On my way to the hospital after my husband’s car crash, I scrolled past a viral thread on Twitter. [My pregnant mistress wants me to divorce my barren wife. But I want to get my hands on my wife’s million-dollar estate buyout money first. What should I do?] The original poster had replied to a highly-voted comment, thanking them: [It’s hard to touch a wife’s personal inheritance. But you can get her to spend it willingly.] [Fake a car accident. She’ll definitely pay for your medical bills out of guilt and love.] [Then, pretend to be in a vegetative state and get transferred to a private, closed-off care facility.] [She won’t be allowed to visit easily, making it easy for you to funnel her cash. You’ll even have enough to pay for your mistress’s luxury postpartum care!] My brows furrowed. I immediately reported the post for fraud. The next second, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this the family of Julian Vance? Mr. Vance was in a severe car accident and is now in a vegetative state. Please come to the hospital immediately!”

By the time I rushed to the hospital, Julian had already been pushed into the ICU. After verifying my identity, the nurse led me to the attending physician, Dr. Madelyn Hayes. The name sounded incredibly familiar. I looked at her slightly bloated lower abdomen, then recalled the Twitter poster’s profile. His feed was filled with posts dedicated to someone named “Maddy.” It clicked. She was Julian’s mistress! This whole thing was a setup they had planned long ago. Suppressing my boiling rage, I spoke directly. “If that’s the case, I choose to withdraw life support.” Madelyn’s face turned instantly pale. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself: “You can’t!” I raised my eyes and stared straight at her. “Why not, Dr. Hayes?” Realizing she had overreacted, she quickly softened her tone. “Mrs. Vance, you are emotionally unstable right now. You shouldn’t make impulsive decisions.” “Although the patient is clinically brain-dead, if we transfer him to a private care facility and keep him on life support, there might be a chance of recovery.” “As long as there’s a sliver of hope, we shouldn’t give up. Especially since you are his wife.” To any bystander, Dr. Hayes would look like a deeply caring, ethical doctor. Looking at her self-righteous face, I sneered inwardly. If I hadn’t seen that Twitter thread, I probably would have been fooled. I took the medical consent form from her. The diagnosis was written clearly. [Loss of brainstem reflexes, no spontaneous respiration, irreversible brain damage. Meets the clinical criteria for brain death.] At the very bottom was Madelyn’s signature. Her handwriting was elegant, but the ink was pressed hard into the paper. It was like a knife she had handed directly to me. I asked her, “Dr. Hayes, are you sure my husband is brain-dead?” Madelyn’s eyes flickered. “Based on the current test results, yes, that is the diagnosis.” “What do you mean ‘based on the results’?” I slapped the paper onto the desk, my voice leaving no room for argument. “A patient in a vegetative state has spontaneous breathing. A brain-dead patient does not. You know the difference better than I do, Doctor.” “Brain death means the complete and irreversible loss of all brain function. Legally and medically, it is the definition of death. There is zero chance of recovery.” Madelyn froze, biting her lip. The nurse beside her subconsciously glanced at her. Before she could respond, I continued. “If this medical record is accurate, the patient is legally dead.” “As his spouse, I am requesting to stop all meaningless, invasive life support. Is there a problem with that?” “Yet, as a doctor, you are using this diagnosis to pressure me into transferring him to an expensive private facility. What exactly are your intentions?” Madelyn’s fingers began to tremble. “Chloe, you can’t look at it that way.” “Why can’t I?” I pulled out my phone and tapped the Snapchat voice recorder. “Would you mind repeating that, Dr. Hayes?” “Is Julian Vance legally brain-dead, or is he a comatose patient who might wake up?” The air in the office froze. Madelyn remained silent. I turned to the Chief of Medicine who was standing nearby. “If the hospital stands by this brain-death diagnosis, please give me the papers to sign off on withdrawing treatment.” “If you think he is not brain-dead, then edit this medical record immediately and explain why Dr. Hayes exaggerated his condition.” The Chief’s face turned grim. He flipped through the file, then shot a warning look at Madelyn. “If the family insists, we agree to withdraw life support.” Madelyn bolted upright, about to speak. The Chief frowned. “You wrote the medical report, Madelyn. The wife is making a decision based on your written diagnosis. Procedurally, she is entirely within her rights.” The nurse quickly brought over the paperwork. I picked up the pen. Madelyn stared at my hand, her face as white as a sheet. My heart was cold. They wanted to show me a “dying” husband to force me to use my late mother’s estate buyout money to keep him alive. But they never expected that my first reaction wouldn’t be tears. It would be pulling the plug. Just as the pen touched the paper, loud, chaotic footsteps echoed from the hallway. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, screamed as she burst through the door. “Chloe Miller! Don’t you dare sign that paper!”

Eleanor rushed over and slapped the pen out of my hand. The pen rolled across the floor. She saw the withdrawal of treatment form, and her eyes turned instantly red. She pointed a finger at my nose and shrieked. “Are you insane? Julian is lying in there, and you’re in a rush to kill him?” “My poor son! How did he end up marrying such a heartless monster? If anything happens to my son, you are a murderer!” My father-in-law, Richard, stood at the door, his face dark. “Even with brain death, he’s still breathing through the machine. As long as the monitor is beeping, he is alive.” “The doctor said there’s hope. Why are you so eager to give up? Did you do something behind my son’s back?” They hurled accusations at me, even trying to slut-shame me in public. But my mind was completely calm. I bent down, picked up the pen, and looked at them. “Eleanor, Richard, look at this. This is the diagnosis issued by the hospital.” “It’s right here in black and white. Julian is brain-dead.” “Do you really want him to lie in that bed, hooked up to machines like a hollow shell? Keeping him alive like this is an insult to his dignity!” My words were logical and firm. Richard was left speechless. Eleanor’s body shook with rage. She slid down to the floor, wailing loudly. “Everyone, come look at this!” “My son got into a horrible crash, and his wife won’t spend a single dime to save him! She wants to pull the plug just to save her money!” “Her mother left her millions of dollars from the property buyout, but she clutches that money tighter than life itself! She’s letting my son die!” “She’s been barren for years and couldn’t even give us a grandchild, but we never judged her! Now, this cold-blooded woman wants to end our family line!” The hospital hallway was packed. Her dramatic wailing quickly drew a crowd of patients and visitors. People started whispering. “Her husband is dying, and she won’t save him?” “No matter how much money she inherited, human life comes first.” “No wonder they don’t have kids. She has a heart of stone.” The words stung, making my fingers twitch slightly. We had been married for six years, and I had heard these insults for six years. The Vance family blamed me for being barren. Their relatives whispered that I was a useless wife occupying a space without producing an heir. Eleanor even forced herbal concoctions down my throat until I threw up. But what they didn’t know was this: Three years ago, Julian and I had a full fertility evaluation. The results showed he had azoospermia. He was completely sterile. He could never have biological children. To save his ego, I took all the blame. And yet, he went behind my back, got a mistress pregnant, and planned to kick me to the curb. But before kicking me out, he wanted to strip away the estate my mother left me. Madelyn stood at the back of the crowd, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Chloe, I understand you’re under a lot of pressure.” “Long-term care is indeed expensive.” “But if we transfer him to a specialized facility, his vitals can be maintained. Miracles do happen.” I looked at her. “A minute ago, you said his brain damage was irreversible.” “Now you’re talking about miracles.” “Dr. Hayes, medicine seems very flexible when it comes to your convenience.” Her face stiffened. Eleanor immediately shrieked, “Stop harassing the doctor! Dr. Hayes is trying to help!” “She’s pregnant and still working hard for my son, while you, his wife, are trying to murder him!” Richard added with a grim face, “Chloe, you can’t be this cold-blooded.” “The house belonged to your mother, yes. But once you married Julian, you became a Vance.” “Your husband is in trouble. It is your duty to use that money to treat him.” I stared at this family. One did the crying. One took the moral high ground. And one wore a white coat to authorize the scam. What a perfect team. After a long silence, I handed the papers back to the nurse. “Fine. I agree to keep him on life support and transfer him to the care facility.” Eleanor’s tears stopped instantly. Richard visibly relaxed. Madelyn lowered her gaze, gently resting her hand on her belly as she let out a quiet sigh of relief. I caught every single one of their reactions and curled my lips. They thought I had surrendered. But only I knew that once Julian left this hospital, he was stepping right into a trap of his own making. That evening, Julian was transferred to a private care center on the outskirts of the city. Eleanor handed me the bill. Initial deposit: $60,000. Subsequent monthly fee: $20,000. I didn’t take the pen. “The buyout money hasn’t cleared yet.” Eleanor panicked. “Use your savings first!” I looked at her. “Doesn’t Julian have his own accounts?” Her eyes darted away. “He’s in a coma! How can we access his accounts now?” I didn’t expose her lie. When I got home that night, I opened Twitter. Sure enough, the thread was updated. [My wife tried to pull the plug, but my parents threw a scene at the hospital and scared her. She agreed to the transfer.] [She even tried to sniff around my personal bank accounts, but I saw that coming. With her tiny brain, she’s no match for me.] [Once her mother’s estate money clears, we can squeeze at least a hundred grand out of her first.] I screenshot everything and backed it up. The show has just begun. I can’t wait.

The next morning, I went back to the hospital. The nurse told me Dr. Hayes had taken a leave of absence, citing pregnancy discomfort. She was starting her maternity leave early. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She was brave enough to fake a medical record but ran away the moment things got real. When the Chief of Medicine met us, his expression was highly defensive. “Mrs. Vance, the patient has already been transferred to the care center.” “What is your reason for requesting a formal freeze on his medical records now?” My best friend and lawyer, Naomi Brooks, placed a formal authorization and legal letter on his desk. “There are major disputes regarding the patient’s condition, the transfer process, and the financial liabilities.” “As his legal spouse, we demand a complete freeze and copy of all original medical files, emergency room logs, imaging, consultations, and the brain-death assessment records.” The Chief frowned. “We shouldn’t over-interpret the term ‘brain death’.” I pushed the consent form signed by Madelyn across the table. “I didn’t over-interpret it. Your attending physician wrote it.” “Yesterday, she informed me that Julian had irreversible brain damage and no spontaneous breathing, relying entirely on machines.” “Based on that, I requested to withdraw life support, and the hospital agreed to proceed.” “Now, the Vance family is demanding I pay exorbitant long-term care fees.” “I need this hospital to issue a formal death certificate based on this brain-death record.” The Chief’s face paled. “He is still alive at the care center. I cannot issue a death certificate.” I nodded. “Then please issue a formal, written statement.” “State clearly that Dr. Madelyn Hayes’s previous diagnosis of brain death is invalid. State that Julian Vance still has spontaneous life functions and has a chance of waking up.” “And explain why a patient who does not meet the criteria for brain death was declared brain-dead and recommended for a closed-off, long-term care facility.” The office fell dead silent. Naomi spoke in a cool, detached tone. “Chief, we aren’t trying to make things difficult for the hospital.” “But medical records are legal documents, not tools used to scare families into paying money.” “If the hospital refuses to cooperate, we will file a formal complaint with the medical board, the insurance regulators, and the police simultaneously.” The Chief’s face grew darker by the second. He made a few phone calls. Half an hour later, the records department sealed all of Julian’s files. An hour later, the hospital handed me a stamped document. It stated: Julian Vance suffered severe traumatic brain injury resulting in irreversible loss of brain function, with no spontaneous respiration, relying on mechanical ventilation and medication to maintain vitals, meeting clinical criteria for brain death. Holding that piece of paper, my heart was perfectly still. They handed me the knife. I just caught it. Our first stop was the bank. I submitted our marriage certificate, the medical certification of brain death, joint account statements, and a report for suspicious transfers. Three days before his “accident,” Julian had transferred $80,000 out of our joint account. $30,000 went to Madelyn. $20,000 went to a luxury postpartum care center. The rest went to several unfamiliar personal accounts belonging to Madelyn’s relatives. The transfer notes all read: “Loan repayment.” After reviewing the documents, the bank manager looked grim. “Mrs. Miller, we cannot close the account without a formal death certificate.” “However, based on these severe identity risks, potential fraud, and spousal disputes, we can freeze Mr. Vance’s primary accounts and suspend all payment permissions immediately.” I smiled. “That works perfectly.” “I just need to make sure he can’t spend another dime.” Our second stop was Julian’s company. He worked as a project manager at a real estate firm, and he happened to be in charge of the redevelopment files for my mother’s old neighborhood. When the HR manager heard the story, she looked sympathetic at first. But after Naomi handed over the certified medical files, her expression changed. “Since Mr. Vance is clinically brain-dead, we will suspend his salary, shut down his employee ID, and revoke his system access immediately.” “We will also hand over the buyout projects he was managing to our legal department for review.” Our third stop was the City redevelopment office. I formally revoked the authorization I had given Julian to handle my mother’s estate buyout. The clerk verified my ID and said: “Mrs. Miller, going forward, we will only accept your signature for the buyout agreement.” “The compensation funds will only be deposited into an account solely under your name.” I nodded. “Thank you.” Finally, we went to the insurance company. Two months ago, Julian had taken out a high-value accidental death and dismemberment policy. The sole beneficiary was his mother, Eleanor. I submitted the screenshots of the Twitter thread, the medical records, the transfer files, and the bank statements. “I’m not here to file a claim,” I told the agent. “I suspect someone is faking an accident and fabricating a critical medical condition to commit insurance fraud and grand larceny.” The claims specialist sat up straight. “We will launch an immediate anti-fraud investigation.” Over the next few days, Eleanor called me incessantly, demanding money for the care facility. I knew why. Julian’s salary had already been spent on Madelyn. With no cash left, they were desperate to bleed me dry. I only gave her one reply: “The buyout money hasn’t cleared. Besides, Julian has plenty of money in his personal account. Use that.” Eleanor didn’t want to expose Madelyn’s existence, so she didn’t dare push me too hard. A week flew by. One night, just as I was drifting off to sleep, an unknown number called me. Julian’s raging voice erupted from the receiver: “Chloe Miller! What the hell did you do?!”

I put the phone on speaker. “Who is this?” The line went quiet for a second. “It’s Julian!” I chuckled. “Isn’t Julian Vance brain-dead?” “Are you calling me from the afterlife, or is this a zombie?” His voice shook with fury. “Stop playing mind games with me!” “All my cards are frozen!” “My company says my employee ID is flagged, and my salary has been suspended!” “The care facility is harassing my mother for bills!” “Even the postpartum center called saying my final payment was declined!” “Chloe, by what right do you do this?” I leaned back comfortably against the sofa. “By the right of the medical diagnosis signed by Madelyn Hayes.” “By the right of the stamped medical certificate from the hospital.” “By the right of your parents publicly declaring you brain-dead to force me to pay for your life support.” He fell silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice lacked its previous confidence. “The doctor just wrote it to sound serious.” “I’m not dead.” “You’re not dead?” My voice was calm. “Then explain how you got a brain-death certificate.” “Explain why you had to be put in a closed-off private facility.” “Explain why you transferred money to Madelyn and the postpartum center right before your crash.” “And explain why your mother tried to force me into signing the insurance paperwork using your accidental death policy.” Julian had no answer. I knew he finally realized the corner he had painted himself into. If he kept playing dead, he would remain a “dead man” with frozen cards, no salary, and no legal rights. But if he stood up, he would have to admit this entire show was a scam from start to finish. After a long silence, he spat out, “Chloe, we’ve been married for six years. Don’t be so heartless.” I almost laughed. “Did you think about our six years of marriage when you faked a coma to steal my inheritance?” “Did you think about it when you let your mother call me a barren failure?” “Did you think about it when you and Madelyn plotted to steal my mother’s estate for your bastard child?” He suddenly shouted, “That is my child!” I paused for two seconds. “Are you sure about that?” The line went dead silent. I didn’t elaborate. Some truths are better delivered in person. I hung up and sent the Snapchat audio recording to Naomi. She texted back: [He can’t keep this act up much longer.] The next afternoon, I went to the bank to submit some follow-up documents. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, a man wearing a baseball cap rushed toward me and grabbed my wrist. “Chloe Miller!” “Unfreeze my accounts right now!” I looked at the hospital gown under his jacket and smiled. Julian. The dead had risen. The bank lobby was packed. He must have run here in a hurry. His jacket wasn’t even zipped properly, and the medical tape on the back of his hand was still hanging loose. I didn’t struggle. I just raised my other hand and tapped the Snapchat recorder. “Julian?” “Aren’t you brain-dead?” His face stiffened, and he hissed under his breath, “Let’s talk at home.” I took a step back, raising my voice. “No need to go home.” “Your medical record says you have no spontaneous breathing and are kept alive solely by machines.” “Could someone explain to me how a brain-dead patient walked out of a care facility and came to a bank to threaten me?” The tellers behind the counter gasped. The security guard immediately walked over. A few bystanders pulled out their phones to record. Panic flashed in Julian’s eyes. “My condition improved!” I nodded. “Wonderful. A medical miracle.” “Then why don’t you explain why Dr. Hayes diagnosed you as brain-dead right before your ‘miracle’?” “Why did your parents try to scam $60,000 out of me for your care?” “And why did you transfer our joint marital assets to your mistress right before your crash?” He gritted his teeth. “Chloe, don’t push me.” I ripped my wrist from his grip. “You pushed yourself into this corner.” “If you don’t wake up, you’re a dead man.” “If you wake up, you have to explain who falsified those legal documents.” I turned to the bank manager. “Please call the police.” “I suspect this man is impersonating a clinically deceased person to commit medical fraud and grand larceny.” Julian’s face went completely pale. The police arrived quickly. Faced with officers, Julian immediately changed his story. He claimed he had just woken up from a brief coma, that the hospital’s wording was simply inaccurate, and that this was all a misunderstanding between husband and wife. I handed the Twitter screenshots, the audio recordings, the medical files, and the bank statements to the officers. “It is not my job to determine if he is alive or dead.” “If he is alive, please investigate who falsified the brain-death document.” “If he is dead, please investigate who this man standing in front of us is.” As Julian was led away by the police, he glared at me with pure venom. I watched his pathetic, struggling figure, my heart entirely unmoved. He thought waking up would get his money back. But the moment he stood up, he put himself on the witness stand.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “444677”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was three months pregnant when I went to the private clinic for my routine ultrasound. The moment I lay down on the examination table, the lead OB-GYN, Chloe Thorne, turned to her assistant and cold-bloodedly ordered, “Prepare the IV sedation. We’re performing an immediate D&C.” I bolted upright, instinctively shielding my stomach. “Are you insane? I’m here for a routine checkup, not an abortion!” Chloe pulled down her surgical mask, her lips curling into a cruel sneer. “You have the nerve to carry my husband’s baby and walk right into his hospital? You’ve got some balls.” My mind went completely blank. “Who exactly is your husband?” “Still acting, are we?” Chloe snatched a handful of photos from her desk and whipped them directly at my face. “My husband is the Chief of Medicine and the owner of this entire hospital!” I looked down at the scattered photos. They were candid shots of my husband, Julian Vance, discussing work with several female subordinates. I was so angry that I actually laughed. “You’re saying he owns this hospital?” She lifted her chin arrogantly. “Of course. He’s the king of this place. And as the first lady of this hospital, I’m telling you—you aren’t leaving this room today with that baby inside you.” Too bad for her, I had spent the last three years taking advanced kickboxing and self-defense classes. With a few swift moves, I knocked the assistant aside, bolted out of the operating room, and calmly dialed my phone. “Dad, take back the hospital you gifted to Julian. Right now. Also, his mistress is currently chasing me down with a scalpel, trying to kill me and your grandbaby.”

