1 I was born with a curse, a twisted form of pain empathy. Any injury my identical twin sister suffered would register in my own body, magnified ten times over. Growing up, my sister Giselle became a notorious street punk. Street fights and brawls were a daily routine for her. She ran wild because she knew a fundamental truth: I was the one who felt the pain, not her. Our parents turned a blind eye to her behavior. Instead, they blamed me for being weak, claiming my fragility dragged her down and kept her from living her life to the fullest. To force me to hand over my early admission scholarship to her, she stood right in front of me and dragged a blade across her own arm, over and over. As I thrashed on the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth from the agonizing pain, my family watched with cold indifference. My father didn’t even flinch. He simply lit a cigarette and muttered, “Stop faking it. Sign the waiver and hand the scholarship over to your sister.” Later, in a desperate bid to scam a wealthy driver, Giselle threw herself in front of a speeding sports car. The devastating impact registered in my chest, and my heart stopped instantly. But at the exact moment my breath left my body, my sister, the girl who had never felt pain in her life, screamed in absolute agony. Her name was Giselle, my identical twin sister. My name was Julia. From the moment we were born, fate had played a cruel joke on us. Any physical damage Giselle sustained would ripple into my body, multiplied by ten, while she remained blissfully numb, unable to feel a single ounce of pain. Right now, I was curled up on the hardwood floor like a dying shrimp, my entire body convulsing violently. The sheer intensity of the agony reduced my voice to a ragged, wheezing rattle. Through my blurred vision, I could see Giselle lounging on the sofa, casually twirling a sharp utility knife between her fingers. A careless smirk played on her lips as the cold steel bit into her pale forearm once again. A soft slicing sound filled the quiet room as her flesh parted. “Aaaagh!” The scream didn’t come from her. It came from me. In that instant, it felt as if a power drill were boring directly into my bone marrow, tearing my very soul to shreds. I began to foam at the mouth, my limbs jerking uncontrollably as my fingernails scraped bloody gouges into the wooden floor. “Julia, that’s enough out of you.” My father, Belmont, sat in the adjacent armchair, tapping the ash from his cigarette with a look of pure annoyance. A stray flake of glowing ash drifted downward, landing squarely on the back of my hand. Sizzle. Another red blister bloomed on my skin. The pain was so sharp my eyes felt as if they would pop out of their sockets. I forced my mouth open, trying to beg for help. Dad, please. Save me. But no words came. Only a pathetic stream of tears and saliva smeared across my face. My mother, Amy, was busy peeling an apple for Giselle. She didn’t even bother to glance in my direction. “Giselle, sweetheart, you shouldn’t hurt yourself over something so minor.” Giselle pouted, looking up like a spoiled child. “But she won’t hand over her scholarship spot! Mom, I don’t want to take the college entrance exams. It’s too exhausting.” “Since she’s the younger sister, isn’t it her duty to bear my pain and help with my academic stress?” A cruel glint flashed in her eyes. She pressed the blade deeper, dragging it down until it nearly scraped her bone. “Aaaagh!” My heart contracted violently, as if a giant hand had reached into my chest and squeezed it to a pulp. The pain went far beyond the limits of human endurance. My body stiffened into a straight line before crashing back down onto the floor. My vision went dark. The sounds in the room began to fade, sounding distant and hollow. Amy nudged my head with the toe of her slipper, her expression dripping with disgust. “Stop acting. You’ve been pulling this stunt since you were a kid. Aren’t you tired of it yet?” “Look at you, looking like a dead dog. You don’t have a single ounce of your sister’s courage.” “Giselle is bleeding all over the place and hasn’t made a sound. You don’t even have a scratch on you, yet you’re squealing like a pig at slaughter.” Yes, that was my life. Because I was always the one screaming in agony, they saw me as a dramatic, fragile weakling. Meanwhile, Giselle, who couldn’t feel a thing, was praised for being brave, tough, and a survivor whenever she got into street fights. They forgot that I was the one carrying the scars on my soul. My father exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his cold face hidden behind the grey haze. “Stop playing dead. Sign the waiver.” “Once you sign, your sister can go get bandaged up, and you can stop your little screaming show.” I tried to lift my hand, tried to show them that I was slipping away. My heart was fluttering wildly, completely out of rhythm. Then, one final, massive wave of pain surged through my nervous system. Snap. The final thread holding me together broke. My eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the chandelier on the ceiling as my pupils slowly dilated. My body remained frozen in a twisted shape, completely still. Seeing that I had stopped moving, Giselle walked over with an annoyed sigh. She wiped her bloody arm against my cheek, trying to force a pen into my stiff fingers. “Hey, stop faking it. Sign the paper so I can go to the clinic. It’ll save you some pain too.” The pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor. My arm fell limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. I was gone. My spirit hovered in the air, watching this absurd theater play out below. I was dead. Dead in the middle of my eighteenth summer, while my family watched with cold, uncaring eyes. 2 Giselle, frustrated that I wouldn’t hold the pen, kicked me hard in the ribs. “Mom! Look at Julia! She’s still throwing a tantrum!” Amy walked over and looked down at me. My glassy, unblinking eyes stared right back at her. She frowned, showing no panic, only irritation. “This girl has such a nasty temper. To think she’d try to threaten us by faking a fainting spell.” “Just ignore her. Starve her for a couple of meals, and she’ll crawl back.” My father, Belmont, was even more direct. He hauled my limp body off the floor and tossed me onto my bed. Then, he picked up the pen from the floor, forged my signature on the waiver, and handed the document to Giselle. “There. The spot is yours.” “Thank you, Dad! I knew you loved me best!” Giselle squealed, jumping up and down, completely ignoring the blood dripping from her arm. She lazily slapped a small bandage over the deep cut. The blood quickly soaked through the adhesive, but she didn’t care. It didn’t hurt. “To celebrate our sweetheart getting into university, let’s order a feast tonight!” Amy declared, ordering the most expensive seafood delivery available. Half an hour later, the food arrived, featuring a massive spread of caviar, king crab legs, and expensive oysters. The dining table sat right in the living room, less than ten feet away from my body. I hovered above the table, watching them gorge themselves. The briny smell of the seafood filled the air, slowly mixing with the subtle, sweet scent of decay starting to drift from my bedroom. Giselle ate greedily, grease coating her lips. She peeled a sharp crab leg and carelessly tossed the shell backward. Clack. The sharp shell landed right on my face, catching on my eyelashes. It was a grotesque, mocking sight. “Hey, Julia, stop faking,” Giselle called out. “Get up and clean this mess. Don’t think you can skip chores just by hiding in bed.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Amy fed Giselle a piece of crab meat. “Don’t waste your breath on that miserable girl. Just looking at her ruins my appetite.” “My Giselle is the one with real drive. You know how to be ruthless to get what you want. You’ll go far in life once you start college.” Belmont, his face red from the beer, pointed his glass at my room. “We spoiled her too much. All that pain empathy nonsense is just a mental illness to get attention.” “Look at Giselle. She bleeds without a single whimper. That’s the mark of someone destined for greatness.” They laughed and joked, painting a beautiful picture of Giselle’s bright future. Not once did any of them walk over to check if I was still breathing. If they had simply bent down, they might have realized my heart had stopped. But they didn’t. They truly believed I was playing a game of silent protest. By the end of the meal, Giselle let out a loud burp. She glanced toward my room, suddenly feeling annoyed. “Mom, her lying there is creeping me out. She’s just staring into space. It’s bad luck.” Amy stood up, grabbed an old tablecloth from a drawer, and walked over to my bed. She tossed it over my head like she was covering a pile of trash. “Out of sight, out of mind. Let her sleep on the floor tonight. No blankets for her. Let’s see how long she can keep up this act.” A single piece of fabric covered my dead face. And with it, the last shred of what this family called love was smothered. My soul trembled in the air. Not from the chill of the room, but from the utter, bone-deep coldness of their hearts. 3 The night grew deep. The air conditioning was set to a freezing sixty degrees, which only accelerated my rigor mortis. Before heading to bed, Giselle walked past me. On a whim, she stomped hard on my stomach through the tablecloth. “Make sure you scrub the floor tomorrow. It’s covered in my blood, and it’s disgusting.” It was a heavy blow, but I felt nothing. Instead, my stiff, frozen body bruised her foot. She muttered under her breath, “Hard as a rock. Even her attitude is stubborn.” The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the draped figure on the floor. Giselle woke up refreshed. Seeing me still lying in the exact same spot, she strode over and yanked the tablecloth off my face. My skin had turned a sickly purple, and the white foam around my mouth had dried into a crust. Giselle blinked, then burst into a loud laugh. “Julia, you really went all out to scare me.” “Who did you put on this dead girl makeup for? You should have gone to drama school instead.” She genuinely believed it was cosmetics. She nudged my stiff arm with the toe of her shoe. “Alright, get up. I’m heading to school. Don’t forget to wash my sneakers.” She tossed the cloth back over my face and hummed a tune as she walked out the door. I floated right behind her. At school, Giselle was on top of the world. She strutted around the classroom, waving the forged scholarship documents in everyone’s faces. “Some people can study all they want, but the prize still goes to me.” A few classmates who couldn’t stand her sneered. “Stealing from your own twin sister. How pathetic.” Giselle’s face darkened, and she lunged forward, slapping the girl across the face. A sharp crack echoed through the room. The girl was stunned for a second, then fought back, digging her nails deep into Giselle’s arm. In the past, I would have been rolling on the classroom floor in agony. The pain would have transferred to me instantly. But today, I was dead. Giselle looked down at the nails sinking into her flesh, a strange, ecstatic thrill washing over her face. She felt absolutely nothing. “Is that the best you can do?” she laughed, grabbing the girl by the hair and slamming her head hard against a desk. The sheer brutality of her attack terrified the classroom. Because she was immune to pain, she had no fear. “I am invincible!” she laughed maniacally, beating the girl black and blue. The teacher rushed in, and the parents were called. Amy arrived at the principal’s office. Instead of apologizing, she pointed a finger at the bruised girl. “Your daughter started it! My girl was only defending herself!” “My daughter is gifted. She’s strong. She doesn’t cry like some weak little princess over a tiny scratch.” The teacher pointed at the security footage. “Ma’am, your daughter’s attack was incredibly vicious.” “That’s called bravery! Strength!” Amy boasted, her chest swelling. “Unlike her useless sister, who has the backbone of a jellyfish.” Mentioning me reminded Amy that she still needed my signature to finalize some school paperwork. She pulled out her phone and dialed my number. The call went through, but the phone was vibrating on our living room coffee table. Nobody answered. “That miserable brat is still throwing a fit,” Amy muttered, hanging up with a curse. “Just wait till I get home. I’ll teach her a lesson.” Watching from the side, I found the entire scene laughable. They defended the abuser while dragging down the dead victim. They even mistook the silence of a corpse for rebellion. 4 That evening, Giselle and Amy returned home, with my spirit trailing behind them. My body still lay in the corner of the living room, draped under the old tablecloth. It had been over twenty-four hours. A faint, sweet odor was beginning to escape from the fabric, but the heavy smell of the pungent cabbage stew they cooked for dinner masked it completely. Giselle sent a picture of a limited edition designer handbag to the family group chat. “Dad, Mom, I want this bag as a reward for getting into university.” Belmont looked at the price tag, which was nearly four thousand dollars. He frowned. “We just paid the administrative fees for your admission. Money is a bit tight right now.” Giselle immediately threw a tantrum, stomping her feet and slamming doors. “I don’t care! I want it! All the other scholarship students have nice things!” Amy tried to soothe her. “Sweetheart, can we wait a few weeks?” Giselle’s eyes darted around before a wicked idea popped into her head. “Mom, I heard those rich street racers have been tearing up the boulevard lately.” “Since I don’t feel pain anyway, why don’t I stage an accident?” She gestured excitedly. “We find a spot with no traffic cameras, and I’ll throw myself in front of one of their luxury cars.” “Those rich kids are terrified of getting in trouble. They’ll pay anything to settle it quietly. A few thousand dollars would be pocket change to them!” My soul shuddered. Were these human beings, or were they monsters? She spoke of a dangerous, illegal scam as casually as ordering takeout. Even worse was our parents’ reaction. Belmont stroked his chin, considering the idea. “It’s not impossible. But you have to pick the right spot. We don’t want you getting permanently crippled.” Amy looked worried. “What if you get a nasty scar? A girl shouldn’t have ugly scars on her body.” Giselle cast a careless glance toward the covered lump in the corner. “Who cares?” “If my skin gets ruined, we’ll just make Julia give me a skin graft.” “She’s a useless waste of space anyway. Her skin is perfectly fine. It would be a waste not to use it.” “And if my kidneys get damaged, we’ll just take hers.” “I’m the older sister. It’s her duty to sacrifice for me.” Belmont nodded slowly, blowing a ring of smoke. “True. We’ve kept her fed all these years. It’s about time she made herself useful.” Amy smiled, her worries vanishing. “Alright, it’s a plan then. Just make sure to protect your face.” They huddled together, eagerly discussing the details of the scam. They had completely forgotten that the “living organ donor” they were talking about was currently a rotting corpse. Once the plan was finalized, Giselle was in high spirits. She walked over to the corner and kicked the covered figure on the floor. “Hey, did you hear that?” “Get ready to donate your skin when the time comes.” “Don’t go playing dead on me, you hear?” Naturally, there was no reply. The body made a dull, heavy thud as her shoe struck the stiff flesh. Giselle scoffed. “Lazy pig. She’s sleeping like a log.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door to execute her scheme. Watching her leave, my soul felt a strange, intoxicating sense of anticipation. Giselle chose a secluded intersection. There were no street cameras here, and it was a popular strip for the local wealthy drag racers. She hid behind the bushes, waiting like a hungry predator. I floated above her in the night air, quietly waiting for the climax. The distant, roaring scream of a high-performance engine pierced the night. A crimson sports car sped down the asphalt like a bolt of lightning. Giselle’s eyes gleamed with greed. She took a deep breath, calculating the distance and speed. All she needed was a light graze, a dramatic roll onto the asphalt, and a massive payout would be hers. After all, Julia would be the one feeling the pain. Even if her bones snapped, Julia would bear the agony. She was used to it. For eighteen years, she had exploited this connection. From childhood vaccinations to broken bones, she had never shed a single tear, because every ounce of agony was instantly transferred to her fragile little sister. The headlights blinded her. Giselle lunged directly into the street! Screeech! The desperate scream of burning rubber tore through the night as the driver slammed on the brakes, leaving thick black streaks on the road. But the car was moving too fast. Smash! A horrific thud echoed. Giselle was thrown into the air like a ragdoll, spinning twice before slamming hard onto the unforgiving asphalt.

