On New Year’s Eve, the youngest son of our next-door neighbor was trapped inside their apartment, wailing uncontrollably. Relying on his decades of experience as a locksmith, my dad picked the lock in five seconds. But what greeted us inside wasn’t a crying child—it was a tape recorder. Right then, the neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, blocked our exit with a crowd of people. “I knew a little bait operation would lure the suspect out!” “Picking a lock that fast, you’ve clearly done this plenty of times! I bet you’re the one who’s been stealing everything in our building!” I tried to explain nicely that my dad used to be a professional locksmith. And that we only picked the lock today to save her grandson. But Mrs. Higgins wouldn’t let it go. “Did I ask you to save him? Who knows what you were really planning to do in my apartment?” “If you don’t pay for my broken lock and all the items missing from my home, you’re not leaving here today!” My dad stopped me from arguing back, swallowing his pride and the injustice. A few days later, Mrs. Higgins’ grandson was playing around and climbed into a safe. He was trapped and suffocating. Mrs. Higgins came looking for us again, but my dad just looked at her with helplessness. “Another bait operation?” “Stop testing me. To put the neighbors at ease, I threw all my tools away days ago.” …… “Waaah, waaah.” “Waaah, help…” Intermittent sobbing came from the apartment next door. My dad stopped in his tracks, frowning deeply. “Is that kid locked in his room again? Why aren’t the adults doing anything?” My mom wiped her hands on her apron, bringing dishes out from the kitchen. “I just saw Mrs. Higgins head out. She’ll probably be back soon, let’s not worry about it.” I looked at the lavish dinner spread on the table, my mouth watering. I chimed in to support my mom. “Yeah, that kid is a menace. He locks doors all the time. It’s not the first or second time.” “He’s probably just messing with people again.” Mrs. Higgins’ precious grandson, Leo, was a notorious troublemaker. His favorite game was locking doors on purpose to make the adults panic outside. I popped a piece of braised pork into my mouth, closing my eyes in bliss. “Besides, Dad, you’re too nice. You always unlock their doors for free, and you do it so fast. Didn’t you see the weird look Mrs. Higgins gave you last time?” “If you ask me, you should stay out of this mess so you don’t get dragged into their drama.” My dad sighed. He picked up his glass of whiskey and took a sip in silence. But ten minutes passed, and not only did no one return next door, the crying only got louder. My dad finally couldn’t take it anymore and stood up abruptly. “No, I have to go check.” My mom nodded too, helping him fetch his toolbox from the utility closet. “Yeah, better safe than sorry.” “It’s just a little effort. If something really happened to that kid, we wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves.” I shook my head helplessly. Without saying anything else, I followed them out. My parents were kind-hearted people. Even though Leo played this trick all the time. Given a second chance, they would still choose to help. If I didn’t let them go check it out, they wouldn’t be able to eat this New Year’s Eve dinner in peace anyway. Stepping outside, the hallway was empty. Leo’s cries sounded especially piercing. I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. “With so many families here, we can’t be the only ones hearing him cry. Why isn’t anyone else out here?” My dad, busy rummaging for his tools, chuckled. “It means everyone trusts me. They know I’ll come out and help.” My mom, holding the flashlight, exchanged a look with me. We both saw each other’s mouths twitch. The faint click of the lock picking echoed in the silent hallway. A growing sense of unease rose in my chest. Was it a bit too quiet? The moment the door swung open, my anxiety peaked. Behind the door, there was no crying Leo. It was a black tape recorder! In that exact second, the main hallway lights flared on. A crowd of people surged down from the upper floors, holding up their phones. Leading the pack was our neighbor, Mrs. Higgins. And in her arms was Leo. Mrs. Higgins pointed a finger at my dad, her voice shrill with excitement. “See? I told you a bait operation would work! Caught you red-handed!” “David Carter is a thief! He picked my lock when he thought I wasn’t home! All the thefts in this building are definitely his doing!” My dad’s face instantly turned beet red, and he frantically tried to explain. “I heard Leo crying inside! I was afraid he was in danger, that’s why I picked the lock to check!” Mrs. Higgins refused to back down. “You think you’re justified in picking my lock?!” “You did it so fast and smoothly! Who knows what kind of shady business you get up to normally!” I was instantly furious. “Mrs. Higgins, you’re out of line! What do you mean ‘bait operation’? Putting a tape recorder in there to trick us? What do you take us for?” I wanted to keep arguing, but my mom pulled me back. She let out a dry laugh, trying to de-escalate the situation. “Mrs. Higgins, it’s true David shouldn’t have suddenly picked your lock today.” “But we were genuinely worried Leo might be in danger.” “After all, Leo has a history of locking doors to cause trouble, and you’ve asked David to unlock them several times before.” “We’ve been neighbors for so many years, don’t you know David’s character by now? How could he possibly steal anything?” My mom tried to reason with her, appealing to emotion. She genuinely thought Mrs. Higgins just misunderstood and wanted to clear the air. But Mrs. Higgins scoffed coldly, remaining unyielding. “Since you know my Leo likes to play with locks, you shouldn’t have been so nosy today!” “I didn’t ask for your help, why are you getting involved?” “I think you’re just using this as an excuse to cover up the fact that you wanted to break in and steal!” Arguing with her was like talking to a brick wall! She was a complete ingrate! Furious, I turned to the other neighbors in the hallway. “Leo locks doors and causes trouble all the time. My dad is always on call for them, and he never charges a dime! Whenever anyone here needs a lock picked, he never refuses.” “My dad’s character is obvious to everyone. Please, be the judges here!” The neighbors Mrs. Higgins had gathered looked at each other, whispering among themselves. “Yeah, David does pick locks for free around here.” “He’s a nice guy too, doesn’t seem like the type to do something like this…” My dad breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes red. “Thank you everyone, thank you…” Seeing the tide turning against her, Mrs. Higgins immediately countered. “Picking a lock costs next to nothing anyway! Offering free services is probably just a front to gather information, scope out our homes, and prepare for robberies!” “We’ve lost a lot of things over the past few months. The value of those things far outweighs a few lock-picking fees. Don’t let this little girl twist the narrative!” As soon as she said that, the way the neighbors looked at my dad changed instantly. Human nature is like that. Small favors are easily forgotten. But when personal interests are threatened, it’s a completely different story. “Now that I think about it, that seems true. The day David helped me pick my lock, he kept chatting with me. Was he trying to find out when nobody would be home?” “Yes, exactly! Last time I invited David in for tea, we happened to talk about the porcelain collection in my house. A few days later, some pieces went missing!” They got more and more worked up. Their voices grew so confident, it was as if they had seen my dad stealing with their own eyes. I watched this scene unfold in absolute disbelief, feeling sick to my stomach. My dad always thought of others and was willing to help. Whenever anyone needed a hand, he was always the first to run over. I never expected these people to blindly believe Mrs. Higgins’ one-sided accusations! My dad’s face looked just as terrible. Mrs. Higgins’ shrewd eyes narrowed. She pulled out her phone and tapped on it. Finally, she shoved the screen in my face. “This is a list of all the items everyone has lost recently, along with the total value.” “David, if you have any shame left, pay up as soon as possible.” I glanced at the list and exploded. Five electric scooters, three antique vases, one bicycle… Total amount: $50,000. “Mrs. Higgins, are you trying to stock a store using my family?! You’re even pinning the electric scooters on my dad?” “And the toy Transformers? A children’s bike? I clearly saw your grandson break those and throw them in the apartment complex flowerbed last week! Don’t you feel ridiculous listing them here?” Mrs. Higgins showed not an ounce of guilt upon being exposed; instead, she acted even more self-righteous. “Who can say for sure?” “Why did Leo’s toys disappear after he threw them in the flowerbed? I bet your family stole them!” I laughed out of sheer exasperation. “The recycling collectors took them, obviously! What would I want with a pile of broken toys?” Just then, my dad suddenly stepped forward. Seeing his tense expression, I couldn’t help but feel worried. “Dad.” My dad gave me a reassuring look. Then, looking deeply disappointed, he scanned the crowd around us. “Neighbors, do you really believe that I, David Carter, am a thief? Do you want me to pay this money?” A flash of joy crossed Mrs. Higgins’ face. She knew my dad was soft-spoken and easy to push around. She figured she had this in the bag. The crowd began chiming in, trying to persuade him. “David, as long as you admit your mistake and change your ways, everyone will forgive you.” “Yeah, just pay the money and we’re still good buddies.” They talked over each other, spit flying, all eager to get a piece of the compensation. Looking at the greedy, hypocritical faces of our neighbors, the last bit of light in my dad’s eyes completely died. He grabbed my mom and me, pulled us inside, and slammed the door shut heavily. Leaving behind only one sentence: “If you want compensation, show me the evidence.” “I, David Carter, will die before I confess to something I didn’t do!” The food on the table was completely cold. My dad silently reheated the dishes and served rice for me and my mom. I was afraid he was heartbroken, hesitating to speak. To my surprise, my dad recovered faster than we did. He held our hands, his eyes resolute. “No one gets to bully my family.” “Neighbors like this aren’t worth knowing.” The people outside refused to leave at first; banging and foul language drifted in occasionally. Inside, our family was entirely unfazed, continuing to enjoy our New Year’s Eve dinner. I thought giving them the cold shoulder would solve the problem. I never expected to be woken up early the next morning by a continuous series of jarring noises. Loud bang, bang, bang sounds were hitting the front door, shaking the entire apartment. I fought through my grogginess, opened the door, and instantly felt a dull pain in my calf. “Ouch!” It was Leo. He was holding a toy shotgun, repeatedly shooting at me. “Bad woman, I’ll kill you!” The front door was covered in scratch marks from his toy knife. The walls were scribbled all over with colorful markers. “What are you doing, you brat?!” My mom rushed over, furious. Leo made a face and ran back into his apartment. Mrs. Higgins’ arrogant voice drifted out. “If you don’t pay up for stealing our things, I’ll just let Leo get payback! Let’s see how long you can last!” It was the New Year, and our doorway was covered in garish scribbles. Even the holiday banners were defaced with profanities. My mom and I were absolutely furious. We immediately contacted the HOA. But the person on the line brushed us off dismissively. “Oh, is that so? Well, you shouldn’t have refused to pay them. Serves you right.” Then, they hung up, and we couldn’t get through again. By the afternoon, our water main was shut off, and our electricity meter was pulled. I went downstairs to fix them, but half an hour later, it happened again. It was the middle of winter. One minute my parents and I were sweating profusely from rushing around, the next we were shivering from the cold with no power. Finally, we were too exhausted and out of breath to keep running up and down. “This is outrageous!” My dad slammed his fist on the table in anger. My voice was hoarse as I rubbed his back to calm him down. “We’re going to the police tomorrow! I refuse to believe they can just do whatever they want!” The next day, as soon as we stepped outside, the usually friendly elderly neighbors avoided me like the plague. As soon as I walked far enough away, they gathered together to gossip. “The old man is a thief, I bet the young one is no good either.” “What’s there to be afraid of? If we all gang up on them, they’ll have to pay up eventually!” I clenched my fists tightly. Mr. Davis, an empty-nester whose son rarely visited. My dad was the only one who checked on him regularly, even buying him groceries and meat to supplement his meals. Mrs. Miller, who had bad legs. When she fell last time, it was my dad who carried her on his back all the way to the hospital. Filled with righteous anger, I went to the police station to file a report. To my surprise, I ran into Mrs. Higgins. Seeing me, she flashed a triumphant smile. She pointed at me and complained to the officer. “That’s her! They stole from us and refuse to pay!” “I even have a video of her dad picking our lock, that’s proof right there!” The officer gave me a look of contempt. I cursed internally and quickly tried to explain. “That was because my dad thought someone was in danger! He thought her grandson was trapped inside!” “Officer, my dad is not a thief! They’re the ones pulling our electricity meter without any proof! Why is that allowed?!” Mrs. Higgins crossed her arms, looking like she had anticipated this. Before I could finish, two women from the HOA walked out. “No one pulled your electricity meter. That never happened!” “Your dad was caught red-handed picking the lock and still refuses to admit it. The police aren’t blind!” With them muddying the waters, my plan to involve the police completely failed. The police promised they would continue investigating the thefts. But regarding my complaint, they brushed it off as a “neighbor dispute” and told us to mediate it privately. I returned home empty-handed. Facing my parents’ expectant looks, I shook my head bitterly. “It didn’t work. The police didn’t believe me.” After that, Mrs. Higgins and her family ramped up their harassment. Playing loud music in the middle of the night, making it impossible to sleep. Slamming doors and throwing things around during the day, giving me a splitting headache. A few days later, I got a call from my company. “Maya, I’m sorry, but regarding your return to work after the holidays… the company has decided to put it on hold.” My intuition told me this was definitely connected. “Why? Didn’t we agree on just a seven-day suspension?” The voice on the other end remained flat but carried a hint of disdain. “Behavioral issues. Are you really not aware?” After asking around, I found out that Mrs. Higgins had taken the video of my dad to my office and caused a huge scene, bringing a lot of negative attention. This led upper management to suspend me indefinitely. The tension and suppression I had been feeling for days finally broke me. My mom hugged me, crying. My dad looked exhausted, his face full of guilt. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. Why don’t we just…” I wiped my tears fiercely and cut him off. “No! We will absolutely not bow down to them!” That day, our entire family was enveloped in gloom. But next door, Mrs. Higgins’ family was having a grand old time. Leo’s parents had come back from working out of town, having made some money, and brought back a massive safe. Mrs. Higgins had been bragging about it outside all morning. “Our family is destined for wealth! When you make money, you have to hide it in a safe, so thieves don’t get any ideas!” They made a racket celebrating all day. Until the evening, when a commotion broke out. “Leo is missing!” “He was just in his room, where did he go?” Our family was used to their drama, until another scream echoed from next door. “Leo, don’t scare Mommy! Why did you crawl into the safe?!” Mrs. Higgins, who prized her grandson above all else, was trembling as she spoke. “It’s locked from the inside, we can’t get it open!” “Call 911! Hurry, call the police!