My dad’s voice went dead quiet. “Sienna, I’m heading over with my security team right now. Hold on and protect yourself!” After hanging up, I called Julian. The line was busy for what felt like an eternity before he finally picked up. “Sienna? What’s wrong?” Julian’s voice was raspy, heavy with exhaustion. He had been invited to perform a marathon surgery in a neighboring city and had been in the operating room for over twelve hours. I swallowed the anger burning in my throat and calmly told him what was happening. Julian panicked instantly. “Sienna, I’m driving back right now! Don’t believe a single word Chloe says! She and I are absolutely nothing!” The moment the call ended, the frantic clicking of Chloe’s high heels echoed down the hallway, getting closer and closer. “Get back here, you little bitch!” My strength was fading, and a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. “Were you just calling my husband?” Chloe’s eyes flared with pure malice when she caught up to me. When I didn’t answer, she swung her hand and slapped me hard across the face. My head snapped back, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Chloe was trembling with psychotic rage. “Look at her, everyone! This gold-digging whore crawled into my husband’s bed, and now she’s carrying his bastard!” she shrieked, attracting a crowd of onlookers in the corridor. Before I could recover, she shoved me violently against the wall. “Ah!” A sharp pain shot through my back, and tears welled in my eyes. Chloe sneered. “Oh, look at you, playing the fragile victim! That’s exactly how you seduced Julian, isn’t it?” “Julian Vance is my husband!” I gasped. “Pfft! Who the hell do you think you are? A basic bitch like you actually thinks she can be the director’s wife?” Ever since Julian took over the hospital, I had stayed away to avoid starting rumors about nepotism. But now, my silence was turning against me. The staring eyes of strangers and their hushed, judgmental whispers were suffocating me. When Chloe raised her hand to slap me again, I caught her wrist mid-air. “Chloe, that is enough!” The adrenaline finally broke through my fear. I stepped closer, staring her down. “Do you have any idea who I am? By what right do you think you can lecture me?” “I don’t give a damn who you are! My husband runs this place. You mess with me, and you’re dead in this city!” Suddenly, a figure rushed through the crowd and threw himself in front of me. “Sienna!” Julian had arrived, covered in sweat and dust from his mad drive. He pulled me tightly into his chest. The familiar scent of his cedarwood cologne wrapped around me, briefly quietening my doubts. Seeing me frozen, Julian gently shook my shoulders. “Did she hurt you?” The sheer panic in his eyes felt so real. Was I just overthinking things? My chest tightened, and the wall of strength I had built up crumbled. “Julian! This woman… she keeps saying she’s your wife!” I cried, pointing at Chloe. Chloe stamped her foot in frustration. “Julian! Put this little whore in her place! Show her who actually runs things here!” “Shut up!” Julian roared at Chloe. Then, he turned back to me, his voice softening instantly. “She’s just joking, honey. Don’t take it to heart.” Chloe went ballistic. “Julian! Why are you protecting this side-chick? She’s trying to steal my husband!” “Side-chick?” I whispered, my fingertips turning white as I clenched my fists. “Julian, did you tell people I was just your side-chick?” The uneasiness in my heart bloomed into terror. My mind was spinning. Was he really… Julian leaned in and whispered in my ear, “The extended Sterling family has been looking for any excuse to steal your inheritance. If they find out I only got this hospital because of your dad, they’ll target you next. I had to let people think our relationship was… unofficial. Just to keep you safe.” His words acted like a soothing drug. The side branches of the Sterling family had indeed been ruthless lately. Keeping me out of the spotlight made sense. I mentally scolded myself for being so paranoid. Anyone in the world could betray me, but not Julian. He loved me.

“Sienna, come with me. We need to talk.” Ignoring Chloe’s hysterical screaming, Julian led me into the Chief’s office and locked the heavy oak door behind us. On his desk sat a framed photo of me, smiling brightly in the sun. The edges of the silver frame were worn smooth, polished from what I assumed was constant handling. When we first took that photo, I hadn’t liked how I looked. But Julian had insisted it was his favorite. My eyes softened, but as I stepped closer, my gaze caught a weird crease peaking out from behind the photo. While Julian’s back was turned, I quickly slid the back of the frame open. Tucked underneath my picture was a photo of Julian and Chloe, arms wrapped around each other, sharing a passionate kiss. “Sienna?” Julian’s voice startled me from behind. I quickly jammed the frame back together, wiping the cold sweat from my palms. “About today…” Before Julian could finish his explanation, the sound of a key turning in the lock cut him off. Chloe walked right in. “Julian, why is she in your office? Did you seriously give her a spare key?” My eyes narrowed as I looked at the key in Chloe’s hand. “Don’t start, Chloe,” Julian said quickly. “It’s just so she can deliver confidential files easily.” “Deliver files? Or deliver herself?” Chloe mocked. Julian stiffened. “Since when did you become so petty?” Chloe laughed bitterly. “Julian, I’m not like Sienna. She’s already slept around with God knows how many guys, and she still expects to be your legal wife!” The room went dead silent. My body turned to ice, and the color drained from my face. The darkest, most agonizing memory of my life rushed back. Three years ago, I was kidnapped and brutally assaulted by multiple men. When Julian and the police finally found me, there wasn’t a single patch of unbruised skin on my body. In a fit of protective rage, Julian had hunted down every single one of those monsters and made sure they rotted in maximum security. My father had used all the Sterling family’s influence to wipe that incident from existence. How on earth did Chloe know about it? Sensing my trembling, Julian reached out and covered my ears. “Sienna, don’t listen to her garbage.” I stared blankly at him. A massive pain was ripping my heart open. If he knew her words were garbage, why was he letting her drag my deepest trauma into the light? The words “why aren’t you stopping her?” choked in my throat, unable to come out. “Garbage?” Chloe screamed, swiping everything off his desk. Papers and glass shattered on the floor. “It’s because of this bitch that you’re treating me like this! You whore!” Her screeching was giving me a migraine. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!” I snapped. “Go ahead! Call them!” Chloe shrieked. “Let everyone see who you really are!” I reached into my bag, pulled out our marriage certificate, and held it up for everyone outside the glass door to see. “Julian Vance and I are legally married.” Julian stared at the certificate, his eyes darting away guiltily when he met Chloe’s gaze. Seeing the solid proof, the onlookers immediately flipped, whispering insults at Chloe instead. I smiled coldly. “Chloe, what do you have to say now?” “That marriage certificate is a fake!” she yelled. What?! The crowd gasped. My face hardened. “I’m calling the cops.” But before I could dial, Julian snatched the phone out of my hand and canceled the call. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Sienna, if we involve the police, the scandal will ruin the Sterling family’s reputation!” Julian whispered urgently in my ear. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Julian, are you really worried about the Sterling family? Or are you worried about yourself? “Fine,” I said, looking at Chloe. “I won’t call the police. But she owes me an apology.” “Never! Sienna, you are not leaving this hospital with that baby!” Chloe lunged at me, but Julian stepped in, blocking her. “Julian, you’re stopping me?” Chloe cried, her voice cracking. “Without this baby, you could finally—” Julian cut her off with a hard, ringing slap to her face. But the unfinished sentence kept echoing in my head like a curse.

My throat felt tight. I looked at Julian, testing him. “Julian… our baby…” Julian pulled me into his arms, kissing my forehead gently. “Don’t think too much, sweetheart.” The scent of cedarwood clouded my senses, making my brain feel sluggish. Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from my dad. I looked down, and the words on the screen made the world spin around me. I stumbled, and Julian quickly caught me. “Sienna, what’s wrong?” I pushed his hand away, keeping my eyes downcast to hide the storm brewing in them. “I’m fine.” But in my head, a dark voice whispered: Your little fairytale is over, Julian. “Sienna, Julian doesn’t love you,” Chloe sneered, wiping the blood from her lip. “He’s just playing a part.” “Shut up!” Julian yelled. “Just accept reality, abort the bastard, and get lost!” Chloe continued. “I said shut the hell up!” Julian’s roar actually made Chloe flinch. Her eyes filled with tears. “Julian… are you actually falling for Sienna?” I fixed my gaze on Julian, waiting for the answer I already knew was coming. “…Of course I love her,” Julian said. The scene mirrored a moment from years ago. “Sienna, I love you!” “Julian Vance will love Sienna Sterling forever!” I tilted my head back, forcing my tears to stay inside. My dad’s text was still burned into my mind. Julian, how could I have ever believed you? “Love?” Chloe laughed so hard tears streamed down her face. “If you love her, why did you fake-marry her?” My phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor. Even though I had suspected it, hearing the bloody truth out loud felt like a thousand ants devouring my heart. Julian gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging in painfully. “Sienna, don’t listen to her! She’s out of her mind! I love you, you know that. How could our marriage be fake?” “Julian, you don’t even have the balls to admit it!” Chloe mocked. “Chloe, shut your mouth or I swear to God—” “Sienna…” An icy chill washed over me. “Let her speak!” I commanded. Chloe smirked. “Take a close look at the state seal on your marriage certificate, Sienna. You’ll see who’s lying.” Julian frantically tried to snatch the certificate from my hand, hiding it behind his back. “She’s just trying to break us up!” he pleaded, signaling his security guards to drag Chloe away. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “Give it to me.” “Sienna…” “Give. It. To. Me!” Julian’s sheer terror confirmed everything Chloe had said. His hand trembled as he slowly handed the document back to me. I held it up to the light coming through the window. The watermark of the state seal was a cheap, printed imitation. It practically mocked my naivety. My heart squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Hot tears finally spilled over. “Why did you lie to me?” “I…” “Julian only married you for your money,” Chloe answered for him. My eyes were red as I stared at him, desperate for a confession. “Is that true? Julian, I want to hear it from your mouth.” Julian’s dead silence drained the last bit of life out of me. “You really wouldn’t believe it until you saw the proof, would you?” Chloe sneered, pulling a document from her bag and tossing it at me. With trembling hands, I opened it. It was a real, legally certified marriage license. The names listed were Julian Vance and Chloe Thorne. A tear fell onto the paper. “So… I’m the mistress?” I whispered, my voice so raspy it barely made a sound. “I’m sorry,” Julian said. His voice didn’t have a single shred of emotion. He stood there like a stranger, calmly watching my world collapse. I should have known. The rich girl saving the poor, brilliant boy was a cliché. But I had believed it. I had believed every single word. “Julian…” I laughed bitterly, saying the name that used to make my heart flutter. “You wanted this hospital that badly?” Clearly not expecting me to be so direct, Julian paused. “…Yes.” He finally tore off his mask, revealing the monster underneath.

The blood boiled in my veins. “This hospital belongs to the Sterling family. You will never get your hands on it!” “Your family’s?” Julian scoffed. “If it weren’t for me, this place would have gone bankrupt years ago! Honestly, you should be thanking me.” “That’s not true! My dad only did that to—” “To test me?” Julian interrupted. “Sienna, do you actually believe that garbage?” I stared at the floor, numb. “So that’s what you really think?” His silence was my answer. My blood turned to ice. Even the bright afternoon sun couldn’t warm me. Chloe stared at my stomach, her eyes filled with dark malice. “Julian, if this little bastard disappears… will you be sad?” Julian answered instantly, his voice completely casual. “No.” “Julian, this is your child!” I screamed. “You’re dirty, Sienna,” he whispered. Those words shattered whatever dignity I had left. Three years ago, when I was rushed to the hospital after the kidnapping, the doctors said my body was too damaged to ever carry a child. But Julian had spent years treating me, helping me heal, until this miracle finally happened. And now, he was calling me dirty. Chloe stepped toward me. I instinctively curled into a ball, covering my stomach. “What are you doing?” She kicked me hard in the ribs, sending me crashing to the floor, and then slammed her heel right onto my pregnant belly. “Once this baby is gone, everything the Sterling family owns will belong to Julian and me!” Chloe laughed maniacally. An agonizing, white-hot pain exploded in my abdomen. Every breath felt like inhaling fire. A broken sob escaped my throat. “Julian… save me… please…” Julian looked down at me, his eyes cold and dead. “Just bear with it. Be a good girl, Sienna. It’ll be over soon.” It was the exact same gentle tone he used to whisper in my ear during our intimate nights, coaxing me into surrender. Julian knelt down, placed his heavy hand on my abdomen, and pressed down with all his might. “AHHH!” I screamed in agony, my fingernails scraping against the hardwood floor until they bled. “Help! Somebody help me!” I shrieked at the guards standing outside. “I dare any of you to move!” Julian barked. His men blocked the door, instantly tackling a nurse who tried to call for help. I closed my eyes, completely defeated, lying motionless on the floor. The faint flutter in my womb slowly stopped. A warm, wet sensation began to pool between my thighs. My vision started to fade into blackness. “Julian… I hate you…” I muttered. With the last of my strength, I dragged myself toward the door, leaving a horrific trail of red behind me. “Wait,” Chloe said, stopping me. “Julian, are we just going to let her leave like this? If she talks, we’re ruined!” Julian stayed silent for a second. “What do you suggest?” Chloe let out a psychotic laugh. “Kill her.” “Are you insane? That’s murder!” I gasped, staring at her in disbelief. “You came in for a pregnancy checkup, found out the baby was severely deformed, got depressed, and jumped out the window. Who would ever suspect us?” Chloe said, dragging my limp body toward the open window. “Chloe, maybe we shouldn’t…” Julian hesitated. “Julian, if this woman stays alive, we lose everything!” The conflict in Julian’s eyes vanished, replaced entirely by pure greed. “Julian, do you really want me dead?” I cried out, trying to grab his arm. “If you let me go, I’ll make sure my dad officially signs the hospital over to you!” I tried to appeal to whatever humanity he had left, but I had severely underestimated his greed. “Sign it over? I earned this hospital with my own talent. I don’t need charity from the Sterling family!” “Your own talent?” I let out a bloody, mocking laugh. “What are you laughing at?!” Julian’s face distorted with rage. With half my body dangling out of the window, I looked Julian dead in the eye and grabbed his collar. “Julian Vance… I will make sure you live to regret this day.” Then, I let go. I fell backward into the open air. “Sienna!” Julian’s panicked voice faded into the rushing wind. In those few seconds of falling, my entire life flashed before my eyes. Our childhood promises, our college years… all of it meant nothing in the face of greed. CRASH! Through the blinding pain, I heard a familiar voice screaming my name. “Sienna!”