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1 I sat at the long mahogany dining table, the rhythmic thud of a headboard and muffled moans drifting down from the second floor. It was my husband, Garrett, breaking in his eighteenth secretary. Today was our fourth wedding anniversary. It was also the fourth year since the True Love System bound itself to us. Four years ago, the moment we signed our marriage papers, the System descended. Every act of genuine love between us was rewarded. That was, until the day I found out I was pregnant. The System handed out its ultimate gift, a technological breakthrough that skyrocketed Garrett into the ranks of the world’s most elite billionaires overnight. But even a man certified by a magical entity could have a change of heart. Garrett took the seat next to me, his collar slightly wrinkled, a faint smattering of red marks on his neck. He ladled a bowl of steaming chicken soup and set it before me. “Sorry for the wait, honey. I specifically asked the housekeeper to simmer this for you today.” I nodded, my face an unreadable mask, and picked up the silver spoon. The next second, a long forgotten, cold mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. The Severance Protocol has been triggered.] I froze, the spoon hovering in midair. I glanced at Garrett. He was casually checking his phone, completely oblivious. It was certain. He had not heard the prompt. Footsteps padded down the grand staircase. The eighteenth secretary was a familiar face. Garrett immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for her with practiced, intimate grace. “Sylvia, this is Laura. She was the recipient of our university’s scholarship program last year.” His voice actually carried a hint of pleasant surprise. “When she brought it up during the interview, I couldn’t help but marvel at how small the world is.” “Garrett,” I interrupted his order for another place setting, my fingernails digging into my palms. “You promised. They are never allowed at our dining table.” The very first reward we ever got from the System was a lavish anniversary dinner. Garrett waved his hand dismissively. “Laura is different. I plan to mentor her personally.” “Mentor her how? Between the sheets?” The young girl’s face drained of color. She shrank back, her trembling fingers gripping the hem of Garrett’s expensive blazer. “There is no need to be so vulgar,” Garrett said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “I initiated it. She is young. You cannot blame her.” He patted her arm to soothe her. Suddenly, Laura looked up. Her voice was thin, but her words were crystal clear. “Sylvia, I am truly grateful for the financial aid you provided me back in college. But Garrett and I are truly in love. Doesn’t it exhaust you, clinging to a title when the heart is gone?” She had changed. The timid college girl I met a year ago had grown bold, her eyes gleaming with naked ambition. Garrett’s face darkened instantly. “Laura, know your place. She will always be my wife.” But his tone softened just as quickly as he looked down at her. “That doesn’t stop us from being in love. Just be a good girl and do as you are told.” A dry, bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Laura, he said the exact same lines to the seventeen women before you. Tell me, which number of true love do you think you are?” The pregnancy reward the System gave us back then was a technological blueprint decades ahead of its time, along with massive startup capital. When I was eight months pregnant, Garrett was overseas attending his company’s IPO gala. His aunt and uncle suddenly barged into our home, demanding fifty million dollars in alimony. They claimed that without them taking in an orphaned Garrett years ago, he would be nothing. During the heated argument, his cousin shoved me down the stairs. The whole family blocked the front door, demanding the money before they would call an ambulance. As a pool of crimson soaked the hardwood floor, I dialed Garrett’s number over and over. I got nothing but endless voicemail. Three hours later, the celebratory fireworks of his IPO lit up the foreign sky. And the fully formed baby boy inside me stopped breathing forever. When Garrett finally rushed back to the country, he handled his relatives, but began avoiding me. While I was confined to my bed in mourning, I smelled a foreign, sweet perfume on his dress shirt for the first time. I found a glaring, chestnut blonde strand of hair on his collar. I smashed every vase and mirror in the room. He simply stood amidst the shattered glass, his voice devoid of emotion. “It was just a one night stand. Don’t work yourself up. You will always be my wife.” I prayed countless times for the True Love System to appear again, to strip away everything it had given us. If we went back to being poor but in love, maybe Garrett would come back to me. But nothing happened. The mechanical voice I once viewed as a divine miracle remained dead. From then on, whoever caught his eye became his new personal assistant. When he got bored, he swapped them out. The entire corporate empire knew, but no one dared breathe a word. I drafted divorce papers. He tore them to shreds right in front of my face. The very next day, armed guards patrolled the estate, and housekeepers were stationed in my room, impossible to shake off. Propelled by the System, he sat comfortably at the absolute pinnacle of the business world. There was nothing he could not control. Garrett put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Stop throwing a tantrum. There is an auction next month featuring that vintage emerald set you have been eyeing. Consider it… compensation for number eighteen.” I ate my cold rice in silence. Those so called gifts were already gathering dust in the storage room. They made my skin crawl. He stood up, taking Laura’s hand to leave. He paused at the door, as if suddenly remembering something. “I am taking Laura to see the Northern Lights next week. The kid has been begging me for ages. Be good and stay home. I will bring you a souvenir.” Next week was the anniversary of my mother’s death. “Next Wednesday is my mother’s memorial. You…” “What does a memorial matter?” he cut me off, irritation lacing his voice. “We go every single year. Is her ghost going to haunt me if I miss one?” He pulled Laura closer, his tone turning frigid. “Mope all you want on your own, just don’t ruin our mood.” During our senior year of high school, my mother fell terminally ill. He knelt by her hospital bed, swearing on his life that he would cherish me forever. When she passed, he drained his entire savings from six years of part time jobs to give her a proper funeral. Every year since, he would kneel at her gravestone, recounting how well he was taking care of me, telling her to rest in peace. Now, he could not remember our anniversary. He did not care about my mother’s memorial. But he remembered his little secretary wanted to see the Northern Lights. The heavy oak doors slammed shut. At that exact moment, the icy mechanical voice rang out again. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received 99,999,999 dollars in highest denomination currency.] [The funds have been transferred to your encrypted offshore account. The Severance Protocol will be with you every step of the way.] The System had descended once more, pulling me from the wreckage. 2 After sweeping the fallen autumn leaves from my mother’s grave, I arranged the fresh white chrysanthemums. My fingertips brushed against the carved letters of her name. That stone was once the only warmth in my isolated world. I never knew my father or any other relatives. It was just me and her. That was, until I met Garrett in high school. He was like a wild, untamed fire, forcefully illuminating the bitter, barren landscape of my youth. We used to huddle together in a freezing rental apartment during winter nights, promising to be each other’s irreplaceable source of warmth. But Mom, he changed. That fire now burned me until I bled. “Ma’am, it is a call from Mr. Garrett.” The bodyguard’s stiff voice pulled me back to reality. I took the phone. On the other end, Garrett’s voice sounded unusually panicked. “Sylvia, the puppy Laura adopted is doing really badly. You need to come take a look.” A wave of pure absurdity pierced my heart like a needle. Years ago, when he rushed back and saw me hollowed out, having just lost our child, he had not sounded this frantic. He was only anxious about whether the System would revoke his wealth. I should have known. I should have realized it long ago. “Go to hell,” I heard my own dry, raspy voice say. Minutes later, I was essentially escorted by force into the black SUV. The car pulled up to the tiny starter home we had rented right after college. Back then, after receiving a massive cash reward from the System, we bought this place full of memories. We renovated it together, turning it into our dream nest. I pushed the door open. The interior was violently different from my memory, like a beautiful dream heavily vandalized. The spot on the mantelpiece that once held our framed couple photos was replaced by Laura’s graduation portrait. The velvet sofa I had spent weeks picking out was draped with a sickeningly sweet pink blanket. The air was suffocating, thick with a cheap, sugary perfume that completely eradicated the clean scent of sunlight and laundry detergent that used to live here. Laura initiated a video call from Garrett’s phone. “Sylvia, how is Peanut doing?” She lowered her eyes, putting on a masterful display of distress. “When Garrett and I found him last week, he was so weak. He refuses to eat. Could you please take him back to the main estate and nurse him?” I walked further in. The room we had painstakingly designated as the nursery had been gutted and turned into a dog’s playroom. In the corner, a frail puppy curled up in a designer dog bed. Tied around its neck was a glaring red string. Dangling from the red string was a tiny, blessed gold locket. It was the very same locket Garrett had walked miles up a treacherous mountain path to pray for, back when I was pregnant. We used to press our hands to my barely showing stomach, calling the baby Noah, praying for him to have a lifetime of peace and safety. “Where did you get that red string?” My voice trembled, freezing the air in the room. My heart hammered heavily against my ribs, every beat radiating a dull, sickening ache. “You mean the one on Peanut’s neck?” Laura blinked innocently through the screen. “Garrett put it on him. He said it brings good luck and protection.” He forgot. He did not just forget the locket. He forgot Noah. He forgot how we knelt side by side on the temple floor, heads bowed in absolute devotion. He forgot the tears and laughter embedded in the name Noah. He forgot how awkwardly, yet blissfully, we debated the paint colors for the nursery. Even the very last memento of my dead child had been casually tossed to his mistress’s pet. “I know this used to be your house, Sylvia.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, dripping with hidden triumph. “All the junk you two used to own is locked in the master bedroom. We even did it on that old bed of yours…” “But just the once. Garrett said it felt a bit gross being in there.” I walked over and pushed open the master bedroom door. Every single photo album, every souvenir, every piece of our shared history was piled haphazardly in the corner. Like trash waiting for the dumpster. I dragged them all out into the center of the backyard. Box after box, memory after memory, along with that red string and the tiny gold locket. My lighter sparked, spitting out a blue flame. The fire eagerly licked at the edges of our polaroids, consuming our awkward teenage smiles, swallowing the gold locket into the inferno. It was time to end this. Along with the unborn child, and all the years of pathetic, self deceiving fantasies. As the flames roared higher, Garrett’s furious roar erupted from the phone’s speaker. “Sylvia! What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Put it out!” His voice cracked, shrill and laced with absolute terror. “How could you… how could you burn it all!” I stared into the dancing, crackling flames, feeling like a spectator watching a play that had nothing to do with me. “It is trash nobody wants. Better to burn it clean.” “Laura!” 3 He immediately turned his crosshairs on her, his voice warped with panic. “What the hell did you say to her?!” “I… I didn’t! She just asked about the red string… and about me moving in…” The bonfire crackled and popped in front of me, perfectly masking Garrett’s out of control screaming and Laura’s pathetic sobbing. I stood right beside the blistering heat, yet a terrifying, ice cold silence soaked through my bones. The space where my heart used to be had been hollowed out long ago, scooped away by his endless betrayals. Now, even the leftover ashes were being swept away by this fire. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received a fleet of five legally registered top tier luxury vehicles across the continent.] I was not alone. I had the System. With every ounce of shattered hope and every act of rebellion, I received massive rewards tied to an overseas haven. From unlimited funds to supercars, the System was meticulously paving a flawless escape route for me. … When the two of them walked through the villa doors later that evening, looking utterly drained, my mind was composed of nothing but icy calculations. “Sylvia, I picked this out for you.” Laura had morphed back into her timid persona, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. “I misspoke earlier. I made you angry enough to burn your own things.” Garrett stepped forward, reaching out to embrace me. I sidestepped, leaving his arms hanging awkwardly in the air. “Noah is… gone. You can’t drown in the past forever,” Garrett said softly. “If that locket could bring some peace to the puppy, isn’t it worth it?” “Worth it?” I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. “You do not get to say Noah’s name. It makes me sick coming from your mouth.” [Ding. You have received a sprawling vineyard estate in Tuscany.] Garrett rubbed his cheek. A terrifying smile stretched across his face, followed by words even more ruthless than his betrayal. “Fine. The playground and nursery you designed for Noah in the backyard? Tear them down. Staring at dead memories is bad for your health. Laura studied design in college. Let her use the space for practice.” Seeing the corner of Laura’s mouth twitch upwards behind him, an idea flashed in my mind. I snatched a sharp paring knife from the fruit bowl and pressed the steel firmly against my own collarbone, forcing tears to well up in my eyes. “You want to erase the very last trace of Noah to make room for your new baby? Are you trying to make room for a new Mrs. Garrett, too?” I saw the sudden, hungry spark in Laura’s eyes. She understood exactly what I was doing. The final jackpot, my ultimate ticket out of this hellhole, relied on one thing: a child. “Tear it down,” I pressed the blade harder, “and I will bleed out right here!” “Sylvia! Don’t do anything stupid!” Garrett panicked, lunging forward to wrestle the knife away, wrapping his arms tightly around my trembling body. “We won’t touch it! We won’t! You are the only woman who will ever bear my children!” [Ding. You have received full estate resources, including a historical castle, a full butler and maid staff, and private chauffeurs.] “I’m sending you on a vacation to clear your head. Too much has happened,” he murmured, cupping my face, his eyes swimming in a sickening mix of terror and fake devotion. “Go overseas. Go to Europe… see the places we talked about when you were carrying Noah.” The very next day, I boarded a first class flight across the Atlantic. For half a month, under the guise of grieving, I inspected the vineyard estate the System had gifted me. It was a breathtaking property bathed in Mediterranean sunlight, overflowing with blooming roses. It was perfect. In the past, every single reward from the True Love System went straight to Garrett. Cash, real estate, cars, they all bore his name. I used to complain, asking why a system based on our love only rewarded him. It turned out, my gifts were just severely delayed. When I finally returned to the city, Laura opened the front door. Just as I predicted, the backyard was unrecognizable. The sandbox and jungle gym I sketched out for Noah were gone, replaced by a tacky infinity pool and an outdoor bar. Laura wore a secretive, arrogant smirk. “See that, Sylvia? The memories you threatened to die for? I wiped them out with a few whispers.” She stepped closer. “Once I get pregnant, you are going to hand over the title of Mrs. Garrett quietly.” Hearing heavy footsteps approaching from the hallway behind her, I didn’t hesitate. I raised my hand and struck her hard across the cheek. The girl stumbled back with a gasp, collapsing onto the marble floor. 4 “Sylvia! What the hell is wrong with you?” Garrett rushed over, shielding her on the floor, roaring at me. “I authorized the demolition! If you are pissed, take it out on me!” I scoffed coldly, turning on my heel and walking upstairs. [Ding. You have received an elite architectural design studio overseas, complete with a full executive team.] “You are staying in this house! You are not going anywhere!” he screamed from the bottom of the stairs. Everything I needed was almost in place. My movements were completely restricted to the villa. I spent my days researching the design studio the System had given me. Their portfolio aligned perfectly with my own creative vision. When Garrett walked into the bedroom and saw the architectural drafts spread across my desk, a deep frown etched into his face. “Are you short on cash? Why are you playing around with blueprints again?” I casually covered the name of my new overseas studio with a notebook, not bothering to look up. “You grounded me. I needed a hobby.” “You are coming with me to the charity gala tomorrow.” He slammed the door shut on his way out. On the surface, I was still the trophy wife required for his public theater. But when the chauffeur opened my car door the next evening, I saw Laura standing there, draped in an evening gown that rivaled my own. She instinctively reached to link her arm through Garrett’s, but he hissed in a low voice, “In public, you are just my assistant!” Yet, his tone immediately softened back into a caress. “Be a good girl. I will buy you whatever you want tonight.” Laura’s face fell into a pout, and she trailed behind us obediently. I observed the entire charade with dead eyes, like a theater critic watching a terrible play. Given Garrett’s current billionaire status, our seats were dead center in the front row. Laura and I flanked him on either side. When the vintage emerald set he had promised me was rolled onto the stage, Laura leaned in, tugging gently on his sleeve. “Garrett, that would look so cute on Peanut.” Garrett turned, offering her a disgustingly tender smile, and nodded. He forgot again. Half the socialites in this room knew I had been coveting that exact emerald set for years. When the white gloved usher brought the velvet box over, he bypassed me completely, handing it directly to Laura. A ripple of thinly veiled gasps and murmurs spread through the surrounding elite crowd. Since he had decided to strip away my last shred of dignity in public, I was done playing along. I stood up, violently flipping the low glass table in front of us. The deafening crash of shattered crystal and porcelain echoed through the dead silent ballroom. Without a single glance backward, I walked through the shocked crowd, heading straight for the terrace. [Ding. You have received a forged, legally ironclad identity in your new country.] The gala was being held at a historic mansion perched on the cliffs of the Riviera. I walked toward the stone balustrade, letting the salty sea breeze whip through my hair. A few moments later, the clack of heels announced Laura’s arrival. “Sylvia, why make a scene and humiliate Garrett like that?” “You ruined the mood for the entire room. Garrett had to cover the entire night’s auction tabs just to save face.” “Being this hysterical is only going to make him hate you more.” She closed the distance between us, pulling a folded piece of paper from her clutch. Her ambition was fully bared now. “Besides, I am carrying his child. Your days sitting on that throne are over.” I took the medical report from her hands. I scanned the lines. It was a confirmed positive pregnancy test. [Ding. Please prepare yourself, Host.] The final reward was about to drop. In the distance, Garrett burst through the terrace doors, his eyes wildly searching the darkness. The second his gaze locked onto me, I gave him the brightest, most radiant smile I could muster. Then, clutching that pregnancy report to my chest, I leaned backward and let gravity pull me off the cliff. The wind screamed in my ears as I plummeted. The very last thing I saw was Garrett’s face warping into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. I saw him sprint toward the edge, diving forward, his hands grasping at empty air. He watched me vanish. Not fall into the crashing waves, but literally vanish. Like a digital image being deleted, I faded out of existence inch by inch right before his eyes. He even saw the lingering, victorious curve of my smile before I dissolved completely. But all anyone else heard was Laura’s piercing shriek. “Help! Call the Coast Guard! She fell into the ocean!” The security footage showed a clear, uninterrupted fall straight into the raging black water, followed by a massive splash. Everyone told him it was a hallucination. A trick of the mind brought on by extreme trauma.