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392012”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years after our divorce, I ran into Ethan again on the streets of America. I was a volunteer handing out cold medicine, and he was a homeless man who had fallen below the poverty line. Ironically, back then, we divorced over a box of cold medicine. “Two pills, twice a day.” I handed him the medicine, my tone as flat as if we were strangers. But Ethan’s eyes reddened. “Chloe, you still hate me.” I didn’t look up, continuing to hand out the medicine. “This medicine costs one dollar. It’s very cheap. But back then, it forced me to sell my blood.” “Ethan, how could I not hate you?” 1 I spoke of my hatred so casually. Behind me, Ethan froze, unable to utter another word. After a long while, I heard his footsteps fading away. I turned around and watched Ethan’s thin figure swallowed by Seattle’s gray, freezing rain. “Chloe, do you know that homeless guy?” Someone gently nudged my arm. It was Mia, my junior from college, basically from the same hometown. I withdrew my gaze and nodded. “Yeah, my ex-husband.” Mia gasped, unable to suppress the shock in her voice: “Ex… ex-husband?” “Chloe, how could you marry a homeless man?” I shook my head and finished handing out the last pack of cold medicine before explaining: “When I met him, he wasn’t like this.” “We’re almost done here. This rain is going to get heavier, let’s get back to the university.” Along the way, seeing Mia’s curious but hesitant expression, I smiled helplessly. I casually told her about my past with Ethan. It was a very unoriginal college romance story. After graduation, he became a software engineer in Silicon Valley, and I was an actuary at a securities firm. Our income was substantial. The apartment we rented was in a wealthy neighborhood with good security. According to my plan, we would own our own home in five years, get married, have a cute baby, and become just another lighted window among millions in the city. Listening to this, Mia frowned deeply. “That sounds like a very happy life. Why did you divorce?” “Did Ethan cheat?” I gently pressed down her clenched fist and explained: “No, he didn’t cheat, and neither did I.” “We divorced because of a pot.” Mia’s eyes widened, thinking I must be joking. Perhaps it was more than just a pot. Three years ago, on a rainy night just like this. I asked Ethan to stop by a department store after work to buy a new pot. The non-stick coating on our landlord’s old pot was almost completely worn off. I was in charge of buying groceries, planning to cook a special dinner for our anniversary. In my imagination—the pot would be bubbling, Ethan would sniff the air and say, “Smells amazing,” and then, starting over soup, we would talk about our future. We would talk about how maybe next year we could buy our own house, or maybe get a cat. But when the door opened, Ethan excitedly held up a new camera and waved me over frantically: “Babe, come check this out!” “I paid extra to snag it, it’s a limited edition!” I stared at the camera, stunned for a few seconds. The plastic grocery bags dug into my hands, leaving deep red marks and a numb, throbbing pain. I instinctively asked: “Where’s the pot?” Ethan seemed caught off guard by the question. But he quickly smiled, his face full of nonchalance: “It’s just a pot. The department store isn’t going anywhere, we can buy it anytime.” “But if I missed this, it would be gone forever! Isn’t a camera way more romantic than a pot?” “Oh, by the way, I saw we still had some money in our joint account, so I bought plane tickets. Hurry up and pack, we’re taking the new camera to Iceland to chase the Northern Lights right now!” I didn’t say anything else. I just set down the grocery bags. Silently, I took out my phone and opened our joint account. Balance: $0.41. Not even enough to pay this month’s water bill. Ethan’s excited voice kept chattering in my ear: “Babe, I’m telling you, this camera has incredible high ISO performance. Our Northern Lights photos won’t have any noise at all. When we get back from Iceland, we’ll print them out and stick them on the fridge…” A familiar sense of powerlessness washed over me. I felt so tired. For three years, Ethan had always been like this. He lived in the moment, getting whatever he wanted immediately, even if it meant racking up credit card debt. And what I wanted was a future that I could comfortably plan for, a future that could withstand risks. I looked up at him, still excitedly playing with his new camera. Suddenly, it became clear to me: Ethan and I were fundamentally not on the same path. “Let’s get a divorce.” 2 With a clack, the camera in Ethan’s hand slipped and hit the corner of the table. He looked at me blankly: “Divorce?” “Why? Because I didn’t buy the pot? Or because I bought tickets to Iceland without discussing it with you first? Chloe, over something this tiny?” They were all tiny things. But enough tiny things scattered on the floor can drive a person to the breaking point. “Ethan, I’ve told you so many times.” “I don’t want to live this kind of life. I don’t want to constantly see our account balance in the single digits. I don’t want to have to use a credit card for every single purchase. I don’t want us to keep bouncing around, renting apartments everywhere.” “Being with you is exhausting.” Ethan acted like he had heard the biggest joke in the world, his voice rising as he argued: “Being with me is exhausting? I work hard every day. I want to show you the most beautiful scenery, I want to record our lives with the best lens, and that makes you exhausted?” “Yes! That is exactly what makes me exhausted!” Three years of accumulated bitterness and resentment suddenly exploded. I couldn’t help but yell. I opened my phone’s notepad, scrolled to the very top, turned the screen to Ethan, and demanded: “Ethan, do you remember this?” It was a simple note: Goal: House Down Payment. Current Total: $47,218 Progress: 21.2% The last time it was updated was three years ago, the afternoon we first saw that little apartment. Ethan’s eyes flickered. “You were the one who said you wanted to give us a home.” “My overtime pay from working late nights, the money I saved from skipping every cup of coffee and milk tea, all my savings went into this. But do you remember where this money ended up?” I opened another screenshot of an expired travel booking. “In the first month of our marriage, you maxed out the credit cards prepaying for that ‘Arctic Photography Tour.’ When your salary was delayed and you couldn’t pay the credit card bill, we almost couldn’t even pay rent. We had to use this money.” I pulled up one electronic receipt after another. “And this one, that ‘High Altitude Skydiving Experience Camp’ you said you absolutely had to attend last year, that used our emergency risk fund. You even spent an extra five thousand buying a whole new set of gear.” “And two months ago, we finally managed to save a little money. And you changed cars again, switching to a financed performance car. You said experiencing new driving dynamics was fun.” “Ethan, have you ever thought about our future?” His lips moved, but no sound came out. He just silently lowered his head. “Every time we go grocery shopping, I compare prices and calculate the weight, while you just stand there scrolling on your phone, impatiently telling me to just grab whatever because it’s only a few dollars’ difference!” “I told you we should take a class to learn something new because the layoff wave is severe. You said it was a waste of money, and then turned around and bought a new lens.” “I budget carefully for months, and you swipe your credit card for in-game purchases without blinking an eye.” … Perhaps my line-by-line recollection provoked Ethan’s anger. He frustratedly ran a hand through his hair. “Chloe, can you please not be so materialistic!” “All you see are pots and pans, rent and utilities. If life is only about those things, what’s the difference between that and being a walking corpse? I just want to make our lives more meaningful.” Two tears rolled down my face in sheer exhaustion. “Meaningful?” “But your ‘meaning’ means we can’t even afford this month’s water bill.” Ethan turned pale with anger. “Money!” “It’s money again, you’re always talking about money!” “We can always earn more money, but some opportunities, if you miss them…” I cut Ethan off. I didn’t want to continue this exhausting argument. “It’s been three whole years! Every time I say I want to save for a down payment, you say, ‘Renting is better, it’s freedom.’ Every time I get anxious about the uncertainty of the future, you say, ‘Why think so much, just be happy now.’” “Ethan, I want a home, and you can’t give it to me.” He was nailed to the spot by my words, his chest heaving, but he couldn’t find the words to refute me. Only the sound of our heavy breathing filled the room. I looked at this man I had loved for three years. His carefree and unrestrained nature, which had once captivated me, now seemed like nothing more than a willful refusal to grow up. I turned my head and saw his packed suitcase in the corner. My intense emotions suddenly subsided, and I looked at Ethan: “Make a decision.” “Are you going to chase your Northern Lights, or face the utility bills at home with me?” 3 The door closed behind me. Ethan was gone. I stood there numbly for two seconds before finally coming to my senses. I found a lawyer’s number and dialed it. “Hello, I’d like to ask you to draft a divorce agreement for me as soon as possible.” “We have no joint assets, only some debts to divide. As soon as possible, thank you.” Hanging up, the rain outside seemed to fall heavier. Even my own breathing became hot and rapid. It might have been from getting rained on outside the supermarket earlier, or it might have been the physical reaction to the emotional rollercoaster. I dragged my heavy steps back to the bedroom. I took my temperature: 101.3 degrees Fahrenheit. I was running a fever. I rummaged around for a long time and only found one expired fever-reducing pill in the house. But I couldn’t care less; I swallowed it with cold water, praying the fever would be gone when I woke up. But the situation was much worse than I thought. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the pain all over my body. It felt like a volcano was erupting inside me. I couldn’t go on like this. Yet, delirious with fever, my instinctive reaction was to reach out to Ethan for help. Beep. Beep. Beep. It wasn’t until the busy signal sounded for the third time that my foggy brain finally realized: Ethan should be on a plane to Iceland right now. How could he answer the phone? I let out a dry laugh, which made my throat hurt even more. Laughing at how fever-addled I must be to still rely on him. I thought of my colleagues instead. Even though I hated bothering others, in this situation, I had to swallow my pride. But the voice from the receiver was a cold, mechanical prompt: “Sorry, your service has been suspended due to unpaid bills. Please recharge as soon as possible to restore service.” Suspended? I wanted to recharge, so I clicked into the payment page. But where could the money be deducted from? Our account only had $0.41 left. I couldn’t even afford the cheapest mobile plan. Phone service and internet are tied together. If the phone is suspended, that means the internet is gone too. I couldn’t even send out a cry for help. I had to save myself. Fortunately, the offline map still worked. I squinted, searching painstakingly, and found the nearest 24-hour clinic was three miles away. If I drove, it wouldn’t be too far. I struggled to the garage and turned on the light. Empty. Only then did I sluggishly remember that Ethan had taken the car to be modded yesterday. At the time, I suggested renting a car just in case, since we lived in the suburbs and transportation was inconvenient. Ethan immediately shook his head: “The bus stop and subway are right outside, why waste the money? I’m just changing the exhaust pipe, they’re really fast, I’ll be able to drive it back tomorrow.” “What could possibly happen? Stop worrying about useless things.” But now there was no car. I stood there, freezing cold, unable to even stand steady. If my fever continued, I might just die at home. No. I had to go to the hospital. Using all my strength, I dug out the thickest down jacket from my closet, put on two pairs of pants, pulled my socks high, and haphazardly wrapped a scarf around my neck, mouth, and nose, trying to trap whatever little heat I had left. I couldn’t hold an umbrella, so I put on a raincoat. Pushing open the door, Seattle at 3:30 AM felt like a massive, damp, freezing refrigerator. The cold pierced to the bone, and every step I took felt like walking on clouds, my head spinning. I kept my head down and walked, not daring to stop. Suddenly, several pairs of dirty shoes stopped in front of me, blocking my path. I slowly raised my head. It was three men. They were soaked, radiating a strong, pungent stench of alcohol mixed with tobacco. They grinned at me lewdly, practically vibrating with excitement. I instantly knew something was wrong. I turned to run, but one of the men grabbed me and yanked the hood of my raincoat off. “Dressed so warmly… hiding something good under there?” I let out a hoarse scream. “No… get away!” But two of them were already dragging me, pulling me toward the darker woods nearby. 4 Freezing rainwater poured down the back of my neck, but I no longer cared about shivering. I struggled with everything I had, but my sick body was no match for the strength of three adult men. The raincoat was torn out of shape, and the foul, hot breath of the men enveloped me. “Help—!” In the end, I couldn’t help but scream shrilly in Chinese. I knew it was useless, but I was so terrified. They let out harsh, grating laughs, as if my fear was part of the entertainment. I was shoved, my back slamming against a cold, wet tree trunk, and a heavy body pressed against me. Breath reeking of alcohol sprayed on my face. One hand covered my mouth, while the other began tearing at my clothes haphazardly, reaching inside… The world narrowed down to the twisted faces before my eyes and the disgusting jeers in my ears. Bang! A gunshot rang out. Bang! Bang! Two more shots. My hand holding the gun was trembling. I am not Ethan; I loathe taking risks. That’s why I always had the habit of carrying a concealed handgun whenever I went out. Two shots missed, only grazing the oversized jacket of the man in front of me. The last shot hit a leg. “Get out!” “Or you all die right here!” The three men were terrified by my ruthlessness and scrambled away, disappearing deep into the woods. I leaned against the tree trunk, my eyes locked on the direction they vanished. Only when I was certain there were no more sounds did I struggle to pick up the clothes that had been torn off me from the ground. Ignoring how dirty they were, I forced them back onto my body, pulled on the raincoat, and kept walking. I don’t know how long it passed before I finally reached the hospital. I stumbled toward the front desk. “Help… me.” The nurse on duty looked as if she had seen many people like me. Expressionlessly, she handed me a form: “The initial fee for emergency assistance is $200. How will you be paying?” I instinctively reached for my wallet. It was gone. Probably snatched by those animals while I was struggling. I could only clench my fingers tightly and ask: “I just want a box of cold medicine, the kind that reduces fever.” The nurse looked at me, unmoving. Instead, she asked: “Basic fever reducer, $1. Cash or card?” $1? But I couldn’t even pull out $1. All I had to my name was the $0.41 Ethan had left behind. The nurse waited quietly for a few seconds, her gaze sweeping over my pathetic state. As if understanding something, she nodded toward a specific direction. “See that door with the blue light? Legal plasma donation center. Open 24 hours.” “Ma’am, you can sell some blood for money.” She paused, her gaze returning to my face. As if assessing me: “Not only enough to buy this medicine, but you might even be able to pay off a chunk of whatever credit card debt you have.” I didn’t want to sell my blood. But I wanted to live, so I had to. The needle pierced my skin, and I watched the blood flow quickly through the plastic tube into the collection bag. The first bag was full, and the machine beeped. I opened my mouth, uttering a weak sound: “Enough, stop. I’m only selling this much!” “I feel terrible!” No one answered me. The nurse forcefully pushed me back down and swapped in another empty bag. “Relax, ma’am. Your vitals are good, you can donate more.” “We will compensate you generously. A full $500!” The second bag of blood was also filling rapidly. The edges of my vision darkened, and the sounds around me grew distant. I felt like I was going to die right there. It wasn’t until the second bag was full that the nurse’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away: “Alright, the money has been deposited into your account.” With the money, I finally received treatment. The day I was discharged from the hospital and returned home, Ethan also concluded his trip to Iceland. He pushed the door open excitedly, holding a large paper bag from a department store. Inside was exactly the pot I had asked him to buy before. Ethan didn’t even notice my sickly state. He presented the pot to me like a precious treasure. “Babe, look! The pot you wanted!” “Let’s not fight anymore, okay? Strangely enough, when I got off the plane, I saw there were a few hundred extra dollars in my account. It must be my overtime pay coming in early.” “So I immediately thought of buying the pot for you, to make up for my mistake!” I looked at Ethan’s face, completely devoid of any gloom, even looking for praise. A wave of overwhelming nausea churned in my stomach. I raised my hand and threw the hospital receipts right in his face: “Ethan, do you know why there was a few hundred extra dollars?” “That’s because I sold my blood.”