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My best friend, Lily, was being abused by her husband. The moment she called, my boyfriend, Ethan, and I drove over a thousand miles through the night, crossing two state lines to get to her. We worked like a charm. I was the one throwing punches at her toxic husband, and Ethan was the one blocking the door. Lily froze for a second before joining the fight. On the drive back, the three of us looked at the bruises on each other’s faces and burst out laughing. But as Lily laughed, she started to cry. “You two better never fight,” she sobbed. “If you guys ever break up, who am I going to turn to?” Ethan, sitting in the driver’s seat, rolled his eyes. “We’re great, and we’re not breaking up, thank you very much. Worry about yourself.” From that day on, I took Lily into my apartment. I took care of her meals, her daily life, and encouraged her to start fresh. Ethan even got a little jealous. “Chloe, I’m your boyfriend. Why are you spending every single second with Lily?” Then, I went to Germany for a three-month business trip. When I came back, I found a pink plush keychain hanging in Ethan’s car. He stubbornly refused to admit who gave it to him. My face went cold, and I broke up with him on the spot. I grabbed my bags and called for Lily to leave with me. But instead of coming to my side, I watched her, pale-faced, walk slowly toward Ethan.

The air seemed to freeze. All I could hear was the rushing of the wind in my ears. Lily’s face was deathly pale, as if she would burst into tears at any moment. I tried my best to steady my trembling voice. “What is the meaning of this?” Ethan, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly stepped forward and held Lily’s hand, locking their fingers together. “I wanted to find a better time to tell you. That night… we both got drunk. Chloe, keeping it from you wasn’t fair.” I stared at their locked fingers. My vision went black. After an eight-hour flight, before I even had a chance to unpack my luggage, my body swayed. I almost collapsed to the ground. Ethan’s face tightened. He instinctively took a step forward to catch me, but I raised my hand, cutting him off. Lily’s eyes were bloodshot. She hesitated, not daring to come closer, and could only whisper my name in a small, trembling voice. “Chloe… did you skip the airplane food again? Is your blood sugar low? Are you dizzy…” She tentatively opened her palm. In it lay a single, wrapped creamy milk candy. My eyes stung. I clenched my teeth and forced the words out. “Shut up. I don’t want to make a scene in public.” I didn’t look at them again. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, turned around, and walked straight into the crowd. The cold night wind blew against my face, drying the tears at the corners of my eyes. It was rush hour, and it was almost impossible to get an Uber. By the time I finally got home, Lily had already packed her things. She stood at the door, looking at me, hesitating to speak. I glanced at the matching slippers by the door, and the cartoon pillows on the sofa that featured the two of them. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t help but picture it. The night they got drunk, did they make out right here on this sofa? A wave of nausea hit me, and my stomach cramped so hard I almost threw up. My suitcase still held the German cookies I had bought for her, and the designer scarf I had picked out for Ethan. I remembered when Lily had called me on FaceTime, holding up her phone. “Don’t worry, Chloe! Thanks to your Ethan, I successfully got the job at the hospital. But you, take care of yourself in Germany. Remember to eat, and don’t forget to buy me those cookies! I sent you the picture.” I slammed the suitcase onto the floor, ripped out the cookies and the scarf, and threw them, along with the pillows, straight into the trash can. Lily’s tears spilled over instantly. Ethan frowned and stepped in front of her. “This is my fault. If you’re angry, take it out on me.” He looked down at Lily, his voice softening. “Wait for me outside.” Lily looked back at him with every step she took, dragging her suitcase out the door. When the door finally clicked shut, Ethan pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He paused, then put it back. “No matter what, I’m sorry.” “Chloe, I’ll talk to my dad. I’ll make sure you get the Assistant Chief of Cardiology position.” I clutched my cramping stomach and let out a cold laugh. “What is this? Compensation? Or a handout? I don’t need your charity.” Ethan’s expression changed. “You’re always like this. You act like there’s nothing in this world you can’t handle on your own. Chloe, I was your boyfriend. Why couldn’t you just rely on me for once, the way Lily does?” I interrupted him, my voice freezing cold. “Ex-boyfriend.” “And another thing—she needs you because she has no spine. I don’t need you because whatever I want, I can get it myself.” Ethan gave me a long, complicated look. “Take care of yourself.” Then, he quietly closed the door. The apartment was empty now. Only I was left. I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I collapsed onto the sofa, my stomach hurting so badly that I broke out in a cold sweat, my tears finally spilling over. I clutched my stomach and whispered to the empty room, “Damn it… it hurts. It hurts so much…”

At midnight, I woke up from a nightmare. I instinctively reached out and pushed the space next to me. “Can you get me some water?” My hand hit nothing but cold, empty sheets. The living room was pitch black. The only sound was the ticking of the clock. I stood in the darkness for a long time until the doorbell rang. When I opened it, no one was there. Only a thermal food delivery bag sat quietly on the mat. A sticky note was attached to it, written in a handwriting I knew all too well. [I bet you haven’t eaten. No matter what happened between us, don’t ruin your health.] I only gave it a cold look, then shut the door. I turned on the kitchen light, boiled some water, and made myself a bowl of instant noodles. Before, whenever I came home late from a long shift, Lily would pad around in her slippers, nagging me while crowding into the kitchen to boil water and make me a hot bowl of soup noodles. Now, sitting alone on the rug, I felt utterly exhausted. Maybe I put too much salt in the noodles. Otherwise, why did they taste so bitter and salty? The next day, I put myself together and went back to work at the hospital. The moment the elevator doors opened, I saw Ethan with his hands in his pockets. He was gently, affectionately tapping Lily on the head. When they saw me, their smiles froze instantly. I walked right past them without blinking. Behind me, I could hear some young nurses whispering, asking Lily if she had finally won over Dr. Carter. Her response was forced and awkward. Ethan, however, looked at me with a complicated expression. “You just got back. You probably haven’t rested enough. Do you want me to take your night shift?” I stepped around him coldly. “No, thank you.” Ethan came from a prominent family of doctors. He had been a golden boy his entire life. And I was the only person in the past twenty years who had ever beaten him for the top spot in medical school. That summer, Ethan had stood under the oak tree on campus, flashing his white teeth at me. “You’re Chloe Miller, right? You’re good, but so am I. Next exam, I’m taking the top spot back.” We had competed like that for years, until we both graduated and entered his family’s hospital. To keep people from gossiping, we kept our relationship a secret. Everyone in the hospital knew Dr. Miller and Dr. Carter were fierce rivals. No one knew that the two competitive doctors were actually in a long-term relationship—and had just had a brutal breakup the night before. No one except Lily. She was a nurse. After she escaped her husband, I had spent months counseling her. Not wanting to see her waste away at home, I had asked Ethan for a favor for the very first time in my life, getting her a job at our hospital. And that favor had given them the perfect excuse to spend all their time together. During lunch, Lily and Ethan sat together in the cafeteria. As I walked past, she whispered my name. I paused for a fraction of a second, but I didn’t stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lily looking downcast, while Ethan ruffled her hair, whispering something to comfort her. When I returned to my desk later, I found a creamy milk candy sitting on the corner. I stared at it, my hand holding my fork freezing. My childhood had been filled with my parents’ constant screaming and fighting. Having enough food to eat was a luxury back then. The only sweetness in my memories was Lily, giggling as she forced half of her milk candy into my hand. Later, when I developed stomach issues and low blood sugar, she always kept a pack of those candies in her bag. Before she moved away for her marriage, she had solemnly told Ethan, “Chloe only likes the original flavor. You have to remember that.” Back then, Ethan had looked at me with clear, tender eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.” And now, looking at the two figures walking away side by side, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. I picked up my tray and walked away without looking back. The candy sat lonely on the corner of the desk, unwanted. It was just a piece of candy. Giving it up wouldn’t be hard.

In the afternoon, Lily was completely distracted. She kept glancing toward the doctors’ office, though I didn’t know who she was looking for. When I went to do my rounds, I noticed the IV drip of a patient and frowned. “Lily.” She snapped out of it. “Dr… Dr. Miller.” I closed the patient’s door, my voice turning completely cold. “What’s going on with the dosage for Bed 11? Is this your first day on the job? Who’s going to take responsibility if something goes wrong?” Lily panicked. After checking the chart, her face went completely white. “Dr. Miller, I… I’m so sorry…” I took a deep breath. “The person you should be apologizing to is the patient, not me.” I turned to the Head Nurse. “Please don’t put Lily on my shifts anymore. Thank you.” Lily’s eyes instantly pooled with tears. She bit her lip, trying hard not to let them fall. Hearing the commotion, Ethan rushed over. After checking the dosage, he frowned. “It was just a minor mistake. There’s no need to make such a big deal out of it.” He patted Lily’s back gently to comfort her. I looked at his familiar face, feeling nothing but a massive wave of absurdity. “Ethan.” “Medical professionals cannot afford a single careless mistake. Behind every oversight is a human life. Who was the one who told me that?” Ethan’s expression changed. He choked on his words. Ethan was the hospital director’s son, spoiled since childhood. When we were in school, he had always tried to compete with me, but I had never backed down. Until one day, he smiled and explained to me, “My family is very strict. Don’t think of me as some lazy, rich trust-fund kid. Chloe, we share the same dreams and ambitions. I worked hard for everything I have, too. Can you please stop hating me?” I had truly believed we were the same kind of people. The hallway light fell on the medical chart, looking blindingly white. My eyes filled with disappointment, and I slowly shook my head. Ethan opened his mouth to say something else, but Lily sobbed, covered her mouth, and ran off. He shot me a deep, frustrated look, then turned and ran after her. From the rooftop of the hospital, you could see the city lights. I stood there, letting the cool evening wind blow over me. Suddenly, the door was pushed open. Lily walked in, her eyes red. “Ethan said… you always come here when you’re upset…” I froze. Whenever I dealt with a difficult patient or a tough case, I liked to come up here to clear my mind. This was supposed to be a secret shared only between Ethan and me. We fought in front of others, but in the empty corners of this rooftop, we had loved each other fiercely. Lily took a step closer. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I know ‘sorry’ isn’t enough. But I really… I couldn’t help my feelings. It just happened.” Her voice cracked. “You’re so strong. You can get anything you want—the job, the skills, everyone’s respect. But I’m different. I’m just an ordinary girl. I just wanted someone to be there for me…” I couldn’t help but sneer. “Out of all the men in the world, did it have to be Ethan?” Her face stiffened. After a long silence, she clenched her teeth. “Chloe, you can hate me or blame me, but I don’t regret it. You did help me a lot, but I don’t owe you anything anymore. We’re even.” I almost laughed out loud. After Lily left, Ethan stepped out from the shadows, standing just a foot away from me. He lit a cigarette. “Chloe, we’ve been together for so many years. But you’re always the calm one. You never say you need me, you never say you miss me, and you never show fear. You don’t need my family’s connections or my resources. Every time I give you a gift, you always make sure to return something of equal value.” “For a long time, I actually thought you didn’t care about me that much.” When he mentioned Lily, his eyes softened. “She’s different. Her whole world is me.” I was quiet for a long time. In the end, I just gave a mocking laugh and said nothing. Lily was a typical “love-brain.” Romance was her entire life, which was why she had been willing to leave her hometown to follow a man. I was different. Love was only a part of my life, maybe just ten percent. But in that ten percent, Ethan had occupied one hundred percent. Too bad he never understood that. I turned and walked away. The wind slammed the rooftop door shut behind me. I would never come back here again.

After that blowout on the rooftop, Lily and Ethan stopped hiding. They proudly announced they were together. They bought afternoon tea for the entire department. The young nurses, clueless about the drama, smiled and called out to me, “Dr. Miller, come get some! We saved an iced Americano for you.” Ethan frowned. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Her stomach is bad. The warm milk is hers.” Lily’s smile froze. The room went dead silent. I smiled, raising my own insulated mug. “I’ll stick to my warm water.” A few days later, I was off the night shift. As soon as I parked my car, my right eyelid started twitching violently. For the past few days, I had felt like someone was watching me. I took a deep breath and got out of the car. Suddenly, a dark figure rushed at me. My heart hammered in my chest. It was Lily’s ex-husband, Marcus. He was holding a baseball bat, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. “Chloe, long time no see.” My stomach dropped. I tried to run, but he blocked my path. “You were so brave when you and your boyfriend showed up at my house to beat me up. Why are you acting like a coward now?” “Oh, right, I forgot. Your man was stolen by Lily.” “That bitch is with the hospital director’s son now, so I can’t touch her. But I have to get this anger out of my system. Dr. Miller, you’re just unlucky. You had to be friends with a snake like Lily. You took a bullet for her, and she stabbed you in the back.” Marcus smirked, his grip tightening on the baseball bat. I took a deep breath, slipping my hand into my pocket to feel for my phone. I blindly dialed my emergency contact. My hand was shaking, but I forced myself to stay calm, trying to reason with him. “What do you want? Money? We can talk.” Marcus spat on the ground. “I don’t want money. I want you to pay.” The baseball bat swung toward me. I screamed and bolted. “Marcus, calm down! Assault is a felony!” Marcus chased after me. “My wife ran away and made me the laughingstock of the town! I don’t give a damn about the consequences!” He cornered me in a dead-end alley. My entire body was trembling. “Please… don’t hurt my hands. I have a surgery tomorrow.” “The patient is a little girl. She’s been sick for so long. If the surgery works, she lives…” “Marcus, please…” Before I could finish, the baseball bat swung down with a sickening whoosh, smashing straight into my right arm. I clearly heard the sound of my bone shattering. Right before I blacked out, I looked at my phone, which had shattered on the ground. The screen showed that the call to my emergency contact had gone through. But he had never picked up. When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was the white hospital ceiling and the sharp smell of disinfectant. Lily was kneeling by my bedside, her eyes swollen from crying. “I’m sorry, Chloe… I’m so, so sorry…” Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot. He punched the wall in frustration. “I didn’t know… that call…” I simply closed my eyes. “Give me the X-ray report.” Ethan hesitated before handing it over. As a professional surgeon, one look was enough to tell me how bad the damage was. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Trembling, I looked at my crying colleagues, and then at Lily and Ethan, who were drowning in guilt. “Get out. Please.” The door closed, and only then did the room fill with my muffled, agonizing cries. Ethan and Lily came to watch over my room every day, but I refused to see them. Until one day, Ethan spoke through the closed door, his voice heavy with pain. “Chloe, even if your hand doesn’t fully recover, it’s okay. I can ask my dad to transfer you to administration. Or would you like to go back to school to teach? Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.” I didn’t answer him. I just looked at my bandaged arm. With a shaking left hand, I drafted a reply to an email from Germany. [I’ve made my decision. I’m coming.]

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Five years into my marriage with Sebastian Sterling, both I and his mistress, Hailey Miller, got pregnant at the same time. A psychic hired by his family predicted that whoever gave birth to a son first would inherit the entire Sterling empire’s trust. But on the day I went into labor, the chauffeur drove me to the hospital entrance, only to lock the doors. He refused to let me out. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Hailey’s water just broke, too,” the driver said, refusing to look me in the eye. “Mr. Sterling said Hailey must deliver her baby first before I can let you into the hospital.” They confiscated my phone. They left me screaming in agony inside the locked car for an entire night until I blacked out. By dawn, Hailey had safely delivered a healthy baby boy. Only then did Sebastian order the guards to wheel me into the operating room. But my baby had suffocated. He died in my womb because of the delay. The severe infection forced the doctors to perform an emergency hysterectomy. I could never have children again. Seeing my lifeless eyes, Sebastian actually tried to comfort me in his rare gentle voice. “I can’t marry Hailey. My mother hates her. If anything happens to me, she and the baby will have nothing. I had to secure the inheritance for her as a safety net.” “You’re already Mrs. Sterling. You can raise her boy as your own. You don’t need another kid to stress you out anyway.” I screamed inwardly at the sheer absurdity. He wasn’t worried about my stress. He was paving the way for Hailey. That night, I dragged my weak body and knocked on the door of Sebastian’s mother, Victoria. “You promised me once. If I helped Sebastian secure the CEO position, you’d grant me one wish. I want a divorce.”