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1 In my third year as a divorce attorney, Oliver forced his way into my office. On the CCTV screen overhead, the news was broadcasting his latest scandal: the city’s newest billionaire had just fled his own high-society wedding. Across the black mahogany desk, he sat with his head in his hands, looking utterly miserable. The wedding band on his left ring finger caught the light, gleaming mockingly. Oliver tapped the wood. His voice, deep and gravelly, broke the silence. “I need a divorce settlement. And a deed of gift.” “The divorce is for my fiancée, the woman I was supposed to marry today. Her name is Gemma.” “The deed of gift… I want to transfer every single asset I own to a woman named Abigail.” Abigail is me. But he didn’t recognize me. We had been broken up for three years, and for three years, he had turned the city upside down looking for me. Subconsciously, I adjusted my face mask and pulled the brim of my cap lower. I reached out and flipped the little sign on my desk to face him: No Consultations Without Appointment. Oliver froze. He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. In that single second, a visible tremor ran through his entire body. “Abby?” he gasped, rising from his chair. This was a man who prided himself on absolute restraint, yet now he was completely unraveling. Before I could even breathe a word, the spark in his eyes died. He sank back into his seat, his shoulders slumping as he muttered to himself, “No. No, it’s not her. I’m sorry… I lost my head. I mistook you for someone else.” “You couldn’t be her.” “She was with me since we were teenagers. If she were still in this city, she wouldn’t have hidden from me for three whole years…” I remained silent. My hand, resting on the computer mouse, was shaking so violently I had to grip it tight. Oliver. That name defined my youth. He was the author of every romantic memory I possessed. Once, I truly believed he would be the man I’d grow old with. Even after our split, I used to panic, thinking that if we ever crossed paths again, I would be the one to break down. Yet here I was, surprisingly calm, while he was the one falling apart. I tapped the sign on my desk again, then pointed to the notice on the door: Private Practice. No walk-ins. Without a word, he pulled a gold-embossed checkbook from his breast pocket. He signed a blank check and slid it across the desk toward me. “Name your price. Just do this for me.” “You saw the news. I walked out on my own wedding. My fiancée is looking for me, and I need this marriage dissolved immediately.” Glancing at the chaotic live broadcast playing on the silent screen above, I kept my voice low and raspy, asking, “Why did you run?” Oliver stared into space, lost in some distant memory. It took him a long time to speak. “Because I’m willing to give up everything to win back someone I lost. Someone I might never get back.” His expression softened into a profound, aching sorrow. But whatever warmth was left in my chest froze over. Instead, my mind flashed back to a year before I left. It was his birthday. I had lovingly baked a cake, bought a gift, and rushed home to surprise him. When I opened the bedroom door, I found him pinning Gemma to our bed, the young college student we had been financially sponsoring. When he saw the devastating hurt in my eyes, he didn’t even flinch. He just let out a soft, mocking laugh. “To be honest, Abby, after seven years, you’re pretty boring in bed.” “Gemma knows what she’s doing. You should take notes. Learn how to please a man.” “Don’t look at me like that. If you can’t handle it, you’re free to leave.” “But I give you three days. You’ll be back begging for my forgiveness within three days.” What Oliver never understood was that once I make up my mind to walk away, I never, ever look back. So, I didn’t just stay away for three days. I vanished for three years. I shook my head and slid the blank check back across the polished wood. “Take a right when you walk out. The firm next door handles standard divorces. They’re much better suited for you.” Oliver’s brow furrowed. “I did my research. You have the highest success rate in the city, and you get things done quietly.” “I’m offering you a fortune. Why are you turning me down?” Offering you a fortune. How incredibly familiar. Years ago, before he was a billionaire, he was just a boy from a poor working-class family near the docks. I remembered him kneeling before me in a faded, threadbare shirt, holding a cheap ring. “Abby, I love you. Please say yes.” “I promise I’ll marry you twice in this lifetime.” “Once as the broke boy standing here, and a second time when I make my fortune and can give you the world.” I hadn’t been swayed by his promises of wealth. Back then, I wasn’t the city’s most formidable lawyer. I was just a girl visiting my family’s old hometown. But I had never seen a man with eyes so bright, or with a love that burned so fiercely just for me. So I nodded, and we built a life together. But in the second year after he struck gold and became a billionaire, he slept with the student we took in. The next morning, he casually told me, “That grand wedding I promised you? I’m going to have it with Gemma instead.” “She’s throwing a tantrum, and it’s just easier this way.” “Of course, we won’t sign any legal papers. It’s just a show. You’re still my legal wife.” He spoke of throwing a wedding for his mistress as if he were simply planning a casual dinner with a friend. He didn’t care about my tear-stained face or my shattered heart. “Don’t give me that look,” he had said, sighing. “A wedding is just a display of wealth, right? I’ve already given you more money than you could ever spend!” But Oliver never understood. I never cared about his money. Pushing the memories aside, I didn’t say a word. Instead, I pulled a notepad and wrote: For the past three years, you have planned a wedding with Miss Gemma every single year, and every single year you have abandoned her at the altar. You are too much drama. It’s bad for my firm’s reputation. Please leave. Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he read the note. He stared at me intently, as if trying to pierce through my disguise. I didn’t blink. I met his gaze dead-on. Before he could say another word, a frantic voice cried out from the doorway. “Oliver!” A woman in a wrinkled, expensive wedding gown burst in. It was Gemma. She had shed the shy, awkward look of the broke student we had once sponsored. Now, she carried herself with a sharp, calculated glamour. Seeing Oliver, she burst into tears of frustration. “You promised me we’d finish the ceremony this time! Why did you run away again?” Oliver sat there, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “Gemma, how many times do I have to tell you?” “These weddings were only meant to draw Abby out. I wanted her to see them and come back.” Gemma looked like she was about to lose her mind. “You’re still obsessed with her? You told me you loved me!” “We’ve had three weddings now, and she never showed up!” “She doesn’t care who you marry anymore! Why can’t you just let her go and build a life with me?” Oliver fell silent, murmuring almost to himself, “She cares. She’s just stubborn. She’s trying to punish me.” I felt a cold wave of amusement. Back when he was convinced I’d come crawling back in three days, he wasn’t this melancholic. He had been smug, self-assured, waiting to see how long I could last without his money. He was certain that because I had loved him since I was eighteen, I would never truly leave. Even when Gemma deliberately smashed my late grandmother’s heirloom bracelet and accused me of framing her, all to force me to come to his office, he didn’t bother asking for my side of the story. Like a judge handing down a sentence, he had simply looked down at me and said, “Abby, if you’re going to stay, you need to learn to get along with Gemma. I won’t have drama in my home. Both of you are important to me.” I swallowed the bitter taste of the memory. Gemma’s eyes darted to the plaque on my desk, her face twisting in horror when she realized what kind of lawyer I was. “What are you doing here, Oliver?” Oliver glanced at her, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m divorcing you.” “And I’m transferring all my assets to Abby.” “Are you insane?!” Gemma shrieked. She grabbed his lapels, shaking him. “What about me, Oliver? I’ve been with you since I was eighteen!” Oliver said softly, “So was she.” There was no warmth in my chest, only the memory of the night I had practically begged him on my knees, crying, pleading with him to remember our seven years together and just come back to me. He had seemed moved then, promising to cut ties with Gemma. Yet the very next day, I walked in on them again. I had screamed at him, asking how he could be so cheap, so utterly shameless. He had simply leaned back against our headboard, with Gemma smirking beside him, lit a cigarette, and said, “You want to talk about cheap? You were in my bed when you were eighteen, Abby. Let’s not pretend you’re a saint.” That was the moment my heart truly died. I had thought giving myself to him in our youth was a sacred act of love. To him, it just made me cheap. I cleared my throat, keeping my voice low and raspy. “If you two want to scream at each other, do it outside. My office is closing.” Gemma looked up, her eyes finally locking onto my face. Suddenly, she froze. Her face turned pale, and she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Abby?!” “No… no, that’s impossible. You just have similar eyes. It can’t be you.” “She would never stay in this city. She wouldn’t dare face him!” I kept my gaze cool and detached. She was right about one thing. I would never, ever go back to him. The day I caught them together for the second time was supposed to be the day of our “second wedding.” He had plastered it across every paper in the city. He was going to remarry his wife in a lavish ceremony to thank her for her years of devotion. The venue was the rooftop of the city’s most exclusive skyscraper. Helicopters buzzed overhead, and reporters lined the red carpet, waiting for the billionaire to sweep his wife off her feet. I stood there in the custom gown he had personally designed and hand-stitched for me, enduring the envious stares of the crowd, waiting for my husband. But Oliver didn’t show. An hour passed. Then two. The envious looks turned to whispers, and then to mockery. “What do you think the billionaire is doing? Did he realize she’s getting too old for him?” “I heard he’s got a gorgeous young thing at home. Why buy the old model when the new one’s so much fun?” “Look at her standing there all by herself. How embarrassing.” The grander the setup had been, the deeper the humiliation. I remembered standing there, my knuckles white as I gripped the silk of my dress, listening to the cruel laughter. Even my father had called me, furious, demanding I leave before I embarrassed the family any further. I fled back to our apartment. When I pushed the door open, he was in bed with Gemma. He didn’t even look up as he said, “Oh, right. The wedding. I forgot. We’ll do it another time.” Later, Gemma had whispered to me with a smug smile, “All I had to do was take off my clothes, and he forgot all about his suit. You can’t really blame me, sister.” “Could you… please take off your mask?” Oliver’s hesitant voice pulled me back to the present. I looked at him coldly, making no move to comply. Gemma stepped between us, crying hysterically. “Oliver, Abby is gone! She abandoned you! Why won’t you look at me?” “Do you think throwing me aside at the altar every year will make her forgive you for leaving her stranded? You’re dreaming!” Her words seemed to strike a nerve. A deep, ugly shadow crossed Oliver’s face. Without a word, he stood up and struck Gemma hard across the face. She fell to the floor, clutching her cheek in utter disbelief, but he didn’t even look at her. He turned back to me, his voice eerily calm. “Now, as I was saying. I want to hire you to draw up a deed of gift for a woman named Abigail.” I sighed, adjusting my papers. “A deed of gift requires the recipient’s signature to be legally binding. If you can’t even find her, this document is useless.” “Please leave, Mr. Oliver.” Gemma scrambled up from the floor, grabbing his leg. “Oliver, please! Beat me if you want, but don’t give her everything!” “I’m pregnant with your child! Our baby needs that money!” “She doesn’t want you anyway! She’s probably married to someone else by now!” Her words made me pause, and my hand instinctively drifted to the diamond band on my left ring finger. A soft warmth bloomed in my chest as I thought of the man waiting for me at home, the man whose smile always made me feel safe. She was right. I had married someone else, and he was a thousand times the man Oliver could ever hope to be. But Oliver couldn’t accept that. He slammed his hand on my desk, his face contorted with rage. “Shut up! I’ll leave enough for the kid.” “But Abby spent ten years of her life with me. Everyone in this city knows she was my woman. No one else would dare touch her!” “I have to take care of her. I need to give her a reason to come back to me.” “Once she sees that I’m willing to hand over every single dime I own, she’ll come home. I know she will.” He spoke with such absolute certainty. Yet he had no idea that the woman he was talking about was sitting right in front of him, listening to his grand delusions without a single flicker of emotion. Gemma stared at him, her expression shifting from fear to a dark, unstable rage. Suddenly, she snapped. “Her, her, her! That’s all you care about!” “I told you she’s never coming back! You’re losing your mind looking for her, seeing her face in every stranger!” “Open your eyes, Oliver! Look at who’s sitting right in front of you!” Before I could react, Gemma lunged across the desk, her manicured fingers clawing at my face, ripping the mask away.

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1 My husband, Gary, managed our marriage with a “KPI Evaluation Sheet.” He claimed that a healthy relationship required rational maintenance. My best friend was incredibly envious. She said a man who actually planned things out was a hundred times better than those who only talked. Whenever he brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, he would say with deep solemnity, “Ava, my strictness is only because I take our marriage seriously.” That was until my car plunged into the freezing river. My phone screen shattered and went dark, but my smartwatch triggered an SOS call, automatically dialing his number. The freezing water rushed into the cabin. I was covered in blood, fading fast. Yet all I heard was his disappointed voice through the speaker, “You’re forty minutes late for our anniversary dinner. You have absolutely no sense of time. Stay put and reflect on your behavior.” Before I could make a sound, the line went dead. I drowned to death in the silent, icy depths. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our quarterly review. Gary tapped the evaluation sheet on the table, a slight frown creasing his brow. “You forgot to wear your wedding ring to the family dinner last night. Your marital presentation score was sub-standard. I’m grading you a C.” “Ava, if you keep being this negligent, we will have to separate for a trial period so you can reflect.” In my past life, I would have panicked and apologized immediately. But this time, I just looked at him and spoke quietly. “Fine. Let’s separate then.” The words hung in the air. Gary’s hand froze mid-motion. For a brief second, a flash of genuine shock broke through his usually stoic face. He had expected me to do what I always did: grab his sleeve in a panic, beg for forgiveness, and promise to play the role of the perfect Mrs. Kingsley next time. But he quickly composed himself, letting out a soft, patronizing sigh. It was the sigh of an adult dealing with a petulant child. “Ava, don’t use divorce as a bargaining chip.” “I admit my tone was harsh.” “But as I’ve told you before, my strictness is out of responsibility for our marriage.” He stood up and walked over to me, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. I tilted my head, dodging his hand. I looked at him calmly. The desperate love that once filled my eyes was completely gone. I let out a soft laugh. “Gary, I want to be myself now.” Gary’s hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Before he could speak, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the foyer. It was Gary’s mother, followed by a young woman in a pale silk dress. Pamela. The wealthy socialite who had just returned from abroad, and Gary’s lifelong childhood friend. The two of them walked into the living room. Pamela’s eyes immediately landed on the Marriage KPI Sheet splayed out on the coffee table. A flash of surprise crossed her face, followed by a fleeting, smug satisfaction. Yet, her voice remained sweet and gentle. “Gary, you’re still the same. You always resort to rules the moment you get upset.” She turned to me, offering a polite smile. “Ava, don’t take it to heart. When we were living abroad, he used to control the exact hour I drank water and how I color-coded my wardrobe.” “That’s just how he is. The closer he is to someone, the more possessive he gets.” “If you can’t handle him, let me know. I’ll whip him into shape for you.” It sounded like she was trying to help, but her words neatly highlighted their years of intimacy, while making me look like an outsider in my own home. Gary’s mother sat on the sofa, gracefully sipping the tea a maid had just poured. “Pamela is right,” his mother chimed in. “Gary almost gave up his inheritance to marry you, Ava. You’re a smart girl. You should know how to be grateful.” “Don’t throw these childish tantrums. It ruins the family’s dignity.” Gary frowned, cutting them off. “Mother, Pamela, Ava is still adjusting. I will guide her.” In my past life, I would have been touched by his defense, thinking he had sacrificed so much for me. I would have swallowed my tears and worked even harder to learn their ridiculous etiquette. But now, it just felt pathetic. I looked at Pamela’s elegant, well-behaved posture, and then at Gary. “Since Pamela understands your rules so well,” I said, my voice entirely flat, “why don’t you give her the position of Mrs. Kingsley instead?” 2 I walked back to our bedroom. Looking around at the cold, modern furniture Gary had chosen according to his taste, I took a deep breath. Gary didn’t think he was wrong. He genuinely believed that molding me with these rules was his way of protecting our love and keeping his family from looking down on me. He even controlled my weight. I wasn’t allowed to fluctuate by more than two pounds, claiming it was necessary to maintain mutual attraction. Before we married, my favorite thing in the world was eating extra-spicy street noodles at midnight and driving my jeep into the mountains on weekends. But after we wed, he banned those spicy, pungent foods, saying the smell ruined our social standing. He forced me to swap my jeep for a heavy, bulletproof sedan, claiming the wife of a Kingsley shouldn’t take safety risks. He even structured our sex life with clinical precision: the 5th and 20th of every month, with a set number of times. The moment it was over, he would get up to wash, stating that restraint preserved the romance. There was never a moment of post-coital warmth. It wasn’t a marriage. It was a corporate job with worse benefits. I thought of our third anniversary. That night happened to coincide with the Kingsley family’s grand gathering. Gary had promised that if I performed flawlessly, his mother would present me with the family’s heirloom emerald bracelet, cementing my status and silencing the relatives who looked down on me. To surprise him, I had gone out in a torrential storm to pick up a rare vintage watch he had been eyeing. That was when the multi-car pileup happened. My car spun out of control, plunging into the dark, roaring river. As the icy water rushed in, I sat there covered in blood, desperately groping for my shattered phone. My watch triggered the emergency SOS, dialing his number. The moment the call connected, I tried to scream for help. But all that came through the speaker was his low, tightly controlled voice, dripping with anger. “The entire family is waiting for you, Ava. What are you playing at?” “I spent months convincing my mother to hand over the bracelet tonight, and you can’t even manage basic punctuality.” “Since these rules mean so little to you, don’t bother coming. Stay out there and reflect on your actions.” The line went dead. I drowned in the freezing dark, listening to the dial tone. This time, I was done being his perfect doll. I wanted my life back. 3 I left behind the designer gowns, the diamond necklaces, and the expensive handbags he had bought me. I packed only a few basic clothes, grabbed my passport, and carried my small suitcase downstairs. Gary’s mother and Pamela had already left. Gary was sitting on the living room sofa, his tie loosened slightly, looking uncharacteristically restless. When he saw me carrying a suitcase, he stood up abruptly. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Where do you think you’re going?” He strode over, his hand clamping down on the handle of my suitcase. “Ava, I admit my words earlier were too harsh.” “But everything I do is for us. For our future.” “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, I can lower the evaluation standards for this quarter…” “There’s no need,” I said calmly. There was no anger in my voice, only the peaceful weight of letting go. “Gary, your love is too expensive. And too heavy.” “I’m letting you go. Please do the same for me.” I let go of the suitcase handle. I walked past him and out the front door without looking back. Breathing in the cool, crisp evening air, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Lucas? You once told me you specialize in divorce law. Are you still taking clients?” The line was silent for a second. Then, a warm, deep voice replied, “I am. For you, I’m always available.” “Where are you? Send me your location. I’ll come get you.” Lucas had been our college classmate, and he was once Gary’s roommate. Now, he was one of the most sought-after partners at the city’s top law firm. Back in college, when Gary was pursuing me with grand gestures and fighting his family to be with me, everyone swooned over Gary’s passion. Almost no one noticed the quiet, intense way Lucas used to look at me. During my three years of marriage, whenever I bruised myself trying to fit into Gary’s rigid mold, Lucas was always there, quietly keeping me from falling. At a charity gala last year, Pamela’s friend had maliciously handed me an incredibly complex vintage wine, demanding I critique it on the spot. I choked on the dry liquid, spilling it down the front of my dress. Gary had been standing just a few feet away, talking to investors. He saw it happen. But he didn’t come over. He simply flagged down a waiter with a cold look, instructing them to escort me to the lounge. I had “lost my composure,” and that meant I was embarrassing him. It was Lucas, attending as the gala’s legal counsel, who had quietly stepped in. He took off his grey suit jacket and draped it over my stained dress, shielding me from the whispers. With a few smooth, polite words, he deflected the woman’s trap and shifted the conversation, preserving my dignity. 4 Lucas and I met at an outdoor café. The sun was warm, and a gentle breeze swept through the patio. Lucas wore a perfectly tailored light grey suit, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses looking soft and deep. He hadn’t ordered any of the pretentious coffees Gary loved; instead, he had the waiter bring over a hot, sweet salted-caramel milk tea. “I remember you used to love sweet things,” Lucas said, sliding the cup toward me. “You said sugar was the best way to get a quick dopamine hit.” “I reviewed the draft for the divorce agreement. You’re asking for a clean break, leaving with nothing just to dissolve the marriage as quickly as possible.” “As your attorney, I respect your decision.” “But as an old friend… I’m glad you’re finally stepping out of that house.” I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, the sweet scent of caramel filling my nose. My throat tightened, and my eyes grew hot. Gary had banned high-sugar drinks from my diet. I had forgotten what sweetness tasted like. “Thank you, Lucas,” I said, offering a genuine smile. “Leaving him is the only way I can finally be Ava again.” As I spoke, my hand brushed against the cup, tilting it. A few hot drops of milk tea splashed onto the back of my hand. “Careful, it’s hot.” Lucas moved quickly, pulling a couple of tissues from the dispenser. He gently took my wrist, leaning in close as he carefully dabbing the liquid from my skin. A loud crash echoed from the entrance of the patio, like a chair being violently kicked aside. I looked up. Gary was standing there. He must have just walked out of a meeting in the high-rise next door, a few terrified executives hovering behind him. Right now, his eyes were locked onto my hand, resting in Lucas’s grip. The legendary composure he prided himself on shattered instantly. He stormed over, his face pale with a mix of disbelief and raw, suffocating jealousy. In his mind, once I left his protection, I was supposed to struggle, to realize how cold the world was, and come crawling back to him. Instead, he found me sitting in a cheap café, wearing an ordinary dress, drinking a sweet beverage he despised, and smiling at his former best friend. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Gary’s voice cracked with uncharacteristic rage. He grabbed Lucas’s arm, trying to yank him away like a beast defending its territory. I ignored his outburst, quietly sliding the divorce agreement across the table toward him. “Since you’re here, sign it.” Gary’s breath caught. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his eyes bloodshot. His hand hovered over the paper, trembling slightly as his voice came out hoarse. “You’re leaving me… for him?”

