my favorite brand. Not long ago, I’d casually complained to Julian that I really liked a necklace from their collection, but it was a limited edition, hard to find anywhere in the country. My heart lurched. To say I wasn’t expectant would be a lie. I cautiously opened the jewelry box, before I could even see what was inside. “Oh, does Sister Aurora like these girlish things too?” It was Chloe. She had come back with Julian. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I turned to her. “Didn’t you say your heart was delicate after that incident? What? Now that you’re a mistress, your heart feels fine?” My words had barely left my lips when Julian slapped me hard across the face. Julian’s hateful glare sent shivers down my spine. Combined with the searing pain in my head, the world spun, and I nearly blacked out. 4 When I came to, Julian seemed to regret it. He wanted to approach me, but after a moment’s hesitation, he still turned to comfort Chloe. “I’m fine, Julian. Thank you for the necklace, it’s beautiful.” “Why didn’t you go home?” Chloe’s clear laughter echoed through the living room. “Hmph, because she deliberately ruined my welcome-home party.” After Julian had comforted Chloe, he took her home. When he returned, I was curled up on the sofa, sweating and crying. The familiar pain brought back a flood of memories. My face was ashen, my forehead beaded with sweat, and my entire body trembled. “Aurora? Are you okay? I… I didn’t mean to just now. Chloe is young, don’t hold it against her.” Seeing my lack of response, Julian, fearing something serious, drove me to the hospital. Those icy memories and the feeling of profound loss clung to me, refusing to dissipate. I trembled in the passenger seat, feeling as if I might suffocate at any moment. Julian’s eyes finally showed a flicker of concern, his voice softening. “I’m sorry, Aurora. I was impulsive. Just hold on a little longer. We’ll be at the hospital soon.” Julian’s low voice, tinged with tenderness, slowly pulled me back from the brink of overwhelming fear. Just as I was about to calm down, Julian suddenly slammed on the brakes. 5 My forehead hit the ornament on the dashboard, the one designated “Princess Chloe’s Special Seat.” Julian looked at the message on his phone, his brows furrowed tightly, his gaze at me filled with internal conflict. “You can take a taxi to the hospital yourself. Chloe’s heart is bothering her again.” Seeing me sitting unresponsive in the passenger seat, Julian pushed me out of the car without another word. “You’re a grown woman; you’ll be fine. I’ll come to the hospital to see you. If anything happens to Chloe, I’d be the one to blame.” The car sped away, leaving me standing on the deserted street, a little lost. The familiar darkness and past terrors made me shiver, I didn’t dare wait for a taxi there. Dragging my injured calf, I ran wildly until I saw people, then finally relaxed. In that moment, the tightly stretched string inside me snapped. I stood on the busy street, sobbing uncontrollably. I was angry that Julian had abandoned me halfway, angry that he indulged Chloe’s insults, angry that he didn’t buy the spacious apartment I wanted, but instead, to fulfill Chloe’s wish, changed our wedding home to a suburban villa. I was angry that between me and Chloe, he chose Chloe again and again… Five years. I had accumulated far too much resentment. After I cried, I took a taxi to the hospital for a full check-up. My head was fine, but I was severely traumatized. The doctor gave me medication to relieve stress. I took a photo of the prescription and sent it to my adoptive mother’s business partner, postponing my trip abroad. I also promised him that I would handle everything before my injuries healed, and it wouldn’t delay my work. His reply came quickly: “Don’t burden yourself too much. You are excellent. Rest well and take care of yourself.” This was the only concern and affirmation I had received in a long time. I sent Julian a breakup text. I took a taxi back to pack my luggage, preparing to leave this place that used to be our home. To my surprise, Julian was home, and he had cooked a table full of dishes. He smiled at me, his gaze lingering on the medicine in my hand for a moment before quickly moving away. “Aurora, I promised I’d cook for you to apologize. Don’t be mad anymore. Let’s go pick up Mom and have dinner.” I walked straight to the bedroom, pulled out my suitcase, and looked at him, my eyes red. “But my mom… she’s gone.” Julian froze.

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I scrolled past a trending meme online: “Eight Swiss Rolls. How many can I eat?” Seemed fun, so I casually shared it in the family group chat. A moment later, my phone buzzed incessantly. Husband: “That whole box must be twenty, thirty bucks! Why’d you buy it? Aren’t your meals filling enough?” “Seriously, such a gold-digger!” Son: “Eat, eat, eat, eat it all! Mom, how old are you? Last year you were acting like one of those trendy influencers, eating just the tips of strawberries. This year, it’s Swiss rolls.” “You really think you’re some online ‘cute little wife’!” I stopped, my hand hovering over the lottery ticket in my pocket, and turned to retrieve my marriage certificate. I slapped a ten-dollar bill on my husband’s face. “Divorce. My treat!” 1 I wasn’t born a housewife. Before marriage, I held a respectable position with a good salary. For the sake of my family, I sacrificed my career. Leo’s mother was bedridden, incontinent. Every time I changed her adult diapers, they were bursting full. The acrid stench hit me, nauseating. My son had also just been born then. Leo was in the prime of his career, coming home drunk every day. I didn’t even get my full postpartum rest. Alone, day and night, I cared for the entire family. My body was completely depleted. Now, I have a host of gynecological issues. Before we married, Leo had promised me, “Honey, I’ll work hard to earn money and support you and our son. I won’t let you suffer a bit!” His idea of “supporting” meant I got a few extra bowls of plain rice. Eating a few Swiss rolls was being a “gold-digger.” I looked at my rough, ugly hands. I truly felt I wasn’t worth it. Good thing I finally woke up. I tagged them both in the group chat. Me: “Leo, tomorrow morning at 8 AM, we’re going to the courthouse to file for divorce. Our son goes with you.” A thankless wolf cub. Just abandon it. 2 My son’s thankless behavior showed early signs. On his fifth birthday, Leo was late, as usual. Calls went unanswered, texts unreturned. My son’s eyes drooped from exhaustion, and I, feeling sorry for him, told him, “Dad’s still working overtime. Mom will celebrate with you first, and Dad will celebrate with you again when he gets back.” He suddenly exploded, smashing the cake onto me. “I hate you! It’s all because you do nothing at home that Dad works so hard!” “Why are you so lazy, not going to work, just like a pig at home!” No money meant no dignity. In my son’s eyes, my care for him, my sacrifices for the family, couldn’t compare to the occasional toy Leo brought home. He even pushed me once because I dared to touch that toy while cleaning his room. To this day, a winding, ugly scar marks my wrist. Since he loved his dad so much, I decided to let them have each other. 