Before Sebastian even showed up, his other mistresses arrived in a group to mock me. They smirked, looking down at me on the hospital bed. “So what if she’s the legal wife? She thought she could control Mr. Sterling just because she was pregnant. Look at her now. She lost the baby and her dignity.” “Now that her uterus is gone, Mr. Sterling will probably dump her in a few days. Hailey is the lucky one. Just a lounge singer, but now she’s the mother of the heir.” Sebastian had kept the events of last night tightly under wraps. But everyone in our circle knew he had abandoned a multi-million-dollar deal just to be by Hailey’s side during labor, leaving me completely alone. Who mattered more to him was obvious. So, these women took out their frustrations of being neglected on me—the wife who existed only in name. I let out a bitter laugh. Ever since I got pregnant, Sebastian had stopped seeing these women. He came home every day to accompany me. But nobody knew he had secretly moved Hailey into our estate to care for her. He hadn’t stepped foot in my bedroom for months. He wanted to be close to his true love while shielding her from the jealousy of his other mistresses. There was no better shield than me, his legal wife. As I was lost in my thoughts, a familiar, cold voice rang out from the doorway. “She just escaped death. Who authorized you to disturb her?” “Get out, all of you!” The women scattered in panic. Sebastian walked over to my bedside. Seeing how pale I was, he sighed. “Chloe, don’t take it to heart. Some things are just destined. The baby just wasn’t meant to be yours.” “Hailey was worried about you. Even though she just gave birth, she insisted on coming to check on you.” What a beautiful excuse—”destined.” As if my agony last night had absolutely nothing to do with him. I looked up, my voice dead and flat. “It wasn’t destiny. His father killed him. You locked him inside me until he suffocated.” Before he could snap back, Hailey burst into tears right behind him. “Chloe, please don’t blame Sebastian. It’s all because of my poor background. I can’t marry him, so he wanted me to have the heir so we would have something to rely on.” “If you’re still angry, I can give my life for your baby. It’s just… my poor son would lose his mother right after birth…”

Sebastian quickly wiped her tears, his eyes filled with tenderness. “Don’t talk nonsense. We promised to watch our boy grow up and start his own family together.” When he turned back to me, his face was masked in cold irritation. “Chloe Vance, your own baby was just too weak. He couldn’t even survive a few extra hours in the womb. How can you blame anyone else?!” “I’ve let you keep the title of Mrs. Sterling. Even though you can’t conceive anymore, I have no plans to divorce you. I even planned to let Hailey’s son call you his godmother to make up for your loss.” “Instead of appreciating my kindness, you’re being bitter and sarcastic. Is this how a supportive wife behaves?! Reflect on your attitude!” Always demanding my understanding. The first time I caught him in bed with another woman, he claimed he was drugged and it wasn’t his fault. He said keeping her as a mistress was just “taking responsibility,” and asked for my understanding. Then came the second time, the third time… Eventually, he paraded Hailey around at high-society galas and hotels. Paparazzi camped outside our family mansion every day. His family blamed me for being incompetent. But Sebastian would nuzzle my neck, begging softly: “Don’t you think Hailey looks a bit like you when we were younger?” “It’s been so long since I felt that spark. Please, honey, just help me deal with the reporters and my mother.” Sebastian scooped Hailey up in a bridal carry, as if terrified she might tire herself out, and walked away. Hailey glanced back at me, playing the shy victim. “Sebastian, there are reporters outside. This will embarrass Chloe. Put me down…” Sebastian paused, letting out a mocking chuckle. “Let them take photos. I’m treating the woman I love right. Why should I care about anyone else’s feelings?” Faced with this deliberate humiliation, I didn’t cry. I walked right past the flashing cameras and went back to the Sterling mansion. I entered the room of Sebastian’s mother, Victoria. “You made a promise to my father. If he helped Sebastian take over the company, I could leave whenever I wanted.” “Now, I want you to fulfill that promise.” Before he passed away, my father was one of the founding members of the Sterling Group. It’s safe to say he built the empire alongside Sebastian’s late father. His influence was unmatched. Back when Sebastian was fighting his illegitimate brothers for the CEO seat, Victoria brought him to our house to propose, solely to secure my father’s backing. My father was reluctant at first. He knew I was quiet and simple, totally unfit for the cutthroat world of the ultra-wealthy. But Sebastian knelt on the floor and swore that no matter what happened, he would never betray me. We were childhood sweethearts. Seeing my blushing face, my father knew my heart. He threw all his weight behind Sebastian, securing him the throne. Before the wedding, my father called me into his study, looking at me with immense sadness. “Chloe, you’re still young. You don’t understand how money and power can corrupt a man’s soul.” “If you ever want to leave him, go to his mother. I am old and cannot protect you forever. But before I die, I will make sure my little girl has an escape route.” At the time, I thought my father was just being paranoid. How tragically naive I was. Sebastian knew nothing of this arrangement. Fortunately, Victoria still felt a debt of gratitude toward my father. She promised to deliver the signed divorce papers to me in seven days. In seven days, Sebastian would throw a massive banquet for Hailey and her baby to announce the new heir. My quiet departure would go completely unnoticed. Normally, a stillborn baby would be quietly cremated without any fuss. But perhaps out of guilt, Victoria made an exception and arranged a small, private memorial for my baby. According to the tradition, the casket would stay at the funeral home for three days.

Sebastian didn’t show up once. He was too busy buying jewelry and houses for Hailey, hiring top-tier nutritionists, and making her look more like the lady of the house than I ever was. He was busy naming their son “Valen,” symbolizing the precious treasure of his heart. But when his assistant asked what name should be engraved on my baby’s headstone, Sebastian just frowned in annoyance. “He was a useless burden anyway, and now he’s making the elders fuss over him. So thoughtless.” “Just engrave ‘Bane’ on it.” As if he wanted the whole world to know how much he detested his own child. Victoria overheard this and reprimanded him severely. She overruled him and named the baby “Julian.” She said it was a small way to make it up to me. But the person who truly owed me an apology was completely absent. That evening, Hailey walked into the funeral home, radiant and smug. “I know you’re grieving, Chloe. I really didn’t want to bother you.” “But Sebastian is hosting a grand gala for us in a few days. I’m still missing a few pink diamonds to match my evening gown.” I stared at my son’s urn and said quietly, “Then you should go to a jewelry store, not here.” Hailey’s smile widened. “Oh, come on. High-grade pink diamonds don’t just grow on trees. You can’t even find them at standard auctions.” “Sebastian told me you have a perfect set. He told me to just come and take it from you. You wouldn’t say no, would you?” My heart stopped. I slowly looked down at the bracelet on my wrist. It was a delicate chain of pink diamonds carved into cherry blossoms, sparkling under the cold fluorescent lights. Sebastian had given this to me when we got engaged. Back then, a trend was going around on social media about giving flowers to the one you love. I’ve always loved cherry blossoms. I jokingly told him, “If you can make me a cherry blossom bracelet, I’ll marry you.” It was a joke because cherry blossoms weren’t even in season. But the very next day, Sebastian flew to an international auction. He spent almost all of his personal savings to buy twelve rare pink diamonds and hand-carved them into cherry blossoms. When he presented it to me, he smiled like a foolish boy. “Chloe, I didn’t marry you just to become the heir. I’ve loved you for twelve years. I truly love you.” “Real flowers wither, but my love for you will never fade, just like these diamond blossoms.” And now, he was giving that love to someone else. I said flatly, “He bought it. He can give it to whomever he wants.” Before I could take it off myself, Hailey nodded to the bodyguards behind her. They grabbed my wrists roughly and ripped the bracelet off my arm. The chain was sturdy, and the force scraped a bloody gash across my wrist. Hailey feigned shock and covered her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry! These are the new bodyguards Sebastian assigned to protect me. They don’t know their own strength. Please don’t be mad.” The pink diamonds were pried off, and the broken metal chain was tossed carelessly at my feet. I stared at it blankly. Hailey smiled slyly. “This morning, I asked Sebastian if he preferred cherry blossoms or roses. Want to guess what he said? He said outdated things are just bad luck.” “So, just like this bracelet, no matter how real you look, you’re still outdated.” The bodyguard’s phone rang. It was a call saying Sebastian had bought a massive estate in Europe to plant Bulgarian roses just for Hailey. He even built a greenhouse to ensure she had fresh roses flown to her all year round, simply to keep her happy. It turns out, figuring out if someone loves you or is just patronizing you is incredibly simple. You just have to compare.

Yes, the pink diamonds were beautiful. Beautiful enough to make me forget that from the very beginning, his love was a lie. On the day of the baby’s burial, Victoria ordered Sebastian to accompany me. To perform his duty as a father, and to shut the mouths of the paparazzi. Sebastian agreed on the surface. But the moment the hearse cleared the city limits, he ordered the driver to stop and got out. “Chloe, there’s a major auction in New York today. A rare gemstone is up for grabs, and I want to get it for Hailey’s baby.” “Go to the cemetery yourself.” His assistant had already pulled up in a sleek sports car. Hailey was sitting in the back seat, looking stunning. I looked at the reporters hiding in the distance, clutching the heavy urn to my chest. “But the baby in here is also your son.” He paused, his brow furrowing in irritation. “Why do you keep comparing a dead baby to a living one? It’s not like my presence will bring him back to life. You’re wasting my time.” “Besides, Hailey hasn’t visited her parents in a month. I need to go with her. As my wife, you need to be more understanding. Stop throwing tantrums over minor things.” A month. He made it sound like a lifetime. I remembered when my father was critically ill. I had begged him to let me go back to my hometown to see him. Sebastian had shrugged it off: “Old people get sick all the time. The estate is busy, and Hailey has a cold. Who’s going to manage things if you leave?” “Plus, Hailey has been having nightmares about her late father. She’s depressed. If she sees you visiting your dad, she’ll only feel worse. Wait until she’s in a better mood.” I waited for three months. Hailey’s mood never improved. Instead, I got the news of my father’s passing. My relatives told me he refused to let go of his last breath, desperately waiting to see his little girl one last time. He died with his eyes wide open. “Sebastian, if you leave today, we are getting a divorce.” It was the first time I had ever called him by his first name. A flash of shock crossed his eyes. But it quickly morphed into burning rage. “Are you threatening me, Chloe Vance?! It’s just burying some ashes! You’re a grown woman. Do you really have to pick a fight over this?!” “Your parents are dead. You have no family left and no job. Who else do you have to rely on besides me?” “Since you married into the Sterling family, you are mine. Even if you die, you’ll be a ghost of the Sterling house. Stop playing these pathetic mind games with me!” I watched him slam the car door shut and drive off with Hailey. Sebastian finally said it out loud. That was the source of his arrogance. He believed I had nowhere to go, no career, and couldn’t survive without him. To him, my baby’s death was just a “minor thing.” Even though Sebastian paid off the paparazzi, photos of him abandoning the funeral still leaked onto social media. “Billionaire CEO Abandons Son’s Funeral to Attend Auction with Mistress.” The headline tanked the company’s stock. Shareholders flooded Victoria with angry phone calls. Furious, Victoria stormed into the villa Sebastian had bought for Hailey and gave her a severe lashing. I heard Hailey cried hysterically. So, the moment I stepped back into the mansion, Sebastian kicked my door open and slapped me hard across the face. “Just because I didn’t go to the cemetery, you leaked those photos to destroy Hailey and get my mother to humiliate her?!” “She cried so hard she almost fainted! She’s still recovering from childbirth! Do you know how dangerous that is? How can you be so vicious?!” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and let out a soft laugh.

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Ethan was a cold man. He was the type who wouldn’t even reply to a text because he thought it was a waste of his precious time. Excitedly, I sent him the trending “Boyfriend Instantly Reports His Day” challenge that was blowing up on TikTok. He only sent back two words: “Grow up.” But that very night, I saw a video posted by his first love, Sienna. The man who never replied to me in seconds was practically spamming her chat with every little detail of his day. “Just got to the office.” “Meeting finished.” “Picking you up tonight. Babe, don’t wear heels. Your feet will hurt.” I stared at the screen, and my mind flashed back to last week. I was rolling on the floor in the ER with acute gastritis, sending him thirty desperate texts for help. He only replied the next afternoon. “I’m busy. Stop exaggerating minor illnesses just to get my attention.” When Ethan finally came home, I was still sitting in the dark on the living room couch. He glanced at my phone screen, sighed with annoyance, and pulled me into his arms. “You saw that? Sienna just got back to the country and feels insecure. I’m just playing along to make her feel safe.” “You’re my girl. You should know what’s real and what’s just a joke.” I looked down and smiled. Yeah. I finally realized that I was the joke.

I pushed his arms away from me. My eyes landed on his phone, which he had tossed on the coffee table without locking. The screen showed a live location-sharing map with Sienna. It had been running for fifteen hours straight. My brain went completely numb. Because of my extreme insecurity in this relationship, I had begged him for a month, with tears in my eyes, to share his location with me. Back then, he had pushed my hand away with disgust and snapped cold words at me. “Chloe, adults need personal space. This kind of stalker-like surveillance only makes me think you have mental issues.” But now, my heart, which had been hanging by a thread for years, finally died. “Ethan, let’s break up.” Ethan followed my gaze to the screen. Realizing I saw the location sharing, his face instantly hardened with self-righteous anger. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum in the middle of the night?” “Sienna had a traumatic experience abroad. She just got back and doesn’t know her way around. I only turned on the location to keep her safe. Are you seriously going to be petty about this?” “You want security, right? Fine. I’ll add your name to the house deed tomorrow. Is that enough? Stop whining about this childish drama!” “You want to break up? Fine. Have it your way.” “When you drain all that jealous nonsense out of your head and stop acting crazy, we’ll talk.” With that, he marched into the guest room and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t take my breakup seriously at all. To him, I was just using the breakup as a threat to force him to bow down. But he didn’t know that when someone truly decides to leave, they do it in total silence. The next morning. Ethan was fully dressed and blocked me as I was heading out the door. “Alright, are you still playing the drama queen?” “Isn’t today your follow-up appointment for your stomach at the downtown clinic?” “I’m heading that way this morning. I’ll drop you off.” Ethan wanted to use this minor favor to brush last night’s argument under the rug. He was convinced that if he gave me a little sweet treat, I would swallow all my pain. Not long after the car pulled out of our neighborhood, I looked out the window and spoke coldly. “This isn’t the way to the clinic. Where are you going?” Without hesitation, Ethan crossed the double yellow line and headed toward the Rosewood, the most expensive luxury hotel downtown. “To pick up Sienna.” “She had a terrible headache all night. Since you’re going to the clinic anyway, I’ll take her along to get checked out.” I had stayed up all night refreshing the patient portal to book that rare specialist appointment. Yet, he was giving my slot to another woman “along the way.” Because I hadn’t eaten breakfast and the car’s AC was blasting cold air, my stomach began to cramp painfully. I stared silently at the passing streets outside. I didn’t even have the energy to argue with him anymore. When the car parked in front of the clinic, the waiting room was packed. As a software engineer, my high-intensity work had ruined my health. That specialist appointment was a miracle booking. Ethan looked at Sienna, who was leaning weakly against his shoulder, and held out his hand to me. “Give me your appointment confirmation QR code.” I looked up at him. The sharp spasms in my stomach were making me break out in a cold sweat. “This is my specialist appointment.” Ethan took my ice-cold hand and wrapped it in his warm palm. “Sienna just got back. The jet lag and her severe anxiety have kept her crying all night. The doctor said she’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.” “Your stomach pain is bad, but it’s a chronic issue. We have your prescription meds at home. You can just take two pills to suppress it. Can you please just bear with it for once?” When we first got together, his friends used to whisper behind my back. They said Ethan would always keep a place in his heart for his first love who had moved abroad for her dreams. They said no matter how hard I tried, I could never compete with his “white moonlight.” But over the last three years, Ethan had personally wiped away all my doubts. During those three years, he would drive across the city in pouring rain just to pick me up from work. He would stay up all night rubbing my stomach when I had bad cramps. I really thought I had finally replaced her. Seeing me freeze, he leaned down and kissed my forehead gently. “Be good, Chloe. You’re my family. Do this for me, okay?” “Tomorrow, once she’s settled, I’ll cancel all my meetings and spend the whole day with you, I promise.” I clutched the medical card inside my pocket. The sharp edges dug painfully into my fingers. My mind suddenly drifted back to the early days of Ethan’s startup. He had worked so hard that he drank himself to stomach bleeding. To get him a specialist appointment, I had lined up in the freezing wind all night. My hands got so frostbitten that night that they still peel every winter. Back then, he had looked at me from his hospital bed with tears in his eyes. “I will never let you suffer again in this life.” Sienna’s eyes welled up with tears, and Ethan’s expression grew impatient. “Give it to me, Chloe. Don’t be unreasonable.” I suddenly loosened my fingers and handed him the card. Ethan smiled, satisfied, and rubbed my hair. “Good girl. I’ll get someone to book another specialist for you next month.” The clinic door shut in my face. I didn’t expect the man inside to look back at me. I popped two painkillers out of my bag and swallowed them dry. The pills tasted incredibly bitter as they scraped down my throat. I whispered in my heart: “Ethan, there’s no need for next month. There is no next month for us.” Just as I was about to call an Uber, my phone lit up. It was a Snapchat message from Ethan. “The checkup is done. The doctor says Sienna needs some warm comfort food.” “Come to the Italian restaurant next door. Let’s eat together.”