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My husband was an associate professor in the university’s mathematics department. He despised video games with a burning passion. Just last month, he physically cut our home’s internet cable because he caught our son playing a round of a mobile battle arena. Yet, while waiting for the clock to strike midnight on New Year’s Eve, I picked up the iPad he used for lesson planning. Sitting right there on the home screen was the max level icon for Sweet Crush, a colorful match three puzzle game. The account, operating under the username The Absolute Variable, had not only cleared every single stage with a perfect three star rating. At three in the morning, it had also gifted ninety nine energy refills to the top player on the leaderboard, a girl going by the name SweetStrawberry. I clicked on SweetStrawberry’s profile. She was a graduate student my husband was mentoring. Her latest status update read: “Professor says when you can’t solve a problem, just play Sweet Crush. He is my permanent max level cheat code.” I stared at that shiny max level badge and smiled. I took screenshots of her status, the game’s gifting leaderboard, and a very serious, professional headshot of my husband. I printed them all out. The next morning, a colorful photo report titled “On Associate Professor Arthur’s Extracurricular Tutoring” quietly appeared in the dead center of the math department’s main faculty bulletin board. 1 I was methodically spreading strawberry jam on a piece of toast when the department chair called. Arthur picked up his phone. His usually ruddy complexion instantly drained to a sickening pale gray. He mumbled a few frantic agreements, dropped the phone, and sprinted out the front door in his house slippers, completely forgetting his winter coat. I took a bite of my toast. The strawberry jam was cloyingly sweet. Right about now, that crisp sheet of printer paper displaying his max level gaming account and his inappropriate midnight flirting was likely the center of attention in the faculty lounge. At noon, the front door violently crashed open. Arthur stormed inside, hyperventilating with rage. His fist was clenched tight around a crumpled, torn piece of printer paper. “Evelyn! Have you completely lost your mind?!” He slammed the balled up paper onto the dining table so hard the soup bowls rattled. I calmly ladled a bowl of chicken broth for him, keeping my voice perfectly level. “What is wrong? Why are you throwing a tantrum?” “You have the nerve to ask me what is wrong?” Arthur pointed a trembling finger right at my nose. “Did you post this? Are you going through early menopause? Has your brain finally rotted? You cannot just plaster this garbage on campus!” I put down the ladle and met his bloodshot eyes. “The username and the profile picture on that paper. Are they not yours?” Arthur choked on his words. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before he overcompensated, cranking his volume even higher. “I was hacked! It is photoshopped! Someone is jealous that I am up for full tenure this semester, so they are trying to destroy my reputation!” He ripped his tie off, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “Do you have any idea how many people are laughing at me right now? The Dean called me into his office! My entire academic career was almost ruined because of you!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Where there is smoke, there is fire.” “Shut your mouth!” Arthur exploded, kicking a metal trash can across the room. “I break my back doing serious academic research to provide for this family, and you drag me down? Evelyn, you are a massive disappointment.” The commotion drew our son, Tom, out of his bedroom. He stood in the hallway, looking small and terrified. “Dad?” Arthur snapped his head toward the boy, finding an easy target. He lunged forward and grabbed Tom by the arm. “Was it you? Did you steal my iPad to play your stupid games and accidentally post this garbage?” Tom burst into tears, shrinking away. “I didn’t! Dad, I swear I didn’t!” “Don’t lie to me! Who else in this house plays these brain dead games?” Arthur raised his hand, ready to strike. I shoved my chair back, darting forward to shield my son. I pushed Arthur away with a heavy shove to his chest. “Arthur, stop acting like a lunatic and taking it out on a child! Those records were logged at three in the morning. Tom was fast asleep!” Arthur stumbled back, smoothed down his wrinkled collar, and glared at me with absolute ice. “If it wasn’t Tom, then it was a targeted cyber attack.” He walked over and sank into the leather sofa, instantly resuming his arrogant, professorial posture. “Evelyn, you used to be a Chief Data Officer in the tech industry. This level of technical troubleshooting should be easy for you.” I stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sheer thickness of his skin. “What exactly do you want me to do?” “I need you to write a comprehensive forensic data report proving my account was maliciously compromised. Make sure the IP address traces back to an overseas server.” He issued the command as if ordering a coffee. “Draft a public statement too. Use as much complex technical jargon as possible to confuse the old dinosaurs on the tenure committee.” I looked at the man I had shared a bed with for seven years. A wave of pure nausea washed over me. He wasn’t just cheating. He was trying to use the wife he betrayed as a shield to scrub his reputation clean. 2 “And what if I refuse?” I asked. Arthur narrowed his eyes, a heavy threat lacing his words. “Evelyn, we are a financial unit. If I don’t get tenure, my salary stagnates. How exactly do you plan on paying for Tom’s private prep school and his math tutors?” He stood up, walking over to place a heavy hand on my shoulder, forcing his voice into a softer, sickeningly sweet register. “Honey, I know being a stay at home mom is stressful and makes you overthink things. But this really is a massive misunderstanding. Just help me get through this disciplinary hearing, and I promise I will hand my entire paycheck over to you from now on.” I looked at his hypocritical face, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. I took a deep breath and lowered my head, playing the part. “Fine. I will write it. But this is the last time. And from now on, I get open access to all your electronics.” A gleam of triumph flashed in Arthur’s eyes. He instantly switched to a beaming smile. “Not a problem at all. A clear conscience fears no accusations. You are the best wife a man could ask for.” He hummed a cheerful little tune as he walked into the master bathroom. The moment I heard the shower running, I grabbed the iPad he had left on the coffee table. My fingers flew across the screen, inputting a string of bypass commands. Within seconds, a hidden, encrypted photo vault materialized. The folder was innocently named “Supplementary Coursework.” When I tapped it open, the blood in my veins turned to ice. The gallery was flooded with pictures of Allie, his graduate student, wearing an array of highly revealing cosplay outfits. Every single photo was captioned with a game level milestone. “Level 100 Clear Reward: Black lace.” “Level 300 Clear Reward: Call me Daddy.” “Level 500 Clear Reward: All night private tutoring at the Marriott.” The most recent photo was taken yesterday at dawn. Allie was wearing a string bikini that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Around her neck hung a blue lanyard. It was Arthur’s university faculty ID. The caption read: “Professor, this level is too hard. I want to solve it with my body.” My hands turned freezing cold. I stared dead eyed at the glowing screen. The shower water turned off. I rapidly exited the vault, wiped the access logs, and placed the iPad exactly where I found it. Arthur walked out drying his hair with a towel. He saw me sitting at my laptop typing lines of code and nodded approvingly. “That is the spirit. Husband and wife tackling problems together.” I stared at the “Forged IP Routing Map” generating on my screen, a razor sharp smirk curving my lips. The next day, Arthur took the fabricated forensic report I wrote to the university. It worked like a charm. Armed with pages of dense, impenetrable cybersecurity jargon, he successfully completely bewildered the disciplinary committee. He even managed to subtly point the finger at a rival professor. That evening, he walked through the front door with a girl trailing behind him. She wore a pure white sundress, her long hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. It was Allie. The SweetStrawberry. “Good evening, Mrs. Shen!” Allie’s voice dripped with artificial sweetness. She bowed deeply the moment she stepped inside, making sure the plunging neckline of her dress was on full display. I stood holding a silicone spatula, watching the performance with dead eyes. Arthur kicked off his shoes and offered a smooth explanation. “Allie’s thesis is bottlenecked on the final data model. I brought her over to use the high performance desktop in the study to run the numbers.” “You could have given me a heads up. I didn’t prep enough dinner for guests.” Allie immediately put on the face of a kicked puppy, biting her lower lip as she looked up at Arthur. “Professor, maybe I should just go back to the dorms. I don’t want to inconvenience your wife.” Arthur instantly scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Academic research waits for no one. Evelyn, go cut up some fruit and cook two more dishes with heavy protein. Allie is still a growing girl.” I gripped the handle of the spatula so hard my knuckles turned white. “Alright. You two get to work.” I turned my back and walked into the kitchen. I could hear their muffled, conspiratorial giggles trailing behind me. They went into the study, leaving the door cracked open. I sliced a watermelon, the sharp steel slicing through the red flesh, juice bleeding onto the cutting board. Holding the fruit platter, I walked to the study. Just as I reached out to push the door open, my hand froze in midair. “Unbelievable!” The signature combo sound effect from Sweet Crush blared from the room. It was immediately followed by Allie’s sickeningly sweet whine. “Professor, this stage is just too hard. My fingers are so sore from swiping.” Arthur’s voice was dripping with a nauseatingly tender affection I hadn’t heard in a decade. “Fingers sore? Come here, let your professor massage them. You can’t just brute force this game. It is like solving a complex equation. You have to find the most sensitive variables.” “Oh stop it, Professor, you are so bad. Where are you touching me…” “Just helping you relax your tense muscles. How else are you going to clear the level?” The unmistakable sound of rustling fabric drifted through the crack in the door. I stood in the hallway, my stomach violently churning. 3 I took a deep breath, kicked the door wide open, and walked in. “Fruit is ready.” The two people inside sprang apart like they had been electrocuted. Allie’s face was flushed crimson as she frantically adjusted the collar of her dress. Arthur pretended to aggressively inspect the computer monitor, though his hand was gripping the mouse completely backward. “Have you never heard of knocking?!” Arthur snapped, throwing the mouse onto the desk in a pathetic show of outrage. “Can’t you see we are in the middle of calculating a critical variable? You just ruined my entire train of thought!” I slammed the heavy ceramic fruit platter down onto the desk with a loud crack, making a stack of textbooks jump. “Does calculating critical variables require hand massages? Professor Arthur, your pedagogical methods are truly unique.” Allie’s eyes darted nervously around the room, refusing to look at me. In her panic, her elbow clipped her designer handbag resting on the edge of the leather sofa. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, spilling its contents everywhere. Lipstick, a compact mirror, and a very oddly shaped gaming controller tumbled out. It was a limited edition pink haptic feedback controller, heavily bedazzled with rhinestones. I recognized it immediately. Last month, Arthur claimed his research lab desperately needed to procure specialized equipment for a project, draining ten thousand dollars from our joint savings account. He told me it was a highly advanced “haptic interface device” for simulating complex mathematical variables. So this was his haptic interface. Allie slowly crouched down to gather her things. “Oh no, this was an academic achievement reward the Professor bought for me. If it is broken, my heart will shatter.” She looked up, a glint of naked provocation in her eyes, her gaze sweeping over my faded, slightly oversized loungewear. “You probably don’t play video games, do you, Mrs. Shen? The Professor always says you are far too rigid. You just don’t understand the romance inherent in mathematics.” Arthur cleared his throat loudly, desperate to diffuse the tension. “Alright, Allie. Pack up your things. We will stop the modeling for today.” Allie nodded obediently, slinging her designer bag over her shoulder. As she reached the door, she paused and turned back, flashing me a brilliant, saccharine smile. “Thank you for the fruit, Mrs. Shen. The slices were a bit clunky and unrefined, but it quenched my thirst.” Arthur walked her down the stairs. I stood on the balcony, watching them leave the building. They walked dangerously close together, Arthur’s hand hovering just an inch above the curve of her waist. At three in the morning, the entire city was dead asleep. The only sound in the study was the rapid, rhythmic clacking of my mechanical keyboard. As the final line of code executed, the monitor flooded with dense spreadsheets. It was a complete extraction of every single bank account, credit card, and digital payment platform under Arthur’s name. Fifty thousand dollars. Over the past two years, Arthur’s expenditure on “virtual services” and “electronic hardware” totaled a staggering fifty thousand dollars. Just last week, Tom begged to enroll in a prestigious summer STEM academy. The tuition was two thousand dollars. What did Arthur say that day? He scowled, staring down at his son with absolute disgust. “With your mediocre brain, paying for camp is throwing money into a fire! We don’t have cash to burn on your failures. Sit at your desk and run drills instead!” Tom had stood there, head bowed, fighting back tears he was too terrified to shed. I had actually believed his lies back then, thinking the mortgage was squeezing our finances tight. But right now, staring at the glowing ledgers, it felt like someone had driven a hunting knife straight through my ribs. On the exact same afternoon he called our son a failure, he wired seven thousand dollars to Allie. The transaction note read: “Fund for my baby’s premium cosmetics.” Seven thousand dollars. Enough to pay for Tom’s STEM academy three times over. Enough to feed our family for an entire year. My vision blurred. I aggressively wiped the tears away and kept scrolling. A specific three thousand dollar charge caught my eye. It happened six months ago. Cross referencing the timestamp, I hacked into Allie’s restricted social media timeline and found the answer. Six months ago, Allie posted a selfie. She was sitting in a Michelin starred restaurant, a glittering diamond pendant resting against her collarbone. The caption read: “Thank you to the man who truly understands me. On this special day, you gave me the ultimate sense of security.” Special day? I glanced at the calendar. It wasn’t a holiday. But it was the exact day Tom was hospitalized with a dangerous fever. I had spent the entire night sitting awake in a plastic hospital chair. Arthur told me he was locked in the lab, racing a grant deadline. Rage was no longer an adequate word for what I felt. I felt a terrifying, absolute zero coldness settling deep into my bones.