3 My phone rang, stopped, and rang again. My nail technician couldn’t help but ask, “Ma’am, is someone trying to reach you?” I flipped my phone to silent, waving her on. “Unimportant people.” That night, I didn’t go home. I found a five-star hotel and thoroughly enjoyed a night of luxury. At eight sharp, I arrived at the courthouse. Father and son stumbled in late, hair messy, still in their pajamas. My son, like his father’s little bodyguard, immediately began to scold me. “Mom, are you done with your nonsense? You’re divorcing Dad just over a few Swiss rolls? Are you out of your mind?!” I gave him a cold look, then slapped him hard across the face. It was my first time hitting him, so he was stunned. I slapped him again. He finally reacted, roaring with rage, raising his fist to hit me. Leo stopped him. He was always good at playing the nice guy, mediating. Every time our son did something wrong and I tried to discipline him, Leo would step in to be the hero. It’s no wonder my son and I had become so antagonistic; Leo had played a significant role in escalating things behind the scenes. Sure enough, he smiled and said, “Honey, Jay just spoke out of turn. But it’s true, divorcing me over eight Swiss rolls? It wouldn’t look good for your reputation.” More useless platitudes. I rolled my eyes, curtly saying, “Leo, cut the crap. If you’re a man, come in and get divorced with me!” I waved my hand, adorned with new nail polish and sparkling rings, and slapped a crisp ten-dollar bill on the table. “Divorce. My treat!” 4 Seeing my nails, Leo’s face changed. “Who told you to do that? How much did it cost? Go get a refund right now!” I admired my manicure. “Not expensive, just about a hundred bucks!” A hundred bucks. For a cheapskate like Leo, it must have killed him. Usually, for the two hundred dollars in monthly living expenses, he’d humiliate me endlessly before handing it over, as if I owed him. But mortgage, car payments, utilities—none of those were free. I always worked odd jobs when our son was at school to supplement the household income. Leo spat on the floor, exasperated. “I’m out there, slaving away like a dog to earn some money, and you’re constantly finding new ways to torment me! Do you even care about this family anymore?!” My son chimed in, “Mom, you can’t spend Dad’s money anymore! Dad works hard for his money; what right do you have to spend it?!” They were a united front. I crossed my arms. “I am your legal wife. As long as you don’t divorce me, I will spend your money. If you don’t give me money, I’ll sell the house and the car.” Leo’s face turned ashen, speechless. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a divorce; it was that he didn’t want to split half his assets with me. “Divorce is fine, but you haven’t worked a day since we got married, and you ask me for two thousand a month. You owe me a ten-thousand-dollar breakup fee!” When it came to shamelessness, Leo was truly in a league of his own. I certainly wouldn’t agree to that; otherwise, he’d probably demand I return the original dowry too. “If you don’t agree, we’ll see each other in court. You’ll likely lose half your net worth to me.” 5 I couldn’t just sit there and take it. A divorce lawsuit would drag on forever. Seeing him for another day would make me sick. I listed the house they were currently living in online for a low price, using Leo’s number. I also printed cards explaining how Leo was demanding ten thousand dollars from me in the divorce and distributed them in front of his company. I shouted loudly, “Step right up, folks, don’t miss out! A guide to avoiding scumbag managers!” “I can’t believe Manager Miller is like this! He looks so decent, but he’s actually a jerk.” “Manager Miller is so low. His wife gave birth to his son, and now he wants her to pay him ten thousand dollars in the divorce!” “Someone with such a terrible character is a cancer to this company. He should be fired.” The public outcry spread quickly. Wherever he went, people at the company pointed and whispered. Soon, he was called into a meeting with his direct supervisor. When the partner company learned of the matter, they demanded that the project lead be replaced. Leo, fuming, found me just as I had finished getting my hair done. I smiled, waving at him. “Husband, pay up.” Not expensive, just a little over a hundred bucks. He stood there, frozen, clearly not wanting to pay for me. I took out my car keys, saying helplessly, “I don’t have any cash, so I’ll just have to pawn the car.” Leo snatched the keys away angrily, pulled out his phone, and paid. 6 The divorce went smoother than expected. Perhaps he feared I’d cause more trouble. With the marriage certificate exchanged for divorce papers, I was officially single again. Our son willingly went with Leo, even making a face at me as they left. He was clearly happy to be rid of a mom who only spent money. Leo’s meager possessions held no interest for me. He generously suggested I leave with nothing, and he wouldn’t demand child support from me. Such a good deal, I had no reason to refuse. The first thing I did was cash in the lottery ticket. Forty million dollars. I donated ten thousand to a mountain charity, leaving over thirty million. I bought a house in the suburbs and booked a tour package. My son’s teacher called my phone. I was luxuriously sunbathing on a beach. The teacher said, “Mrs. Jones, your son had an argument with another student at school and made his nose bleed. You need to come to school and handle it.” I slowly said, “I’m very sorry, Mr. Smith. I’m no longer his mother. His current guardian is Leo Miller.”