I pushed open the door to the private dining room. Ethan and Sienna were sitting close together at a round table. Hearing the door, Ethan didn’t even look up. He was carefully pouring warm water for Sienna. “Have a seat. Sienna felt bad about taking your appointment, so she insisted on inviting you.” His tone was casual, like he was throwing a bone to an outsider. The waiter pushed the cart in. “We have a full house today. We only have one portion of our signature truffle pasta left.” The steaming plate of pasta was placed right in the middle of the table. The painkillers were burning my empty stomach. I desperately needed some hot food to coat it. Just as I picked up my fork, Ethan took the plate of pasta and slid it directly in front of Sienna. “Didn’t you already take your painkillers? Just grab a bagel or something.” “Sienna’s body is weak. Don’t act like a child and fight a sick person for food.” He completely ignored my fork, which was frozen in mid-air. Sienna looked at me with a fake, apologetic expression. “Ethan, this isn’t right. Chloe looks so pale, she must be in real pain… Maybe I should just drink some water…” Ethan gave me a look full of annoyance and blame. “Don’t worry about her. I’ve just spoiled her too much lately.” “She writes code all day and eats cold leftovers without a single complaint. She’s tough.” “Now she’s learned to fake being sick just to get attention because she’s jealous.” I pulled my fork back. It clattered weakly against my empty plate. For three years, to make sure he had a hot meal when he came home, I had reheated dinners over and over again, learning to cook everything he liked. But now, in his eyes, my sacrifices meant I was “used to cold food,” and my damaged stomach was just “tough.” Suddenly, Sienna stood up. As she moved, she bumped into a freshly poured cup of hot coffee. The boiling liquid spilled across the rotating table, rushing straight toward me. Ethan immediately pulled Sienna into his arms to shield her. The scalding coffee splashed directly onto the back of my hand. My fork slipped from my grip. My skin instantly turned a violent, blistered red. Only then did Ethan look at my hand. He walked over, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me toward the restroom. Under the sink, cold water rushed over my burned skin. But Ethan’s voice was filled with nothing but irritation. “You’re usually so quick at work. Why were you so slow just now?” “You saw the cup tip over. Couldn’t you have moved out of the way?” The cold water hit the raw burn. I kept my head down and didn’t struggle. I only remembered how, two years ago, I had gotten a tiny blister from cooking for him. He had been so heartbroken that he banned me from doing chores for a month. Now, my skin was peeling from a severe burn, and he was blaming me for not dodging. We had only been rinsing it for ten seconds. Hearing Sienna cough back in the private room, his movements became hurried and careless. “Go buy some burn cream at the pharmacy later. Don’t let it scar.” I slowly pulled my hand out of his grip. “No need to rinse anymore.” “I don’t feel the pain anyway.” Ethan didn’t realize how much he had changed. He didn’t think he was being biased. Instead, he took our three years of history for granted. He thought our love was so unshakable that he could freely give his attention and care to another fragile woman. He believed that no matter how much he hurt me, I would never leave him. Back in the dining room, I turned around and walked straight toward the exit. Ethan called out to me, his voice sharp with displeasure. “Where are you going? The food’s barely touched. What kind of tantrum is this?” I didn’t turn back. I just placed my hand on the door handle. “The office has an emergency system bug to fix. I have to go.” “Enjoy your meal.” The moment the door closed behind me, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Hi, Mrs. Gable. The old suburban apartment you mentioned last time… Can we sign the lease today?”

The city bus rattled down the bumpy road. This place was far from the bustling downtown. I met Mrs. Gable at the end of a quiet alley. Without any bargaining, I quickly signed the lease and paid six months of rent upfront. Right after, I submitted my request to transfer to our company’s remote branch. By evening, the weather turned violent. A sudden thunderstorm hit the city. Street water quickly rose to my ankles, and all bus lines were suspended. I opened my rideshare app. There were over three hundred people ahead of me in the queue. I stood shivering under the awning of a closed grocery store, the burn on my hand throbbing in the freezing wind. Just then, Ethan’s black Maybach slowly pulled up across the street, right in front of a trendy dessert shop. I thought he had tracked my location and came to pick me up. I was about to open my umbrella and walk over, but then the car door shut loudly. Ethan got out, ran into the shop, bought several boxes of luxury pastries, and ran back to the car. My phone rang at that exact moment. “Chloe, are you still stuck in the rain? Find a Starbucks to dry off.” “Sienna has been terrified of thunder since she was a kid. The noise just now made her turn pale.” “The traffic here is horrible. I can’t make a detour to pick you up. Find your own way back, okay?” “Don’t be childish and overthink this. I’ll make you something good when I get home.” The call cut off. I watched the luxury car make a U-turn, splashing muddy water everywhere as it sped away. I remembered when he couldn’t even afford a used car, and we got caught in a storm like this. He didn’t have an umbrella back then. Without hesitation, he took off his only jacket and held it over my head. He had held me tight as we ran through the downpour. Even though he was soaked to the bone, he smiled and kissed my forehead. “How could I let my girl get rained on and catch a cold?” Now, his luxury car had heated seats and warm drinks, but there was no longer a place for me. Unable to get a ride, I walked through the howling storm for three hours. When I finally pushed open the door of our villa, I was drenched and shivering. Dragging my numb legs, I went straight to the closet to pack my oldest belongings. Since I had decided to disappear, I wouldn’t leave a single trace behind. As soon as I taped up the last box, Sienna posted a short video on Snapchat. Ethan was holding a soft towel, gently drying her hair. Someone in their friend group chat commented: “Is Mr. Vance rekindling his old flame? Settling down for real this time?” He didn’t reply. In their circle, silence was basically confirmation. I stared at the video for three seconds. Ever since Sienna came back, the constant anxiety and fear of losing him that had plagued my heart suddenly vanished. It was completely quiet now. I no longer wanted to try those trending couples’ challenges, nor did I crave his instant replies. He had personally crushed my sense of security and handed it all to someone else. But none of that mattered anymore. The Ethan who used to kiss my forehead in the rain had died long ago in the passage of these three years. My phone screen lit up again with an email notification. “Your transfer request to the remote branch has been approved. Please complete your hand-off within three days and report to your new office.”

I developed a high fever. The cold rain and the infected burn on my hand made my body burn like fire. Inside the walk-in closet, I didn’t touch any of the expensive dresses or jewelry he had bought without even knowing my size. At 8:00 PM, the electronic lock on the front door beeped. I thought Ethan wouldn’t come back, but he did—and he brought Sienna with him. He looked up and saw the cardboard boxes stacked in the living room. “Sienna’s hotel is having an electrical maintenance outage, and she’s afraid of the dark.” “The guest room has been empty anyway. I brought her here to stay for a couple of nights.” “Why are you packing boxes in the living room?” Before I could answer, Ethan noticed my pale face. Ignoring my resistance, he pulled me into his arms from behind. “Stop acting up.” “She’s only staying for two nights. You’ve been with me for three years. You’re the sensible one.” “Don’t act like a petty little girl. Be mature.” He was so sure that I loved him to death, convinced that this was just my way of begging for his attention. I didn’t struggle. I let him hold me, my eyes looking past his shoulder, coldly staring at my own reflection in the window. Sienna walked around the living room. Her eyes landed on a small ornament hanging by the sink. It was a silver protection charm. Two years ago, I had walked up the steps of the cathedral, kneeling at every step, to pray for it. Sienna picked it up and toyed with it. “Ethan, this little thing is so unique.” Two years ago, Ethan had a high fever that wouldn’t break for a week, despite all the meds. Desperate, I had braved a massive blizzard alone to get this charm from the cathedral. At that time, Ethan kept the charm pressed against his chest like a priceless treasure, refusing to take it off even when showering. He had sworn that I had risked my life to get it for him, that it was more precious than his own life, and no one was allowed to touch it. But now, Sienna was casually playing with it. “I actually need a charm for my bag. Can I have this?” Ethan let her play with the item he once valued more than his life, not seeing anything wrong with it. “It’s just a cheap trinket. Take it if you want.” “I’ll have my secretary buy you a nice Chanel bag charm from the mall later.” In his eyes, I had already passed the age of needing to be carefully cherished. He took it for granted that because I had stood by him through the hard times, I should be the mature, understanding, and obedient pushover. I snatched the charm out of Sienna’s hand. Sienna gasped and took a step back. “Why are you being so stingy?” I didn’t even look at her. “You’re right. A piece of cheap trash doesn’t deserve to be a charm.” Ethan’s face instantly darkened, but Sienna quickly grabbed his arm. “It’s fine, Ethan. Don’t be mad.” “You have to accompany me to the medical equipment expo tomorrow morning. It’s a busy schedule.” She was intentionally marking her territory for tomorrow. Ethan gave me a cold look. “Calm yourself down tonight. We’ll talk later.” With that, he led Sienna up to the second-floor guest room. Just then, my phone buzzed continuously. It was an urgent text from the moving company. “Miss Miller, the weather bureau just issued a red alert. The hurricane will make landfall early tomorrow morning.” “All of tomorrow’s orders are canceled.” “If you are sure you want to move tonight, our truck will arrive at your back gate in ten minutes.” “It’s now or never. Can you leave right now?” I looked up at the tightly shut guest room door on the second floor. The warm light spilling from under the door stung my eyes. He was probably coddling his “insecure” first love right now. For the past few years, I had stared at empty chat screens, waiting for his care and affection, looking like a pathetic joke. Now, the storm was coming, but the man who was supposed to be my shelter had already put his umbrella over someone else. Since I could never get a reply, I would cut the last thread of hope myself. Without hesitation, I typed back and hit send. “I can leave right now.”

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My mom, Dr. Helen Miller, is the most famous cardiothoracic surgeon in Miami. She saves countless lives every year. Yet, she never cared about my heart condition, nor would she ever let me get treated at her hospital. She always told me, “I have to avoid any conflict of interest, Chloe. If you come to my hospital, people will give you priority access, whether I want them to or not. That’s stealing medical resources from other patients.” I believed her. I was even proud of having such an selfless, ethical mother. Until my heart condition flared up again, and I was rushed to her hospital anyway. That was when I met Mia, the patient my mother had been caring for since they were both young. Mia was staying in the best VIP suite. The hospital was using the country’s most advanced medical equipment on her. Outside her room, the nurses were whispering. “Mia is so lucky. Dr. Miller is such an amazing doctor. She even redirected her own daughter’s matching donor heart to save Mia.” “Yeah, I heard Dr. Miller’s daughter won’t even live past twenty if she doesn’t get a transplant soon.” I looked at the text on my phone from my mom, claiming the donor match had failed. Tears silently streamed down my face. So, her so-called medical ethics required me to pay with my life.

Mia noticed me staring at the medication in her hand. She smiled and handed me a pill. “This is a premium painkiller for heart patients. You’re the patient in Bed 3, right? I heard you’ve been applying for this drug for three months. Here, I can spare you a box.” Her smile was sweet and innocent, as if this incredibly rare and expensive medicine was nothing to her. She smiled. “I grew up poor too. I know these medical bills must be a huge burden for your family.” My chest throbbed with a sharp pain. I tried to suppress my emotions, but I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. When the pain used to keep me awake all night, I had begged my mom to save just one box of this exact medicine for me. But my mom had simply slapped my hand away, her voice freezing cold. “Chloe, are you trying to steal someone else’s life? You think your pain is the only pain that matters? Aren’t other patients hurting too?” I had felt so ashamed back then. But now, I heard the head nurse sigh in admiration. “The hospital only gets five boxes of this painkiller a month. Normally, one patient is capped at three boxes. But Dr. Miller pulled some strings to give all five boxes to Mia… Dr. Miller really loves her.” The corners of Mia’s mouth curved up slightly. She smiled and said, “Dr. Miller is my savior.” “She always puts me first. Take this heart transplant, for example. I didn’t even want to do it yet. The recovery period is so long, and my condition isn’t that urgent.” “But Dr. Miller insisted. She told me we only live once, and I must live for myself. She said I should grab every resource and connection I can to secure the best future for myself.” “I couldn’t argue with her, so I agreed to the transplant.” Mia stuck her tongue out playfully, looking cute and helpless. Just then, the head nurse came to call Mia for her checkup. Mia stuffed the medicine into my hand. “Just keep it. I have plenty anyway.” Then, she turned and walked away. My tears finally broke free, splashing onto the cold floor. A dull, lingering pain crept through my chest. I couldn’t believe those words had come from my own mother’s mouth. Mom, if you believe people should live for themselves, why did you force me to step aside again and again? Mom, if you believe people should grab every resource they can, why did you force me to give up everything? I walked over and knocked on my mom’s office door. Inside, two reporters were interviewing her. “Dr. Miller, what has kept you so dedicated and selfless all these years?” I stood at the door, my voice raspy. “Can you two leave for a moment?” The reporters exchanged confused looks. My mom quickly smoothed things over. “This is one of my patients. It must be an emergency. Please excuse us for a minute.” The moment the reporters stepped out, my mom’s face turned icy. “Didn’t I tell you never to come to my office? What if people find out you’re my daughter?” “I’ve already contacted St. Jude’s Hospital. You are transferring there tomorrow.” I raised my head, looking at her with red, swollen eyes. “Transferring there to die?” My mom froze mid-sip. She slammed her mug onto the desk. “Stop talking about dying! Did you forget everything I taught you?” “Do you have any idea what people are saying because you’re here? There are rumors that I used my position to get my daughter a VIP spot! Nurses are already snooping around, trying to figure out who you are!” “Don’t you understand? If I give you even one extra pill, it means another patient gets one less. Someone could die because of your selfishness! If everyone acted like you, how could we ever maintain medical fairness?” I wiped my tears and whispered, “Medical fairness? Where is the fairness? Didn’t you just give my matching heart away to someone else?” My mom looked at me, seemingly confused. “Heart? What heart?” Seeing her look of innocence, my heart shattered. She didn’t know that whenever she lied, she clenched her fists out of habit. No matter how well she acted, she couldn’t fool her own blood. And no matter what I said, I would never get the truth out of her. Suppressing the stabbing pain in my chest, I forced a weak smile. “Mom, I’m sorry. I misunderstood you.” My mom relaxed and waved her hand dismissively. “Fine. Get out now. And remember, keep your mouth shut.” The moment I stepped out of her office, I booked an Uber straight to the Florida Organ Transplant Bureau.

At the Florida Organ Transplant Bureau, I looked at the historical donor records, and my blood ran cold. Over the past ten years of my illness, I had been matched with a donor heart twice. And both times, my mother had declined them on my behalf. The first time was three years ago. Looking at the donor’s name on the screen, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. The donor was my dad, Robert! My parents had divorced ten years ago when I first got sick. My dad had fought desperately to take me with him. “Helen, if you won’t treat our daughter, I will! I’ll take her to New York. We don’t need you! Stop lying about your ‘ethics’—you’re just obsessed with your precious reputation!” But back then, my mom had cried and told me my dad was misunderstanding her. Trusting her blindly, I chose to stay with my mom. After that, I never saw my dad again. Until he passed away three years ago in a car accident. Before he died, he had held my hand tightly and whispered, “Chloe, don’t be afraid. My death will give you a new life…” But Dad… I never got that new life. Because the lifeline you left for me was snatched away by my mother. The pain in my chest was so intense I could barely breathe. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air like a dying dog. The staff panicked and immediately called for an ambulance. The ambulance rushed me to the nearest hospital. The paramedic yelled into the radio, “We have a critical cardiac patient incoming! Prep the CT scan room immediately!” But my mom’s cold voice came through the receiver. “Request denied. Mia is scheduled for her routine scan. Put the incoming patient on hold.” The paramedic froze, then screamed into the radio, “Dr. Miller, are you insane? This patient just collapsed and is in critical condition!” I stared at the radio, desperately wanting to know what her choice would be. A patient on the verge of death versus Mia, who was perfectly stable. Who would she choose in the name of her beloved “medical fairness”? After a long pause, my mom’s voice came back, cold and detached. “I have already pushed back another patient’s appointment. Tell this incoming patient to wait ten minutes. As soon as Mia is done, she can go in.” With that, she cut off the radio, ignoring the paramedic’s frantic calls. Tears rolled down my cheeks. At that moment, I finally understood. Her strict moral rules only applied to me. I struggled to sit up and grabbed the paramedic’s sleeve. “Call Dr. Helen Miller… Tell her I’m Chloe… I’m her daughter!” The paramedic looked at me with deep pity. “Sweetie, pretending to be her daughter won’t work.” “We’ve already called your emergency contact—labeled ‘Mom’ on your phone—over ten times. We told her exactly how bad your condition is. She just said ‘I got it’ and hung up. If Dr. Miller were really your mother, she’d be running here by now.” “Why would any mother put another patient ahead of her own dying daughter?” Right… Why would she? My tears fell like rain. The heart monitor beside me began to beep frantically. The paramedic’s face paled, and she yelled, “Hurry! Patient’s heart rate is dropping rapidly! Get her to the ER!” Amidst the chaos, my gurney was wheeled right past my mom. She was carefully shielding Mia, turning her head to bark angrily at the passing nurses, “Slow down! Watch where you’re going! Don’t bump into people!” Then she turned back to Mia, her voice incredibly tender. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. I’m right here.” Mom, if you knew the person on this gurney was me, would you still do this? Mom, why does your “medical fairness” always mean Mia comes first? I was eventually woken up by a loud argument outside my hospital room. My mom was shouting at the hospital staff. “Why are you giving this monitoring equipment to this patient? We only have one unit left! It has to go to Mia’s room!” The Chief of Medicine, Dr. Evans, frowned deeply. “Are you out of your mind, Helen? This patient is in critical condition and needs 24-hour monitoring! Mia is perfectly stable! Why on earth does she need this advanced equipment?” I slowly opened my eyes and rasped, “Mom, are you trying to give my life away again?”