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1 At the concert, Miles suddenly signaled the band to stop. The music cut out, and he began to tell a story: a heartwarming tale of a young couple who had been together for seven years, starting from scratch in the city and building their dreams together. “They went from being wide-eyed graduates to finding their own success, always supporting each other along the way.” “And tonight, this brave girl has asked me to help her pull off the ultimate surprise.” The crowd went wild. Cheers, screams, and whistles rattled the rafters of the arena. I stood backstage, clutching the velvet ring box, a nervous but happy smile on my lips. Miles pointed to Section 3, Row A. He spoke into the mic, his voice booming over the sound system, “Are you ready to be the happiest man in this arena and say yes?” “Preston?” The spotlight swept over the crowd, landing on him. Suddenly, a bizarre, suffocating silence fell over the venue. Preston’s tense face appeared on the giant screens. And right next to him, clinging tightly to his arm, was a bewildered, beautiful young woman. I sat backstage for a long time, staring at my silent phone. Preston never called. Instead, Miles walked into the dressing room, still radiating the heat and adrenaline of the stage. He handed me a cold drink, his eyes filled with quiet apology. “Nora, I’m so sorry.” I looked up, startled by the guilt in his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely sheepish. “It’s your birthday today, right? I’m sorry I gave you such a terrible birthday present.” My eyes burned instantly. So, someone actually remembered. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing a smile, and told him it was fine. Miles hesitated, then invited me to join his after-party. I shook my head, declining gently. When I finally got back to our apartment, the living room was dark. But there was a soft, flickering glow on the dining table. A beautifully decorated cake sat in the center, the candle flame casting a warm, cozy light. Next to it lay a fresh bouquet of red roses. My heart skipped a beat. Preston had never remembered my birthday. For seven years, I was the one who ordered the cake, booked the restaurant, and invited our friends. He would simply show up after everything was arranged, offering a casual “Happy birthday.” So, what was this? An apology? “Happy birthday.” Preston walked out of the kitchen, carrying a plate. Before I could decide how to react, a girl wearing a paper birthday hat stepped out behind him. It was the girl from the concert. When they saw me standing in the doorway, they both froze. The girl tugged at Preston’s sleeve. “Preston… who is she? Why is she in our apartment?” Our apartment? I stared at him, utterly bewildered. Preston remains perfectly calm. He sets the plate down, gently pats her head, and says, “This is my cousin, Nora. She’s staying with us for a bit. Go ahead and sit down, sweetheart.” Then, he took my arm and pulled me out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind us. He kept his voice low, his tone carrying that familiar, gentle warmth. “Her name is Isla. She’s the daughter of my late college professor. Before he passed, he asked me to look after her.” “She went through some severe trauma and was receiving treatment abroad. She just got back.” “She has no family left in the country, and I’m one of the only people she trusts.” “Nora, you’ve always been the understanding one. Can we let her stay here for a while? Just until her treatment is finished?” Preston’s hand was warm and heavy as he rubbed the back of my hand, his voice laced with a desperate plea. “Since when am I your cousin?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “The doctor said she’s highly unstable right now. She… she wouldn’t be able to handle the news that I have a fiancée.” The spring breeze on the balcony felt suddenly freezing. “For how long?” Seeing me relenting, he let out a sigh of relief and pulled me into his arms. He rested his chin on the top of my head, his voice deep and soothing. “It depends on her recovery. We’re getting married soon anyway, and we have the rest of our lives together. Don’t be bitter with a sick girl, okay?” Back at the table, Preston smiled at Isla. “What did you wish for?” Isla clung to his arm, offering a sweet, hopeful smile. “To never be apart from you again, of course.” Preston cut a slice of cake and slid it to her. “Then, happy birthday, Isla. May all your wishes come true.” Her eyes sparkled. “Thank you, Preston.” I stood there frozen for a few seconds before forcing a polite smile. Quietly, I whispered to myself, Happy birthday. 2 After the cake, Preston brought out three bowls of noodles. Each bowl had a perfectly fried egg on top, crispy and golden around the edges, just the way I liked them. But as I picked up my fork, Preston’s next action made me freeze. He reached into his bowl, carefully separated the yolk from the white, and dropped the yolk into his own bowl. Then, he placed the perfect, untouched egg white into Isla’s bowl. “Here.” Isla stared at the egg white, a faraway look in her eyes. “Preston, you’re still the same.” “Back in college, I loved egg whites but hated the yolks, but I hated wasting them too.” “Every time we ate, you’d always eat the yolks for me.” My grip on my fork tightened. Preston hates egg yolks. For seven years, whether it was boiled eggs for breakfast or fried eggs on our burgers, I was always the one who ate his yolks. Yet, he ate them for Isla without a second thought. It was an instinct, a deeply ingrained habit that seven years of separation couldn’t erase. The food tasted like ash. Before I even take a bite, I am completely full. That night, Preston tucked Isla into the guest room first. I sat in our bedroom, listening to their soft, whispered conversation through the thin wall, occasionally punctuated by Isla’s light laughter. It was late when he finally slipped into our room. Seeing me sitting up in bed, he blinked in surprise. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I forced my voice to remain steady. “Preston, we need to talk.” He walked over, giving me an apologetic hug before lying down beside me, rubbing his temples. “Nora, I’ve had such a long, exhausting week. Let’s talk about this some other time.” “Oh, and one more thing.” “In the future, please let me know before you plan something like that concert. Luckily, Isla thought it was just a misunderstanding and didn’t think much of it, otherwise, she might have had an episode.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he had already closed his eyes. Within minutes, his breathing evens out. He was fast asleep. At two in the morning, I got up to use the restroom. The moment I opened the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. A dark figure was standing right in front of me. A sharp gasp caught in my throat. In the dim moonlight filtering through the window, I recognized Isla. She was standing there in her thin nightgown, her face stained with tears, staring at me with a chilling intensity. The sound of my gasp woke Preston. He rushed out of the bedroom, bare-footed. He shoved me aside, pulling Isla into his arms. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Isla buried her face in his chest, her entire body shaking as she let out broken, pathetic sobs. Preston held her tight, looking up at me. His brow was furrowed, his voice low but sharp with accusation. “You terrified her.” I stood there, dumbfounded. Isla suddenly looked up, her eyes wild and bloodshot as she screamed at me, “Get out! This is my home! Get out of here!” Her voice was shrill, and her body shook violently as if she was slipping into a manic episode. Preston held her tighter, murmuring soothing words before looking back at me. “Nora, maybe you should… take a walk. Step out for a bit.” Step out. If I can’t even stay in my own home, where am I supposed to go? I didn’t say a word. I turned around, walked into our bedroom, and pulled my suitcase from the closet. Ten minutes later, I am dragging my suitcase down the silent, empty streets in the dead of night. 3 I went back to my parents’ house. Three days pass, and Preston doesn’t call once. My mother looks at me with concern. “Nora, did you and Preston have a fight?” “No, Mom. He’s just away on a business trip, so I thought I’d come spend some time with you.” I try to reassure her while keeping my eyes glued to my phone, my heart sinking further with every post I read. The failed proposal at the concert has gone viral. The hashtag #ConcertProposalFail is trending at number one. What started as a piece of internet gossip has turned into a massive scandal as people begin to recognize Preston and Isla. “Calling all class of 2020! Isn’t that our old campus sweetheart?” “It’s her! Definitely her! She won the campus beauty poll by a landslide back then. Her mother was a famous professor, too.” “And the guy next to her… isn’t that the legendary law school genius, Preston?” “All the guys in our department had a bet going on who could get her out on a date. Nobody succeeded.” “She only had eyes for Preston. I remember she practically broke the campus forum when she tagged him with: ‘I like you, deal with it.’” Within hours, the story explodes. And as I morbidly scroll through the comments, the puzzle of Preston’s past, the past he never wanted to share with me, falls into place. During Isla’s junior year, her parents died in a car accident. She had a mental breakdown, and her aunt took her abroad for treatment. Preston had looked for her like a madman. But she had vanished overnight, cutting all ties, leaving him with no way to find her. “Oh my god, he probably thought she abandoned him without a word.” “So he tried to move on, and then his first love suddenly reappears? This is some tragic movie-level drama.” “The fiancée is basically an interloper. This is a true reunion of soulmates.” “I feel bad for the fiancée, but she just showed up at the wrong time.” My mother walks in with a glass of warm milk, sitting down beside me as I stare blankly at my phone. “Nora, my surgery is next month.” “You know the doctors said the success rate isn’t high… I’m old, and I’m not afraid of dying.” I look up sharply, my eyes burning. “Mom, don’t say that. The surgery will be a success.” She takes my hand, her eyes filled with hope. “I’m just worried about you.” “My biggest wish in this life is to see you settled down. If something happens to me, I want to know you have a family of your own to keep you safe.” I force a bright smile. “Don’t worry, Mom. The wedding is set for the end of this month. Nothing has changed.” A look of relief finally washes over her face. I look down, taking a slow sip of the milk, my vision blurring. 4 The internet is far more ruthless than I ever imagined. As Isla’s tragic past goes viral, an army of romantic fans starts rooting for her and Preston to get back together. They write endless threads about their tragic love story, while I am painted as the scheming homewrecker who stole her man. Before long, my family’s personal information is leaked online. A picture of my mother, her back bent as she holds a few empty plastic bottles, is posted on a gossip forum. “These old people are so annoying, digging through the recycling bins. Disgusting!” “Agreed. No wonder she raised such a shameless daughter.” “A family of homewreckers deserves to be exposed.” My heart constricts. My mother is a clean freak; she would never rummage through trash. She only did that because she felt sorry for the elderly, mute woman down the street, secretly collecting bottles to give to her so the poor woman could buy medicine. But the internet doesn’t care about the truth. My hands shake as I call Preston. “Preston, people online are calling me a homewrecker. Now they’re targeting my mother…” Silence on the other end. “Nora, I know you’re hurting. But Isla is just starting to show signs of recovery. The doctor said she can’t handle any stress.” “She gets anxious even knowing I have friends. If she finds out I have a fiancée…” “What about me?” I interrupt, my voice cracking. “My mother is being harassed, I’m being cyberbullied, and none of that matters to you?” “I never said it didn’t matter,” he says, his voice soft but utterly exhausted. “But you’ve always been the strong one, Nora. Just hold on a little longer. Once she’s better, I’ll take care of everything.” I hang up. The next day, I walk into my office to find a cardboard box on my desk. I open it, and a dead rat stares back at me with bloody, lifeless eyes. I let out a terrified scream. My colleagues turn to look, covering their noses and backing away in disgust. Before I can even clean it up, the HR director calls me into her office. “Nora, given the current public controversy, the company has decided to terminate your contract. Here is your severance package. Please sign.” I walk out of the office building carrying my things in a cardboard box, a light rain falling around me. A black sedan speeds past, its side mirror clipping my arm. I lose my footing, dropping the box. My personal belongings scatter into the wet street. Laughter echoes from the open car window. “That’s what you get for stealing someone’s man!” I kneel in the rain, picking up my wet things one by one. I call Preston again. He must be with Isla. He hangs up three times, but I stubbornly redial. On the fourth try, he finally answers. “Preston, you need to come over to my parents’ house today.” “Nora, I know you’re anxious about the wedding,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But the timing is just wrong.” “Preston, my mother’s surgery is next month. The success rate is only thirty percent. Her biggest wish is to see me walk down the aisle, and you know that… We agreed on this. The wedding is set for the end of the month!” A long pause. Then, a heavy sigh. “Nora, I’ve pulled some strings and contacted the top surgeon in the country to perform your mother’s surgery. The success rate will be over seventy percent.” “But… I have a favor to ask.” “The doctor says Isla’s recovery has hit a plateau. The only thing she wants right now is… to have a wedding.” My fingers tighten around the phone. “And?” “Could you let her have the wedding? It’s just a ceremony, a performance to help her heal. I promise I’ll throw you an even grander wedding later.” The rain pours heavier now. The cardboard box is soaked through, and our framed photo lies face down in a puddle, the ink running, Preston’s smiling face blurring into nothing. I slowly stand up, brushing the wet dirt from my knees. A hollow, broken smile touches my lips. “Sure. I agree.” I hang up, open my messaging app, and find Miles’s contact. My finger hovers over the screen for a long time before I type out a single line: Are you willing to be my groom on the 30th of this month?