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At three years old, my brain was flooded with a wave of memories. My overbearing older brother, Leo, was one of the female protagonist’s simps. Ever since he met her, he’d completely neglected me, his little sister. After the nanny locked me in the dark closet for the nineteenth time, I squeezed through a doggy door and crawled to my next-door neighbor’s house. I deliberately showed him the bruises on my wrist, looking pitifully up at him. “Damien, my brother doesn’t want me anymore. Can you take me in?” My neighbor coughed, then the next day, he went to a parent-teacher conference. I narrowed my eyes, thinking, Now, my brother won’t be beyond saving. Because Damien, the villain, was a professional dog trainer, specializing in simps! 1 To avoid the future where my brother would empty his pockets for the female lead and drag me into a cramped, cheap apartment, I, with my limited three-year-old intellect, attempted a series of efforts. These included, but were not limited to, wailing uncontrollably when the female lead called him late at night, claiming she was scared alone, trying to keep him home. When the female lead had her period and stomach cramps, I deliberately spit up milk to make him change my clothes. When the female lead had her graduation performance, I practiced singing “My Brother is the Best” to move him… But I forgot. My family had nannies, while the female lead was an orphan. My brother just dumped me on the nanny to pacify me. Watching him become more and more utterly brainwashed, I made a solemn decision: I needed a new brother. So I chose the little brother from the mansion next door. He was a villain, and my brother’s sworn enemy. He would trip up the female lead’s simps. Cunning and devious. Just like a dog trainer! And he even had a Border Collie. Once, my brother bought fruit for the female lead and forgot me at the grocery store. Damien happened to be there. I pulled an apple from a nearby shelf and offered it to his Border Collie. In return, his dog carried me home. I wanted him to punish my brother. Yesterday was my third birthday. The nanny had specially dressed me in a princess dress, waiting for my brother to come home. But he went to watch a movie with the female lead instead. The nanny tried to comfort me, saying that once Olivia became my sister-in-law, I’d have two people to dote on me. But I knew she wouldn’t become my sister-in-law. The female lead was destined for the male lead! So, I decided to run away! To put some pressure on my simp brother. After nightfall, I successfully dodged the nanny, who was engrossed in a phone call in the bathroom, and squeezed through a dog hole in the garden wall. I clutched my little blanket, walking barefoot towards the neighboring mansion. Twenty minutes later, I stood at Damien’s doorstep. This mansion was even bigger than ours, but the lights were dim, giving it a cold, stark appearance. I took a deep breath, spread my little blanket on the front steps, and curled up to lie down. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, I suddenly heard a dog barking and footsteps from inside. The door opened, and a slipper nearly hit my face. “What the?!” Damien’s voice cut off abruptly. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, meeting a pair of startled eyes. In the moonlight, his tall figure loomed over me. He was wearing a bathrobe, its collar slightly open, revealing his sculpted collarbones. “What are you doing here?” Damien asked, frowning. Before I could answer, a black and white blur shot out from beside his legs, leaping enthusiastically towards me. Pudding’s wet nose sniffed my face, his tail wagging so hard it looked like it might fly off. “Pudding!” Damien barked. “She’s not a kitten; you can’t keep her!” Pudding whimpered pitifully, but stubbornly rested his front paws on my shoulder, starting to lick my face clean. I giggled, seizing the opportunity to scramble up, directly hugging Damien’s leg. “Brother, carry me!” He stiffened, as if a pause button had been pressed. Pudding, seizing his chance, grabbed my collar with his teeth and started dragging me inside. “Hey! Stupid dog! Stop it!” Damien tried to intervene, but Pudding had already successfully dragged me into the entryway. I took the chance to release my collar, scrambling onto Damien’s body with both hands and feet. “Get down,” he said coldly. I shook my head, burying my face in his neck. “Autumn’s cold…” 2 Damien’s body stiffened even further, but he didn’t try to pull me off. Pudding excitedly circled him, occasionally nudging my feet with his head, as if saying, “Look at me! Look at me!” “Does Leo know you’re here?” he asked. I pouted, tears instantly welling up. “Brother doesn’t want Autumn anymore…” My sleeve slid down, inadvertently revealing the bruise on my wrist. Damien’s gaze immediately sharpened. He grabbed my wrist. “What is this?” I timidly shrank my neck. “Autumn hurts… Brother got angry…” In truth, I had gotten that bruise myself, crawling under a table to retrieve a ball. My brother had been furious when he returned, blaming the nanny for not watching me. The nanny had been neglectful; she was busy watching short videos. Damien’s face was terrifyingly grim. “Leo did this?” I didn’t answer. I just lowered my head, acting out the picture of utter grievance. Damien took a deep breath, seemingly trying to suppress his anger. Just then, Pudding came running, carrying his food bowl, placing it in front of me, then looking at Damien with expectant eyes. Damien looked at his dog, exasperated. “It’s 2 AM.” Pudding stubbornly stood still. I rubbed my stomach. “Autumn’s hungry.” Pudding immediately grabbed a piece of kibble, spit it by our feet, and wagged his tail even more enthusiastically. Damien rubbed his temples. “I’ll go warm some milk for you.” He pointed a warning finger at Pudding. “Don’t hide her in your dog bed.” Pudding tilted his head, wearing an innocent expression that clearly said, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Ten minutes later, Damien returned to the living room with two bowls of milk. Pudding immediately perked up, his tail thumping a cheerful rhythm on the floor. “Sit,” Damien commanded. Pudding instantly sat ramrod straight, front paws together, like a well-trained soldier. I blinked, then mimicked him, giving a tiny “Woof!” and sitting up straight. Damien’s hand froze mid-air, milk nearly spilling. “What are you doing?” “Eating etiquette, of course.” I tilted my head, mimicking Pudding’s expectant expression. “At home, Aunt Lisa always taught me this.” Damien’s brows furrowed. “She made you bark like a dog?” I nodded, recalling. “She said it was noble etiquette. One time, I didn’t bark, and she told my brother I was eating with my hands.” As I said this, I suddenly became sad. My brother had been so angry that day. At dinner, he deliberately put down his chopsticks, then grabbed a chicken leg and fed it to me with his oily hands. “My Autumn can eat however she wants.” My brother was kind to me, but he never had time to get me a new nanny. Only because Olivia said I was attached to this nanny, and I’d be shy with a new one. And later, he became busier and busier, never eating with me again. Damien placed the milk in front of Pudding and me, his face still grim. “That nanny is still working at your house?” “Mhm,” I sipped my milk. “Aunt Lisa also taught me how a pony drinks water. Do you want to see, brother?” His thumb gently traced the bruise on my wrist, his voice barely audible. “Leo, that bastard…” I finished my milk, then hesitated, raising my face. “Brother, my brother doesn’t want me anymore. Can you take me in? I eat very little.” In my dreams, Damien also had a little sister, but she was born with a congenital heart condition and later died prematurely due to neglect. He never had the chance to dote on her. After that, his parents divorced. Coincidentally, my parents also divorced. Theirs was a business marriage; after the divorce, neither wanted children, and they both went off to find true love. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been left with my brother. 3 Damien’s brows knitted together. He looked down at me, clinging tightly to his leg, then at Pudding, who was excitedly circling. A vein throbbed faintly on his temple. “I’m usually very busy,” he rubbed his forehead. “I don’t have time to look after a child.” I immediately held up three tiny fingers. “Autumn will be very good! She can eat by herself, sleep by herself, and play by herself!” Pudding seemed to understand our conversation. He suddenly trotted into the living room, grunting as he dragged his massive dog bed to my feet, then let out a proud “Woof!” his tail wagging like a propeller. Damien looked at him expressionlessly. “She’s not a kitten. She can’t sleep with you. You’ll crush her.” Pudding whimpered defiantly, nudging my hand with his wet nose, as if to say, No, I won’t. Finally, Damien let out a long sigh. “…If you don’t cause trouble, I can reluctantly keep you for a few days.” “Thank you, brother, thank you, Pudding~” I hugged Pudding and gave him a big kiss. Pudding was even more excited than me, grabbing my little blanket and running all over the house, until Damien’s gaze froze him in place. “Sleep.” Damien picked me up by the back of my nightgown, like a kitten, and carried me into the guest room. I obediently burrowed into the covers, watching him turn off the light and leave. The moment the door closed, the room plunged into darkness. The wall clock ticked, and outside the window, tree shadows swayed, casting monstrous shapes on the wall. I clutched the blanket tightly, finally unable to resist climbing out of bed. At the end of the hallway, a sliver of light peeked out from under Damien’s bedroom door. I gently pushed it open, seeing Damien leaning against the headboard, reading documents. The bedside lamp cast a warm shadow on his chiseled profile. Pudding immediately spotted me, wagging his tail happily as he ran over. “What now?” he asked without looking up. I fidgeted with the corner of the blanket, whispering, “…Autumn’s scared of the dark.” Damien finally looked up, seeing me trembling in the doorway. His expression softened slightly in the lamplight, but his tone was still firm. “Three years old and still scared of the dark?” “Aunt Lisa said if I don’t sleep, monsters will come and snatch me away at night!” I said, terrified. Damien stared at me for a full ten seconds, then frustratingly closed his file. “Come here.” My eyes lit up, and I scurried over, hugging my blanket. Pudding was even faster, already jumping onto the bed and claiming the best spot. “Not here.” Damien pointed to the long sofa in the corner. “You sleep there.” I obediently climbed onto the sofa, wrapping myself in the blanket like a silkworm cocoon. Pudding whimpered in dissatisfaction, but still jumped off the bed and lay on the carpet beside me, guarding me. Damien turned off the main light, leaving only a small nightlight on. I wanted to put some pressure on my brother, to make him care about me again. But I didn’t expect that after a whole day of running away, he hadn’t even realized I was gone! He had gone on a business trip with Olivia. Damien sent someone to check, and Aunt Lisa, upon realizing I was missing, didn’t tell my brother first. Instead, she panicked about being held responsible and fled! “Excellent,” Damien scoffed, looking utterly villainous like a character from a cartoon. “Is Sterling Group currently negotiating the Eastside real estate project?” Assistant Ben pushed up his glasses. “Signing tomorrow.” “By midnight tonight, I want that project to belong to the Reed family,” Damien said, throwing the broken pen into the trash. “I’ll pay double the penalty fee.” I was mentally counting on my fingers how much double would be when he suddenly picked me up and placed me on his desk. 4 His hands braced on either side of me, his eyes dangerously narrowed. “Little one, does your brother usually treat you like this?” Pudding eagerly pawed at the desk, barking. I seized the opportunity to use his paw as a handrail. “Brother is just… busy?” In truth, before he met Olivia, he used to take me to Disneyland and ride the Ferris wheel with me. On my second birthday, he even dressed up as a cartoon character to celebrate with me. Damien’s expression grew even more frightening. Three days later, a new card suddenly appeared in my small backpack. Damien was braiding my hair, his skills admittedly not the best, and casually said, “Leo’s lost a third project. The profits from it are in here.” “Wow!” I held up the shiny bank card. “How many cheese sticks can I buy?!” His hand froze. “…That’s the main point?” “Otherwise?” I tilted my head, looking at him. “Then… can I buy a Peppa Pig watch?” Damien choked. “At market price, you could buy the cheese stick factory directly and eat them for the rest of your life!” My mouth dropped open into an ‘O’! This was a dream come true! Damien wasn’t a big villain at all! He was Santa Claus! “Keep it safe.” Damien tucked the card back into my dinosaur-print backpack. “This is yours…” “My dowry!” I interjected, having just learned the phrase from a TV show. “Can I buy Pudding some chew toys?” Damien’s lips twitched. “…Suit yourself.” I suddenly pounced on him, giving him a big kiss. Damien instantly froze. He didn’t even react to me pulling his six-figure tie crooked. “Damien is the best brother!” I hung around his neck, swaying. “Better than my own brother!” The tips of his ears visibly reddened. He stiffly peeled me off, but then reached out and ruffled my hair. I spent three days playing wildly with Pudding at home, almost forgetting about kindergarten. It wasn’t until Damien came home from work and saw the neighbor picking up their son that he realized I had been skipping school for several days. He planned to take me to kindergarten. But I didn’t want to go. Early in the morning, Damien’s voice drifted from outside my bed. “Autumn, come out!” I burrowed further under the bed. From this angle, I could see his shiny leather shoes pacing irritably by the bed, having already turned seventeen times. “If you don’t come out in three minutes, today’s cheese sticks are canceled.” I covered my mouth. Despicable! Threatening a three-year-old with snacks! Pudding’s tail swept across my face. He tilted his head, his black, grape-like eyes conveying, “I told you hiding here was useless.” “Five, four, three…” As I scrambled out on all fours, I met Damien’s eyes as he knelt down. He was wearing a black shirt today, collar slightly open, looking exactly like the big bad wolf from a cartoon who eats children. “Reason,” he said, picking me up by the back of my pajamas. “Why aren’t you going to kindergarten?” I dangled in mid-air, kicking my legs. “…Tummy ache.” “Liar.” Damien narrowed his eyes. “Yesterday, you said you loved the plush bunny at kindergarten the most.” I pouted, and my nose suddenly stung. That plush bunny, named Snowball, had been cut to shreds by Ms. Harris, just because I said it was my only friend. Damien’s expression suddenly changed. He placed me on the bed, kneeling on one knee to meet my gaze. “Did someone bully you?” Pudding seized the chance to crawl out, his wet nose nudging my palm.