As my voice echoed in the room, a sudden, heavy silence fell. My mom turned to look at me, her face draining of color. But she quickly regained her composure. “Who authorized your transfer to a private room? Don’t you know that by taking this room, you’re denying it to another patient who actually needs it?” I let out a bitter, weak laugh. “Don’t worry, Mom. As long as you’re here, Mia will always have her VIP suite.” “I went to the Florida Organ Transplant Bureau today. My match, and my dad’s heart… what were you thinking when you gave them away?” My mom’s face flushed red, then turned pale. She snapped, yelling at me, “I am your mother! I have the legal right to make medical decisions for you!” Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hallway. Mia rushed in, followed by her brother, Mason, and a crowd of reporters. Mia threw herself onto her knees beside my bed, tears streaming down her face. “Chloe, if you want to blame someone, blame me and Mason! It’s our fault for being sick. We didn’t mean to force Dr. Miller to redirect the matching heart to us!” Mason also dropped to his knees, looking incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lived. If I had just died back then, your dad’s heart would still be yours…” With that, he grabbed a fruit knife from the fruit basket on the bedside table and aimed it at his own chest. “I’ll give your heart back to you right now!” The people around him quickly grabbed his arm to stop him. A surge of pure, blinding anger overtook my mind. I snatched the knife from the floor and thrust it toward Mason. “You want to give it back? Then do it!” “Give it back to me right now! That was my dad’s heart! What right did you have to steal it?!” The reporters’ cameras flashed frantically. My mom, standing in the middle of the flashing lights, clenched her teeth and delivered a hard slap across my face. “Smack!” “Chloe! How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum? Is your life the only one that matters? Do other people not deserve to live?!” I screamed back, my voice cracking, “But what about my life?! Just because I’m your daughter, do I not have the right to live?!” Reporters shoved their microphones into my face. “Chloe, your mother, Dr. Miller, is known for her selflessness. Why are you acting so selfishly? Is this because of your father’s influence?” “Are you trying to drive Mia and her brother to suicide today?” My mom noticed my face turning blue as my heart rate spiked past the danger zone. But just as she stepped forward, Mia suddenly collapsed to the floor. “Dr. Miller… my chest hurts…” Without a second thought, my mom rushed to Mia’s side and carried her out of the room, leaving me behind without a single backward glance. The reporters continued to crowd around my bed, shouting questions. I couldn’t hold on any longer. Darkness rushed in, and I collapsed onto the mattress. Even as I lost consciousness, the reporters kept badgering me. “Are you faking a faint now?” “Are you trying to use public sympathy to force Dr. Miller to give in?” Dr. Evans’ face was black with rage as he began shoving the reporters out. “Get out! All of you, get out! The patient is in critical condition!” But by the time I woke up, I had already become the villain of the internet. The headlines were everywhere on Ins and TikTok: [Ungrateful Brat! Dr. Miller’s Daughter Tries to Force Sick Patients to Commit Suicide!] [Shocking! Selfless Dr. Miller Has a Monster for a Daughter!] No matter where I went, people whispered and pointed at me. When I tried to buy food at a nearby diner, someone suddenly threw a plastic bottle at me. “You’re sick too, so why are you trying to ruin other patients’ chances of surviving? You monster!” More trash was thrown at me. Someone even dumped leftover food over my head. I had no choice but to run away in utter humiliation. Then, my mom called me. “Chloe, you need to apologize to Mia. Her surgery is coming up, and she cannot handle this kind of stress.” I let out a cold laugh. “Shouldn’t she be the one apologizing to me?” My mom’s voice turned deadly cold. “Apologize. Or I will cut off your medical funds immediately.” My mom was a woman of her word. That very day, completely ignoring the fact that her biological daughter was on the verge of death, she cut off my medical insurance and hospital funds. I was forced to leave the hospital. To afford my basic medication and stay alive, I had to find a low-paying job. But my weak heart couldn’t handle the physical labor. I collapsed, coughed up blood, and my heart even stopped three times. In the end, I found myself lying helplessly by the side of a busy street, quietly waiting for death to claim me. Just then, a pair of expensive leather shoes appeared in my blurry field of vision.

Mia stood before me. The pale, fragile look of a heart patient was completely gone. Her cheeks were rosy, and she looked perfectly healthy. She twirled around in front of me gracefully, then asked with mock concern, “Chloe, why aren’t you in the hospital getting treated?” My mom’s Mercedes was parked by the curb. I knew she was watching from inside. Mia dropped a stack of dollar bills in front of me. “Mom asked me to bring you some cash.” I struggled to open my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “Mom?” Mia smirked, her eyes filled with triumph. “That’s right. Mom.” “You probably don’t know this yet, but I’m Mom’s daughter too. Technically, you should be calling me your older sister.” “And Mason is her son, too.” “From the very first moment I saw you, I knew exactly who you were. Everything that happened… I did it on purpose!” “I just wanted you to see how much Mom actually loves me!” I stared at her quietly. “So… you also stole my matching heart on purpose, and brought those reporters to frame me on purpose?” Mia giggled, looking incredibly pleased with herself. “Well, since you’re about to die anyway, I might as well let you die with some answers.” “Yes, I did it all on purpose.” “Of course, Mom isn’t entirely innocent either. If she hadn’t turned a blind eye, I wouldn’t have succeeded so easily.” A bitter smile played on my lips. What about me? I had a mother, yet I was treated worse than a stray dog. Mia patted my cheek patronizingly, turned around, and walked away. My mom’s car sped off, disappearing into the traffic. From beginning to end, she never once stepped out of the car to look at me. A gust of wind blew, scattering the cash across the pavement. She wanted me to rot in hell. But instead, I was going to drag her down there with me. I slowly pulled my hand out of my pocket. In it was a small voice recorder. It was my tenth birthday present from my dad. This time, I wanted to see just how deep my mother’s “selflessness” really went.

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For the five years we were married, Julian insisted on sleeping in the guest bedroom, which he had soundproofed with four-inch-thick acoustic foam. He claimed his PTSD from a past car accident was so severe that he would smash things and hurt people during his violent night terrors. He even kept a thick, heavy steel chain locked under his bed as a “restraint.” My heart ached for him for five long years. I tiptoed around our house, barely making a sound. Even when I heard muffled thuds coming from his room in the middle of the night, I only dared to cry silently outside his locked door. Until the night I was hospitalized with a fractured leg after a multi-car pileup. The pain kept me awake. Wanting some white noise to distract myself, my phone accidentally connected to the Bluetooth of his spare phone, which he had left in his jacket hanging in my hospital room. There were no painful screams or violent struggles in my earbuds. There was only his voice, filled with an incredibly tender, gentle whisper. “Don’t be afraid, I’m right here with you. Close your eyes, take a deep breath…” That night, Julian sat in the recliner right next to my hospital bed. Wearing his active noise-canceling headphones, he spent the entire night speaking into his microphone, soothing another woman to sleep. He didn’t have night terrors. He didn’t smash things. And he certainly wasn’t violent. The day I was discharged, I went home and pried open the lock of the chain under his bed. The padlock was rusty, but the steel chain was brand new. Even the manufacturer’s anti-counterfeit tag hadn’t been peeled off. I coiled the heavy chain right on his pillow and left a note on top of it. “Next time you have a night terror, go smash things at her place.”

Julian didn’t get home until two in the morning. I sat in the single armchair in the living room without turning on the lights. I watched him kick off his damp shoes, open the heavy soundproof door of the guest room, and then freeze completely. That thick steel chain sat in the center of his pure white pillow like a dead snake, pinning the cold note beneath it. With his back to me, his shoulder muscles tensed instantly. He didn’t move for a full five seconds. Having worked as a professional foley artist for seven years, I had a pathological sensitivity to time, frequency, and rhythm. From the moment he pushed open the door and saw the note, to the moment he took a deep breath and turned around, exactly forty-seven seconds passed. When he finally faced me, his face was already wearing that familiar, long-suffering expression of helpless tolerance. “Chloe, you’ve got it all wrong.” He walked over, crumpling the note in his palm. His voice carried a trace of exhaustion, as if he was tired of being misunderstood. “My PTSD is real. I’ve been relying on heavy meds to suppress it these past few years. That chain is just a spare. I broke the old one during a violent episode a while ago. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you living in constant fear.” “Where is the old one?” I stared into his eyes. He hesitated for half a second. His gaze naturally drifted down to the heavy plaster cast on my left leg. “I threw it away. It was covered in blood. I didn’t want to scare you.” Half a second isn’t long. But in my audio editing room, when we determine if an audio track has been digitally manipulated, we look for exactly that half-second delay. “What about the night I was sweating from pain in the hospital with a broken leg?” I asked. “Her brother Marcus died in that car crash to save my life. She’s all alone in this world now.” He walked over and knelt in front of me, reaching out to touch my leg. I pulled it back, so he let his hand rest on the armrest of the sofa instead. “Elena has severe claustrophobia and nyctophobia. The power went out in her apartment building that night, and she had a complete panic attack. I promised Marcus I’d look after her. I couldn’t just leave her to suffer.” “So you sat in the hospital chair next to my bed, wore your headphones, and whispered sweet nothings to her all night.” “I was just so tired.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his voice raspy with fatigue. “The company has been fighting for a massive tech contract lately. I’ve been working fifteen-hour days for two weeks straight. You know that. I only wore the headphones because I was afraid of waking you up.” As he spoke, he naturally pulled a throw blanket from the sofa and draped it over my legs. The gesture was so practiced, so smooth, as if we were truly a devoted, loving couple who shared everything. It was as if the heavy steel chain on his pillow was just a product of my unreasonable, dramatic jealousy. I had cut the rusty padlock with a pair of hydraulic bolt cutters. The freshly cut metal gleamed sharply in the dim light. His eyes swept over the severed lock, but he said nothing. He didn’t even mention replacing it. He wasn’t worried I’d cut it again. He was entirely confident that once I threw my little tantrum, the heavy moral guilt of his “savior’s sister” would crush me into silence, and I wouldn’t dare push any further. That absolute confidence made me feel colder than the steel chain itself. That night, I lay awake in the master bedroom, staring at the ceiling. I replayed every single one of the past 1,800 days of our marriage in my head. Every night, he would shower at exactly 10:30 PM, enter the guest room at 10:50 PM, and the heavy soundproof door would shut with a dull thud, separating our worlds. Sometimes when I got up to drink water in the middle of the night and passed his room, I could feel a very slight vibration on the doorframe. I used to think those were the sounds of him thrashing against the wall in his nightmares. During our second year of marriage, I had severe gastroenteritis, vomiting and purging until I went into hypovolemic shock. He visited me at the hospital during the day, but at exactly 10:20 PM, he stood up anxiously, saying he had to go home. His excuse was the same: he was terrified an episode would hit him in the hospital, causing him to wreck the ward and hurt me. The other patients in my ward praised him for being so responsible. They said he was a good, disciplined husband who would rather suffer alone at home than put his wife at risk. At the time, I even defended him, telling them his PTSD was a deep psychological wound from a decade ago that was hard to heal. Now that I think about it, he healed remarkably well. Over the past five years, his night terrors had never once flared up on the nights Elena needed him. At 3:00 AM, I grabbed my crutches and knocked on the guest room door. “Julian,” I said. “My leg hurts too much to sleep. I want to stay with you tonight.” The room fell silent for a few seconds. It was so quiet I could hear the heavy thud of my own heart. “Chloe, be good. Go back to sleep,” his muffled voice came through the thick soundproof door. It was steady, devoid of any panic. “I’m not in a good state tonight. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” I pressed my ear against the doorframe. Inside, there was a very faint, whispered laugh. Because of the heavy soundproofing, I couldn’t make out the words, but that rising, teasing pitch was unmistakable. That laugh was not meant for me. The next morning, before he left for the office, I went to the laundry room to wash his discarded dress shirt as usual. A small plastic card slipped out of his pocket. It was a VIP loyalty card for a high-end boutique bakery. On the back, there was a cartoon bunny, and in the bottom right corner, a hand-written note: “For Elena, who is most afraid of the dark.” I held the card, standing in front of the washing machine for a long time. Then, I carefully slid it back into his pocket, smoothing out the creased corners exactly as they were before.

Four days after I was discharged, Elena showed up at my door carrying a basket of imported organic fruit and a luxurious velvet gift box. She wore a light blue floral sundress. Her skin was pale and radiant, like a delicate white lily that had just been washed by the rain. When she smiled, her eyes carried a sweet, helpless vulnerability. She immediately greeted me with a warm, fake smile. “Chloe, thank you so much for letting Julian talk to me that night. I really appreciate your understanding.” She pushed the velvet box toward me. “Just a little thank-you gift for both of you.” Inside was a custom aromatherapy sleep set. There were essential oils, diffusion stones, and at the very bottom, a palm-sized sleep mask with cute bunny ears. A soft pink bunny. Small, exquisite, and perfectly made. It was the exact same cartoon bunny printed on the bakery card I had found in Julian’s pocket. My fingertips paused on the edge of the velvet box. She watched me, her face beaming with a sweet smile, her breathing perfectly steady. She didn’t do this by accident. She was dying for me to see it. Julian walked out of the kitchen carrying a plate of freshly sliced apples. Elena naturally stood up, reached out to help him adjust his rolled-up sleeves, and then took his blazer from the back of the chair, hanging it on the hidden coat hook closest to the inside of the hallway. That was the exact hook Julian, with his obsessive-compulsive habits, insisted on using. During our first year of marriage, because I had casually hung my coat on the outer hook, he had given me the silent treatment for three days. Elena got it right on her very first try. She was so familiar with the layout of our house, it was as if she were the actual mistress of the home. While I went to the kitchen to pour some water, she had already pulled Julian’s favorite silicone coaster from the second drawer of the kitchen island and placed it under his glass. That drawer was filled with random kitchen gadgets. Even I had to rummage through it for a while whenever I needed something. “Chloe, please don’t be mad at Julian,” Elena said as she sat back on the sofa, her voice as soft as cotton. “I’ve had this condition since I was a kid. The moment it gets pitch black, I feel like I’m suffocating. I’ve seen so many therapists, but nothing works. Only Julian’s voice can calm me down.” “What kind of voice?” I asked. She bit her lip, offered a secretive smile, and didn’t answer. Instead, she looked up at Julian, her eyes practically dripping with adoration. Julian’s hand holding the glass stiffened slightly. He quickly took over the conversation, smoothly changing the subject to ask about the recovery of my leg. Just then, his phone rang. It was his mother, Martha. Julian put it on speakerphone. “Julian, Chloe, you two have been married for five years now. I’m not trying to nag, but once Chloe’s leg heals, you really need to put starting a family on your calendar. I’ve already started looking into top-tier postpartum care specialists.” “We’re working on it, Mom.” Julian said those words without even looking up, calmly slicing another piece of apple. Elena looked down, gently stroking the pink bunny sleep mask, the corner of her lips curving into a barely perceptible smirk. Sitting in my own living room, watching this perfectly synchronized couple, I suddenly felt like a complete stranger in my own home. That night, I dragged out our wedding album from the bottom of the closet. In the photos, his arm was wrapped securely around my shoulder, his eyes filled with deep affection. On the very first night of our honeymoon, he had “suffered” his first night terror. He had suddenly gone wild in the middle of the night, smashing the hotel bedside lamp before curling up in the empty bathtub, shivering under a blanket. The next morning, his eyes were red as he begged for my forgiveness, claiming he had almost choked me in his sleep. For my own safety, he insisted we sleep in separate rooms from then on. My heart had broken for him. I even signed up for psychological counseling courses, desperate to find a way to help him. Now I realized that was just the very first act of his carefully rehearsed play. For five years—over 1,800 nights—his violent night terrors had never once accidentally injured a single soul. His illness was so incredibly stable, it was as if it had been programmed with a microchip. Before bed, I plugged his spare phone in to charge. The screen lit up, and a calendar notification popped up. “10:30 PM. Repeat: Daily.” The only note on the reminder was a single red heart emoji. I didn’t take a screenshot, nor did I tap on it. I simply set the phone back down. As the screen faded to black, the dark glass reflected my pale, cold face. I stared at the spot where the red heart had disappeared for a few seconds, then grabbed my crutches and walked back to the master bedroom. In the middle of the night, I didn’t sleep. I stood barefoot at the end of the dark hallway, holding a glass of ice-cold water. At 10:50 PM, a sliver of light escaped from under the soundproof door of the guest room. At 11:15 PM, I pressed my ear against the doorframe. Using my highly trained hearing, I caught his incredibly soft, patient voice—a voice a hundred times more tender than any he had ever used with me. “Good girl, take a deep breath. I’m here. Close your eyes, imagine we’re standing by the ocean…” I stood in the darkness, holding my cold glass of water, listening to my own heartbeat. Thud. Thud. It felt like a ticking clock, counting down the final days of my marriage.