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1 I am an invisible woman. As long as there is a man in my vicinity, I physically cease to exist. When I went to buy a car, I stood there tightly gripping a black card loaded with eighty thousand dollars. Yet, the salesman looked right past my shoulder, bowing and scraping toward my boyfriend—a man with zero savings and not even a driver’s license. “Sir, this vehicle perfectly matches a successful gentleman like yourself.” I screamed myself hoarse right next to them. “It is my card! I am buying the car!” It was completely useless. The air was filled with nothing but the sound of their mutual masculine appreciation and laughter. During our quarterly company review, the five million dollar contract I personally closed was somehow entirely credited to the male intern who couldn’t even read the financial metrics correctly. The CEO, Mr. Brooks, loudly praised the intern for his “masculine ambition,” then turned around and openly mocked the female employees for being “short sighted and emotional.” I stood directly in front of the projection screen, screaming out corrections to the data, but their line of sight effortlessly phased right through me as they continued to stroke each other’s egos. “Since you all choose to be selectively blind, I might as well commit to being invisible.” “Oh wow, Mr. Lee, this Mercedes G-Wagon is absolutely tailor made for a tough guy like you. Look at these lines! This is what you call a man’s romance!” The salesman reached right over my shoulder and firmly grasped my boyfriend’s hand. Jason puffed out his chest, sliding one hand casually into his pocket while the other traced the leather steering wheel. “It is definitely nice, but the price tag…” He paused, pretending to be deep in thought, though his eyes darted guiltily toward me. I slammed my black card down onto the hood of the car. “Swipe it. Paid in full.” The salesman didn’t even flinch. He kept his beaming, sycophantic smile entirely focused on Jason. “Mr. Lee, you are such a decisive man! I knew a successful guy like you wouldn’t bother with financing and interest rates.” Jason coughed awkwardly, accepting the expensive cigarette the salesman handed him and expertly tucking it behind his ear. “Exactly. When a real man wants something, he gets it done quick. Go ahead and swipe.” He waved his hand vaguely at the air, completely ignoring the fact that the money was coming out of my account. The salesman pulled out the POS terminal, and without granting me a single glance, shoved the keypad directly into Jason’s face. “Right here, Mr. Lee. Just type in your PIN.” Jason’s eyes began frantically signaling me to hand over the card. I stood firmly in place, waving the black plastic right in front of the salesman’s face. “The card is right here. The PIN is my birthday.” The salesman remained utterly deaf and blind. He kept holding the terminal out to Jason. Jason snatched the card out of my hand and tapped it against the machine. “Alright, alright, do I really need to spell it out for you? You have zero situational awareness,” he hissed at me under his breath. Then he turned to the salesman, “My woman doesn’t know how to act in public. Sorry you had to see that.” The salesman gave him a knowing nod and slapped the freshly printed purchase agreement on the desk. “Mr. Lee, please sign right here. I already typed your name into the system so you wouldn’t have to tire your hand out.” I leaned over to look. The registered owner field proudly displayed Jason’s name in bold black ink. I reached out to snatch the pen. “I paid for it! The title goes in my name!” The salesman’s elbow “accidentally” jerked out, knocking me off balance. The expensive pen fell smoothly into Jason’s waiting hand. “Mr. Lee, your girlfriend is quite the prankster, joking around at a time like this. Let’s wrap this up, there are other clients waiting.” Jason gripped the pen and dramatically signed his name across the document. In that exact second, he acted as if he had actually earned eighty thousand dollars. “Sylvia, stop throwing a tantrum. What does it matter whose name is on it? We are getting married soon anyway, it will be joint property.” I stood dead center in the middle of a bustling luxury car showroom, and not a single soul looked at me twice. That afternoon, I returned to the office and pushed open the heavy glass doors of the conference room. Mr. Brooks was standing at the head of the long oak table, his face flushed, raising a glass of champagne. “Securing this five million dollar contract is all thanks to our boy Mark! Look at this ambition! This is the wolf blood we need in the sales department!” Mark, the male intern, was surrounded by a mob of backslapping executives. “Oh, it was nothing. It is all thanks to your mentorship, Mr. Brooks. I just worked a little bit of overtime, that’s all.” 2 Displayed on the massive projector screen was the pitch deck I had spent three sleepless nights designing. Mark was even holding the laser pointer backward, a red dot bouncing erratically around the ceiling, and absolutely no one cared. I shoved my way through the crowd of men and pointed directly at the data on the screen. “The conversion rate on this slide is miscalculated. The decimal point is in the wrong place. That will cause a ten times undervaluation in the final quote.” I didn’t speak softly, but my voice was completely drowned out by the booming laughter of my male colleagues. Mr. Brooks narrowed his eyes, his gaze phasing right through my physical body to stare at the blank white wall behind me. “Is this projector slightly out of focus? Mark, go adjust it. Is the lens dirty?” I was standing directly in the projector’s beam. The bright light was shining directly onto my face. Mark walked over and waved a hand vaguely in front of me. “Mr. Brooks, it is probably just some dust. I’ll wipe it down.” He took a microfiber cloth, polished the glass lens, and aggressively shoved me aside. Mr. Brooks nodded in deep satisfaction, then turned his attention to the cluster of female employees huddled in the corner. “You ladies should be taking notes from Mark! Stop spending your days ordering lattes and gossiping! Look at his execution!” “I always said hiring women is a headache. Long hair, short sight. You lack the natural capacity for logical thinking.” “When the pressure is on, all you do is cry or complain about wanting to go home to your kids. Where is that big picture, aggressive mindset that men have?” “The company only keeps you around out of charity. Don’t think putting on lipstick is going to drive our revenue up!” The female coworkers kept their heads bowed, silent, gripping their unfinished reports tightly in their hands. Suddenly, a message pinged from the client’s legal department. Mr. Brooks looked at his phone. The color instantly drained from his face. “Who is responsible for the penalty clauses?! Why is there an extra zero in the breach of contract percentage?!” That was the exact section Mark had secretly altered right before the meeting. He had claimed it would make us “look more committed.” The conference room plunged into a dead silence. And suddenly, every single pair of eyes snapped onto me. When it was time to take credit, I was invisible air. When it was time to take the blame, I suddenly became a highly visible, physical target. Mr. Brooks slammed his phone onto the table and pointed a furious finger right at my nose. “Sylvia! What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you let a catastrophic error like this slip through?! Are you trying to bankrupt this company?!” In that precise moment, I materialized. When there were medals to be handed out, I was a ghost. When the ship was sinking, I was the anchor they tied around their necks. Mark shrank back into the crowd, whispering loudly. “Sylvia wouldn’t even let me touch the core clauses. She said she was the senior employee…” Mr. Brooks erupted, spit flying across the table. “Your entire bonus for the year is gone! If the client sues, you pack your things and get out!” I looked at Mr. Brooks’s face, twisted with irrational rage, and suddenly felt zero desire to explain myself. If they were completely blind to my achievements but possessed 20/20 vision for my supposed failures, then I might as well vanish completely. I pulled the corner of my mouth into a cold smile. I didn’t yell. “Okay, Mr. Brooks. Since I hold total liability, I suppose I shouldn’t send the automated security patch for the contract either.” Mr. Brooks was too lost in his own power trip to hear the underlying threat. “You are damn right! Go fix it right now! Nobody goes home until it is corrected!” “And stop trying to figure out how to scam the company out of maternity leave the second you hit thirty.” “This company isn’t a charity. We can’t afford to carry dead weight who just want to stay home and hold babies.” “When it comes to charging the front lines of business, it requires men. You ladies are only fit for doing spreadsheets and fetching coffee in the rear.” “If I actually handed a multi million dollar deal over to you, your weak mental fortitude would shatter.” I turned on my heel and walked out of the conference room. The exact second the heavy door clicked shut, I tossed the flash drive containing the contract patch straight into the trash can. 3 I pushed open the door to my apartment. The air was so thick with cigarette smoke I immediately started coughing. My younger brother, Toby, was sprawled across my imported Italian leather sofa, his bare feet propped up on the glass coffee table, aggressively tapping on his phone. “Sis, you’re back? I am starving. Where is the food?” He didn’t even look up from his mobile game. My mother poked her head out from the kitchen. “Sylvia, hurry up and cut some fruit for your brother!” “He is playing video games, that is high level mental work! It is not like you sitting in an air conditioned office doing nothing! Hurry up and serve the hero of our family!” I set my purse down and slapped a printed invoice onto the dining table. It was for a three thousand dollar massage chair. “Dad, did the massage chair get delivered? It was three grand. Did you try it out?” My father sat at the table, squinting through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He didn’t even glance at the invoice. Toby blindly reached into his pocket, pulled out a crushed pack of cheap, three dollar cigarettes, and tossed them to my father. “Here, Dad. Smoke these. They hit harder.” My father caught the cheap pack, his eyes instantly welling up with emotion. “Now this is a filial son. Always thinking of his old man. He really cares about me!” My three thousand dollar massage chair was completely eclipsed by a crumpled box of cheap tobacco. At the dinner table, the spread was overflowing with expensive seafood I had just bought on the way home. My mother cracked open the largest crab, meticulously picking out all the rich crab roe and dumping it into Toby’s bowl. She handed the massive crab claws to Jason. “Men who fight for a living out in the world burn a lot of brain cells! They are the pillars of the family!” “These high protein luxury meats can only be converted into real money making energy if they go into a man’s stomach!” I reached out my chopsticks to grab a single shrimp. My mother aggressively swatted my hand away. “Have you no shame? Look at your waistline, and you still want to eat seafood?” “A girl eating luxury food like this is a pure waste of resources! You are just going to get fat and your future in laws will despise you!” “You just stick to the boiled vegetables to clean out your system. Don’t you dare compete for food with the men holding this family up!” I stared at her, my voice turning icy. “I am out there fighting too. I bought every single piece of seafood on this table. My salary is triple Jason’s.” My father frowned heavily. “What does it matter if a girl makes a high salary? You are going to get married eventually. That money belongs to your husband’s family. You can’t keep it.” Jason’s mouth was stuffed full of crab meat. He mumbled unintelligibly as he slammed his new car keys onto the table. “Mr. Shen, you should have seen it! I picked up a G-Wagon today. Eighty grand. Driving it back here, the amount of people staring at me was insane!” My father’s eyes instantly lit up. He picked up the heavy car key, rubbing it like it was a holy relic. “Eighty thousand?! Wow, Jason, you are incredible! I always said Sylvia was blessed to land a man like you!” Toby finally put his phone down, looking at Jason with pure hero worship. “Jason, you are the man! Let me borrow it tomorrow. I am picking up my girl, and that car will give me so much respect!” Jason raised a smug eyebrow. “No problem at all! We are basically family, right? Drive it whenever you want!” I slowly put my chopsticks down, locking eyes with Jason. “The money came out of my account. The title is in your name, but the financial footprint is entirely mine.” The entire family suddenly went collectively deaf. My father waved his hand impatiently. “A woman’s money is meant to pave the way for her man! If a respectable guy like Jason doesn’t drive it, your money was completely wasted!” My mother filled Jason’s shot glass to the brim, her voice dripping with fawning praise. “Exactly! Jason, don’t lower yourself to argue with her. Come on, let me toast you! A car like that is only intimidating when a real man is behind the wheel. What do women know about cars? They belong in the passenger seat!” A memory from elementary school suddenly flashed in my mind. I had run home clutching a perfect score math exam. I found my grandfather handing a thick red envelope of cash to my cousin, who had barely passed with a D. “A grandson is still a man with the family seed even if he scores a zero! He is the sky above the Shen family!” “A girl is just a money losing investment being raised for another family! The more books she reads, the wilder her heart gets, and the harder it will be for her to serve her future in laws!” So, I had been an invisible person since childhood. Standing in the corner, watching them celebrate a mediocre man. Now, I was twenty eight years old. I made a hundred thousand a year. And I was still completely invisible. I went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. The running water couldn’t drown out the vicious calculations happening in the living room. “A dowry? We would have to beg someone to take her! Sylvia is almost thirty, she is expired goods. Even if she makes good money, she is the end of the bloodline. Jason taking her off our hands is practically charity work!” Jason ate up the praise like a starved dog. “It really is just me being a good guy. Any other man seeing her acting this arrogant just because she makes a few bucks would have slapped her across the face to teach her some rules!” Toby, chewing loudly on the expensive cherries I bought, chimed in with a mouth full of juice. “Dad, shouldn’t Sylvia’s apartment be transferred to my name so I can use it as my starter home when I get married? She is going to live in Jason’s big house anyway. Keeping this place empty is a waste.” My father agreed as if stating a law of physics. “Women have no right to own real estate. That property is the foundation of the Shen family. It was always meant to be yours.” They casually debated stripping me of my home, exactly the way one discusses throwing away unclaimed garbage. No one even bothered to ask the actual homeowner if she agreed. My hand jerked violently. A porcelain plate shattered on the tile floor. My mother instantly rushed in, pointing a furious finger at my face. “You stupid girl! You are so clumsy you can’t even wash a plate?! Don’t scare your brother! That plate cost ten dollars!” She squatted down to pick up the shards. She didn’t look at my face. She didn’t ask why I dropped it. “Sweep this up right now! If a piece of glass cuts your brother’s precious feet, selling your organs wouldn’t cover the damage!” I stared at this nest of leeches, staring at the shattered ceramic on the floor. I was genuinely perplexed. Why is it that even other women become completely blind to the sacrifices of a woman? 4 Bright and early the next morning, Jason aggressively yanked me out of bed. “Hurry up, hurry up! My college reunion is today. I need to drive the new car there to flex on everyone.” We walked into the private dining room. The air was choked with cigar smoke, the booming voices of men echoing off the walls. They were all red faced, loosening their silk ties, loudly bragging about their entrepreneurial empires. “I’m telling you, during the launch of my last startup, I didn’t sleep for three straight days! I survived purely on cases of Red Bull!” In reality, everyone in the room knew his “startup” only survived because his wife sold her heirloom jewelry to cover his massive debts. The moment Jason walked in, he was dragged to the head of the table. The men practically fought each other to pour him drinks. “Jason is the king now! He rolled up in a G-Wagon, I saw it with my own eyes!” Jason waved his hands, feigning deep humility. “Oh, it’s nothing, guys. My latest AI neural network project is just doing pretty well, making a bit of pocket change.” I sat in the darkest corner of the room, sneering. I wrote every single line of code for that project. He didn’t even know how to spell Python. A former classmate who actually worked in tech leaned in and asked a detailed question. “Jason, what algorithmic architecture are you guys deploying on the backend?” Jason froze. He stammered and choked on his words for a solid minute, unable to produce a coherent sentence. I couldn’t handle the secondhand embarrassment anymore, so I spoke up. “To resolve the latency issues with long form text processing…” Before I could even finish the sentence, the tech guy aggressively cut me off. “Hey, don’t interrupt if you don’t understand the industry. Let Jason speak. Women shouldn’t meddle in highly technical conversations.” Jason immediately seized the lifeline and raised his scotch glass. “Exactly, exactly! It is highly proprietary and way too complex to explain over dinner. Let’s just drink!” The men started ruthlessly pressuring Jason to take shots. Terrified of losing face, he chugged everything handed to him. After a few rounds, his face was beet red, his neck veins popping, his speech heavily slurred. “Jason is a tank! Pour him another!” Jason weakly pointed a trembling finger at me. “I’m done… make her drink for me! She just does useless backend admin work anyway. She has nothing important to do tomorrow, not like me! I make thousands of dollars every minute!” The male classmates immediately started jeering. “Come on, be a good sport! Jason’s business is on the line!” I stared coldly at the shot glass overflowing with cheap liquor. I didn’t move a muscle. Feeling humiliated, Jason’s face darkened. “Can you act like you have some class for once? Stop embarrassing me in front of my brothers!” I still didn’t move, effectively acting exactly like the ghost they treated me as. Cursing under his breath, Jason downed the shot himself. He eventually drank himself into a coma, passing out face down in a plate of leftover ribs. When it was time to settle the bill, the waitress walked into the room holding the leather checkbook. Suddenly, every man at the table was either pretending to be asleep, intensely staring at their phones, or urgently needing to use the restroom. The waitress scanned the room, then walked directly over to me, holding the bill right in my face. “Miss, the total is twelve thousand dollars. How would you like to pay?” When it came time to cough up money, the woman in the room magically became visible. I didn’t take the checkbook. I pointed at the drooling mess that was Jason. “He is the big CEO who drives the G-Wagon. Ask him.” The waitress looked highly uncomfortable. “But miss, this gentleman is completely unconscious…” “Then you wait for him to wake up, or you call the cops.” I grabbed my purse, stood up, and walked straight out the door. Behind me, I heard the waitress aggressively shaking Jason awake, followed by the highly awkward, nervous coughing of his “brothers.” The second I stepped out of the hotel lobby, my phone started vibrating like a jackhammer. The company group chat had exploded. Because I never sent the automated security patch, the client’s legal team discovered the massive vulnerability in the contract and instantly issued a cease and desist order. Mr. Brooks was repeatedly tagging my name, sending sixty second voice memos one after the other. I tapped on one. It was pure, unadulterated screaming. “Where the hell are you?! Why aren’t you answering your messages?! Are you trying to destroy my company?!” Mark, the intern, posted a highly pathetic, crying emoji sticker in the chat. “Sylvia hasn’t replied to any of my DMs. Did I offend her somehow? I really don’t know how to code this patch…” Mr. Brooks fired off eighteen consecutive messages, cursing my mother, my ancestors, and my gender. “She is doing this on purpose! This is why women have zero professional responsibility! The company wasted money hiring you! You are paying the entire penalty fee out of pocket! Two million dollars, not a penny less!” There were dozens of executives in that group chat. Not a single one asked why Mark, the supposed project lead, didn’t bother to check the contract before approving it. Not a single one asked why a low level female employee was the only person in the entire building capable of writing the core security patch. I closed the chat app and didn’t reply. I dragged Jason’s unconscious, vomit covered body into the passenger seat of the G-Wagon. A wave of acidic stench hit my face. Barely two miles down the road, Jason violently threw up again, ruining the leather interior. He mumbled incoherently, his hands grasping wildly at the air. “Sylvia… I’m a real man… I deserve a luxury car…” I slammed on the brakes. The massive SUV violently jerked to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. I stared into the rearview mirror at the pathetic, filthy excuse for a man in the passenger seat. I looked down at my phone screen, where the abusive messages were still pouring in. I suddenly realized that if I didn’t physically manifest their twisted logic into reality, I would be doing a massive disservice to my own invisibility cloak.