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As a notorious paparazzi, famous for digging up every juicy bit of celebrity gossip, I was staking out a hotel garage, following a tip. A black car pulled up, and a man and a woman stepped out. The camera clicked, capturing a clear shot of them locked in a passionate kiss—the celebrity, it was my wife, Olivia Vance. As the man wrapped an arm around her waist and led her into the hotel, she glanced back, her eyes flashing a warning. Before I knew it, a black-clad bodyguard smashed my camera, dragged me to a corner, and broke my arm. “That’s a lesson for you.” I wiped the blood from my mouth, fumbled for the memory card in my pocket, and dialed a gossip blog: “Top-tier actress, late-night make-out photos. What’s your offer?” 1 I lay in a hospital bed for three days. Olivia didn’t show up, didn’t even send a message. It wasn’t until a rival tabloid offered a higher price for the photos that she burst into my room, fully made-up and dressed. “Delete the photos!” Her hand went straight for me, as if she couldn’t see my arm in a cast. “Rumors are flying everywhere, I need to do damage control.” My hand, holding a glass of water, froze. “No explanation for what happened that night?” She looked exasperated. “How was I supposed to know you were there?! It was just a business meeting, my agent was there too. Don’t believe me? Ask him!” Her voice suddenly rose. “Do you know how important that movie deal is? You have to trust me!” I gave a bitter laugh. The glass “slipped” from my hand, splashing water all over her. She jumped back, her eyes reddening. “Just this one time, and you hate me enough to try and ruin me?” “One time?” I stared at her. “Running into you kissing someone, or running into you having your sugar daddy’s bodyguards break my arm?” She clenched her hands, taking a deep breath. “You’re fine, aren’t you? This kind of thing happens all the time in this industry. I didn’t even cross the line.” “So what does count as crossing the line? Do I not even have the right to ask questions?” I pointed to my cast. “I’ve been in the hospital for three days. Did you ask me a single thing? My co-workers even came to visit me. Where were you?” She finally looked at my injured arm, freezing. We’d been together since I was eighteen. She’d never lifted a finger for anything; I’d practically spoon-fed her. After a long moment, she said, “I’m busy. Your injury seems to be healing well anyway. Handle the photos yourself. I’ll come when I have time.” With that, she rushed out. My heart felt a chill. Ten years, and she still acted like this when she felt guilty. 2 When I returned to the studio after my arm healed, rumors of Olivia and Carter Hayes, the second son of the powerful Hayes family, were already rampant—Carter was the man in the photos. My boss, looking apologetic, said, “You’re fired.” “Why?” This was the guy I’d worked with since graduation. “A lot of people’s privacy in the studio has been exposed. Fans are threatening revenge. I have to look out for everyone else…” He sighed. “You should know who you can and cannot provoke in this business.” I looked at the studio logo I’d personally designed—back when Olivia wanted to break into entertainment, I became an entertainment journalist, writing her press releases, taking stunning photos, and digging up dirt on her rivals. Now, all because of her and Carter, I was out. A flashy sports car pulled up outside. Carter stepped out, wearing sunglasses, followed by Olivia. She saw me, her eyes darting away as she hid behind Carter. Carter scoffed, tossing a wad of cash at me. “This should be enough for your medical bills. Stay away from Olivia, or next time, it won’t just be an arm.” I didn’t take the money. Instead, I picked up an old candid photo of Olivia from the ground—back then, she was just a small-time actress, and I’d spent three days staking out the set to get that shot. On the back of the photo, etched in pencil, were the words, “When I make it big, I’ll marry you,” the handwriting already faded by time. I tore the photo to shreds, scattering the pieces into the air. “Carter, Olivia, have fun.” As I turned to leave, I heard Olivia call my name behind me, her voice tinged with panic. But I didn’t look back. Ten years of a relationship, shattered the moment she had her bodyguards break my arm, just like my camera. As for those photos? I’d already sent them to every gossip blog out there—top-tier actress cheating on her husband with a sugar daddy. That’s enough drama to keep Hollywood busy for a while. As for me, it was time to find my own life. The man who came down was Carter. “Well, well, healed up now, have we?” His tone dripped with malice. “You think taking photos can threaten anyone? I found out you’re her husband! What good does that do?” “Of all the people to cross, you just had to cross me for a woman. Do you even know who I am?” He patted my shoulder, squeezing hard. My still-healing arm throbbed faintly. Looking at the man, who was half a head shorter than me, I scoffed aloud. “Then do you know who I am?” I retorted. He looked surprised for a moment, then his eyes filled with contempt. I scoffed. So he thought his identity was so impressive that others would just hand over their belongings. What antiquated notion was this? I grabbed his collar and punched him in the face. Blows rained down on him like a storm. “Who am I? I’m the one hitting you.” At first, Carter was still defiant. “My bodyguards will be here any minute, and you’ll be finished.” “You don’t want to work in this industry anymore, do you?” “Do you want to know how your wife hooked up with me?” All he got in return were relentless punches. The moment he appeared, I judged that he hadn’t brought anyone with him. If I didn’t teach him a good lesson, my name wasn’t Chen. In the end, Carter could only cover his head, trying his best to protect his face from being too badly disfigured. I’d carried cameras for so many years; my arms had plenty of strength. I couldn’t beat professional bodyguards, but this guy, hollowed out by his decadent life? I could definitely take him. “Enough, enough,” Carter weakly cried. He hadn’t felt it was “enough” when he had people harass me. “Now, call off your targeting of my studio staff.” He gritted his teeth and nodded. Before handing him his phone, I warned him. “Put it on speaker. You better be honest, or I promise I can give you a truly unforgettable lesson before your bodyguards arrive.” Once confirmed that it was resolved, I kicked Carter aside. “Get lost!” He wiped his face, then stumbled into his car. He slowly rolled down the window. “Chen, you just wait for my family’s revenge!” “Ha!” I picked up my sunglasses and threw them directly at his face. Blood flowed from his nose. “I’ll be waiting for you, you trash.” He drove away, furious. Soon after, Olivia publicly thanked her fan groups at a movie premiere event. 3 It was her “shipping” fans with Carter. These days, the romance between a powerful CEO and a dazzling actress was the most popular. All the flattering words showered down on them. In the video, Olivia held a bouquet of roses, her eyes teary as she looked at Carter. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes, for your constant support, and thank you to all the fans who support our couple.” “As for the malicious business competition from Mr. Chen recently, I believe the law will provide an answer.” With these words, my social media accounts exploded. Olivia’s company sent me a cease-and-desist letter, publicly released to the media. Fans swarmed me like sharks smelling blood. Then, my gossip account was also dug up. It contained various celebrity scoops, critiques of acting performances. Paparazzi already had a bad reputation, and now fans from every camp were dragged into the fray. Many posts mentioned Olivia, all praising her, which many fans took as proof of a disgusting “sasaeng fan” (obsessive stalker fan). The most combative people on social media converged on my comment section. The insults were varied and relentless; even after years in the entertainment industry, it was unbearable. The last actress who was cyberbullied like this jumped from a building; she’s probably reincarnated by now. The online manipulation was very obvious. My schedule was leaked, and an obsessed fan nearly ambushed me. All this began to affect my daily life. I tried calling Olivia for help. “It’s just some rumors! Carter is furious right now, just bear with it! This movie project is my stepping stone into the film industry. Can you bear to see my long-standing career efforts go to waste?” Before I could say anything, I only heard the busy signal as the call was disconnected. I slammed the phone down. I anonymously posted the blurred image of our marriage certificate online. My face was pixelated, but Olivia’s high-definition photo was clearly visible. News of her marriage quickly rocketed to the top of the trending topics. The server even crashed for an hour. The next day, stacks of contracts were thrown onto my face. This was the first time Olivia had come home since the incident, and the second time I had seen her. “Look what you did! These are all the termination contracts for my endorsements.” “You couldn’t pay for this even if you sold yourself. Do you understand?” “I almost got stabbed by your fans last time. Do you know that?” This last sentence made the furious Olivia calm down. “But… but…” Just my luck, the cat, running wild, turned on the TV with the remote. The TV was playing the footage from that movie premiere, and Olivia’s words once again echoed in the ears of both of us present. “Couldn’t you have waited for me to come back to discuss it, if you were that mad? You know what the industry thinks about marriage.” She finally spoke calmly. But I wasn’t willing. “I can’t do everything, only to be branded a defendant in court by you.” “Do you think you helped me a lot? I think you just invested in the right person and now you want to demand a favor in return.” Olivia pointed at my nose, her suspicion unconcealed. My throat went dry. “You actually think that of me? How could you?” “Fine, fine, fine. Since you say I’m demanding favors, how can I not live up to that?” “What are you going to do?” Olivia looked at me, her eyes wary. “What are you going to do to me? Carter won’t let you get away with it.” “I just want to say, return the three million I gave you, three times over, and remember to calculate the interest from these past few years.” “Is that all?” “That’s all.” She seemed confused, as if this demand was incredibly easy for her. After all, Hollywood is full of walking millions. That initial three million was my entire life savings, a gamble on a slim chance. Fortunately, she succeeded. Thinking this, a hint of guilt appropriately flickered across her face. She left only a bank card and quickly departed. In just two days, all the trending topics about me were taken down. See? Public opinion is just a game of capital. I deleted all my accounts, including the fan page I’d meticulously curated for Olivia. That one hadn’t been exposed, but I no longer wanted to update it. Who knew if the comment section was still filled with people who had insulted me? I met up with my friend, leaving him three hundred thousand as compensation. His studio had suffered significant losses due to the fallout. Back home, Olivia was actually busy in the kitchen. She brought out dish after dish, wiping her hands on her apron. Smiling gently. “Come, let’s eat.” I took a bite and immediately recognized it as from her favorite private restaurant. I said nothing, silently eating. “After this movie, how about I go on a trip with you? We can consider it our honeymoon.” Olivia tentatively asked. “Carter will be marrying soon, so he won’t be able to bother us anymore.” “I knew about this a long time ago, so there won’t be any future between him and me. At first, I was just resentful; all the actresses from my generation had won awards.” “I was just trying to secure a collaboration, and he took advantage. And you just happened to see it…” Olivia picked up a wine bottle nearby and poured me a drink. “I was confused for a while, blinded by greed. It was my fault. You’ve always loved me so much, and when things got difficult, you hit me like that. I just got emotional and spoke without thinking.” Under the lights, Olivia’s eyes, full of pitiful vulnerability, gazed at me. I took the wine from her hand and gulped it down, accepting her unspoken truce. Olivia, fearing I wouldn’t believe her, showed me her agent’s schedule, indicating she had indeed turned down many activities. “Trust me, after this movie is out of theaters, I’ll announce our relationship publicly.” My hand was held by Olivia. She promised me, word by word. I knew in my heart that her popularity was constantly rising, and her current promises would be meaningless then. “I believe you.” I hugged her, my fingers tangling in her long hair. 4 I knew in my heart that everything was beyond repair. The men’s perfume in her hair made me feel almost allergic. She had also become the spokesperson for Carter’s company’s products. She’d renewed her contract for a full ten years, and attending events for new product launches was inevitable every year. Besides her agent, Carter was the top contact in her WeChat. I didn’t intentionally see it; my phone automatically popped up notifications, and I just glimpsed it. Now, I could only say Olivia was as busy as a top. By day, she attended various events with Carter. By night, she came home and drew me all sorts of grand illusions. Perhaps there was a bit of sincerity, but not much. My hard drive, where I’d stored photos, had vanished. All the photos of us, big and small, were slowly disappearing from our home. As for our wedding photos, those were never even taken. Olivia was busy running around for appearances again. At various galas, Carter had already become her designated male companion for holding up her train. This had been widely publicized. That ambiguous marriage certificate from before had been skillfully spun by her company’s PR, painted in a misleading light. Everyone online was guessing Olivia was already with Carter. I could even see their endorsement ads displayed on giant screens when I went shopping. Fans affectionately called them “wedding photos.” At the same time, Carter’s WeChat sent me daily updates with pictures of Olivia’s various times, locations, and makeup looks. “Just a heads-up, I’ve already acquired the studio you used to work at. Let’s see who else in