On Thursday, Julian announced he had to travel out of town to inspect an acoustics laboratory and would be staying overnight. I waited until 11:00 PM, then pulled out a master key I had secretly kept from our house renovations and slid it into the lock of the guest room. For five years, this was the first time I had slipped into my husband’s room in the middle of the night like a thief. The room was disgustingly neat. There were no smashed pieces of furniture, no protective foam padding on the sharp edges, and the bedding was a sterile, hotel-style charcoal grey. The metal ring bolted to the floorboards under the bed, meant to hold his “restraint chain,” was pristine and shiny, without a single scratch or scuff mark from friction. He couldn’t even be bothered to make his lie look convincing. I knelt down and searched the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. Hidden beneath his winter clothes, I found a digital lockbox. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. I tried our anniversary. Incorrect. Finally, I punched in the date of Marcus’s death. With a soft click, the lock popped open. There were no medications, no medical reports inside. Instead, everything was arranged with obsessive neatness, like a prized museum exhibit. There was a pair of high-end, studio-grade noise-canceling headphones, the leather on the ear cups worn smooth and shiny. There was a fresh metal tin of Elena’s favorite imported peppermint throat lozenges, half-empty. And at the very back, a worn, slightly pilled men’s scarf. It was a charcoal grey cashmere scarf, its edges slightly singed by fire, carrying a very faint scent of Elena’s signature citrus perfume. I recognized that scarf. Three years ago, I had spent half my monthly paycheck to buy it for his birthday. He told me he had accidentally lost it in a taxi, and I had mourned the loss for weeks. It wasn’t lost. It had been handed over to another woman as a comforting blanket, held in her arms night after night. He would prepare top-tier professional gear and soothing lozenges for another woman’s claustrophobia, even sacrificing a precious gift from his wife to comfort her. Meanwhile, because of my high-stress job in the foley studio, I had developed severe somatic tinnitus. For months, my ears rang constantly, sounding like a roaring train engine kept me awake night after night. All Julian had offered me was a careless, “Drink some warm tea and wear some earplugs.” During those six months, I lost twelve pounds. I had to distinguish microscopic audio decibels in the studio by day, and endure the excruciating ringing in my ears by night. I was on the verge of clinical depression. I had begged him once, “Julian, please, can you come with me to see a specialist?” His muffled voice had drifted through the soundproof door: “I have an early meeting with the board tomorrow, Chloe. I can’t make it.” In the end, I went to the hospital alone, taking heavy nerve blockers that threw my hormones completely out of whack just to suppress the noise. It turned out that while I was suffering, someone in this house was constantly sucking on throat lozenges. Someone was wearing professional studio headphones in the dead of night, carefully choosing every single word to lull another woman to sleep. I placed the three items back exactly as they were, adjusting them to the precise angles I had found them in, ensuring even the direction of the lozenge tin didn’t shift by a millimeter. As I closed the lockbox, my hands were as steady as ice. Smoother and steadier than when I slid the faders on my mixing console. The next day, I went to the city’s top ENT specialist clinic for a follow-up. The senior specialist reviewing my brainstem auditory test frowned deeply. “Chloe, your auditory nerves are under extreme, chronic tension. If this continues, you risk irreversible hearing damage.” I forced a small smile. “I’ve just been under a lot of stress at work lately.” He didn’t buy it. He scribbled a few lines on his pad, his pen pressing so hard it tore the paper. “Remove yourself from high-stress environments immediately. Avoid severe emotional triggers. Seek psychological counseling if necessary.” I folded the medical report and tucked it into my bag, right next to the timeline document I had started keeping on my phone. On my way home, I created an encrypted folder on my laptop. I began listing every single suspicious incident over the last five years, day by day. The nights he forced me out of the living room under the guise of “imminent night terrors”; the exact times he would go off the grid; the dates Elena posted about “falling into darkness” on her Instagram. By the time I reached the forty-second entry, I stopped. I opened Snapchat and sent Julian a message. “Next Friday is our fifth anniversary. I booked a table at that rooftop revolving restaurant. I want to have a proper dinner with you.” He replied instantly. “Perfect. Whatever you want.” He attached a red rose emoji. I stared at that bright red rose for a full minute, then flipped my phone face down on the table. Even a prisoner on death row gets a decent final meal.

Friday night, 7:00 PM. I sat in my brand-new black silk dress at the best table in the rooftop restaurant, overlooking the city skyline. At 7:20 PM, a text from Julian popped up. “Elena’s power suddenly went out. She’s having a severe attack and crying hysterically. I can’t leave her like this. Go ahead and order first, I’ll get there as soon as I can.” I didn’t order any food. I only asked the waiter for a glass of ice water. By 8:00 PM, the waiter came over for the first time to ask if I wanted to start with appetizers. By 9:00 PM, the couple at the neighboring table had finished their dessert and left. When the waiter approached for the third time, his eyes were filled with blatant pity. I told him I’d wait a little longer. He sighed softly and rearranged the dried flowers in the center of my table. The ice in my glass had long since melted into lukewarm water, mirroring my once-burning hope, slowly cooling into dead, stagnant silence. At 10:30 PM, the restaurant closed. The manager personally came over to apologize and helped me with my coat. Outside, a torrential downpour had begun. I didn’t call an Uber. I gripped my crutches and walked in the freezing rain for a full hour before reaching home. Rainwater dripped from my hair down my collar, freezing me to the bone, but only three words echoed in my mind. “Order first.” For five years, I had always been the one to go “first.” I was the first to compromise, the first to back down, the first to swallow my grievances, and the first to try and patch things up. I was always expected to wait for him to calm down, wait for her to get better, wait in a line where I was always placed last. By midnight, I developed a raging fever, and the surgical wound on my leg began to throb and inflame. When the thermometer hit 104°F, I dragged myself to the living room medicine cabinet, only to find Band-Aids and antiseptic wipes. The fever reducers and antibiotics were in the guest room, where the house’s only climate-controlled medical kit was kept. Leaning against the wall, dragging my heavy, painful leg, I made my way to the heavy soundproof door. It was locked from the inside. It didn’t budge. I pressed my ear against the wood. Through the thick foam and the heavy door, I could faintly hear his low, soothing voice. He was laughing softly, wrapped in a warm, cozy night meant for someone else. I knocked three times. I paused, then knocked three more times, harder. No one answered. The low voice inside didn’t even pause. On the seventh knock, my hand froze in mid-air. I couldn’t bring myself to drop it again. My palm rested against the icy door. But the coldness of the wood was nothing compared to my completely dead heart. I limped back to my room, changed into dry clothes, went down to the lobby, and hailed a cab. At the ER, my IV drip ran until four in the morning. When the nurse came to change the third bag of fluids, she watched me struggle to get to the bathroom on my own and couldn’t help but ask, “Where’s your family? How can they let you come here alone with a fever this high?” “He’s dead,” I said quietly. She froze, her expression shifting into a mix of shock and sympathy. She gently tucked the blanket around my shoulders and didn’t ask another question. The woman in the bed next to me, who was keeping her daughter company, saw how isolated I was and handed me her thermos. “Have some warm water, dear. As women, we have to look out for ourselves. You can never truly rely on anyone else.” “Thank you,” I murmured. As I spoke that single word, a hot tear finally spilled over, splashing onto the back of my hand. I watched the medicine drip down the plastic tube, drop by drop, until I finally drifted into a hazy sleep. In my dream, I was counting. But even when I reached a hundred, I was still the one left behind. At 6:30 AM, I dragged my exhausted body back to our apartment. On the shoe cabinet by the entrance sat an elegant insulated delivery bag from a Michelin-starred restaurant containing gourmet steak and pasta. The delivery slip was addressed to Elena’s luxury apartment complex. On the kitchen counter sat a pot of cold, leftover pasta. A note was pressed under the lid. Five words, written in Julian’s sprawling handwriting. “Pasta’s in the pot. Reheat.” Both were pasta. Hers was bought at a premium, delivered personally with care. Mine was yesterday’s leftovers, left for me to heat up myself. The balcony door was slightly ajar, and Julian’s voice drifted in with the morning breeze, so soft it made my stomach turn. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m bringing breakfast over right now. Did you sleep poorly last night? I’ll keep you company and take a nap with you later.” “Once her leg heals, I’ll move my things out of the master bedroom. I know these five years have been hard on you. She’s completely clueless anyway, easy to fool.” I stood by the entrance, still holding my crumpled ER billing receipt. “Easy to fool.” So that was what my patience, my compromises, and my deep love meant to him. I was just stupid. I was just easy to fool. I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t storm out to slap his face, nor did I throw the medical bills at him. I simply walked back to my room, washed my face with freezing water, changed into a sharp, professional suit, and stepped into the elevator, my fever still hovering at 99.5°F. At 9:00 AM, I walked into the City Mental Health Center’s psychiatric clinic. I booked an express consultation with Dr. Sterling, the top specialist. When my name was called, I walked in and slapped Julian’s medical folder and our marriage certificate onto his desk. “Dr. Sterling,” I said, my voice steady. “Five years ago, when you prescribed treatment for Elena, did you prescribe my husband, Julian, as her medication?”

Dr. Sterling stared at the marriage certificate on his desk for a long time. He stared so long I thought he was about to call security to escort me out. “Chloe, I am a medical professional, not a matchmaker. I would never write such an absurd prescription,” he finally said, his deep voice carrying an absolute, no-nonsense authority. “Five years ago, after her brother Marcus died in that crash, Elena suffered from severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) complicated by severe claustrophobia. At the time, she had zero emotional security and would only trust Julian. My recommended treatment plan was clear: exposure therapy combined with family and social support to help her gradually break her unhealthy, pathological dependency on Julian.” He looked up, his gaze piercing. “I emphasized “independence”. I wanted her to heal. I never advised Julian to use a marriage as a shield to drag an innocent woman into this toxic mess as a human stepping stone.” “Family support,” I let out a cold laugh, repeating the words. “Did that family support include me?” “According to standard psychological intervention protocols, absolutely.” Dr. Sterling turned around, opened his locked filing cabinet, pulled out a dusty manila folder, and slid a consent form toward me. “The core members involved in a patient’s support network must have full disclosure. As his fiancée back then, you should have been the very first person to sign this form.” On the signature line, Elena’s delicate, neat handwriting stood out. The date was exactly one month before Julian and I registered our marriage. It turned out that while I was happily preparing to step into the wedding chapel, they had already dug a bottomless pit, waiting for me to jump in. “Before we initiated the treatment protocol, I strongly urged Julian to bring you in for a joint psychological assessment and counseling session,” Dr. Sterling said, closing the folder with a sharp snap, clearly irritated. “Julian promised me he would explain everything to you and obtain your full consent. I assumed he had done so.” “Oh, he did a wonderful job,” I said, my lips curling into a bitter smile. “It was flawless. For five years, he used a fake night terror diagnosis to lock me out of his entire life.” Dr. Sterling fell silent. His professional ethics prevented him from commenting too deeply on a patient’s personal life, but the genuine apology in his eyes was unmistakable. “How is her condition now?” I asked. “Two years ago, after systematic desensitization therapy, she met the clinical criteria for full recovery.” Dr. Sterling tapped his fingers on the desk. “The follow-up records are all in this file. Since her recovery, she has never returned for a check-up, nor has she undergone any physiological monitoring. Every single ‘episode’ she has claimed since then has been based entirely on her own verbal reports.” I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my bag, unfolding the dense timeline of dates before him. Three of her worst “relapses.” First: The second night of our honeymoon, when Julian smashed up the hotel room and booked an emergency flight back to Elena. Second: The day I was diagnosed with mild depression and wanted to adopt a Golden Retriever for emotional support. On our way to the shelter, Elena had an “episode.” Julian dumped me on the highway shoulder and sped off. Third: The night I was hospitalized with a broken leg, suffering in agony, while he sat in my room whispering to her through his headset all night. Every single episode landed precisely on a milestone where I desperately needed him, or when our relationship was about to take a step forward. Dr. Sterling’s frown deepened as he scanned the timeline. He didn’t speak, but he pulled out his pen and quietly noted those three dates in his personal notebook. “I can issue a certified medical statement confirming she was clinically cured two years ago,” he offered. “No need, not yet.” He looked at me, slightly surprised. “A paper certificate is dead, but people are alive. I want her to prove it to me herself.” I folded the timeline sheet and put it back in my bag. As I stepped out of the clinic, the bright afternoon sun hit my eyes, making me feel dizzy. The red light at the intersection seemed to last forever. Standing amidst the bustling crowd, I listened to two college girls nearby excitedly discussing which concert they were going to attend over the weekend, their laughter bright and clear. Five years ago, on our wedding day, the sun had been just as brilliant. I had stood on the steps, tipping my toes to adjust his tie, thinking our future was filled with endless, beautiful possibilities. The days were indeed long—long enough for a man to stretch a cheap lie into a five-year-long drama without a single intermission. I stood by the curb for a long time, then called my foley studio director to request an extended leave of absence. Then, I turned around and walked straight into a professional emergency medical training center. I signed up for an intensive, two-month closed training program: Advanced Cardiovascular Life Support (ACLS) and Psychological Crisis Intervention. When I got home that evening, I slid the training center’s admission letter under the master bedroom mattress. Right next to it lay the severed padlock I had cut. “Julian, Elena.” “You two have been putting on a show for five years. It’s time for me to take the director’s chair.”