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“Chloe, you’ve been cut from the Physics Olympiad team.” When the academic advisor’s voice came through the phone, I was in the library double-checking the final line of data for an experiment. Outside the window, the oak leaves had just turned yellow. I was only eighteen, still naive enough to believe the world operated strictly on test scores. I hung up and opened my student email. “Following a comprehensive review, it has been determined that Chloe Bennett is no longer a suitable fit for the International Physics Olympiad training camp. You are dismissed effective immediately.” Not a suitable fit. I gripped my mouse tightly. Three months ago, at the national qualifiers, I was the only student to score a perfect 100 in every single category. Theory, experimental, and the comprehensive interview. Every judge said they hadn’t seen a prodigy like me in a decade. And now, suddenly, I wasn’t “suitable.” 1 I marched straight to the Physics Department building. “Is Professor Lee here?” I knocked on the faculty room door, my palms slick with sweat. Three professors looked up at me. I recognized one of them—Professor Davis, the assistant coach for the training team. “Ah, Chloe,” Professor Davis adjusted his glasses. “Can I help you?” “I want to know why I was dismissed.” I held up my phone with the email open. “I didn’t receive any feedback from a review, and I have zero disciplinary infractions.” “Well…” Professor Davis glanced at the other two. “It was the result of a comprehensive evaluation by the team committee.” “What evaluation?” I refused to back down. “I ranked first overall in the last mock exam. My experimental error margin was the lowest on the team. The head coach told me I was the strongest contender for the gold medal.” “Chloe, Olympiads aren’t just about test scores.” A female professor spoke up. Her voice was gentle, but her words were ice-cold. “We also look at well-roundedness, teamwork, psychological resilience…” “Which of those did I fail?” I interrupted her. “Over the past three months, I’ve tutored three teammates in theory. I’m always the last to leave the lab. My psychological evaluation scored an A.” The office fell silent for a few seconds. Professor Davis sighed. “Chloe, this is the university’s decision. We’re just enforcing it.” “What university? The national team selection is overseen directly by the Department of Education. The university doesn’t have the authority to cut team members.” “The point is, you’ve been cut.” The female professor stood up. “Go back and study for your finals. Stop thinking about the Olympiad.” I stood there, staring at them. Professor Davis looked down and shuffled some papers. The female professor sat back down and stared at her monitor. The third professor just got up and walked out. No one gave me a real answer. When I walked out of the building, the sky had turned overcast. An oak leaf drifted down, brushing past my shoulder. I unlocked my phone and opened the Olympiad team’s Discord group. There were twenty-three people in the group. I was the twenty-fourth, and I had been kicked. I typed a message: “Does anyone know why I was cut?” A red exclamation mark appeared next to it. “You have been removed from this server.” I stared at the screen for ten seconds, put my phone away, and headed toward my dorm. On the way, I ran into Olivia, a teammate. When she saw me, her eyes darted away. “Olivia,” I called out. She stopped, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Oh, hey Chloe… what’s up?” “I got cut from the team. Do you know why?” “I… I don’t know.” She picked up her pace. “I have to get to the lab.” “You asked to borrow my lab notes just last week,” I said. “You said I explained things better than the professors.” She blushed, stammered for a bit, and finally said, “Chloe, just stop asking. It’s not going to do you any good.” Then she practically ran away. I watched her back and finally understood. It wasn’t about my grades. It wasn’t about my ability. It was about something else entirely. 2 That night, I couldn’t sleep. At 2:00 AM, I got out of bed, booted up my laptop, and logged onto the national training team’s official website. The roster had been updated. My name was gone. In my spot was a new name: Harper Sterling. I didn’t know this person. I hadn’t seen that name in the top 100 at the qualifiers. I searched her name on the site and found zero records of her participating in any prior physics competitions. Someone with absolutely zero competition history had replaced the only student with perfect scores. I took a screenshot. Then, I drafted an email to the Department of Education’s Olympiad Office. I attached my transcripts, my qualifier certificates, my original acceptance letter to the training camp, and the dismissal notice I had just received. When I finally hit send, the sky was beginning to lighten. I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. I knew this email might just disappear into the void, but I had to send it. Just like three years ago, when I wrote down the final answer on my high school entrance physics exam—I’ve always believed that what’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong. Seven days later, I got a reply. Not from the Department of Education, but from the university’s Dean of Students office. “Chloe Bennett, please report to the Dean of Students office tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM for a meeting.” There were three people waiting for me in the office. Dean Miller, the Dean of the Physics Department, and a middle-aged woman I had never seen before. She was wearing a tailored Chanel suit with flawless makeup. “Have a seat, Chloe.” Dean Miller was a balding man who always spoke with a smile, but his eyes were entirely devoid of warmth. I sat down. “Regarding the email you sent to the Department of Education, we’ve seen it,” Dean Miller got straight to the point. “We asked you here today to clear things up and avoid any misunderstandings.” “What misunderstanding?” I asked. “Your removal from the training team was a standard roster adjustment,” the Dean of Physics said. “The competition team needs to stay dynamic. Sometimes we need to inject fresh blood.” “Who is Harper Sterling?” I asked. “I can’t find her in any competition records.” The office went quiet. The middle-aged woman spoke up. Her voice was incredibly soft and cultured. “Harper is my daughter. She was studying abroad before, so she doesn’t have a domestic competition record, but she’s won awards in international competitions.” “What awards? Which competitions?” I pressed. “That’s not important,” the woman smiled. “What’s important is that Harper’s overall profile makes her highly suitable to represent the national team. She has a global perspective, is fluent in French and Spanish, and has excellent psychological resilience…” “So you replaced the only student with a perfect score?” I asked. “Chloe!” Dean Miller raised his voice. “Watch your tone!” “My tone?” I looked at him. “I spent three years preparing for this. Since freshman year of high school, I’ve woken up at 5:00 AM every day to do practice problems. I spent every winter and summer break locked in a lab. I got perfect scores across the board at the qualifiers. And now, with a single sentence, you replace me with a nepo baby with zero verifiable records, and you’re telling me to watch my tone?” The office fell deathly silent. The middle-aged woman’s smile vanished. “Miss Bennett,” she said slowly. “I know you are very talented, but these competitions aren’t just about test scores. Harper’s father is Deputy Superintendent Sterling of the State Department of Education. He has always been a strong supporter of this university’s STEM programs. Harper joining the training team is simply a reflection of Superintendent Sterling’s trust in the university’s work.” I understood. I understood everything. ‘Global perspective,’ ‘psychological resilience’—it was all bullshit. The real reason was that her dad was the Deputy Superintendent. 3 “And so?” I asked. “Because her dad is the Deputy Superintendent, I have to give up my spot for her?” “It’s not giving it up; it’s an adjustment,” Dean Miller said smoothly. “The university will compensate you. Priority consideration for grad school recommendations, full-ride scholarships—we can arrange all of that for you.” “I want my spot on the Olympiad team,” I said. “That’s impossible.” The Dean of Physics shook his head. “The roster has already been submitted. It can’t be changed.” “Then I’ll appeal to the Department of Education.” “Chloe!” Dean Miller slammed his hand on the desk, standing up. “Don’t push your luck! With one word from Superintendent Sterling, you won’t just lose this competition—you might not even graduate!” I looked at them. Three adults, sitting in a comfortable, heated office, casually dictating the trajectory of my life. I thought about the day of the qualifiers. I stood at the lab station for six hours. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my pen, but I still finished logging every single data point. The head judge told me my lab report was the most flawless he had ever seen. Now, flawless wasn’t enough to beat a Deputy Superintendent. “Fine,” I said. Dean Miller let out a visible sigh of relief. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable.” “I’m being reasonable.” I stood up. “I’ll step down.” “That’s the right attitude…” “But I’m not giving up.” I looked directly at the middle-aged woman. “Tell Harper Sterling she stole my spot, but she won’t be able to hold onto it. The Olympiad isn’t a dinner party; it requires actual, raw capability. If she’s actually a genius, I’ll accept it. But if she’s an empty shell, then standing on that stage will only bring her absolute humiliation.” The woman’s face drained of color. “What do you mean by that?” “I mean,” I enunciated every word, “I’ll be watching her. If she brings home a gold medal, I’ll bow to her. But if she can’t even pass the national finals, the one humiliated won’t be me—it’ll be her, and her Deputy Superintendent father.” I turned and walked out. As the door clicked shut, I heard Dean Miller cursing: “Arrogant little brat! She doesn’t know her place!” My place. All I knew was that what’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong. 4 News of my dismissal spread through the Physics Department like wildfire. Some pitied me, some laughed at me, but most chose to stay silent. Olivia secretly sought me out later, cornering me in a quiet section of the library. “Chloe, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I was too scared to say anything the other day… Harper’s mom came to the training camp. She said if Harper didn’t make the team, Superintendent Sterling would slash our department’s funding.” “So I was the sacrificial lamb?” I asked. “Not just you.” Olivia offered a bitter smile. “The team originally had five official members. Now there are six. Harper took your spot, but of the other four, two were alternates who got bumped up. They originally didn’t make the cut either.” “And they just accepted it?” “What choice did they have?” Olivia said. “Dean Miller talked to them. He told them if they made a fuss, their guaranteed grad school spots would vanish.” I looked at her. This girl, who had once sworn we would win gold medals together, now only had fear in her eyes. “Are you going to stay on the team?” I asked. “I…” She looked down. “My family is from a poor rural area. That guaranteed grad school spot is too important to me. Chloe, I can’t afford to fight like you…” “I understand,” I said. And I truly did. I wasn’t naive to the ways of the world; I just refused to surrender to them. After that day, I moved out of the training team’s dorms. I didn’t have much. One suitcase fit everything. As I walked out of the building, Harper Sterling happened to be walking in, accompanied by her mother. They both saw me. Harper was undeniably gorgeous. She was decked out in designer clothes, holding the newest iPhone. She gave me a passing glance, her eyes flat and indifferent, like she was looking at a piece of furniture. Her mother, however, stopped and walked over to me. “Chloe.” She still used that sickeningly soft tone. “Harper is officially joining the team today. You’re still classmates, so I hope you can get along.” “I’m no longer on the team,” I said. “Well, it’s the same thing,” she smiled. “Oh, by the way, Dean Miller told me he approved you for the highest-tier merit scholarship as compensation. You should learn to be grateful.” I didn’t say a word. She kept walking, entering the building with her daughter. I stood there, watching their backs. The highest-tier scholarship. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars to buy my spot in an international competition. To buy three years of blood, sweat, and tears. To buy the opportunity that could have changed my life. Ten thousand dollars. I dragged my suitcase toward the regular student dorms. I passed a few classmates on the way. The looks they gave me were incredibly complex. Some opened their mouths to speak, but ultimately said nothing. I knew that from today on, in their eyes, I was just a stubborn idiot who didn’t know how to play the game. But so what? I got to my new dorm and unpacked my box. The first thing I saw was my thick physics notebook. From freshman year of high school until now, I had filled six of these. This was the last one, still half-empty. I opened it to the very last page. I had written one line: “Goal: International Gold Medal.” I took out a pen and wrote a new line right beneath it: “Even if they block the road, I will carve my own.”

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1 My boyfriend wanted me to come home with him for the holidays to discuss our wedding plans. Before we left, he dragged me along to buy gifts for his family. As we entered the subway station, his adopted sister, Stella, suddenly pulled him ahead, rushing into the train car. By the time I reacted and tried to catch up, the heavy doors slammed shut, nearly trapping my hand. They exchanged a knowing glance, a shared smirk, as if I were putting on a clown show just for them. The subway began to pick up speed. Just as it was about to disappear from my sight, Stella locked eyes with me, then turned and planted a triumphant, exaggerated kiss on my boyfriend, Eason’s, cheek. Eason didn’t flinch. His arm, almost instinctively, wrapped around her waist. When I finally got home late that night, he offered me a bowl of plain noodles and said, “Stella’s just a kid, you know, playful. Don’t mind her.” I glanced at the bland, oil-free noodles, then quietly arranged to meet a friend for a late-night bite. Only then did I turn to him, calmly, “It’s fine. You two grew up together, it’s normal to be close. It was just a kiss on the cheek, not like… sleeping together. I get it.” Eason, clearly taken aback, seemed to struggle to process my words. I hadn’t flown into a rage, screaming and crying over Stella, as I usually did. He watched as I moved to leave again, blocking my path. “You’re… not upset?” he questioned, a tremor in his voice. I used to lose my composure, weeping and raging over Stella, countless times. Yet, he never once distanced himself from her. If he was never going to change, what was left for me to be upset about? This time, I didn’t want him, either. … I didn’t answer Eason’s question. Instead, I turned and put my jacket back on. He stood there, holding that bowl of plain noodles, his gaze oddly lost. Eason was undeniably handsome, the undisputed campus heartthrob back in college, and his family was well-off. When he pursued me, he spared no effort, lavishing me with attention and grand gestures. My friends all told me I was lucky to have found such a boyfriend. But no one knew that he always had Stella, his “sister,” trailing behind him. Eason set the bowl down and reached for my hand. “Today, at the subway station, Stella was just messing around with me. She’s still young, you know, just likes to play pranks. I’m her brother; I have to look out for her…” I gently pulled my hand away, offering him a faint smile. “I know. I’m not angry.” Eason froze. In the past, every one of Stella’s “pranks” would send me into a fit of hysterical tears. She’d deliberately save suggestive texts on his phone, suddenly whisk him away from our dates with a feigned cough, or linger in his room in her nightgown until late at night. When I finally reached my breaking point and confronted him, Eason would always use that helpless tone: “I found Stella abandoned outside the orphanage. She has no family; she only has me to rely on. You’re going to be my wife; you’re practically her older sister. What’s wrong with being a little understanding?” Each time I conceded, Stella’s provocations grew bolder, more brazen. “I’m going out for a bit. Meeting a friend for late-night food.” I picked up my bag, circumnavigating him towards the door. “Going out this late? I made you noodles, didn’t I?” Eason’s voice held a hint of displeasure. I looked back at him. “My taste buds are a bit more… adventurous. I don’t really care for your noodles.” Eason stiffened. “But you used to say you loved my cooking most?” Yes, when you love someone, even your tastes subtly shift to match theirs. It was a shame my affection was never truly cherished. I pulled open the door and stepped directly into the night. Eason, persistent, called out, “I can make you something else!” “No need.” I closed the door, hearing the distinct clatter of a bowl and chopsticks being set down heavily on the other side. 2 My best friend, Claire, gasped when she saw me. “Oh my God, Violet! What’s wrong? You look awful. Did Eason upset you again?” Sitting in the steamy hotpot restaurant, I calmly recounted the day’s events. Claire was so incensed she nearly flipped the table. “My boyfriend holds my hand when we go out, afraid I’ll get lost or squashed. He even lets me get on first! What the hell was Eason doing, grabbing his ‘sister’ like that? Is he crazy? Is she his sister or his girlfriend?” I dipped a piece of tripe into the broth, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You get used to it.” Claire stared at me for a long moment, then lowered her voice. “You’re different.” My hand, holding the chopsticks, paused. I said nothing. Claire continued, “Normally, you’d be crying your eyes out by now, swollen like walnuts, asking me what to do. Why are you so calm today?” I took a sip of my drink. “I’m tired of crying. The tears have just run out.” The truth was, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to cry; it was that I couldn’t. My well of tears had dried up. Six months ago, on Eason’s birthday, I’d meticulously prepared a candlelit dinner. He’d promised to be home early, but by ten at night, there was still no sign of him. I called, and Stella answered. “Violet, we’re at the hospital. I have a fever, and Eason brought me to get an IV.” In