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456139”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Back at eighteen, I found myself sitting next to the school rebel once again. He still hated studying. He spent classes sleeping, skipped school to play basketball, and slipped away to the local internet cafe the second he got a chance. Unlike my past life, I didn’t chase after him to nag. Until one day, I caught a glimpse of the parent signature on his test paper. Two elegant, sweeping words caught my eye: John. I froze in my tracks. So, John’s son and mine was already this big? When I saw that signature, my mind went completely blank. The bad boy sitting next to me wasn’t John after all. It was his son. I finally understood what the system meant by “returning to correct the timeline.” Years ago, I transmigrated into this world and personally dragged a rebellious delinquent to the pinnacle of success. That boy had been John. After I left, I heard he did incredibly well for himself, achieving wealth and fame at a young age. Believing my mission was fully complete, I had returned to my original world in peace. Who would have thought that years later, his son would follow in his footsteps? The kid had even surpassed his old man, becoming the town’s ultimate troublemaker. I sighed softly. Now I had to straighten out this little sapling all over again, keeping him from going off the rails and wrecking his future. When I first left this world, I died in childbirth. The system had never told me the baby survived. Time moved differently in my real world. It had only been three years for me, yet the baby I left behind was already a teenager. Before I could sink deeper into my thoughts, a flash of red burst through the classroom door. The boy stood against the light, tall and lean, with pale skin and sharp features. He sported a shock of vibrant red hair, a gleaming black stud in his ear, and his trademark scowl. He walked over to me with that same moody expression, his voice cutting through the air like ice. “Move.” I looked up, meeting his dark, heavy gaze, and froze again. He looked so much like John, only taller, colder, and even more defiant than his father ever was. I quietly stood up to let him pass. Ryder slid into his seat, crossed his long legs, and buried his face in his desk to sleep. I stared at his profile. This was the first time I had seen him since my return. He hadn’t shown his face at school for two weeks. Rumor had it he was either rotting away at the internet cafe or getting into trouble on the streets. But John was incredibly wealthy. With enough donations to the school, his son stayed enrolled despite everything. I let out a quiet sigh. A stubborn father and an equally obstinate son. What a handful. 2 Ryder slept through the entire math class. When the bell rang, he suddenly clutched his stomach, his face pale and strained. A sudden wave of maternal instinct washed over me. I leaned closer. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” He shot me a sideways glance and spat out a single word: “Beat it.” So rude. How on earth had his father raised him? My hand moved faster than my brain. Before I could stop myself, I smacked the back of his head. A sharp smack echoed through the room. The entire classroom fell dead silent. Every eye was pinned on us. My hand hovered in the air, awkward and frozen. I forced myself to make up a ridiculous excuse. “Ryder, your hair is too bright. It’s distracting me from my studying.” Ryder’s knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched so hard his face looked rigid, anger burning in his dark eyes. Just as he was about to explode, the warning bell saved me. The homeroom teacher walked in, catching him with his hand half-raised. “Ryder, do you want me to call your father in for another meeting?” He swallowed his rage, forcing himself to back down. He slumped onto his desk, radiating pure fury. The student behind me tapped my shoulder, his glasses practically gleaming with excitement. “No way. You actually made Ryder back down.” I managed a weak smile. Ryder wasn’t the type to let things slide. Before he put his hand down, he had leaned in and hissed, “Wait until school ends.” Fine, I would wait. But when the final bell rang, Ryder bolted out the door. He was in such a rush that he left his jacket behind. I waited and waited until the classroom emptied completely and the security guard started his rounds. Finally, I decided to leave. I picked up my backpack, but just as I turned to go, the jacket left on his desk began to vibrate. He had forgotten his phone, too. What was this kid in such a hurry for? I pulled the phone out of his pocket. The screen lit up, displaying a single name: John. I didn’t want to answer it, but the calls kept coming back-to-back. At the very last second, I swiped to answer. “Where are you?” John’s deep voice came through the receiver, heavy and commanding. “Mr…” I cleared my throat, unable to bring myself to call him by his name. It took a long, burning moment before I managed to find my voice. “Hello, sir. I’m Ryder’s…” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “Tell him to get home. Now.” The line went dead. I stood frozen, staring at the screen. John, are you really still this impatient? While I was trying to figure out how to return the phone, a text message popped up on the lock screen. “Hey Ryder, the cake is ready. Come pay for it.” “Ryder, where are you?” An address followed. I tried to unlock the phone. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. I tried his father’s birthday. Incorrect. I tried the dog’s birthday. Still wrong. On a strange whim, I entered my own birthday. The phone unlocked. A sudden tightness gripped my throat, and my eyes stung with tears. Eighteen years. Even after all this time, someone still remembered me. I wiped my eyes and headed toward the address. When I arrived, Ryder and a group of his friends were being ushered out by a furious bakery owner. The owner pushed him, looking completely disgusted. “Get out of here, you little freeloaders! Kids these days will lie about anything. If you don’t have the money, just say so. Don’t give me that ‘I forgot my phone’ crap!” Seeing their leader insulted, a few of his colorful-haired friends reached for wooden bats, ready to start a fight. I rushed forward, grabbing Ryder’s arm before things could escalate. “Don’t fight. I brought your phone.” Ryder stared at me with a complicated expression. Without a word, he took the phone and paid the bill. The owner’s demeanor shifted instantly. He muttered a quick apology and quickly packed the cake. I stood off to the side, catching the whispered conversations of his friends outside. “Is that his new girl?” “Doubt it. He was out with someone else last week.” “They probably broke up. He never keeps a girl for more than a week anyway.” I frowned. Who taught him to be so reckless with people’s feelings? I looked up to see Ryder sitting quietly at a table, meticulously writing on a small card. I assumed he was writing a note for some girl. But as I stepped closer, my heart stopped. Happy Birthday, Dad. The words were written, crossed out, and written again, the ink bleeding into the paper. He didn’t know what to say. In the end, he left only a simple line: Wishing you great success, Boss. A mix of frustration and sorrow washed over me. This boy wasn’t nearly as rebellious as he pretended to be. He remembered his father’s birthday. He remembered that John hated sweets; the cake had almost no frosting, customized to the lowest sweetness level. He was far more sensitive and caring than I had ever imagined. Before we left, I looked at him and said softly, “Your dad is waiting for you at home to have dinner.” John hated being alone, especially on his birthday. “Go home and keep him company.” Ryder didn’t answer. He turned to leave, but then paused, looking back at me. His voice was as soft as a breeze. “Thanks.” 3 Watching his retreating figure, I couldn’t help but think of John. That was a lifetime ago. When John had been a young punk, he was far wilder and rougher than his son. Foolish and untamed. He could never grasp the tutoring material, and the moment his friends called, he would run faster than the wind. Nine times out of ten, I would catch him in that alleyway downtown and drag him back by his collar. We lived across the hall from each other back then. Once I started tutoring him, his mother gladly handed full authority over to me. She had given me a feather duster. She had used it on him so many times that all the feathers had fallen off, yet he never changed. By the time it reached my hands, it was just a bare wooden stick. Yet, somehow, that plain stick worked wonders. John was terrified of it. Every time I held it up, he would quietly follow me back to study. During his senior year, he finally settled down and worked hard, eventually getting into a good college. The day the results came out, both he and his mother broke down in tears. John held me tight, his tears soaking into my shirt. His quiet thank-you carried a weight that left me breathless. “I’ll listen to you from now on,” he had whispered. During our early years together, whenever he stayed up playing video games, I would cut the internet cable. If he skipped class to go to a gaming café, I would drag him back to the classroom myself. When he got a fake sleeve tattoo, I grabbed his ear and threatened to scrub it off. He had scrambled to peel off the sticker, begging, “It’s fake, it’s just a temporary tattoo! Please, I surrender, babe!” I kept him on a tight leash like that for four years. By graduation, John had won numerous academic awards and secured recommendation letters from top professors. Everyone knew he had a notoriously strict girlfriend. But that was the only way. Pulling a delinquent up to the top was never an easy task. After graduation, he started his own business. Once the company began to grow, his way of blowing off steam became drinking. The pressure was immense, and he spent night after night drowning his stress in alcohol. His medical reports were covered in red ink: severe stomach lining damage, frequent bleeding. One night, I dragged him out of a bar. Before I could even speak, he violently threw my hand off his arm. He glared at me, his eyes cold. “Brooke, you’re suffocating me. Don’t you ever get tired?” I stared at him, unable to speak. After a long silence, he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, Brooke. These years under your thumb… I’m exhausted.” Tears welled in my eyes, but John no longer had the patience to comfort me. He turned and walked away without another word. I stood there alone, watching his shadow disappear as tears dripped onto the back of my hand. I thought about it for a long time after that night. Truth was, during all those years of keeping him in line, he wasn’t the only one who was tired. I was exhausted too. I knew what people called me behind my back: overbearing, aggressive, nagging. I even knew that he had once agreed with those voices in quiet conversations, murmuring, “I’m tired too. I should have ended up with someone gentler.” Once he became successful, his circle expanded, and rumors started finding their way to me, even when I tried to ignore them. I never asked, and he never explained. I simply kept quiet, retreating further and further into my own shell. Then, I got pregnant. I thought the baby would bring us back to how we used to be. Until one day, I went to his office to find him. A young girl was sitting there. She looked gentle and sweet, speaking in a soft, timid voice. When she saw me, she scrambled to her feet, her eyes instantly turning red. I asked her a single question: “How long have you been with him?” She burst into tears of panic. When John rushed in, his jaw was tight and his fists clenched and unclenched. The look he gave me was heavy and cold. In the end, he said nothing. He simply took my hand in silence and led me home. That night, he slept in the study. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes. Some things didn’t need explanations anymore. At that moment, I made up my mind to leave this world. From eighteen to twenty-six, I had stayed by his side, watching him go from having nothing to having everything. I was done. 4 I pulled myself back to the present. I finished the last bite of the cake and prepared to leave. Outside, Ryder’s friends were still waiting. When they saw me step out, they crowded around. “Hey, it’s getting late. Ryder told us to make sure you get home safe.” I glanced at the flickering streetlights and didn’t refuse. Along the way, their chatter allowed me to piece together what Ryder’s life had been like all these years. “Ryder’s actually got it rough. His mom passed away when he was tiny.” “His dad’s always working. There’s basically no one at home.” “He lives in this massive house, but when he got incredibly sick once, there wasn’t even anyone to bring him a glass of water.” My fingers clenched tightly around my backpack straps. John, you absolute jerk. Is this how you took care of my son? “But Ryder cares a lot about family. Even though his dad ignores him, he still buys him a birthday cake every single year.” “He looks tough, but my mom always says he’s actually the most responsible one out of all of us.” I remembered how quickly he shut down in class when the teacher threatened to call his father. He wasn’t scared of getting in trouble. He just knew how busy his father was, and he didn’t want to force him to clean up his messes. He dyed his hair red and acted like a rebel just to get his father’s attention. A wave of sorrow hit me, and I squeezed my hands shut. “Just watch, his dad won’t even touch the cake. It’s the same every year. Ryder always brings it back the next day for us to eat.” “His dad won’t eat a single bite. I don’t get how anyone can be that cold.” My chest tightened with a sharp, dull ache. All these years, my baby had been hurting like this. I tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to shake the image of Ryder’s lonely eyes. The pain in my chest made it hard to breathe. System, I called out in my mind. I want to use one of my chances to see what Ryder is doing right now. The system had granted me three lifelines upon my return. Once they were gone, I would be forced back to my original world. But I couldn’t stop worrying about my boy. The vision showed Ryder arriving home, holding the cake. He looked toward the figure sitting on the sofa. A man in a tailored suit sat there, buried in his tablet, not even sparing a glance toward the door. After a long silence, Ryder tightened his grip on the cake box and called out softly to his father’s back, “Dad… I’m home.” He called out twice. No response. Ryder lowered his gaze, standing in the middle of the foyer, looking completely lost. My heart shattered into pieces. I wanted nothing more than to break into that room and slap some sense into John. You bastard. Finally, John put down his tablet and looked back. His gold-framed glasses gave him an air of quiet sophistication. But his eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. His face remained entirely expressionless even when looking at his own son. “Let’s eat,” he said simply. Several dishes were laid out on the table. It was clear he had been waiting for a long time.

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I was an ordinary girl. It took three years of relentless chasing to finally win Steve over. After we got together, the phrase he used most was: “If you can’t handle it, we can break up.” Every single time, I would swallow my pride, begging him to stay. Until the day I returned from a business trip, and no matter how many times I entered the door code, it kept saying incorrect. Steve stood there, shirtless, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “You remember Joe, right? The one I couldn’t get back then. She came back, begging for another chance.” “She wants this apartment. Find some time to pack up and move out.” Steve watched me, terrified I would refuse to leave. But I just kept my head down, packing my bags, feeling a strange, subconscious sense of relief. He had no idea that at my age, I was done begging for scraps of affection. I finally had the courage to text my mother, who had begged me to break up with him a thousand times. “We’re done. This time, it’s really over.” 1 When I got home from my business trip, I dragged my suitcase with one hand while typing the passcode with the other. But after several attempts, the screen kept flashing: Incorrect Code. The passcode was my birthday. There was no way I could have gotten it wrong. Just as I bent down to try one more time, the door swung open from the inside. Steve leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me. Fresh out of the shower, he was shirtless, displaying his lean, muscular chest, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Having not seen him for over two weeks, my eyes lit up, and I instinctively threw my arms around him. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me? Why wouldn’t the passcode…” Before I could finish, I glanced past his shoulder and realized the apartment was in complete disarray. The decorations and soft furnishings I had spent months choosing were packed away, some piled haphazardly in the corner. The cozy home we had shared now looked barren and cold. I paused, asking softly, “Are we moving?” Steve had always complained that this place was too small, mentioning several times that we should upgrade to a penthouse. I figured he had finally made up his mind. If he wanted to move, I would go along with it. I had always been quick to compromise when it came to him. “Which neighborhood are we moving…” Before the words could leave my mouth, Steve wrapped his arms around me from behind with an unusual, gentle warmth. He murmured lazily into my ear: “Not us. Just you. I’ve transferred the title of the Mayfair Place apartment to your name, and I’ve already had your things sent over there.” My fingers tightened into fists. “What is that supposed to mean?” He turned me around to face him. There was a flicker of pity in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. I had seen that look once before, five years ago. Back then, he looked at me like I was a fool willing to throw herself into the fire. Now, he looked at me like a stray dog he was about to abandon. Steve lowered his gaze. “Joe is back. She likes this apartment, and it’s close to her new office.” “To be honest, if she hadn’t rejected me back then, I never would have ended up with you.” “Now that she’s back, we’re done.” My mind went blank. It took me a long time to process his words. Years ago, when Steve told me to choose an apartment, he offered grand penthouses in prime locations, but I fell in love with this modest place at first sight. It wasn’t huge, but the layout felt cozy. I had spent over six months decorating it, slowly turning a blank concrete box into a warm home. Though our relationship over the years had always been undefined and messy. I had always believed that when Steve came back to this apartment, he belonged to me alone. To me, this place was sacred. He should have known. He should have understood. 2 Over the years, Steve never lacked women throwing themselves at him. One day it was an actress, the next a model or an influencer. On the rare occasions his conscience flared up, he would frown and reject them. But most of the time, I knew the truth: he welcomed them all. I thought this was just another phase, that he had set his sights on some new face. Actresses and influencers didn’t bother me much anymore. But this was Joe, the only woman who had ever turned Steve down. I didn’t know her, but over the years, Steve’s friends loved to bring up her name to tease him. The great, wealthy Steve had failed to win over a girl on his first try, making him the butt of their jokes for years. When people spoke of Joe, they always used words like “aloof” and “proud.” She looked down on his wealth, once telling him: “Don’t insult me with your dirty money.” Steve had never met anyone like her, so it made sense that she became his obsession. I didn’t know what to say, standing there in silence. She was Joe, and against her, I stood no chance. I murmured softly: “So… we’re breaking up, then?” Steve let out a soft chuckle, leaning down to meet my eyes. “We were never public, Maria. How can we break up?” “Come on,” he muttered, brushing a tear from my cheek. “You didn’t lose out here. You got to sleep with me for years. Don’t act like the victim.” I always knew we wouldn’t last forever. But hearing him put it so callously still sent a sharp ache through my chest. He stood straight. “She’s proud. If she finds out I’ve been fooling around with you all these years, she’ll be furious.” His gaze swept over me, searching, warning. Maybe I really was getting older. I just didn’t have the energy to fight for him anymore. A few years ago, I would have thrown a tantrum and fought him over her. Now, I simply pulled my hand back. “I understand. I’ll call a cab and head over to the new place tonight.” I had already noticed that the master bedroom was stripped bare. None of my belongings remained. “The things in the living room…” I pointed to the decorations. “Just throw them away. They’re old anyway. It’s time for something new.” Steve followed my gaze, staring at the cozy space. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he opened the door wider. “I’ll have my driver take you.” I took a final look at his bare torso, his toned abs, and his lean waist. I used to think that when the day we parted finally came, I would drag him to bed for one last passionate night. But that was out of the question now. He loved Joe far more than I had realized. When the driver arrived, I left carrying only the suitcase from my business trip. Steve suddenly grabbed my arm, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You’re acting too calm. Are you playing hard to get, planning to sabotage things behind my back?” “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pulled something like that.” I stared at him for a long, quiet moment. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “I won’t say a word.” Aside from his close circle of friends, no one even knew we existed. But he was still uneasy, his brow furrowed with irritation. “You’re not getting any younger. I know plenty of guys. Want me to introduce you to someone so you can settle down?” I fell silent for a beat, a faint smile touching my lips. “Sure. Make sure to share my contact with them.” Steve’s expression darkened at my response. I didn’t look back, stepping into the waiting car. 3 By conventional standards, I was entirely ordinary: average background, average looks. But I possessed an abundance of confidence. In school, my academic records were stellar, consistently ranking at the top in a highly competitive state, which earned me a spot at a prestigious university. At work, I was highly capable, tackling projects others deemed impossible simply by putting in more hours. I didn’t smoke or drink, and my moral compass was solid. From a young age, I understood that if you wanted a good man, you had to pursue him actively; otherwise, you’d only get the leftovers. So, before Steve, I had successfully pursued a few handsome men. But once I got them, their flawless faces couldn’t hide their empty minds, and I would quickly grow bored of them. Until I met Steve. He was exceptionally handsome, highly capable, well-educated, and sophisticated. He was the perfect target, ticking every single box on my list. I didn’t know back then that Steve purposely maintained a low profile in public. Nor did I know his family was so wealthy that buying million-dollar jewelry was like picking up cheap trinkets for him. I assumed he was just a good-looking guy with a bit of money, and that winning him over was only a matter of time. So, I walked up to him, tilted my head, and confidently asked with a grin: “Are you single? If so, mind if I try to win you over?” He blinked, leaning against the wall and laughing for what felt like forever, amused by my boldness. There were too many women chasing him at the time, and I was just a nameless face in the crowd. But I excelled at the long game. Over three years, I outlasted wave after wave of rivals until Steve finally noticed me. That night, in hindsight, was probably the third day after Joe had left the country. Alcohol blurred Steve’s judgment, and we spent our first night together. When he woke up, he leaned against the headboard, staring at me for a long time before saying: “Move in with me.” Just like that, undefined and unofficial, our relationship continued for five years. In our most intimate moments, I would push my luck and ask him what we were. When he was in a good mood, he would placate me, saying: “Why worry about a label? You think just any woman can live here?” During our years together, Steve wasn’t terrible to me. He learned to cook for me, held my hand through the night when I was sick, helped me pick nail polish colors while teasing my choices, and held me close on the sofa when I cried during movies. He was so sweet at times that I almost believed he was falling in love with me. I thought if I just stayed patient, he would eventually settle down and want to build a real home with me. I knew I was shameless, that I had practically forced this relationship into existence. And I knew that one day, the tension would snap. But I never expected it to happen so suddenly. Without a single warning, I was cast out of Steve’s world. Maybe it’s for the best, I thought, leaning my head against the car window, watching the blur of streetlights. If I had to make the decision to leave him on my own, I probably never would have found the strength. When I unlocked the door to my new apartment, I gasped. The place was decorated exactly in my preferred style, spanning nearly three thousand square feet. It was massive compared to our old apartment. Yet, it felt incredibly hollow. I stood frozen in the entryway for a long time until my phone chimed. I opened the message and played the voice note. “If he won’t marry you, leave him! How much longer are you going to waste your life?” “Maria, you’re not a kid anymore. You can’t keep wasting your time on a man who won’t give you a future…” Usually, I would laugh off these messages from my mother or give a vague reply. This was the first time I gave her a straight answer. “We broke up. It’s over.” “Are you lying to me again?!” I sighed. “It’s true this time, Mom. It’s really over.” 4 The next morning, I dragged myself to work with dark circles under my eyes. In the adult world, one night of grieving is all you get for a broken heart. Corporate drones have to keep grinding; there’s no time to stop for water, let alone self-pity. My manager walked past my desk and tapped my shoulder. “Maria, the bidding meeting in three days is all on you.” Despite being fully prepared, a flutter of nerves hit me. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” As I sat down, my screen lit up with several persistent messages. “Seriously, are you sure you won’t consider joining my company?” “Now that you’ve split with Steve, why stay there?” “Just say the word, and I’ll match whatever terms you want. The pay is way better than your current gig.” I smiled, typing back: “Since when did you start moonlighting as a headhunter? I’m not interested. I have my career path planned out, and I don’t want to make sudden changes.” I had never considered quitting just because Steve and I had broken up. After all, he wasn’t the reason I had joined Astra Technologies in the first place. Astra was a massive corporate giant, and I had fought hard against hundreds of applicants to land this position. The following evening, just as I was packing up after working late, my phone rang. The screen showed a call from Steve’s close friend, Beckett. I declined the first call, but it rang again immediately. After a brief hesitation, I picked up. Beckett’s voice came through. “Steve is wasted. Come pick him up.” “He has a girlfriend, and it’s not me,” I replied flatly. “You dialed the wrong number.” “Wait, don’t hang up! What girlfriend? He’s the one who insisted I call you. He refuses to leave. If you don’t show, we’re just going to leave him here on the street.” As I drove toward the club, I realized I was still incredibly weak when it came to him. I hadn’t slept a wink for the past two days, staring at the ceiling until dawn. It was only when this call came that I realized what I had been waiting for. I was actually hoping that maybe Steve had regretted his decision. Maybe he had realized that Joe was no different from any of the other women. Maybe he found her boring and was using this as an excuse to crawl back to me. If he apologized, then I… I wouldn’t make it easy for him. With these thoughts swirling in my head, I pushed open the door to the private room. Only to see a perfectly sober Steve sitting comfortably beside Joe. 5 I froze in the doorway, but before I could react, an arm draped around my shoulders. I turned my head to see Beckett, who casually announced to the room: “Hey everyone, meet my girlfriend, Maria.” He pressed his hand over mine, whispering rapidly into my ear: “Joe suspects there was something between you and Steve. She demanded to see you to clear the air. You know how protective Steve is of her right now. Just bear with it for a bit and pretend to be my girl.” My entire body went rigid. A wave of humiliation washed over me, threatening to drown me. I looked at Steve. He was leaning back against the sofa, his eyes locked on mine, flashing a clear warning. This meant he had approved of this setup. My fingernails dug deep into my palms, the pain grounding me as I pulled myself together. I forced a smile, slowly wrapping my arm around Beckett’s. Looking at the group, I said clearly: “I’m Maria, Beckett’s girlfriend. Nice to meet everyone.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Steve’s hand stiffen slightly. This was my first time seeing Joe in person. She wore a designer white dress, looking effortlessly beautiful even with minimal makeup. Believing the lie, Joe smiled warmly and reached out to shake my hand. “We’re all friends now. Make sure Beckett brings you out with us more often.” I smiled back. “Of course, whenever we have time.” She seemed genuinely happy, even standing up to pour me a drink. Before I could speak, Beckett raised his hand to block the glass. “She’s allergic to alcohol. She can’t drink. I’ll have it for her.” The room fell quiet at his words, and I turned to look at him in surprise. Steve set his glass down, leaning his arm on the back of his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Beckett. Beckett ignored him, draining the glass so quickly that he coughed slightly. Keeping up the act, I leaned in and patted his back gently. “Are you okay?” After a while, Joe suggested playing truth or dare, and everyone eagerly agreed to indulge her. Beckett drew the first turn and chose truth. “How did you and Maria get together?” someone asked. Beckett easily spun a lie. “I pursued her for three years before she finally agreed to date me.” A few rounds later, it was my turn for a dare: pick a man in the room and give him a deep kiss. My eyes instinctively darted toward Steve. Joe watched me, her smile faltering slightly. “Well, Beckett, looks like you’re the lucky guy. Better make your move.” Beckett instinctively glanced at Steve. But the man sitting at the center of attention acted entirely detached, refusing to spare us even a single glance. I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Beckett is handsome anyway. I won’t lose out on this. I steeled my resolve, pulling Beckett close and tilting my head up to kiss him. Suddenly, Steve’s voice cut through the room, slow and deliberate. “That’s enough,” he said, shooting a warning look at Joe. “Keep the games within bounds. Since when do you get to boss Beckett around?” Joe bit her lip, shooting us a frustrated glance. The kiss never happened, but we had to play our roles to the end. In the end, Beckett had to drive me home. When the car pulled up to my building, I opened the passenger door, ready to leave. Suddenly, a hand caught my wrist. I turned back to see Beckett looking at me with a lazy, playful grin. “Honestly, you’re pretty interesting, and I’m definitely not a downgrade from Steve.” “How about giving me a shot?” My brow furrowed, but before I could reply, a violent crash slammed into the rear of our car. The impact threw me forward. Gaining my bearings, I looked up at the rearview mirror. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the car behind us was Steve, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel, his face completely devoid of warmth.

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1 At two in the morning, I arrived at the base of the collapsed mountain road at Blackwood Pass. The emergency floodlights washed the freezing rain and fog in a deathly, pale glow. My fingers were stiff from the cold as I texted Robin. [Honey, I am at the bottom of the mountain. Do not panic. I am bringing you home.] No reply. My hands shook as I dialed her driver. George picked up, his voice paper-thin and trembling. “Sir, did you… did you actually drive up to Blackwood?” The deafening crack of falling boulders echoed from the peaks above. I was shivering, entirely consumed by panic. “Which section of the road is she trapped on?!” A heavy, suffocating silence filled the line. “Sir, the truth is, the boss never went up the mountain.” Icy rainwater slipped down my collar, sending a violent shudder down my spine. George lowered his voice to a whisper. “She lied to you about the site inspection.” A video notification popped up on my screen. The timestamp was from tonight. In the footage, Robin stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror. She was gently fixing a man’s bow tie, a devastatingly soft smile playing on her lips. I recognized him. It was Silas. The boy her family had fostered. The same man she had sworn to cut out of her life six months ago, kneeling and weeping beside my father’s hospital bed. Robin must have forgotten that today was also our wedding anniversary. My phone buzzed again. “Sir, over the years, she never actually stopped seeing him.” George’s voice kept breaking up, swallowed by the howling mountain wind. “Tonight, she rented out the entire Cloud Room at the top of the Zenith Tower. She is throwing a welcome-home party for Mr. Silas.” Rain dripped steadily from my jaw. I stared at the highway a few hundred yards away, completely buried under thousands of tons of mud and rock. Small stones were still tumbling down the slopes. “Understood.” I heard my own voice reply. There was no screaming. No hysteria. Even I was surprised by the dead calm in my tone. I hung up on George, found Robin’s contact, and hit dial. It rang for a long time. Just as I assumed she would let it go to voicemail, the call connected. “Khobe?” Her voice was low and smooth, carrying the slight, lazy annoyance of a woman whose perfect evening had been interrupted. Deep in the background, the rich, velvet notes of a live cello drifted through the speaker. “Where are you?” I asked. “I already told you.” She let out a soft sigh, using that signature tone she reserved for coaxing a toddler. “There was a massive landslide at Blackwood. I am stuck at a little motel near the base.” “Are you hurt?” “No. The cell reception is just terrible.” She paused. “Why are you still awake? Are you scared of the thunderstorm?” I looked down at my calf. A jagged rock had sliced it open during my climb, and dark blood was washing away into the mud. “Yeah, a little scared.” A bitter smile tugged at my lips. “Does this roadside motel happen to have a live cellist?” The line went dead silent for a fraction of a second. “The motel owner is playing a vinyl record.” She let out a light, breathy laugh. “Khobe, did you really stay up half the night just to interrogate me?” “The cell towers at Blackwood collapsed three hours ago.” I stared at the yellow police tape fluttering wildly in front of me. “Your reception is remarkably good.” Robin’s tone instantly dropped into a chilling register. “Khobe, I am exhausted today. I am not doing this with you.” She always did this. She would use the calmest, most patronizing voice imaginable to gaslight me, making me feel like an irrational maniac. She played the role of the devoted, hardworking wife who had to endure her husband’s pathetic paranoia perfectly. “I am not trying to fight,” I said. “Then be a good boy.” Her voice softened again, dripping with habitual charity. “I will bring you a praline tart from Maison’s when I get back tomorrow. That is your favorite, right?” Maison’s praline tart. That was Silas’s favorite. Not only did I hate sweets, but I was severely allergic to the hazelnut dust they used on top. After seven years together, she had completely forgotten. “Okay,” I whispered. “Get some sleep. I love you.” The call ended. The exact second my screen went black, a rescue worker in a high-vis jacket frantically waved his flashlight at me. “Hey buddy! Get back! Another mudslide is coming!” I did not move. I just stood rooted to the wet asphalt, staring at a new post that had just appeared on my timeline. It was from Silas, set so only I could see it. It was a photo of a delicate, pale hand fixing his bow tie. The caption read: [She told me that even with a ring on her finger, I will always come first.] 2 By the time the rain finally stopped, the sky was bleeding into a pale, bruised dawn. I dragged my mud-caked boots into the VIP underground garage of the Zenith Tower. The heavy windbreaker I had worn to scale the mountain was soaked through, clinging to my back like sheets of ice. The security guards tried to stop me twice. I had to hand over my ID and recite the license plate of Robin’s Maybach before they threw me a skeptical look and let me pass. The moment the private elevator doors chimed open, I froze. Robin was standing inside. She was wearing the custom Milanese silk gown I had personally flown to Italy to design for her. The fabric draped flawlessly around her curves, radiating an effortless, untouchable wealth. Silas was leaning his entire body weight against her. He wore an immaculate white tuxedo, looking as polished and fragile as a porcelain doll. “Robin, my feet are killing me,” he whined, his voice sickeningly sweet. Without a second thought, my elegant, commanding wife sank to a crouch. Her long fingers gently wrapped around his ankle. “Who told you to wear these stiff oxfords?” “I wanted to look good for you.” Silas reached out, playfully twirling a strand of her hair. “You used to love watching me dance.” “That was ages ago.” Robin slipped the leather shoes off his feet and held them in one hand. Her eyes were melting with affection. “If you try dancing on that bad ankle now, I will break your legs myself.” I stood hidden behind a dim concrete pillar, watching my wife worship another man. A violent wave of nausea ripped through my stomach. It was the physical toll of wandering through freezing rain for four hours, desperately trying to save a woman who did not need saving. The elevator doors slid shut. I stepped out from the shadows and pressed the button for the service elevator. I ran into them again in the main lobby. Silas was padding across the plush carpet in complimentary hotel slippers. Robin had one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, still carrying his expensive shoes in her free hand. The hotel manager practically tripped over himself rushing forward to greet them. “Ms. Vanguard, Mr. Silas, your car is waiting right out front.” “Good,” Robin replied, not bothering to look at him. Silas suddenly stopped walking. His gaze drifted over the manager’s shoulder and landed squarely on me. He took in my ruined clothes, my matted hair, my face streaked with dirt, and the blood-soaked sneakers on my feet. He did not look surprised. Instead, the faintest, most toxic little smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “Robin.” He tugged at her sleeve, projecting his voice just enough to ensure it echoed across the marble lobby. “Look at that guy over there. He looks so pathetic. Just like a homeless beggar.” Robin did not even turn her head. She could not be bothered to spare a fraction of her attention. “Do not look at the trash, Silas.” She pulled him tighter against her side. “You will ruin your mood.” 3 Trash. I looked down at my own hands. Muddy water was steadily dripping from my jeans, blooming into dark, ugly stains on the pristine lobby rug. I really did look like garbage. I stayed completely still, watching them walk toward the revolving glass doors. But Silas clearly felt the knife had not twisted deep enough. He stopped near the exit and raised his voice again, adopting an exaggerated tone of innocent concern. “But Robin, wasn’t yesterday your wedding anniversary with Khobe? If you spent the whole night in a suite with me, will he be mad at you?” Robin’s heels stopped clicking. Her shoulders tensed, and a heavy dose of pure irritation bled into her voice. “Why are we talking about him?” “I just do not want him to be jealous. He is always so suffocating with you.” “He just has too much time on his hands.” Robin let out a cold, sharp scoff. “What else is he good for besides orbiting around my life?” She tossed Silas’s leather shoes to the valet boy, then pulled a wet wipe from her clutch, slowly and meticulously cleaning her fingers. “I only married him because he is predictable. He is quiet, he follows the rules, and he makes a decent decoration to keep at the house.” “Remember this, Silas.” She dropped the soiled wipe into a nearby brass trash can. Her tone was completely flat, but every syllable felt like a bullet to the chest. “Marriage is nothing but a business transaction. He is good on paper. But you are the only one I actually care about protecting.” Silas smiled, thoroughly satisfied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I stared at that brass trash can. Lying inside it was the limited-edition silk pocket square I had spent hours picking out for her just yesterday morning. She had told me the color matched her gown perfectly and promised she would keep it close to her heart all night. Now, it was rotting in the garbage, buried under a wet wipe she used to clean up after another man. My hand instinctively hovered over the thick gauze taped to my abdomen. The stitches underneath were brand new. I had just undergone an emergency appendectomy a week ago, and the surgeon had strictly ordered me to stay on bed rest for half a month. I had planned to tell her about the surgery at our anniversary dinner. I wanted to ask if she could hold my hand when I went to get the stitches removed. But then she vanished. Her driver said she was trapped in a deadly landslide. I had grabbed my keys like a madman, driving through blinding sheets of rain for three hours, ignoring the police barricades, and scaling a collapsing mountain on foot. I thought she was freezing in the dark, waiting for me to save her life. Instead, she was playing Cinderella with her little protégé. I slowly turned around and limped toward the opposite side of the lobby. There was a massive, velvet-lined display case sitting against the glass. It used to hold an exclusive, million-dollar timepiece called the ‘Tears of the Deep’. Robin had won it at a charity auction three months ago. She had stood in front of a dozen flashing cameras, her eyes shining with fake devotion, telling the press it was a surprise anniversary gift for her beloved husband. Right now, that exact watch was strapped to Silas’s wrist. The diamonds caught the lobby lights, blinding and utterly repulsive.

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