the industry dares to hire you.” I thought back to how my friend had looked so guilty when I offered to treat him to dinner. What a shame, after so many years of friendship. As for being blacklisted by the entire industry, that was just a joke to me. Olivia would occasionally sound me out, subtly. I just pretended not to know anything, even if she secretly slipped out in the middle of the night for events. One day, I received an invitation to a so-called high-society gathering. The place was dazzling, resplendent. I stood in a corner, holding a champagne glass, listening to them casually discussing multi-million-dollar deals. Olivia, arm in arm with Carter, forced a stiff smile, listening as Carter flattered the various moguls. Carter’s obsequious demeanor was unforgettable. The two of them glided through the crowd. Due to Olivia’s celebrity, she even had to go up and share a drink with people. But inadvertently, our eyes met. An involuntary mocking smile crept onto my face. Carter gripped his glass tightly, not even having time to erase his flattering expression. His face stiff, he dragged Olivia towards me. I watched Olivia stumble over her dress several times, pulled along by his speed. “How dare you show your face here?” “If you wanted to come, why didn’t you just ask me? Why did you sneak in?” “Don’t you understand? If you crash this kind of gathering, you’re finished.” Carter feigned kindness, his eyes gleaming with schadenfreude. “Security! Security!” Carter shouted loudly, and everyone’s gaze converged on us. “There’s a thief who snuck in. Security, please deal with this.” “I didn’t,” I said. I looked at Olivia. I couldn’t believe she didn’t know what kind of person I was. “Yes, this gentleman just stole my diamond earring.” Olivia’s red lips uttered a cold sentence. The next second, she splashed wine on me. The icy liquid felt like it drenched my entire body. The people around us watched the farce with disdain. “I didn’t. I didn’t even know you had diamond earrings.” Olivia’s face was cold, her arm linked with Carter’s. “Aren’t you embarrassed enough? Can’t you just leave?” “You claim to despise this glamorous world, so why do you insist on being here? This doesn’t belong to you.” The surrounding bodyguards slowly encircled me. I stood still. Olivia’s words made me realize that she was deliberately getting revenge because she had clawed her way into this world of fame and fortune, losing much, while I had been a constant stumbling block for her. I was held by the bodyguards, my arms twisted behind my back, about to be led away. Under my gaze, Carter turned and put the supposedly lost earring back on Olivia. His face was filled with triumph. I sighed softly. How could anyone be so ungrateful? Just as I was about to speak, the host of the party, who had arrived late, stopped the absurd scene. “Stop! This is my honored guest.”

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At the class reunion, my boyfriend’s mom suddenly burst in, flanked by a crowd. Waving a photo, she screamed that I was a home-wrecker. The picture was taken at my birthday party, showing my dad’s colleague handing me a gift. She stood on a chair, pointing at me, her voice shrill with fury: “This woman is a shameless tramp, a family-wrecker!” With that, she hoisted a chair and hurled it straight at me. I winced, enduring the pain, and tried to explain: “You’ve got the wrong person! I’m your son’s girlfriend!” Her fury only seemed to swell. She slapped me harder. “You trash! Trying to claim kinship with me? Pah! My son and his girlfriend are childhood sweethearts! What in hell are you?” I lowered my gaze, shielding the ice in my eyes. 1 “Riley, that dress must’ve cost a fortune!” At the class reunion, Skylar’s eyes gleamed as she stared at me. I smiled faintly. “My dad got it for me for my birthday.” “Balenciaga’s new collection? Riley, since when did your family hit the jackpot?” Brittany, my long-time rival across the table, sniped, her voice laced with venom. We’d been at odds since high school, and I usually just ignored her. But she kept digging, her words sharp and cruel: “You didn’t, like, land yourself a sugar daddy, did you?” Her words spiraled into absurdity. Just as I was about to shut her down, the private room door burst open. A furious voice ripped through the air: “You shameless harlot! How dare you seduce my husband!” A woman in her thirties stormed in, flanked by a small entourage. The man behind her glanced at a photo, then pointed at me. “Brenda, that’s her.” “You filthy tramp, I’m going to beat you to death today! Get her!” Before I could even react, her hand connected with my cheek, a searing slap. Then a kick to my stomach sent me sprawling to the floor. I clenched my jaw, enduring the pain, and choked out, “You’ve got the wrong person! I don’t even know your husband!” She grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Oh, I haven’t got the wrong person! Your trashy face, I’d recognize it even if it were dust!” As I finally saw her face clearly, a flicker of familiarity sparked, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before. “Open your damn eyes and look! Isn’t that you, you piece of trash, in this photo?” 2 The photo was from my birthday. My dad had invited a group of people to celebrate with me. It showed Mr. Harrison, my dad’s colleague, placing a sapphire necklace in my hand, my face alight with a happy smile as I admired it. “You’re all this harlot’s classmates, right? Take a look! Isn’t this her in the photo?” She thrust the photo towards the classmates huddled in the corner, gawking. Brittany took one look and dramatically gasped: “Oh my god, that is Riley in the picture! I can’t believe she’s like this! How shameless! Hooking up with a married man! She used to flirt with other guys even in high school. No wonder she’s always decked out in designer clothes. I always suspected she was a mistress!” “Mistresses deserve to die! Ma’am, go ahead and hit her! We won’t lift a finger to help her!” Skylar declared, puffed up with righteous indignation. The others quickly chimed in, echoing her words. “Hear that, you filthy tramp? Don’t play innocent!” Brenda snarled, then commanded, “Beat her!” Immediately, her posse swarmed me, raining down punches and kicks. Some even found sticks, brutalizing me. I curled into a ball on the floor, the pain so intense I wanted to scream for help. But I saw the faces of my classmates, warped with schadenfreude, standing by. My heart turned to ice. I couldn’t believe they were just watching, doing nothing. In high school, I’d always kept a low profile. No one knew I was the heiress to ApexCorp. They just thought my family was average. It had saved me a lot of hassle, so I never bothered to correct them. But now, it was causing me serious trouble. 