the background, Eason’s gentle voice drifted through the phone: “Stella, put down the phone. Come drink some hot water.” He took the phone, not bothering to explain why he was at the hospital with Stella without telling me. He simply said, “She has a fever of 100 degrees; I can’t leave her alone. You go ahead and eat. Don’t wait for me.” That night, I waited until two in the morning for him to return. Seeing me still in the living room, he frowned. “Why aren’t you asleep?” “Waiting for you.” “I told you not to.” “It’s your birthday today.” Eason paused, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. Stella was sick; I really couldn’t leave.” I said nothing, silently retrieving the cake from the fridge. It had softened a bit, and the candles on the holder were tilted. Eason sat down, took a reluctant bite, then put down his fork. “Actually, Stella and I already had cake at the hospital today.” He pushed the plate away, rubbing his temples tiredly. “You shouldn’t bother with this anymore. It’s a waste if we don’t finish it.” I sat alone in the living room, staring at the melted cake. Suddenly, everything felt utterly pointless. From then on, I stopped arguing with him over Stella. I quietly watched their “sibling affection,” watched him cancel our dates countless times for Stella, watched Stella increasingly assert her claim over him in front of me. And Eason, from his initial explanations, to growing impatience, to now, a sense of entitlement. He thought I’d finally matured. But what he didn’t know was that I’d reconnected with a former professor who had consistently encouraged me to join his research team, and I was beginning to prepare my application materials for graduate school abroad. My undergraduate grades were excellent, and the professor had always pushed me to pursue further studies. At the time, for Eason’s sake, I had given up a scholarship opportunity and chosen to stay in the city for work. Thinking back, I was incredibly foolish. Returning home after our late-night meal, it was already one in the morning. Eason was still awake, sitting on the living room sofa, his face dark. “So, you finally decided to come home?” I changed my shoes without looking at him. “Had a good chat with a friend, stayed out a bit longer.” “Which friend?” “Claire.” “A guy?” I paused, turning to him. “Do you really think so little of me?” Eason’s expression faltered, as if he realized he’d spoken out of turn. But I had already caught a glimpse of his phone screen, displaying a message from Stella. The latest one glaringly read: “Brother, Violet was so mad today and went out so late. Do you think she went to meet some other guy?” I forced a tight smile. She truly missed no opportunity to smear my name. 3 Eason stammered, his voice softening. “I was just worried about you.” “You’d do better to worry about your sister.” I said flatly. “A young woman calling you drunk from a bar in the middle of the night, isn’t that more concerning?” Eason’s face changed. “How did you know?” Last month, Stella had called him at three in the morning, weeping dramatically, saying she was being harassed at a bar. Eason rushed out without a second thought and didn’t return until dawn. He explained that by the time he arrived, Stella was passed out drunk, so he had to get a room for her to rest, and he stayed by her side all night. “Her phone died, so she used the bar’s landline to call me.” Eason had said then, “I couldn’t just leave her, could I?” I hadn’t argued or made a scene, just nodded. “Of course not. She only has you as a brother.” Now, Eason looked at my calm face, a strange unease growing in him. “Violet, Stella and I are really just siblings. She grew up following me around; I only feel familial affection for her.” I smiled. “I know.” These three words had been escaping my lips with increasing frequency lately. Eason became even more anxious. “Then why have you been so cold to me these past few days?” “Have I?” I tilted my head, thinking. “Perhaps because I’m preparing for a business trip.” “Where to?” “Seattle, for a training program.” I lied without batting an eye. In reality, I was going for an online interview with Harvard. My professor had already written a recommendation letter for me; if all went well, I’d receive an acceptance letter in a few months. Eason breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I thought…” “You thought what?” I asked. He shook his head, saying nothing. I knew what he was thinking – that I was throwing another tantrum because of Stella. How ridiculous. He knew perfectly well what I was upset about. But in his mind, I was always the unreasonable, petty girlfriend, while Stella was the innocent, vulnerable sister who needed his protection. On the day of my “business trip,” Eason offered to drive me to the airport. I declined. “No need. Your work is more important. I’ll just take a taxi.” “It’s only half a day off. I’ll take you.” In the end, I let him, simply not wanting to become fodder for the neighborhood gossip. We barely spoke on the way. As we neared the airport, Eason suddenly broke the silence. “Violet, when you get back, let’s talk seriously about the wedding. I’ve already discussed it with my parents; the dowry, the house—everything’s fine.” I turned to look out the window. “No rush. Let’s wait a bit longer.” I was actually waiting for my Harvard acceptance letter. Eason’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He looked at me, his eyes full of surprise. For three years, I had been the one pushing for marriage. Now that he’d finally conceded, I was the one playing it cool. Eason was silent for a while, then said, “Are you still angry with me because of Stella?” He cleared his throat. “I promise I’ll be more careful in the future. But she is my sister, after all; some level of care is unavoidable.” “I understand.” I responded mechanically. At the airport, Eason tried to help me with my luggage, but I evaded him. “This is fine. You should go back to work.” He stood there, watching me walk towards the terminal, then suddenly called out, “Violet!” I turned back. “Come back soon,” he said. I nodded, turning to enter the main hall. During my days in Seattle, I successfully completed the interview. The interviewers were very interested in my research direction and immediately expressed a positive attitude. Back at the hotel, I checked my phone to find a dozen missed calls, all from Eason. And several WeChat messages: “Did you arrive?” “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” “Violet, are you mad at me?” “Stella came to see me today. I told her to be more careful in the future, and she cried for a long time, saying you don’t like her.” I didn’t reply to any of them. A little while later, Eason sent another message: “Violet, you’ve changed.”

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1 The first time I saw Finn, he was working a shift at my dad’s karaoke bar. I fell for him, hard and fast. After six months of relentlessly pursuing him, he finally said yes. One day, nearing his graduation, he invited me to a cheap motel near his university, just like he always did. After we’d finished, he lit a cigarette and, without preamble, asked, “Girls like you, when you’re done having your fun, you’ll probably just go back home and marry some ‘decent guy,’ right?” I felt a surge of confusion. “What exactly do you mean by ‘decent guy’?” He took another drag, exhaling slowly. “Someone who won’t care about your past, who’s willing to support your younger siblings, and who’s thick-skinned enough to just… take it.” I walked out of that motel and broke up with him on the spot. It was four years before I saw him again. My dad’s old karaoke bar had since been upgraded to the best club in the city. I had just finished a staff training session when Finn walked in, ushering a client through the door. He saw me, raised an eyebrow, and said with a mocking edge to his voice, “Still here? Youth doesn’t last forever in this business, you know. How about you join us tonight, with Mr. Green?” He paused, then added, “Your rate used to be a hundred and fifty a night. Now, at your age, how about I offer you a hundred?” I looked up at the man beside him. Mr. Green, a knowing glint in his eye, drawled, “A million dollars, and you’ll share a drink with me tonight?” … Finn turned to glance at his important client, then looked back at me, a flicker of bewilderment in his eyes. Seeing that I didn’t respond, he quickly ushered Mr. Green into the private room. But the man lingered, giving me a pitiful look until I glared at him, and he slowly retreated inside. I turned to head back to my office, but Finn popped out again. He waved me over. “Do you get a commission for setting up our private room and drinks? The cut here should be better than a karaoke bar, right?” Given he was a paying customer, I answered him honestly. “No, I don’t. If you’re talking sales, then yes, the commission is better than a karaoke bar.” But he still didn’t seem to grasp that I wasn’t in sales. Honestly, four years wasn’t a short time, and Finn had changed immensely. He still had a face that could make you fall in love at first sight, but his once clear, earnest demeanor had become… well, a little sleazy. His expression was now tinged with worldliness and cunning. “The client in there is a very important guest. My entire year’s performance depends on him. He’s loaded, but he loves to put on airs. Don’t take what he just said seriously; you don’t want to give away your services for free.” He finished speaking, then suddenly chuckled as if something just clicked. “You’ve been working in places like this for years. What kind of people haven’t you seen? It’s pretty funny that I’m still worrying about you, isn’t it?” “Alright, go open a few good bottles of wine for us later, and find some pretty girls. Make sure they take good care of Mr. Green.” He emphasized, “Get some young ones. The older ones, like you, just phone it in.” I gave him a tight, humorless smile. “My appearance fee is probably more than you can afford.” He scoffed. “A million for a drink, huh? You really think I’d fall for that.” 2 Watching his retreating back, thinking about what he’d just said, and then remembering so many things from the past, I felt a sense of stark dissociation. I knew, clearly, that all those words came from the same person’s mouth. Whether they were sweet nothings, solemn vows, or those utterly hurtful remarks. After we broke up, I was devastated. The same person who had once brought me so much happiness now plunged me into despair. I cried myself to sleep on countless nights until time, like a cleansing rain, washed it all away. I stared blankly at the door he’d entered for a moment, then called a salesperson to arrange their drinks. “If the guest in that room asks for me, just say I’m not available. Don’t say anything else unnecessary.” It was precisely at that moment, as I turned around, that someone clapped me on the shoulder, beaming. “Hazel! It really is you! You’re still working here?” “This karaoke bar totally transformed into a top-tier club. You must be a manager by now, right? Did you just see Finn? He’s here tonight entertaining a big client. My dad actually helped him get the connection. He might be really taking off.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, if he’d stayed with you, do you think he’d be where he is today? He wouldn’t be entertaining important guests; he’d be… working as a hostess, just like you.” She heavily emphasized the word “hostess,” seemingly trying to convey a suggestive, double meaning through her tone. I never quite understood it. Finn and I both worked part-time at the karaoke bar, coming and going together every day. How was it that his job was considered a commendable example of working his way through college, while mine somehow became a stain on my record? “Alright, I won’t keep you. You shouldn’t go in there tonight. Your perfume smells a little… cheap.” 3 This girl was Finn’s junior, Chloe Vance. I heard her family was quite well-off; her father was a businessman. If I remembered correctly, they owned a contract manufacturing plant that produced pet-related products under various labels. From the moment I started pursuing Finn, I knew she was around. After all, he was the renowned star of the business school; it would have been unusual if he didn’t have a few admirers circling him. But at first, I honestly didn’t pay much attention to her. Back then, we were all still quite immature, operating on the principle that beauty equaled righteousness. And no, Chloe wasn’t particularly pretty; she was very average. The kind of person you could lose in a crowd and struggle to find. I, on the other hand, strongly resembled my mother, who was a minor actress known more for her beauty than any significant roles. She retired after marrying my father. When Finn finally accepted me, the first thing he said was, “You’re truly beautiful. I actually noticed you the first time we met.” He was my first love, so I was completely devoted once we were together. I wanted to be with him every moment, but his time wasn’t entirely his own. He had classes, student council meetings, and various part-time jobs. He was incredibly stubborn; though he never spoke about his family, and never applied for financial aid, his everyday clothes, spending habits, and general demeanor hinted at his poverty. To spend more time with him, I started attending his major classes, accompanied him to student council events, and even got a part-time job at the same place he worked. Perhaps it was this constant, seemingly desperate scramble for work that made him mistakenly believe I was just like him—someone who needed to work part-time to sustain my studies and life. Our hearts grew closer, and it became increasingly difficult for me to open up to him. I gradually missed the best time to be honest. 4 As graduation neared, Finn grew even busier. He was swamped writing his own thesis, and taking on ghostwriting assignments for classmates. He also had to deal with constant harassment from his family. His parents had just had another son, a baby brother for him. This new arrival added immense stress to his life; his mother could no longer work and placed all her hopes on her eldest son, who was about to graduate. I once overheard him on the phone with his family, his mother earnestly telling him, “You are the firstborn son and grandson of the Miller family. The family’s future glory depends on you.” “After you graduate, you need to send five hundred dollars home every month. Don’t just casually date, don’t be a fool buying gifts for everyone, and make sure to be frugal.” She continued, “Your father and I have finally made it this far. Once you marry, our family will truly be set.” After those calls, Finn always became unusually quiet. During that period, his mood was particularly somber. He often spaced out, sometimes staring at me, sometimes at the ground. His contact with Chloe Vance, his junior, also increased, as she helped him secure many ghostwriting gigs. To cheer him up, I bought him numerous gifts. To my surprise, it only made him more upset. He frowned, asking where I got the money. Before I could answer, Chloe interjected, “This clearly looks like a knock-off. Girls who work at karaoke bars love to buy these fake luxury items to make themselves look classy and boost their value, don’t they?” She smirked. “Your little bag has pretty good stitching. Where did you get it? Can you tell me your source?” Finn’s gaze was strange. I could almost imagine that if I told him these were genuine, he would suspect me of some illicit activity. So I simply said, “If you don’t like it, I’ll return it.” 5 The more stressed a person is, the more they need an outlet. During that time, Finn often invited me to the cheap motel. He showed a fervent obsession with my body, which often gave me the illusion that he truly loved me. It was after one such encounter, before I even had time to get dressed, that I heard him say, “Girls like you, when you’re done having your fun, you’ll probably just go back home and marry some ‘decent guy,’ right?” I felt a surge of confusion. “What exactly do you mean by ‘decent guy’?” He took a drag from his cigarette and said, “Someone who won’t care about your past, who’s willing to support your younger siblings, and who’s thick-skinned enough to just… take it.” “And what do you mean by ‘girls like us’?” He scrutinized me from head to toe. “Girls who come from the countryside, who struggle to survive by any means, and who are good at using their bodies as resources.” I looked up, surprised, and asked him, “Have you always thought I was selling my body at the karaoke bar? All this time we’ve been together, is that what you thought of me?” I thought I was sharing countless firsts of my life with him. In his eyes, it had become cheap, insignificant leftovers. Everything felt surreal, and utterly ridiculous. I got dressed and walked out. After sending a breakup text, I never saw him again. Just as I finally snapped out of my memories, an employee rushed in and said, “Ms. Hayes, the guests in Room 512 are fighting!” Room 512 was the one Finn had booked. 6 As I hurried over, I instructed the employee, “We don’t know the full situation yet, so don’t call the police. If things get out of control, I’ll tell you immediately.” The employee looked flustered. “Shouldn’t we call the police first? Or maybe I should tell the big boss? It might not be safe for you to go in alone.” “It’s fine. They’re acquaintances. It shouldn’t be too bad.” I pushed open the door and saw Finn clutching his head, standing in a corner. On the floor lay a shattered glass. Before I could even speak, Blake Green started playing the victim. “I really didn’t mean to cause trouble, but I couldn’t stand their foul language anymore! If I’d known they had such low standards, how could I have come out to discuss business with them?” “This wasn’t even on the schedule. An old partner kept insisting I meet them, and it was hard to refuse. The location was here, so I eagerly came over.” He added, “Let me reiterate, I really didn’t mean to lay a hand on anyone, nor did I intend to cause a scene on your turf. I was just defending myself.” No sooner had he finished speaking than someone else, having clearly reached their limit, spoke up. “Can you stop talking nonsense? Did I even touch you? You call that self-defense?” He sneered, “Everyone comes to places like this to chat and talk business. Why are you acting like some innocent saint?” Chloe Vance also joined the fray. She pointed at me and said, “Here, as the manager here, you need to resolve this conflict. We’re paying for your private room to discuss business, and someone got hit. Shouldn’t you be responsible for this?” Blake suddenly stood up, looking somewhat aggrieved, and turned to me. “Honey, they were spreading nasty rumors about you, and I couldn’t stand it, so I got into a fight. I really didn’t mean to.”

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At my best friend’s wedding, I was lucky enough to catch the bouquet. Everyone looked on expectantly at me and Henry, my boyfriend of eight years. My friend, Maya, beamed, playfully teasing, “Congratulations! So, when’s the big day for you two?” I replied, “Next month.” To my surprise, Henry’s face instantly darkened. Right there, in front of everyone, he snapped at me, “Are you that desperate to get married? The more you push, the less I want to marry you.” He didn’t know the man I planned to marry wasn’t him. 1 The atmosphere at the wedding turned awkward because of Henry’s words. Maya, my best friend, looked ready to lash out on my behalf, but I stopped her. “Don’t let it get to you. Today’s your wedding, it’s not worth getting upset over.” Her husband, Michael, quickly stepped in, calming her simmering anger. Once she was settled, I pulled Henry aside. I didn’t want our drama to overshadow Maya’s special day. Henry was still fuming. “You can relax,” I explained, “what I said earlier was just polite conversation, not serious.” His expression softened slightly, but he still couldn’t resist a barbed comment. “I think you should learn from Elara Vance. Stop being so obsessed with romance.” Elara Vance was a brilliant, newly hired graduate from overseas at his company. This wasn’t the first time Henry had brought her up to me. Initially, when he talked about Elara, it was usually to complain about her strong personality, calling her aloof. But gradually, his comments had shifted to praise. He’d often say, “Elara is like a modern-day Joan of Arc, even more capable than most men.” A knot tightened in my stomach. I remembered replying to him then, “How capable?” He’d rolled his eyes at me. “More capable than a housewife like you, anyway.” My body stiffened. He knew perfectly well that the only reason I stayed home was because of my health. I had a congenital heart condition. In my younger years, this condition often led to emergencies. The most serious time, I almost died. Out of fear for my safety, Henry stopped me from working. I remembered him holding me tenderly then, promising he’d take care of me, telling me to rest at home and wait for him. I loved him, and I trusted him. But I never imagined that eight years into our relationship, his promise to “take care of me” would become a knife he’d twist into my heart. At that moment, a soft melody began to play at the wedding. In the romantic atmosphere, I felt a sudden daze wash over me. Henry hadn’t realized how hurtful his words were. Or perhaps he had, but he didn’t care. He even seemed proud of himself for leaving me speechless. He looked satisfied to see me discomfited. Just then, his phone rang. Elara’s calm, confident voice came from the other end. “Don’t stay up late tonight. You have a business trip tomorrow.” “Understood,” Henry replied, his tone gentle. Elara chuckled softly. “Want some unagi bowl? I can bring it over.” “Sure, thanks, Chef Elara.” Henry’s eyes crinkled with a smile, his joy undeniable. “Hmph, stop being such a tease,” Elara playfully chided. After hanging up, Henry’s smile lingered, the earlier coldness from our argument completely gone. Their familiarity was so evident; I felt utterly shut out of their world. At that moment, Maya, arm in arm with her husband, approached us. She continued to jab at Henry. “Henry, you better not do anything to hurt Serena, or I swear, I’ll never forgive you.” Henry first glanced at me, then let out an annoyed scoff. “My relationship with her is none of anyone else’s business.” Maya’s temper flared again. Michael and I quickly intervened, calming her down. With our persuasion, she reluctantly allowed Michael to lead her away. In the corner of the grand hall, only Henry and I remained. Henry grumbled, “You should spend less time with her. She’s a total shrew.” I turned to him, enunciating each word carefully. “A shrew? In your eyes, who isn’t a shrew? Even Elara Vance, whom you admire so much now, you used to call her a shrew.” Henry choked on his words. He wanted to argue, but I didn’t give him a chance, simply walking away. As the wedding neared its end, Maya pulled me aside, her face red from crying. She said we had planned to have our weddings together, but she didn’t expect me to break that promise. I smiled, gently patting her shoulder. I told her, “It’s okay. Seeing you happy today makes me happy.” But Maya insisted, “No, I know you. You’re not happy at all today. You should break up with him.” 2 No sooner had she spoken than Henry appeared. He looked at us suspiciously. “Break up what?” Maya shot him a glare and turned her head away. But he was persistent, a hint of anxiety even in his voice. “Serena, tell me.” “Can’t you tell? My best friend can’t bear to part with me.” The lie rolled off my tongue effortlessly. He saw no change in my expression and secretly breathed a sigh of relief. In an instant, he reverted to his usual haughty self. “It’s getting late. We need to go home.” I nodded. After saying goodbye to Maya, I got into Henry’s car. We didn’t exchange a single word the entire way. He seemed a little surprised by my silence, yet satisfied that I was finally “behaving” and not bothering him. When we got home, Henry even remembered to praise me. “You should always be this quiet, instead of rambling on the moment you get in the car.” But his praise quickly turned into a lecture. “If you had something of your own to do, you wouldn’t always be clinging to me.” He sighed. “You never go out and socialize; you’re completely out of touch with society. You even graduated from a prestigious university. You’re truly wasting your potential.” I clutched the hem of my dress. I knew. Even without Henry telling me these things, I knew. I was more anxious than he was. Just then, I received a message from Maya. “I have good news for you. We’ve found a matching heart donor.” The good news hit me like a revelation, snapping me awake. Henry, mistaking my reaction for being affected by his words, felt a pang of regret. But he continued nonetheless. “I can’t always support you, Serena. If one day we break up, what will you do?” I was no longer listening to him. I rushed into the bedroom, continuing my conversation with Maya about the heart donor. Henry remained in the living room, still lecturing. “I’m not saying I’ll abandon you. I just hope you can have something of your own, Serena. I want you to be more independent.” I didn’t respond. Seeing my silence, he sighed, then turned and went into the bathroom to shower. That afternoon, Henry suddenly called me. “Serena, I left a file at home. Can you bring it to the office for me?” I was about to ask him where the file was when he abruptly hung up. I sighed and started searching the house. I finally found the file in his study. Just as I was about to grab the file and leave, I accidentally bumped into a hanging bag. The bag fell to the floor, scattering its contents, revealing a necklace gift box. I opened the box. It was empty. I suddenly remembered something and quickly checked my social media. Finally, I saw the necklace in a post by Elara Vance. It was accompanied by a picture: a man’s large hand helping her put on the necklace. I hadn’t paid much attention to the post before, so I hadn’t noticed the subtle details. Now, looking closely, I saw a mole on the inside of the man’s index finger. Henry had a mole in the same spot on his hand. At that point, what more was there to understand? The necklace was a Givenchy, worth over two hundred thousand dollars. How could a man as frugal as he was usually, afford such an expensive gift? I let out a bitter laugh. 3 I remembered my birthday last year. Not only did he forget, but afterward, he only made it up to me with a scarf worth a hundred dollars. It wasn’t that I disliked the scarf for being too cheap, but that my neck became incredibly itchy when I wore it. He had laughed at me then, “Where did you get all this princess syndrome? You’re probably just upset the gift is too cheap, aren’t you? Don’t try to be like those gold diggers online, Serena. We need to be grounded.” I shook my head with a bitter smile. Thankfully, I no longer had any expectations of him. I put everything back in its place, then hurried to deliver the file to him. As soon as I arrived at the company, I was stopped by the receptionist. I explained that I was Henry’s girlfriend and was there to deliver a file. The receptionist seemed to soften slightly, but then Elara Vance appeared. Elara didn’t even glance at me. She looked straight ahead, instructing the receptionist, “Get rid of her quickly.” I stared at her in surprise. She clearly knew me; we had met before. I thought a woman like her would be above playing such petty games. The receptionist gave me an apologetic look and was about to ask me to leave. Seeing Elara walk away without a backward glance, I called out, “Ms. Vance, we know each other, don’t we?” Meeting the receptionist’s astonished gaze, Elara’s expression remained unchanged. She scrutinized me from head to toe, her eyes heavy with disdain. “So what? Are you so idle that you come here to cause a scene? Henry told me you were a high-achieving student?” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. My temper flared, and I was about to say something when Henry suddenly appeared, stopping me. Henry first looked at Elara, asking her with concern, “What’s wrong? She didn’t do anything to you, did she?” I looked up, surprised. In Henry’s eyes, was I really that kind of person? Despite having long understood his true nature, a chill still ran down my spine at that moment. Thankfully, my time with him was also coming to an end. My wedding was scheduled for next month, and the groom wasn’t him. The man I was about to marry was someone I met through an arranged meeting; I didn’t have strong feelings for him. For me, marriage was just a task. I was in my early thirties; I needed a marriage to deflect societal scrutiny. Most importantly, I needed a definitive reason to finally end things with Henry. We had been together for eight years; he was my first love. To completely excise him from my life would be like tearing off my own skin. Fortunately, I had long passed the stage of holding romanticized notions of love. Watching the two of them being intimately close, oblivious to my presence, I maintained a calm expression and placed the file on the reception desk. “The file is here.” I casually informed him and then left. He didn’t even glance at me until I had walked out of the company building. He was still talking to Elara about something. That evening, he returned. I was sitting on the sofa, casually looking at my phone. Henry seemed surprised that I hadn’t made dinner tonight. But he didn’t say much, turning instead to shower. After his shower, he saw me still on the sofa with my phone, his expression unreadable. “Why haven’t you cooked anything? I’ve had a long day. Can’t you be more thoughtful?” I didn’t even look up. “What? Your Ms. Vance didn’t keep you for dinner?” I had seen Elara’s social media post tonight. Henry had dropped her home. But Henry had told me he was working late. Caught in his lie, he grew annoyed. “I knew you’d overthink things, that’s why I kept it from you.” He sighed. “Look at you today, causing a scene at my company?” I looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Didn’t you ask me to deliver the file?” He coughed uncomfortably. Perhaps he realized he was in the wrong, but he still stubbornly insisted, “You should have just delivered the file to the reception. You argued with Elara just because you disliked her and made an issue out of nothing.” He continued, “She’s not like you. She’s not just any girl; she has ideals and ambitions. She’s above playing mind games and schemes or getting jealous all the time.” He concluded, “I’ve already apologized for you. Next time you see her, be polite.” I felt like I didn’t even know him anymore.

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To pay off my brother’s gambling debts, I sold myself to Damian Wren. For three years, I was at his beck and call, utterly without dignity. He hated nothing more than my “cheap bone” — my willingness to endure anything for money. On the third day of my kidnapping, the abductors discovered I was Damian Wren’s secret wife. When they called him, he was lavishly spending on his childhood sweetheart. The abductor spoke teasingly, “Mr. Wren, your wife is in my hands. No need for a hundred million, just ten dollars for shipping, and I’ll let her go. What do you say?” The entire room fell silent, broken only by Damian’s nonchalant chuckle. “Ten dollars? She’s not even worth that.” “Go ahead and kill her. It’ll save me the trouble of a divorce.” The call ended. The abductor looked at me with pity. I wiped the blood from my eyes, a serene smile on my face. “Boss, I have ten dollars. Can I have a knife? I’ll do it myself. Consider it the debt I owe Damian.” 1 The abductor froze, probably never having encountered a hostage requesting to end their own life. The rusty spring knife in his hand glinted coldly in the dim light. “Look, kid, don’t do anything crazy. That guy’s a jerk, sure, but your life is your own.” The abductor even began to plead with me. I stared at the knife, my gaze colder than its blade. “Give it to me.” I extended my hand, palm covered in dried blood and dust. The abductor hesitated for a moment, perhaps unnerved by the deadness in my eyes, and instinctively handed over the knife. The hilt was icy cold. The moment I grasped it, the thought that flashed through my mind wasn’t fear of death. It was Damian’s nonchalant comment: “She’s not even worth that.” Three years. For three years, I had wagged my tail like a dog beside him, swallowing every humiliation and grievance. Even when stomach pain left me drenched in cold sweat, a single call from him meant I had to crawl out of bed to make him hangover soup. Even when he equated me with the club dancers, I could only smile and nod. Because I needed the money. I had to save my gambling-addict brother, I had to keep this crumbling family from falling apart. But now, I didn’t want to endure it anymore. Ten dollars. So, I, Eliza Blackwell, was worth less than ten dollars in Damian Wren’s eyes. “Damian, the debt is paid.” I whispered, my wrist twisting with sudden force. Thud. The sound of the blade piercing my abdomen was surprisingly dull. Excruciating pain exploded instantly, and warm liquid gushed out, staining my clothes. The abductor screamed, horrified, “Holy hell, you actually stabbed yourself! Call an ambulance! Don’t die here!” Before my consciousness faded, I heard police sirens. I awoke again to the sterile smell of disinfectant in a hospital room. The wound in my abdomen burned fiercely, a cruel reminder that I hadn’t died. The door to my room burst open. Damian Wren, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his face grim, was flanked by several bodyguards. He strode to my bedside, looking down at me. There wasn’t a trace of pity in his eyes, only profound disgust. “Eliza Blackwell, you’ve grown bold, haven’t you?” He reached out and gripped my chin, his fingers clenching with enough force to shatter bone. “Playing at suicide? A pity ploy? You really went for it to force my hand.” I was forced to tilt my head back, gazing at the man I had loved for seven long years. At this moment, my heart was eerily still, like a stagnant pool. “You misunderstand, Mr. Wren.” I managed a strained smile, my voice hoarse and broken. “I just wanted to save that ten-dollar shipping fee. Didn’t want to bother you.” Damian’s pupils constricted. Then, as if he’d heard a hilarious joke, he let out a cold laugh. “Save money? A woman like you, who’d sell her dignity for cash, would actually be willing to die?” He flung my face away, wiping his fingers with a handkerchief in disgust. “Since you didn’t die, stop lying around in the hospital playing dead. Julian was startled by the kidnapping news; her heart isn’t feeling well. Go donate 400cc of blood to her, to help calm her nerves.” I stared at him in disbelief. My abdomen was still heavily bandaged; I had just come out of surgery. And he wanted to draw my blood to appease his darling? “Damian, I just had surgery.” “So what?” Damian cut me off, his gaze icy and piercing. “Your life is mine; I bought it. As long as you’re not dead, you obey me.” He turned to leave, his command utterly devoid of warmth. “In ten minutes, I expect to see you in the blood donation room. Otherwise, your gambling addict brother’s hand, you can forget about it.” 2 At the mention of my brother, my hand, which had begun to rise in protest, fell uselessly to my side. He was my weakness, and the most convenient chain for Damian to bind me with. I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand; blood immediately surged back, dripping onto the pale bedsheet. A nurse entered and gasped at the sight. “Ms. Blackwell, are you crazy? You just had twelve stitches. You can’t move like that.” “It’s fine.” I clutched my abdomen, my face ashen, my forehead slick with cold sweat. “I won’t die.” I shuffled, step by agonizing step, to the blood donation room. Julian sat comfortably on the VIP bed, her face rosy, showing no sign of being startled whatsoever. Seeing me enter, she dramatically clutched her chest, shrinking further into Damian’s embrace. “Uncle Damian, my sister’s face is so scary, like a ghost. I’m scared.” Damian gently patted her back. When he turned to me, his gaze instantly sharpened into a blade. “Still standing there like a statue? Get over here.” I gritted my teeth and sat down in the phlebotomy chair. The