3 “You’re mistaken,” I gasped, pain lancing through me. “He’s my father’s friend. That was my birthday party.” “You damned harlot! You finally admit it! Beat her to death!” Brenda seemed to go berserk, utterly deaf to my explanations. Punches rained down on my head and body like a relentless storm. My throat constricted, and then I coughed up a mouthful of blood. “Stop if you know what’s good for you! My dad is the CEO of ApexCorp!” Revealing my identity was the only way to make her stop now. But she just acted crazier, clawing at my throat and sneering: “Trying to scare me? Who in this room would believe that garbage? You shameless seducer! You deserve this. You classless, unhinged piece of trash!” At that, something snapped inside me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I fought back, lunging for her hair and pulling with all my might. She seemed shocked by my resistance. Her eyes blazing red, she shrieked at her cronies: “Get this trashy harlot off me!” I clung on, refusing to let go. Seeing this, one of her goons grabbed a nearby stool and smashed it down on my arm. A searing pain ripped through me, my arm felt like it had snapped. I curled into a ball on the floor, trembling with agony, fear gripping my heart as I stared at my mangled limb. I was an artist. My right hand was everything. Brenda kicked me again and again, like a maniac. “You trashy harlot, still fighting back? Strip her!” A few of them lunged forward, clawing at my clothes. I clutched my clothes tight, trying to hold them together despite the pain. “Hey, sis, mind if I go live and show everyone this home-wrecker’s true colors?” Brittany asked, a gleam of cruel delight in her eyes as she looked down at me. “Go for it,” Brenda casually agreed, glancing at me. “Good for everyone to see what happens to a mistress.” Her eyes suddenly went wild again, and she lunged, her hands clamping around my throat. “He never gave me a gift like that. But he gave it to you?” I was close to suffocating, my vision blurring. I fumbled in my pocket, found my phone, and pressed the power button five times, sending a distress signal to my dad. Meanwhile, Brittany, her voice sickeningly sweet, aimed her phone’s camera right at me. “Hey, fan fam! Today, I’m bringing you a live broadcast of my high school classmate getting caught red-handed as a home-wrecker!” Instantly, Brittany’s livestream viewership soared into the tens of thousands. “Wow, so juicy!” “How can that woman be so shameless, ruining someone else’s family?” “She looks like she’s selling herself, probably trash through and through.” “Go, Queen! Beat that filthy tramp to death!” The comments section exploded, people furiously cursing me. Brittany watched her follower count skyrocket, her eyes gleaming with unconcealed excitement and thrill. 4 Brenda pulled a pair of scissors from her bag, her lips curling into a slow, chilling smile as she stared at me. “Since you’re so shameless,” she purred, “I’ll just shred your clothes off and throw you out onto the street, stark naked.” Horror seized me. I never imagined she could be so vicious. As her scissors lunged towards me, a sudden realization hit: I knew where I’d seen her before. My boyfriend had once shown me a picture of his mom. The woman in front of me was identical to the one in the photo. A surge of desperate hope filled me. “Auntie,” I blurted, “I’m Riley! Your son’s girlfriend!” She burst into maniacal laughter, as if I’d told the funniest joke. “You filthy tramp! Seducing my husband wasn’t enough, now you’re after my son too? You shameless hussy!” Her face twisted into a grotesque smile, and she started cutting at my top with the scissors. I writhed in pain, still trying to explain: “Your son’s name is Ethan! Call him if you don’t believe me!” She hesitated for a moment, then her eyes glazed over with renewed madness. “My son would never like trash like you! He’s had a girlfriend for ages! Chloe grew up with him! And you still want to break up my son’s relationship? I’m going to teach you a lesson today!” I froze. Ethan and I had been together for three years. How could he have betrayed me? She frantically snipped away at my clothes. My top was in shreds, exposing large patches of skin. I frantically crossed my arms over my chest. In Brittany’s livestream, people were cheering and clapping. “Queen’s so fierce!” “Mistresses deserve a lesson! Serves her right!” “Exactly! And she even tried to seduce the son!” I looked at the cluster of former classmates standing in the corner. Their faces were a mask of morbid curiosity, enjoying the show. My heart felt heavy with dread, but I still begged them to call the police. Not one of them moved. I pleaded again with the woman looming over me: “Auntie, I really am Ethan’s girlfriend. Just call him, please! You’ll see! Ethan told me about you…” She hesitated, then finally dialed Ethan’s number. It rang twice, then someone picked up. “Mom, what’s up?” Ethan’s voice echoed through the phone. I wanted to scream, to call out to him, to beg him to save me. But as I opened my mouth, a hand clamped over it. “Son, tell me, are you dating anyone?” “Mom, you know that already, don’t you? Chloe and I have been together for five years.” At his words, she shot me a smug, triumphant look. 5 I felt a sudden, profound chill. He had betrayed me. All along. “Mom, Chloe’s actually right here with me.” “Hi, Auntie! I was just dropping off some beef jerky my mom made for you.” A soft, cheerful female voice chirped from the other end of the line. My heart shattered into a million icy pieces. “Chloe, honey, I’ll be home in a bit. If that boy gives you any trouble, you tell Auntie, okay?” The call ended. Brenda’s eyes, full of malice, locked onto me, and she raised the scissors again. “You trash! Still lying? This time, I’m going to slash your face. Let’s see you try to seduce anyone then! Hold her down!” I thrashed wildly, pure terror seizing my core. In my struggle, she suddenly caught sight of the bracelet on my wrist. Her eyes widened, and she started slashing wildly with the scissors. “Slut! Slut! That bracelet on your wrist, was he the one who bought it for you too?” With a yank, she ripped it off my wrist. I tried to stop her. “That was my mom’s! Give it back!” But Brenda glared at me, her face a mask of viciousness. “You trash! Still daring to lie? I’ll teach you a lesson!” She flung the bracelet to the floor in a fit of rage, then stomped on it, crushing it under her heel. I watched the pieces scatter, my heart aching with an unbearable pain. It was the last thing my mother had left me. Brenda dragged me out onto the street, then leaned down, her lips brushing my ear. “Say you’re a shameless hussy, that you deserve to die, and I might let you off. Otherwise, I’ll strip you bare.” Brittany followed close behind, her camera still trained on me. The street wasn’t too crowded yet, but passersby stopped, drawn by the commotion, their eyes fixed on us. I was forced to my knees, made to look like I was begging for forgiveness. I had no choice. Choking back my humiliation and tears, I did as she demanded. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, “I shouldn’t have ruined someone’s family.” A wave of disgusted stares washed over me. I thought I was free. But Brenda’s voice, slow and sinister, cut through the air: “I only said I wouldn’t strip you. I never said anything about not slashing your face! Ha ha ha ha ha!” She was a lunatic. She lunged, the scissors arcing towards my face. A searing pain ripped across my face. In an instant, blood and tears blurred my entire vision. I was at my breaking point, on the verge of blacking out, when I heard it – my dad’s voice, as if from a dream. “Riley, Dad’s here.”

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