nurse, seeing the blood seeping through my abdominal bandage, hesitated to insert the needle. “Mr. Wren, the patient’s condition is extremely poor. She’s lost a lot of blood. If we draw another 400cc now, she might go into shock.” “Draw it.” Damian didn’t even lift an eyelid, instead peeling a grape and feeding it to Julian. “She’s tough. She won’t die. Before, she used to drink until her stomach bled just for money and still went to work the next day. This little bit of blood is nothing.” The nurse dared not disobey. She sighed and inserted the thick needle into my slender vein. Blood slowly flowed out. I watched the red liquid travel through the tube into the blood bag, feeling my life force drain away, little by little. Dizziness washed over me, my vision blurring at the edges. Meanwhile, the two across from me were flirting. “Uncle Damian, is my sister angry? It was ten dollars, after all, and you said those things about her.” Julian’s sugary voice drifted over. “Angry about what?” Damian scoffed, his voice low but clear enough to pierce my ears. “When she sold herself to me, she was much cheaper than this. Ten dollars? That was an insult to her. You’re just kind, calling her sister. A woman who sells her body for money isn’t even fit to tie your shoes.” My heart felt as if it were being repeatedly sliced by a rusty, blunt knife. I closed my eyes, unwilling to see, unwilling to hear. 400cc. It was finally done. The moment the nurse pulled out the needle, I collapsed, utterly drained. “Alright, stop faking it.” Damian’s impatient voice cut through. He walked over and nudged my leg with his foot. “Julian wants the porridge from that place in Southside. Go get it. Remember, it has to be hot. If it’s cold, you can swallow it yourself.” Southside? We were in Northside. A round trip would take at least two hours. Outside, it was pouring rain. I had just donated blood, and I had a knife wound in my abdomen. “Damian, I can’t move.” I spoke weakly, trying to appeal to even a sliver of his humanity. “If you can’t walk, crawl.” Damian looked down at me, pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet, and tossed it at my face. The red bill fluttered, eventually landing on the dusty floor. “The rest is your tip. Enough to buy medicine, isn’t it, Eliza, you gold digger?” Julian giggled from the bed. “Sister, that’s a lot of trouble for you, isn’t it? Remember to add extra sugar.” I looked at the money on the floor, then at Damian’s cold face. In that moment, I finally understood. In this man’s heart, I was never human. Just an object to be summoned and dismissed, trampled upon at will, as long as money was involved. I bent down, picking up the money. The movement pulled at my wound, making my whole body tremble. “Okay.” I whispered. “I’ll go buy it.” Damian, this is the last time I run an errand for you. Truly. 3 The rain poured heavily. I was soaked to the bone, my wound irritated by the rainwater, causing agonizing pain. By the time I returned with the porridge, two hours had passed. Clutching the insulated container, I dragged my heavy steps back to the hospital room door, only to hear laughter from inside. “Uncle Damian, you’re so mean, tormenting my sister like that. Will she hate us?” “Hate? What right does she have to hate?” Damian’s voice carried a hint of languor and disdain. “A person like her would eat dirt if you paid her enough. One hundred dollars for running an errand? She’s probably thrilled.” “True. I heard her brother owes another mountain of debt and is being chased to have his hand chopped off.” “Hmph. A family of leeches.” I stood at the door, the insulated container in my hand feeling like a thousand pounds. So, he knew everything. He knew my brother was being hunted by creditors, knew I desperately needed money. That’s why he so brazenly exploited it, trampling my dignity underfoot. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. “The porridge is back.” I placed the container on the table, dripping water, which pooled into a puddle on the floor. Damian frowned at the water on the ground, taking a step back in disgust. “You dirtied the floor. Don’t you know to clean it up?” He then added, “Also, who let you in? You reek of dampness. What if you make Julian sick?” Julian covered her nose, a look of revulsion on her face. “Sister, why do you smell so… metallic? It’s disgusting.” It was the smell of blood. The wound in my abdomen had likely reopened, blood mixed with rainwater, dripping down. But I said nothing. I turned, picked up the mop, and silently cleaned the water from the floor. Each movement felt like a knife twisting in my abdomen. Just then, my phone rang. It was that exclusive ringtone—my brother’s creditor. My hand trembled, and the mop clattered to the floor. Damian raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “What, is the death warrant here?” I shakily answered the phone. “Eliza Blackwell, your useless brother was caught cheating at the casino. They’re going to chop off one of his hands. Bring five million dollars immediately, or prepare to collect his corpse.” Five million dollars. Where would I get five million dollars? In these three years, all the money Damian had given me had been poured into that bottomless pit. I looked at Damian, my eyes holding a final plea. “Damian, could you… could you advance me a year’s worth of my… services? Please.” Damian looked as if he’d heard the funniest joke in the world. He walked over to me, his slender fingers lifted a strand of my wet hair, then flung it away in disgust. “AdBlackwell? Eliza Blackwell, have you forgotten? Our contract expires in a month.” He scrutinized me from head to toe, his gaze like that of someone evaluating an expired product. “Do you really think this withered, decaying self of yours is still worth five million dollars?” He paused. “However, for the sake of that hundred-dollar porridge, I can point you in a direction.” He pointed to Julian. “Julian’s shoes are dirty. Lick them clean for her. One shoe, one hundred thousand. What do you say? Good deal, isn’t it?” Julian wore a pair of diamond-studded high heels, the tops of which had a few speckles of mud. She feigned surprise. “Uncle Damian, is that really okay? Sister is your wife, after all.” “Wife?” Damian scoffed. “She’s nothing more than a high-class prostitute.” He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Eliza Blackwell, are you doing it or not? If not, get out and let your brother die.” I bit my lip so hard that my mouth filled with the taste of blood. Fifty shoes. That meant five million dollars. Just fifty licks, and my brother would live. I slowly knelt. My knees hit the hard tile floor with a sharp crack. The mockery in Damian’s eyes deepened. “See, Julian? I told you she was cheap bone.” I crawled to Julian’s feet, looking at her shoes. Just as I was about to lower my head, the hospital room door was suddenly flung open. A person covered in blood burst in. “Eliza, run! They’re after me!” It was my brother. He only had one hand; the other sleeve was empty, still dripping blood. Behind him, several fierce-looking men were in close pursuit. “Run? Run where?” The lead thug grabbed my brother’s hair, forcing him to the ground. “Mr. Wren, apologies for the disturbance. This kid owes us money and won’t pay. We have no choice.” The thug clearly recognized Damian, and his tone was somewhat polite. Damian nonchalantly sat back on the sofa, lighting a cigarette. “Do as you please. Just don’t get my place dirty.” “Damian!” I shrieked, lunging forward to shield my brother. “Please, save him. I’ll be your slave, I’ll do anything you say.” Damian exhaled a plume of smoke. Through the haze, his face was terrifyingly cold. “Eliza Blackwell, I gave you a chance. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” The thug raised his machete. “No!” I screamed in despair, blocking my brother with my body. However, the anticipated pain didn’t come. The thug stopped, looking at Damian. Damian flicked his cigarette ash, then spoke softly. “Wait.” I thought he had softened, and a glimmer of hope sparked in my eyes. But then I heard him continue: “Julian’s kidneys haven’t been well lately; the doctor says she needs a transplant. Since your brother can’t pay his debt, then your kidney can settle it.” He looked at me, his eyes devoid of emotion. “One kidney, five million. Fair, isn’t it?”

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At our engagement party, Declan Kane learned that his childhood sweetheart was being forced to marry his blind, bitter rival. He didn’t hesitate. He ditched me, rushed off to get a marriage license with her, and by that afternoon, they were on a flight to Iceland for their honeymoon. Their epic, “childhood sweethearts” love story went viral. And I became the villain. The shameful other woman who’d tried to stand in their way, so viciously attacked online that I couldn’t even leave my own home. But then, his blind rival showed up at my door. “I’m a man who believes in an eye for an eye,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Declan Kane stole my fiancée. So, I’m going to poach what’s his.” He tilted his head in my direction. “It’s only fair trade, Ms. Sutton. Are you interested in getting a license of your own?” I glanced at my phone, at the trending photo of Declan and his new bride sharing a romantic kiss under the Northern Lights. Without a second thought, I grabbed my documents and handed them to the man before me. 1 Even with the marriage certificate in my hand, I couldn’t quite believe I had just gotten married on a whim. And my new husband wasn’t Declan, my boyfriend of eight years. It was Kian Croft, a man I’d only met a handful of times, always as an adversary. “Once it’s signed, there’s no turning back,” he said. “So, when are you moving in?” The meaning behind his words finally hit me, and a hot blush crept up my neck. Thank God he couldn’t see it. “Maybe in a couple of weeks. I have some things to pack up.” Kian nodded. “Alright. Two weeks is enough time to plan our wedding.” He pressed a black card into my hand. “Buy whatever you like.” The tips of his ears, bright red, betrayed his quiet excitement. A small smile touched my lips. This was a good start. After a ten-day honeymoon, Declan finally remembered to call me. “My flight lands at 3 PM. Come get me.” His tone was casual, as if nothing had happened. For the past ten days, the internet had been buzzing with real-time updates of his romantic getaway with Jessica Grant. Every sweet moment was documented and shared. I’d seen them cuddling in the Blue Lagoon, kissing passionately under the aurora, and making promises of eternal love on a black sand beach. It was a list of all the honeymoon spots I’d ever dreamed of visiting. He’d just experienced them with someone else. “I’m busy,” I said coolly. “Get a cab.” It used to be that a single word from him was enough to make me drop everything and run to his side. “Tch. Buzzkill.” Declan went silent for a moment, then hung up with a dismissive grunt. I figured that was it—the unspoken breakup signal between two adults. But when I got home that evening, I found him sitting on my sofa, wearing a bathrobe. He glanced up as I walked in, his expression nonchalant. “You’ve kept the place clean while I was away.” I had spent the past few days throwing out everything that reminded me of him. The couple’s portrait we once had hanging in the living room was gone, but he hadn’t even noticed. He pointed to a paper bag on the table. “A gift for you. Take a look.” I glanced inside. It was a collection of broken seashells, some still caked with mud. Just an hour ago, Jessica had been bragging on social media about the “Star of the Ocean” diamond Declan had given her. Thanks to the exhaustive efforts of internet sleuths, I now knew that all the “thoughtful” gifts I’d received over the years were just someone else’s trash. For Valentine’s Day, he gave Jessica a limited-edition handbag and me a heart folded from the wrapping paper. For my birthday, he set off a city-wide firework display for her, then took me to a cheap street vendor for skewers. On holidays, he’d claim he was too busy with work to meet my parents, when in reality he was with Jessica and her family. “You’re a married man, Mr. Kane. It’s not appropriate for you to be here in the middle of the night.” A flash of guilt crossed his face. “Ava, I was just trying to help Jessica.” “Kian Croft is a cold, ruthless man, and he’s blind. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her walk into a disaster, could I?” “Marrying her was just a temporary solution. I’ll divorce her after a while.” He had his excuses all lined up. “I have no interest in being your mistress, Declan. Please leave.” The moment he abandoned me at our engagement party, we were over. His face darkened. “Ava, can you stop being so selfish for once?” “Jessica was worried you’d be upset, so she insisted I come back to be with you, and this is how you act?” “If you know what’s good for you, I can come see you on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Jessica is my wife, after all. She deserves more of my time.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. After eight years together, I was being demoted to a dirty little secret. “Declan, we’re breaking up.” 2 Declan’s face turned to stone, his anger barely contained. “Don’t push your luck, Ava.” “It’s just a piece of paper. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” “You let me sleep with you for eight years without that piece of paper. Why are you acting so high and mighty now?” “If you hadn’t been on your knees in my bed, begging me that you couldn’t live without me, do you really think I would have kept you around?” “You’re not a kid anymore. Don’t you feel pathetic playing these hard-to-get games?” I trembled with rage. He was the one who relentlessly pursued me. He was the one who, drunk and crying, had begged me to ease his pain. Now, after he’d married another woman and made me a public laughingstock, he had the audacity to call me selfish? “It’s over, Declan. From now on, we go our separate ways.” His anger exploded. He grabbed the bag of broken shells and smashed it on the floor, sending fragments skittering across the tiles. “You think you can just marry someone else, Ava?” he snarled. “Everyone in our circle knows you’ve been my woman for eight years. Who’s going to want you now?” Just then, the bathroom door opened. Jessica emerged, wrapped in a towel, her feet bare. The air left my lungs. He had left our engagement party after a single phone call, and I’d spent the last ten days watching their love story unfold online. Now, standing here, I couldn’t tell if what I felt was pain, resentment, or pure, unadulterated fury. This apartment was supposed to be our home, a place we’d bought together, half and half, when we were deeply in love. He’d called it our love nest, a place to fill with happy memories. “Ava,” Jessica said, her voice soft and placating. “Please don’t blame Declan. He was just trying to help me.” “If you have to blame someone, blame me. I’m the one who doesn’t belong…” She reached for my hand. I flinched back instinctively. I didn’t even touch her, but she let out a cry and crumpled to the floor. Before I could process what had happened, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Declan had slapped me so hard I stumbled and fell. A searing pain shot through my hand. A shard from the broken shells had pierced my palm, and blood dripped steadily onto the floor. “Jessica, are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern. He shot me a look of pure disgust. “If anything happens to her, I’ll make you regret it.” He scooped Jessica into his arms and rushed out of the apartment, presumably heading for the hospital. I struggled to my feet and looked around the home I had lived in for eight years. It felt utterly alien. My bed was a mess of wrinkled sheets. A torn black stocking was draped over the side, and used tissues littered the floor. The air was thick with a cloying, nauseating scent. I fled, tears streaming down my face. It was all tainted. The whole apartment felt dirty. My palm was bleeding too much to ignore, so I hailed a cab to the hospital. I deliberately chose one far from my apartment, but as fate would have it, I ran into them anyway. Jessica was holding up a hand that didn’t even have a scratch on it, whining about the pain. Declan had her sitting on his lap, patiently asking the doctor for care instructions. He used to be that attentive with me. I remembered a time I’d had a fever in the middle of the night. He’d panicked and run out without even putting on shoes. It was only after the doctor confirmed I was fine that he realized his own foot was bleeding from a piece of broken glass. “Ava, you’re the most precious thing in the world to me,” he had said. “I can’t bear to see you hurt.” As I walked in, they were just leaving. “Ava,” Jessica said, her voice dripping with false concern. “Declan was just here with me. Were you so worried that you had to follow us?” Declan gave me a disdainful look. “Weren’t you the one who was so high and mighty about us going our separate ways? What are you doing here?” “Ava, you can’t have it both ways. It’s pathetic. If you dare lay a finger on Jessica again, I won’t be so lenient.” I held up my blood-soaked hand. “I’m here to see a doctor. Excuse me.” Declan froze, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Ava, is it serious?” He started to follow me, but Jessica let out a sharp cry. “Declan, my hand hurts so much…” He didn’t hesitate. He turned, scooped her up, and walked away. The next morning, I woke up to a text from Kian, reminding me to go for a fitting for our custom-made wedding rings. When I came out of the bathroom, Declan was there, unusually, with breakfast. “You must be starving. Come and eat.” It was a box of crab cakes and a bowl of butternut squash soup. I was allergic to shellfish, and I hated squash. “It’s my day off,” he said. “The season’s changing. Let’s go shopping for some new clothes.” It was his classic move: a slap followed by a small piece of candy. When we got to the car, he climbed into the back seat. “You can drive today. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” 3 I glanced at my bandaged hand and laughed bitterly at my own foolishness. In the rearview mirror, I could see him staring at his phone, a faint smile on his lips. It wasn’t until I pulled up in front of a high-end jewelry store that he finally looked up. His expression immediately soured. He got out and blocked my way, his face a mask of annoyance. “Ava, I told you, we’ll talk about this later. Why are you pushing me like this?” “Jessica and I only have the license; we’re not having a wedding. No one even knows. Once things calm down, we’ll get a quiet divorce.” He was cut off by a cheerful voice. “Declan, honey, look! Isn’t this diamond ring beautiful?” Jessica stood there, wearing a one-carat diamond ring, holding her hand up for him to admire. Declan’s scowl vanished, replaced by a warm smile. “Anything you like is beautiful, Jessica.” “Our wedding is in five days. Can I buy this for my wedding ring?” My feet stopped moving. I saw Declan look away, a flicker of discomfort on his face. He was a liar, through and through. But it didn’t matter. My own wedding was also in five days. It seemed we really were going our separate ways. A salesperson brought over the rings Kian had ordered. They were presented on a velvet tray—a breathtaking, one-of-a-kind pink diamond that glittered under the lights. Jessica’s eyes locked onto the ring on my finger, her expression turning greedy. “Ava, I love that ring. Can I try it on?” The salesperson interjected apologetically. “I’m sorry, miss, but that ring has already been reserved. Perhaps you’d like to see something else.” Jessica’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Ava, did you know our wedding was in five days? Are you doing this on purpose, conspiring with the staff to make things difficult for me?” “I love this ring so much. I just want to feel like a bride. Can’t you just let me have this one thing?” “No. My wedding is also in five days.” Declan’s face was a thundercloud. “Ava, what the hell is wrong with you? When did I ever say I was going to marry you?” I frowned. “Don’t be so dramatic, Declan. The man I’m marrying isn’t you.” He let out a cold, harsh laugh. “After I’ve had you for eight years? Who else would want you?” “Know your place, Ava. Don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re something special.” He lunged forward and roughly yanked the ring from my hand, scraping the skin from my knuckle. He then tried to slide it onto Jessica’s finger, but it was too small. “We’ll take this one,” he said to the salesperson. “Can you resize it? How much is it?” The salesperson quietly quoted the price. Both Declan and Jessica blanched. “Ava,” Jessica sniffled, “even if you don’t want Declan and me to get married, you don’t have to be so cruel as to trick us into buying something so expensive.” Declan shook his head at me, his eyes full of disappointment. “Ava, I never knew you could be so vicious.” So, they try to steal my ring, can’t afford it, and now it’s my fault? They stormed out. A moment later, my phone rang. It was Kian. “Do you like the ring? Don’t forget, you have a fitting for your wedding dress in a bit.” “Yes,” I said, my voice soft. “I love it.” I drove to the bridal boutique Kian had recommended. As I walked in, I saw Jessica stroking an off-the-shoulder gown. “Excuse me, miss,” a consultant said politely, “but this gown has been reserved.” “I want this one,” Jessica insisted. “Call the person who reserved it. I’m willing to pay ten percent more.” When the consultant saw me, her face lit up. “Ah, the lady herself has arrived. Perhaps you’d like to discuss it with her directly?” Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger and resentment when she saw me. “Ava, why do you keep following me, trying to ruin everything? First the ring, now my dress…” Declan, standing beside her, scowled. “Ava, you say you’re done with me, but then you show up with a ring and a dress, trying to force my hand. You’re unbelievable. So two-faced.” “Even if you crash my wedding, I won’t give you a second look. Give the dress and the ring to Jessica!” I let out a small laugh. “Who said I was marrying you? You’re not the only man in the world.” “What, you can’t afford a ring and a dress, so you want me to just hand them over?” Declan’s face turned a mottled shade of red and white. Jessica covered her face and ran out. “Declan, if you’ve already bought her a ring and a dress, then I’m the one who’s not wanted. I’ll just go…” “Ava!” Declan roared, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed a pair of scissors from a nearby table and charged at the dress. “You want to force me into marriage? You want to make Jessica cry?” “You want a wedding? Let’s see what you wear now!” This dress was a custom creation. Kian had commissioned a top designer from Milan to work overtime to finish it. I tried to stop him, but he shoved me to the ground. The sharp point of the scissors grazed my other hand, drawing blood. He was like a man possessed, shredding the beautiful gown into a pile of ruined silk. Still not satisfied, he stomped on the remains. “You want to marry me, Ava? In your dreams!” “If you dare show up and ruin my wedding in five days, you’ll end up just like this dress!” With that, he stormed out, chasing after Jessica without a second glance at me. The consultant stood by, her face pale, frantically making a phone call. In my daze, my phone rang again. It was Kian. “Are you hurt? Don’t worry about the dress. I’ll have my legal team handle it.” “I’m so sorry…” 4 I was overwhelmed with shame and misery. “Ava, it’s just a dress. It’s okay.” “I’m out of the country right now, but I’ve sent you a little something. I hope it cheers you up.” I had just gotten home when a butler in a sharp suit knocked on my door. He solemnly presented me with a box. Inside was a complete set of emerald jewelry. “This is a Croft family heirloom,” the butler explained. “It’s passed down to the matriarch of each generation. Please accept it, Ms. Sutton.” I took the box with trembling hands, a warmth spreading through my chest. Kian was truly treating me with the respect due to a wife. For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope for our future together. A colleague called about a work handover, needing to discuss some details in person. When I returned home, the emerald heirloom was gone. I searched the entire apartment, but there was no sign of it. The doors and windows were locked, with no signs of a break-in. Just as I was about to call the police, I saw a new post from Jessica. “I couldn’t find the perfect wedding ring, but then he surprised me with this traditional set of jewelry. I guess this is what it feels like to marry for love.” The photo showed Jessica wearing a pair of emerald earrings, a matching necklace, and a jade bracelet. It was the Croft family heirloom Kian had given me. I checked my security camera footage. After I had left, Declan and Jessica had come over. “Declan, honey, is this a surprise for me? It’s beautiful!” Jessica had exclaimed, her eyes immediately drawn to the emerald set I’d left on my bedside table. Declan had hesitated for a moment before stammering, “Uh… yeah. I’m glad you like it.” My mind was in turmoil. Without a second thought, I rushed to the Kane family home. When I arrived, Jessica was showing off the jewelry to Declan’s relatives. “This is a family heirloom Declan gave me. He said it proves he sees me as the future Mrs. Kane.” “Look at the quality of that jade! It must be worth a fortune. Declan treats you so well!” My blood boiled. I stormed over to them. “Thief! Who gave you permission to steal my emeralds? Give them back!” Jessica just laughed mockingly. “Ava, have you no shame? This is a Kane family heirloom. When did it become yours?” “First you try to steal my ring and my dress, and now you’re after the Kane family heirloom? You’re pathetic.” I turned to Declan, who was standing beside her, looking guilty. “Are you sure this is a Kane family heirloom? Should I call the police and have them verify it?” Humiliated, Declan’s face flushed with anger. “That’s enough! So what if it’s not a Kane heirloom? You ruined Jessica’s ring and dress. You should be offering her a gift as an apology!” “When she’s tired of wearing it, maybe I’ll let you borrow it for a few days!” I was shaking with rage. I had never encountered such shameless, despicable people. I wasn’t going to waste another breath on them. I pulled out my phone to call the police. Jessica’s eyes darted back and forth. Suddenly, she tore the jewelry off. “Ava, please, stop making things so difficult for us. If you want it, just take it…” “Just let us go. Declan doesn’t love you. Stop harassing him.” She looked like a martyr, as if I were the shameless one, desperately clinging to her man. She held the jewelry out to me, and then, her fingers loosened. The entire emerald set crashed to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces. My head spun. It felt like the blood in my veins had frozen solid. Jessica smiled. “Oh, dear, Ava. You didn’t catch it. What a shame. Such beautiful emeralds…” Declan looked down at me with contempt. “Stop embarrassing yourself, Ava. Take your broken junk and get out of my house!” I stared at the shattered pieces on the floor, my heart aching. “Declan Kane,” I said, my voice shaking, “I will never forgive you for this.” He sneered. “So what? In a couple of days, you’ll be on your knees, begging me to take you back.” “I’m warning you, don’t you dare cause trouble at my wedding.” “If you behave, maybe I’ll be in a good mood and come visit you every now and then.” “Don’t bother. It’s best if you never see me again.” Without another word, I turned and left. The first thing I did was list the apartment for sale. I was consumed with guilt over the broken heirloom. Kian was endlessly patient on the phone. “It’s just a material thing, Ava. I gave it to you, so it was yours to do with as you please.” “Are you ready? I don’t want my bride to have red, puffy eyes at our wedding.” The wedding day arrived in a blur. I was surprisingly nervous. I had just finished my makeup and went to the restroom. And there, of all people, was Declan, dressed in a tuxedo. “You’ve got some nerve, Ava,” he snarled. “I told you not to come here and cause a scene. Are you deaf?” “It seems I have to teach you a lesson before you’ll take me seriously. Men, take her away and lock her up!” I struggled against the guards who grabbed my arms. “Declan, let me go! I’m not here to ruin your wedding!” He laughed coldly. “Don’t lie to me, Ava. If you’re not here to crash the wedding, why are you dressed like that?” “Let go of me! I told you, my wedding has nothing to do with you. The man I’m marrying isn’t you!” He gripped my chin, his eyes full of scorn. “Besides me, who would ever want you?” “There’s a limit to how much drama one person can cause, Ava. You’re starting to get annoying.” Just as he ordered them to drag me away, a deep voice cut through the air from behind us. “Mr. Kane. Where, exactly, do you think you’re taking my bride?”

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So, I got divorced. Three years ago, my shallow, looks-obsessed self agreed to a business marriage, all for the sake of Alexander Croft’s face. We signed a contract, a three-year deal. The bastard signed the papers and then vanished. I’d see him maybe once a year. He wouldn’t answer my calls, wouldn’t return my texts. I couldn’t even touch his hand. It was like being a widow while he was still alive. Even the hottest fire would turn to ice. So, the second our time was up, I couldn’t wait to shove the divorce papers in his face. But you know what he did? He just stared at me for a long moment and said, “You’re right, but the speed of light is 299,792 kilometers per second, a single chip can have billions of transistors, and humans evolved from apes, which is why sharks can’t ride horses.” “…The what?” “So, after we’re divorced… can I ask you out?” “…?” 1. Today was the day. I was divorcing Alexander Croft. To celebrate this glorious occasion, I dragged myself out of bed at the crack of nine, wriggled to the edge of the mattress like a worm, and slithered off the bed. I crawled my way to the bathroom in the shadows to brush my teeth and give my face a quick power-wash, then slid down the banister with a triumphant whoosh. A perfect landing. Ten out of ten! My parents and I never saw eye to eye on anything, from the proper way to descend a staircase to what I should major in at college. They provided for me, but they never understood me. Alexander was the same. In three years of marriage, he’d avoided me like I was radioactive. No hand-holding, no arm around my waist. We were in a state of perpetual cold war, twenty-five hours a day. I usually just called him “that ghost.” Because he’d left me to be a living widow for three years. Though, to his credit, he’d provided me with a gorgeous villa and a wonderfully attentive housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. She knew my morning routine and always had breakfast waiting on the table: a spread of fresh pastries, bagels, a fruit parfait, and half a corn on the cob. I grabbed the corn and took a bite. Yep, perfect temperature. My favorite kind, sweet and crunchy. A shame I wouldn’t be eating her cooking anymore. She was Alexander’s employee, after all. He’d barely set foot in this villa in three years. We’d only seen each other a grand total of three times: our wedding, his grandfather’s birthday gala, and once when I ran into him on a business trip while I was on vacation. I married him for his looks, even forcing myself to act like some prim and proper debutante for weeks before the wedding, only to see him less than once a year. And the man had the audacity to be a stickler for the rules, adding a “no-cheating” clause to our contract. While all my single friends were out flirting with cute guys, I was stuck at home, cuddling my hamster. My mistake. I never should have let a pretty face sway me. Still, the villa was huge. I could sleep in the master bedroom, on the living room couch, or on the ceiling if I wanted. And he was never stingy with the allowance for me and my hamster. Over three years, we both got a little rounder. Especially the hamster. He went from a furry pancake to a furry little sphere. Munching on my corn, I fed my hamster a tiny piece of a scone from a delicate porcelain dish. I left the rest of the food for Mrs. Gable, plucked a decorative flower from the breakfast arrangement, and tucked it behind my ear. Damn, I’m gorgeous, I thought with a sigh. I checked the time. Still early. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend. “Nina, you hitting the club tonight? Count me in.” Her voice was a mix of surprise and pure joy. “For real, Sylvie? Are you finally free?!” “You bet!” I said, striking a proud pose with a hand on my hip. “I’m a free woman!” “The three-year sentence is up! All hail the returning queen!” I could hear a sound like happy seal-clapping from the other end. “Just you wait. I know a few new models… six-foot-two, abs for days. I’ll book ’em for you right now!” “Heh, you know me so well…” The thought of being surrounded by handsome men, free to touch and admire, sent a wave of pure bliss through me. I started doing a happy little wiggle dance right there on the floor. But then, Nina’s voice turned serious. “But! No more making the models do your calculus homework for you!” What? Who, me? I would never. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “And yes, you would.” “…” Fine. I just like seeing handsome guys look all helpless and confused! 2. After the call, I grabbed the divorce papers I’d prepared long ago and had the driver take me to the ghost’s corporate headquarters. His assistant, Mr. Davis, heard I was coming and quickly escorted me to a meeting room to wait. But the place was a total bore. The sunflower seeds and bottled water they offered weren’t up to my hamster’s standards. I restlessly paced around, flattening myself against the wall a few times before deciding to go check on the employees. My family’s company has business with the Croft Corporation, so it was perfectly reasonable for me to be inspecting the workforce. It was almost lunchtime, and that half-cob of corn was a distant memory. My stomach was growling, so I grabbed a bowl of sunflower seeds and strolled into the main office area, cracking them as I went. The employees were all working diligently. I was pleased. The ghost might be a ghost, but he had a good eye for talent. No wonder my dad had pushed for me to marry him instead of some other CEO’s son from the Williams or Peterson families. But for such a huge office, where were the trash cans? What was I supposed to do with all these shells… Just as I was pondering this, a sharp, confident-looking young woman came striding toward me, her heels clicking decisively on the polished floor. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Based on that rhythmic clicking, I’d bet a sunflower seed she’d studied percussion. She stopped right in front of me, looking annoyed. “This is work hours, and you’re just standing here eating sunflower seeds?” “Hm?” I tilted my head, thinking. Oh. She had a point. I shouldn’t be standing. So I sat down on the floor. I’m a guest, after all. A guest shouldn’t have to stand while eating sunflower seeds! Sitting is the proper etiquette! The woman froze, completely thrown off. For a moment, she was speechless. “You… you…” She finally sputtered, “What department are you in? Slacking off and wandering around during work hours!” Ah, she thought I was an employee. That explained it. She’d probably die of embarrassment if she knew who I was. Being the considerate person I am, I decided not to call her out directly. I just gave her a little hint. “What department are you a manager in? How can you not even recognize your own staff?” Get a clue, pretty lady. I’m just passing through! But my hint landed like a challenge. She stomped her foot, her voice tight with anger. “You’re the one Grandpa sent, aren’t you?! I knew they wouldn’t let me have a peaceful internship! It’s only been a few days, and you’re already here to make trouble for me!” “…” Whoa. All I did was a basic attack, and she used her ultimate ability. But her outburst jogged my memory. This naive firecracker was Alexander’s younger sister. I’d seen her at his grandfather’s birthday gala, but I’d forgotten her name. Back then, she was dressed to the nines, every smile and gesture radiating the innocent vivacity of a young girl raised in a bubble. A sheltered little princess. She was actually kind of cute. Just then, Mr. Davis rushed over. He looked at me sitting on the floor, then at his boss’s fuming sister, and was completely at a loss. With my ten years of novel-reading experience, I could tell he was already scripting a tragic romance in his head: I love him, he doesn’t love me, and his cruel sister is bullying me. Too bad. I’m just a certified nutcase. Alexander and I were never in love, and I sat on the floor all by myself. “Is Alexander free?” I asked the assistant. “Yes, the President just finished his meeting,” Davis replied. “Ma’am, are you…?” “Oh, just taking a seat.” I cracked another seed. “This floor is so clean. Am I not allowed to sit on it?” “…You are. Please, make yourself comfortable.” Davis was clearly a man of culture. I approved. But right now, the divorce was my top priority. Since the ghost was available, I didn’t want to waste any more time. 3. I handed Davis a napkin, placed my hamster and the pile of seed shells onto it, and then snatched up my divorce papers, happily skipping back to the meeting room. I left the assistant and the Croft princess staring at each other. The princess looked bewildered. “Mr. Davis, who is she?” Davis hesitated for a moment before replying, “A legend.” My hamster wriggled in his hand. He forced a tight smile, looking utterly confused. “Why did she give me the hamster? And why on a napkin?” “Because he poops,” I called out, poking my head back out of the room. “…” “If he does, just swap out the napkin. In the meantime, you can pet him all you want.” With that, I ducked back into the room, meeting Alexander’s complicated gaze. I had to admit, the man was distractingly handsome. But the moment I remembered he wouldn’t let me touch him—or anyone else—my heart grew colder than a fishmonger’s blade. I slapped the divorce papers down on the table. Alexander ignored them. “You said someone poops?” “Don’t you?” I retorted. “…” You know, the person who first questioned whether humans poop was a true genius. And I, for one, am a genius. Hehe. As I stood there with my hands on my hips, looking smug, Alexander’s expression soured, like he’d just eaten a chocolate bar filled with bitter melon. The bizarre look seriously detracted from his otherwise top-tier attractiveness. “…” Okay, maybe not hehe. But I was used to it. At least sixty percent of people I talk to end up with that same expression. So just sign the papers, ghost. We’re not on the same wavelength. We’ll never be happy! Under my expectant gaze, Alexander finally looked down at the papers. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do we really have to get divorced?” “Even though it makes no difference whether we’re married or not,” I answered without a second thought, “for the sake of getting my hands on some handsome men, yes, we absolutely must.” “…” He looked up at me. “You’re right, but the speed of light is 299,792 kilometers per second, a single chip can have billions of transistors, and humans evolved from apes, which is why sharks can’t use smartphones.” My brain short-circuited. I had no idea what he was talking about. “What?” “So, after we’re divorced… can I ask you out?” “…” Hold on, buddy. We never met before the wedding, you wouldn’t let me touch you after, and now that we’re divorcing, you’re asking if you can date me? Have you lost your mind? And I said as much. To which Alexander replied, “Can’t I?” His question was so matter-of-fact. My silence was deafening. I couldn’t imagine that someone who looked at me like he’d just swallowed a weird concoction could ever occupy the same padded cell as me. And I was done being swayed by his face. Three years of widowhood had turned my heart into a block of ancient ice. I needed a new, fiery-hot pretty boy to thaw it out. Under my dead-eyed stare, Alexander silently signed the divorce papers. When he was done, he said again, “I was wrong to ignore you before. I hope you’ll give me a chance to pursue you.” “No,” I refused, righteously. “That would interfere with my quality time with male models.” And just like that, the silence buff was passed back to Alexander. “Male models?” “Yes. Male models.” Thinking about the pictures Nina had sent me—all those gorgeous men with perfect faces and sculpted bodies—I let out a creepy, delighted cackle. When I went back to retrieve my hamster, I found Mr. Davis frozen like a statue. The second he saw me, he quickly shut off his phone screen and resumed his petrified state. I took the hamster from his hand and gave him a little poke. What was wrong with this guy? My hamster hadn’t turned into Medusa, had he?

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I never thought that the “swapped at birth” trope would actually happen to me. My birth parents, with the girl who’d been swapped in, found me in an alley, smoking with a bunch of tough kids, a baseball bat slung over my shoulder. They froze, all of them instinctively shielding the seemingly delicate and kind girl behind them. 1. Who would’ve thought that I, a total punk, would turn out to be the long-lost heiress of the prestigious Moonstone Group? In that dim alley, the Davies family stared at me, dressed in a school uniform but puffing on a cigarette, a bat propped against my shoulder. They instinctively reached out, sheltering the girl behind them, who was peeking at me with curious eyes. The impeccably dressed, middle-aged couple in front looked at me with disbelief, their voices trembling. “Are you Holly Summers?” I was still holding my cigarette between my lips. At their question, I stubbed it out and nodded, confused. My crew exchanged bewildered glances, not understanding what was going on. “Yo, Sly, who are these people?” Before I could answer, the elegant woman rushed forward, grabbed me, and burst into tears. “My daughter, my daughter! I’m your real mother… I’ve finally found you!” I had no idea why this woman was suddenly losing it. Even the middle-aged man’s eyes were red-rimmed. Just as I was about to push her away, a young man pursed his lips, his gaze complicated as he looked at me. “Holly Summers, hello. I’m your older brother, Brandon Davies. Seventeen years ago, your adoptive mother was our family’s housekeeper. She and our mother were pregnant and gave birth around the same time. Who knew she harbored such malicious intentions, coveting our wealth, and secretly swapped her baby with you?” Before I could even process the shock of my own parentage, I noticed something. When this young man spoke of my adoptive mother’s maliciousness and greed, the girl behind them went stark white. She bit her lip, her doe-like eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Brandon seemed to realize his blunder and quickly turned to gently comfort her. Even my supposed birth parents, who had just been clutching me tightly, instinctively let go and turned to softly console her. “Claire, don’t be scared. It’s not your fault. You and your sister are both Mommy’s and Daddy’s and Brandon’s treasures. We won’t abandon you.” Pfft, treasures? They said that to my face, to me, their actual daughter. How utterly shameless. 2. That day, under the shocked gazes of my crew, I got into a luxury car worth millions and sped off. Of course, before I left, my buddy Marcus, the loudmouth, yelled, “Sly! Remember us when you’re rich! Your boys are waiting!” I gave him a wry smile and an OK sign. Turning back, the Davies family looked at me with incredibly complex expressions. I just shrugged, indifferent. Honestly, I wasn’t feeling much. After seventeen years with my wonderful adoptive mother, to me, as long as I was alive, nothing else really mattered. As for being swapped at birth, it just meant a potentially better life for me. The girl who had been crying moments ago had stopped. Her face was etched with apology, her voice laced with guilt. “Sister, I’m Claire Davies, your… sister. I’m so sorry. I stole seventeen years of your life…” As she spoke, she looked ready to burst into tears again. My cheapskate father pursed his lips and sighed. My mother and brother immediately started coddling her again. I let out an impatient “Tsk.” I couldn’t stand people who cried at the drop of a hat. If crying actually helped, I would have bawled my eyes out countless times during the first seventeen years of my life, wishing someone would save me. “Hey, uh, Ms. Davies, can you stop crying? Do you know you’ve cried twice already since we met? You’re making it sound like you’re the one who suffered and was wronged. Can you stop stealing my spotlight? I haven’t even started crying yet.” Her weeping stopped abruptly. Her face froze, as did the Davies family. The car fell silent. I ignored them, casting my gaze out the window. The grand commercial buildings and the Pearl Tower were clearly visible in the distance. It was the first time I’d ever been this close to them. After a long pause, my good mother finally spoke. “Sylvie, I’m sorry, but your sister didn’t mean it. She’s just too innocent, too sensitive. But she really is just feeling guilty about you.” My father chimed in with a nod. And my brother, Brandon, furrowed his brow, looking at me with a mix of helplessness and faint disapproval. “Sylvie, Claire is just a little scared that we’ll abandon her now that you’re back. Please don’t be angry with her, okay? And when you get back, you really need to change your ways. Look at how you’re dressed, like a punk! And you smoke! Girls shouldn’t behave like that. Claire’s gentle and refined demeanor is what a young woman should be.” Though he tried to sound gentle, there was an unmistakable hint of command in his tone. My parents nodded in agreement, as if he had just voiced their innermost thoughts. Even Claire, the imposter, offered her “understanding” advice. “That’s right, sister. Those people aren’t good influences. You shouldn’t keep hanging out with them. I heard your grades weren’t great before; it must be because those people led you astray. When we get home, I can tutor you. I have so many clothes in my closet, you can pick whatever you like! Dad and Mom and Brandon bought them all. We can share!” Listening to her passive-aggressive, backhanded compliments, I was utterly speechless. Yet, the Davies family looked at her with even more approval, probably thinking she was kind, generous, and a perfect role model. I found it amusing and let out a scoff. Ignoring their slightly reproving stares, I simply stated, “But you know, my annual tuition and living expenses were paid for by these ‘bad influences’ you’re talking about. All of this, thanks to your wonderful mother, dear sister. And my good brother, you’re so smart, you probably wouldn’t guess why my name is Holly Summers, would you?” Everyone fell silent, their faces ashen. Even Brandon, who had been so articulate moments before, dared not meet my gaze. As for Claire, her face was flushed, her head bowed, nails digging into her palms. I smirked inwardly. A hothouse flower, even a seemingly harmless white lotus, truly thought she could win against a Venus flytrap crawled out of the abyss? 3. The first thing the Davies family did after bringing me home was to change my name. I chose it myself: Sylvie Davies. Let the world be unpredictable, full of grudges and fleeting desires. I would only ever do what pleased me. The Davies family also threw a grand celebration for my return. That night, all of the Davies’ relatives, friends, and business partners arrived. The mansion was ablaze with light. My parents, with me meticulously styled and dressed, formally introduced me on stage. My story was already well-known gossip among these elite families, so no one seemed particularly surprised. However, watching Claire mingle and chat downstairs, her expression perfectly normal, I scoffed inwardly. She was definitely plotting something. As expected, the moment I stepped off the stage, she swiftly grabbed me. “Sister, come with me. I’ll introduce you to our peers.” She smiled brightly, acting as if she had my best interests at heart. Even my mother, who had been holding my arm, chimed in approvingly. “Go on, Sylvie. Learn from your sister and see the world.” I smiled back, indifferent, and followed her. A group of young men and women, probably Claire’s childhood friends, were lounging on a sofa, openly scrutinizing me with disdain. One guy, holding a wine glass, let out a derisive “Hmph” from his nose. “Who’s this country bumpkin? Does she really think she can waltz into any circle?” Claire immediately rushed to “defend” me. “Oh, Alex, don’t give my sister a hard time. It’s her first time at a party like this. She doesn’t know much.” One of her friends pulled her aside. “Claire, you’re too kind. People are going to walk all over you.” Then she shot me a scornful glare. “Let me tell you, in our circle, we don’t care if you’re biologically related. We only respect capability. I heard you’re just a punk, always hanging out with roughnecks. Hmph. You’d better watch yourself. Don’t think you can shake Claire’s position. She’s on a different level. She’s already helping Brandon with company matters, her grades are excellent, and getting into a top university in the country after high school is a given. You should probably rein in any little schemes you have.” I listened with keen amusement as they voiced their disdain, while Claire “appropriately” spoke up for me. Once the gaggle of chattering ducks finally fell silent, I slowly spoke. “Are you done? If you’re done, go get me something to eat and a drink, and I’ll forgive you.” I lazily plopped down onto a soft sofa. Everyone stared, dumbfounded, then burst into uproarious laughter. The guy, Alex, laughed the hardest, spilling his wine. “Oh my god, I’m dying. Claire, what kind of freak is your sister? Get her food and drinks? Has she lost her mind?” Claire looked at me with a chiding expression, though I’m sure she was ecstatic on the inside. “Sylvie, how can you be so bossy?” “Why not?” I widened my eyes innocently, pulled out my phone, connected it to the big screen, and pressed play. Suddenly, the screen blared with the arrogant voices of these young men and women. “Who’s this country bumpkin?” “Heard you’re just a punk?” “You’d better watch yourself!” … No one was laughing anymore. The entire room was stunned, and the elders and important business tycoons present looked furious. The young men and women across from me were white-faced, unable to utter a single word. But the palest face, of course, belonged to my dear white lotus. My parents walked over, their faces grim, silently staring at the parents of the young men and women present. Even that obnoxious brother, Brandon, was forcing a smile, but he stood in front of me. Claire’s lips trembled. She started to explain that she had tried to stop everyone from mocking me, but failed. My parents, ever soft on her, held her hand and told her not to be scared. I curled my lips into a small, sarcastic smile. The group of people who had been so arrogant moments ago were now being dragged by their elders to stand before me, forcing smiles. “Oh, Sylvie, my brat here was just talking nonsense. Please don’t be angry. Auntie will give him a good thrashing when we get home!” “That’s right, that’s right. My daughter too. I’ll skin her alive when we get home. How dare she talk about others when she’s always at the bottom of her class!” My parents’ expressions softened slightly, and they looked at me hesitantly. “Sylvie, how about we just let it go? They’re just kids playing around.” Of course, a good, obedient child like me would agree with them. So, I looked innocently at the red-faced youths before me. “I just said it earlier. Get me something to eat and a drink, and I’ll forgive you.” This time, no one laughed. Each of them, under the watchful eyes of so many people, begrudgingly fetched me food and drinks. I sipped my orange juice, and finally, I dropped my last line. “I forgive you all! I’m a generous and good child!” Claire didn’t smile again that day, and she kept a low profile for a while afterward. Too bad. I thought she’d learned her lesson, but it turned out she was just brewing a bigger storm for me.

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