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Chapter 1 On the first day of summer break, my parents found me another job. “A cashier at the grocery store. The pay is decent, and it’s great for building your resume.” From my freshman year of college all the way to my senior year, they had repeated this exact phrase. My freshman year, they sent me to work at a packing plant, while they took my younger sister on a road trip to Washington D.C. to see the monuments. My sophomore year, they sent me to work at a convenience store, and then bought my sister a car and paid for her driving lessons. My junior year, they sent me to work at a summer tutoring camp, while they took her to the Bahamas. So, where were they going this year? “We’re going to Italy.” My older brother, Liam, pushed the door open, smiling as he handed me a pair of sneakers. “Bought these specially for you. They’ll make standing for ten hours a breeze.” “I’m paying for the trip this year. Lily is young, it’s the perfect time for her to see the world,” Liam added. My younger sister smiled sweetly, squealing as she threw herself into his arms. “Liam, I knew you guys loved me the most!” I looked at my parents. They silently shifted their gazes away from me. No one cared how I felt, even though I was only a year older than Lily. I suddenly smiled, crouched down, and put on the shoes. They were very light. Light enough to help me walk away from this family. ……. My mom was packing Lily’s suitcase when she suddenly remembered something. She looked up and called out to my brother: “Liam, Lily will be a senior next year. You really need to keep an eye out and secure a good job for her.” “There are a million college grads out there right now, finding a good company isn’t easy, you…” Halfway through her sentence, she abruptly shut her mouth. It seemed she had finally realized there was already a graduating senior standing right in the room. My brother still didn’t notice. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve already pulled some strings. The moment Lily graduates, she can walk right into a position.” He paused, seemingly finally remembering I existed, and offered a token inquiry: “Harper, do you need any help?” “No need.” I had already found a job. A corporate assignment in Latin America. Once my official diploma arrived in a few days, I was leaving. Liam gave a brief “hmm” and didn’t say anything else. My dad noticed the atmosphere growing stiff and chuckled, trying to smooth things over. “Our middle child has always been so independent. We never have to worry about her.” My hands, which had been tying my shoelaces, froze for a second. I wasn’t independent. I just knew that if I didn’t do things myself, no one was going to help me. Liam was the eldest son. He had their undivided love for six years. Lily was the youngest, the little princess my parents held in the palm of their hands. I was the only one stuck in the middle, neither here nor there. An invisible ghost in my own home. Lily set down her Coke, ran over, and looped her arm through mine. “Harper, is there anything you want? I can bring it back for you!” Her expression was earnest, but a flicker of unnatural guilt flashed through her clear eyes. She knew exactly how unfair this was to me. But I knew the truth. She would forget. Just like on every vacation, she would remember the silk scarf Mom wanted, and the specific tie Dad needed. She would even help Liam hunt down vintage camera lenses. But she would never remember mine. That fleeting trace of guilt always vanished as quickly as it came. I was used to it. I gave a gentle smile. “Surprise me.” Mom stopped folding clothes and suddenly smiled at me. “Harper, look how sweet your sister is to you.” “If you’re having your sister bring you something back, shouldn’t you show some appreciation?” Dad had clearly been waiting for Mom to say this, smoothly chiming in. “How about this? You can give Lily your first paycheck from your summer job for her to use as pocket money.” “Oh, it’s fine, you don’t have to,” Lily replied, her tone breezy and dismissive. Liam patted her head. “Don’t be so modest. You just focus on having fun.” With a few casual words, the three of them had decided exactly how my salary would be spent. They didn’t even bother asking for my opinion. From freshman to senior year, it had been like this every single time. It was so bad that last year, after paying my own tuition, I had zero money left for food. I Venmo-requested fifty bucks from Lily just to buy groceries. Less than five minutes after she sent it, my phone rang. Mom and Liam were on a conference call. “How old are you? Still scamming money out of your little sister?” “Act like an older sister for once. If you’re out of cash, ask Mom and Dad. Why are you extorting Lily?” But an hour before that, I had texted Mom asking for a small loan, and she had pretended not to see it. Yet the moment Lily texted her, she replied instantly. My phone buzzed. I picked up the sneakers I had taken off and walked into my bedroom. It was an email from the company. “Your paperwork is finalized. Meet in New York next Monday for the group departure.” “Understood,” I typed back. Just as I hit send, someone knocked on my door. Lily pushed it open and walked straight over to my luggage. “Harper, my suitcase is ugly. I’m taking yours for the trip.” “No. I need it.” “Need it for what? It’s not like you’re going anywhere.” I didn’t answer. She didn’t want my suitcase because it was pretty; she wanted it because she wouldn’t feel bad throwing it around. No matter how well I took care of my things, whenever she borrowed them, they came back battered and dented. The atmosphere suddenly turned weird. She stood frozen, staring at me with a darkened face for a moment. Seeing that I wasn’t going to budge, she turned around, slammed the door, and left. I counted silently in my head. “Five, four, three, two… one.” Bang! The door was shoved open again. “Harper Miller.” My parents arrived right on cue, Liam trailing behind them. “Your sister just wants to borrow your suitcase. Why are you being so petty?” “You’re the older sister and you can’t even lend her one thing? Are we even a family?” “I need it.” This time, I didn’t back down either. “Forget it. If she won’t lend it, she won’t lend it,” Lily sniffled from the hallway, sounding incredibly wronged. My parents immediately wrapped their arms around her, whispering words of comfort. Liam stared at me intently. Suddenly, he walked into his own room and pulled out a sky-blue hard-shell suitcase. “Lily, you can use this one.” My grip on the door handle tightened. That was the birthday gift I had bought for him. Lily knew exactly what it was. She shot me a deliberate look. “I don’t know, Liam… Harper might get upset.” Liam’s face was perfectly calm because he was doing it entirely on purpose. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, I cut in. “It’s fine. It’s his now. He can do whatever he wants with it.” The room fell dead silent. Liam whipped his head to look at me, his brows furrowed deeply. But he didn’t say another word. He just grabbed Lily’s hand and pulled her away. At dinnertime, no one called me. When I finally walked out, they were in the middle of a heated discussion. “Almond gray is sophisticated but warm. I vote for almond gray for the living room,” Mom said, and Liam naturally followed up. “Pearl white fits modern aesthetics better. It’s minimalist.” Lily picked up a piece of chicken and laughed. “I don’t care how you guys decorate the rest of the new house, but my bedroom is totally under my control!” Dad wasn’t joining the debate, happily eating his meal. But out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly spotted me. He immediately coughed loudly. The chatter died instantly. Turns out, they had bought a new house, and I was the only one who didn’t know. I sat down and ate the closest vegetable dish, swallowing it like I was swallowing glass. Mom and Dad exchanged a look. Her mouth opened and closed. “Harper, we bought a new house. The rooms are already assigned. Whenever you have free time, you should go check it out.” I slowly swallowed my food, my voice hoarse. “How long ago did you buy it?” “Six months. We just never had the chance to tell you.” Whether they never had the chance, or simply didn’t want to tell me, I could tell the difference. I gave a small nod and suddenly asked: “What’s the door code?” “09071604.” September 7th and April 16th. A combination of Liam and Lily’s birthdays. I looked up at my mother, my lips trembling slightly. “Mom, when is my birthday?” Mom froze, a bizarre expression crossing her face. “What’s wrong with you? Did you forget your own birthday?” Dad laughed out loud, thinking I was genuinely asking. “You were born in the dead of winter. It wasn’t even your due date yet, but there was a massive blizzard. Your mom slipped on the ice and went into early labor. It was an incredibly difficult delivery, she suffered so much to have you. Your mom always says your rough birth meant you were put on this earth just to collect a karmic debt from her.” Mom coughed, her face turning unnatural as she avoided my gaze. “Why bring all that up?” I lowered my head too, trying to hide the fact that my hands were shaking uncontrollably. A little while later, Liam and Lily finished their food and stacked their dirty plates in the sink before retreating to their rooms. After Dad left the table, Mom stood up as well. “Harper, house rules. Whoever eats the slowest does the dishes.” With that, she turned and walked away. The dining table was left with a pile of leftovers and dirty dishes. I was always the slowest. Because when it was time to eat, no one ever told me. Mom would call Liam, Dad would shout for Lily. By the time I realized dinner had started and came out, the food was usually half gone. So I was always the one washing the dishes. While I was scrubbing the pots, my grandparents called. “I heard from Liam that you guys are taking Lily to Italy?” “Yes, Mom! Is there anything you’d like us to bring back?” Mom answered happily. Grandma chuckled and said she didn’t need anything. “Isn’t Harper going?” Without a second of hesitation, Mom replied: “Oh, she’s not going. She wants to work a summer job to build her resume.” “That girl…” Grandpa sighed on the other end, but didn’t ask anything else. Because for the last four years, my parents had always answered like this. “Isn’t Harper going to the theme park?” “She’s not going, she’s staying home to study.” “Isn’t Harper coming skiing?” “She hates sports.” “Isn’t Harper in the family portraits?” “She’s having a breakout and didn’t want her picture taken.” …….. In their mouths, I was an antisocial nerd, a reclusive weirdo, a fool who only knew how to suffer. That way, no one could ever advocate for me, because this was just “how I was.” The doorbell suddenly rang. I put the last plate on the drying rack, wiped the corner of my eye, and walked over. “Delivery for you. Just sign here.” It was my official college diploma. My heart suddenly felt incredibly light. It meant I was truly free to leave. “What arrived?” Liam’s voice suddenly came from behind me. He was holding a mug of coffee, hands in his pockets, eyeing the smile on my face. “My diploma.” He gave an “oh,” turned to leave, and then remembered something. “What do you want for a gift? I promised I’d get you something for graduation.” I froze for a second, surprised he actually remembered. I had never held out hope for it. I thought for a few seconds, then looked up at him. “Come with me to get my travel vaccines tomorrow.” My corporate deployment required us to get vaccinated for Latin America just in case. “That’s it?” He looked genuinely shocked. I nodded. “That’s it.” He shrugged casually and agreed. The next afternoon, after packing my purse, I stood by the front door waiting for him. But when Liam came out, he looked helpless. “Lily needs to buy some outfits for the trip. I’m going to drop her off at the mall first, then I’ll come back and take you.” “But my appointment is booked.” “Then just reschedule it. Lily is in a rush, we’re leaving tomorrow.” The words died in my throat. Seeing my silence, Lily’s eyes instantly welled up with red. She tugged at the hem of her shirt and mumbled softly: “Never mind, I just won’t buy anything. Liam, you go with Harper.” Liam refused without a second thought. “Don’t be ridiculous, you need nice clothes for Europe!” As he said it, he seemed to realize how blatantly biased he was being, so he tossed the decision onto me. “Harper, what do you think?” I looked up at his face, waiting with a quiet, oppressive demand. I suddenly felt so incredibly exhausted. They made it look like they were waiting for my decision. But we all knew the power to decide had never been in my hands. I stayed silent for a few seconds, then gave a soft laugh. “Just go.” Liam let out a visible sigh of relief. Lily ran over and kissed my cheek. “Thanks, Harper!” “You’re welcome.” I went to the clinic and got the vaccines alone. Afterward, I booked my train ticket for the following day. When I got home, Lily was in the living room sharing her shopping haul with Mom and Dad. At the very end, she pulled out the clothes she had bought for them. Mom gasped in delight. But when she caught sight of me in her peripheral vision, her smile vanished instantly. “Harper, I’m not trying to nag, but look how thoughtful your sister is. She bought gifts for me and your dad. You never even think of us.” “With what money?” The only reason Lily could buy them gifts was because Mom had transferred her two grand before they left for the mall. She was using their own money to win their favor. Mom knew this perfectly well, yet she still used it as a knife to stab me. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you complaining I don’t give you enough money? How old are you? Still keeping score with your younger sister?” Mom clearly hadn’t expected me to talk back. After a moment of shock, she fired off a barrage of furious questions. “I’m twenty-two. I am one year older than Lily.” “Enough!” Dad’s voice boomed as he reprimanded me. “You’re a grown woman! Stop arguing with your mother!” Liam looked at me with a complicated expression. “Harper, why is your temper getting so bad lately?” With her defenders jumping in, Mom’s eyes instantly turned red, and she stormed into her bedroom, acting like the ultimate victim. “Harper, you need to go apologize to Mom.” Lily blocked my path, grabbing my arm with a serious expression. “Let go of me.” She shook her head, looking down at me with self-righteous judgment. “She’s your mother. She gave you life. How can you treat her like this? You are so ungrateful.” A wave of profound sorrow washed over me. In this house, the person with the absolute least right to condemn me was her. I had endured everything. I had stayed silent. But I wasn’t even allowed to voice mild discomfort without being attacked. Everyone loved her, so whatever she did was right. “You’re so noble, aren’t you?” My tone was feather-light. I didn’t even look at her. But those words made her face contort. As if she had suffered a grave insult, she screamed at me: “No wonder Mom and Dad don’t like you! You’re just a freak!” With that, she shoved me hard and ran into her room. I stumbled and hit the corner of the dining table, doubling over in pain. Liam rushed after Lily to comfort her as she cried. Dad turned and went into the bedroom to console my upset mother. No one cared about me. It was perfect. Clutching my stomach, I slowly shuffled into my bedroom. That night, no one called me for dinner again. I was in too much pain to have an appetite, so I didn’t go out. But when I emerged later to use the restroom, all the dirty dishes were stacked on the table. They were waiting for me to clean up. They probably thought they were leaving me a “way out” to make peace. Assuming I would act like the family maid just to win back their favor, like I always did. But I didn’t need it anymore. By noon the next day, Mom, Dad, and Lily were happily getting ready to leave for the airport. When they saw me, their cheerful chatter died for a second. Then, Mom let out a cold scoff. “Walking around with a miserable look on her face all day, like we owe her money.” Liam followed me to the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror. His voice was heavy. “Are you really not going to apologize to Mom? You’re just going to let her leave for her vacation upset?” “She seems pretty happy to me.” I shook the water off my hands, dried them, and pushed past him. Liam followed me out, his face pale with anger. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Mom cut him off. “Stop wasting your breath on her. She’s a rabid dog that bites anyone she sees.” This time, Dad and Liam, who normally might have said a word to diffuse the tension, remained completely silent. I grabbed my bag and walked out the door ahead of them. When we bumped into each other down in the lobby, Lily suddenly stopped. “Where is Harper going?” “Where else? To work at the grocery store,” Mom said dismissively, pulling Lily toward their Uber. But suddenly, Dad froze. He noticed my suitcase. If I was just going to the local grocery store for a shift, why would I have luggage? Dad’s heart suddenly dropped. He waved his hand frantically toward me, but seeing that I didn’t notice, he quickened his pace to intercept me. “Harper! Where are you going?” But a second later, the sharp honk of a taxi horn sounded. He stopped dead in his tracks, his face turning ashen.

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Chapter 1 My college roommate, Mia, had a fairy godmother. While I was working three minimum-wage jobs day and night just to pay for my textbooks, her godmother was flying her first-class around the world. When I was hospitalized for a bleeding stomach ulcer from sheer exhaustion, nearly dying because my parents couldn’t afford the medical bills, her godmother was taking her to VIP suites at Taylor Swift concerts. When I was enduring constant harassment and academic blackmail from my thesis advisor just to graduate, her godmother donated an entire library to the university so Mia would never have to face a single inconvenience. Everyone in our dorm, including me, was incredibly jealous that she had such a wealthy, doting godmother despite having no blood relation. That was, until Mia posted a video of her twenty-first birthday party. In the video, Mia was wearing a bespoke pink gown, surrounded by high-society guests. Standing right behind her, looking at her with absolute adoration, was her godmother. My roommates crowded around the screen, squealing. “Oh my god, she’s so spoiled! The way her godmother looks at her is like a queen looking at a princess! I’m so jealous!” I, however, stood frozen. I stared in absolute disbelief at the woman in the video. Because her godmother looked exactly like my mother. Down to the exact placement of the beauty mark near her lips. By the time the security guards stopped me at the entrance of the luxury hotel, I realized I had subconsciously walked all the way to the venue where Mia was hosting her party. Staring at the glittering, gold-trimmed facade, I circled around to the back, hoping to find a way to slip inside. I had to confirm with my own eyes if her godmother was actually my mother. While pacing around the service entrance, I suddenly heard a familiar voice above me. “How long are you planning to keep this a secret from Chloe?” It was my father’s voice. I snapped my head up and looked at the low balcony above. My dad—the man who usually sat silently on a thrifted sofa in stained work clothes, smoking cheap cigarettes—was currently wearing a perfectly tailored, dark Armani suit. And standing next to him, draped in a cashmere shawl over an emerald evening gown, was my mother. I stood there, paralyzed, my grip tightening on my phone. I wanted to scream, to storm up there and demand why they had been lying to me my entire life. But my mother’s next words nailed my feet to the pavement. “If we tell Chloe the truth, what happens to Mia? Her father died saving my life during that hurricane. I’m all she has left. She’s so delicate, she’s never suffered a day in her life. How could she handle suddenly having to share our love with another daughter?” “Besides, the psychic made it perfectly clear. Chloe’s life cannot be too smooth. If she succeeds, her energy will clash with Mia’s and bring terrible luck down on her.” “We’ve spent years pretending to be broke to suppress Chloe. I even slipped sedatives into her coffee the morning of her SATs. Wasn’t that all because of what the psychic warned us about?” “But Chloe is our biological child! It’s completely unfair to her—” “Enough!” my mother snapped, cutting him off. “I know what I’m doing. Maintaining the status quo is what’s best for everyone.” Hiding in the shadows beneath the balcony, I began to shake uncontrollably. I was supposed to be my high school’s valedictorian. I was on track for early admission to an Ivy League with a guaranteed full-ride scholarship, plus a $50,000 local grant that the school had promised me if I secured the top state ranking. For that $50,000, I worked myself to the bone. I woke up at 5:00 AM and went to sleep at 2:00 AM. My eyes were chronically bloodshot. But on the morning of my SATs, I slept through my alarms. I missed the exam entirely. The Ivy League dream vanished. The $50,000 vanished. The scholarship was voided. I almost went insane during that period. I blamed myself entirely. I thought I was useless, that my weak body had dragged me down, that I had failed my school and failed my mother. I started working grueling shifts, desperate to scrape together enough for state college tuition. Even when I fainted at work three separate times, I didn’t care. And now I was finding out that my greatest tragedy was orchestrated by the mother I loved more than anything. All because of Mia. All because of some fraud psychic’s garbage prophecy. I stared with dead eyes at the woman on the balcony. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll hate us if she ever finds out the truth?” my dad’s voice drifted down. My mother gave a light, dismissive laugh. Right on cue, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a Venmo notification from my mother. $23.56 The caption read: “Sweetie, I saw some students walking by with Starbucks. You should go get yourself a coffee too. Mom might not be able to give you a wealthy life, but I want you to have the little things other kids have.” I stared at the screen, my fingers digging painfully into the edge of my phone case. On the terrace, my mother sounded smug. “She’ll never know. Every once in a while, I send her these highly specific, odd amounts of money. She thinks I’m literally scraping the bottom of my purse for her.” “To keep me from ‘working too hard,’ she’ll throw herself into her part-time jobs. As long as she’s constantly exhausted and struggling just to stay above the poverty line, she’ll never have the energy to uncover the truth.” I stood perfectly still, scrolling through the history of those small, odd-numbered Venmo transfers. Every time I received one, I used to feel a mix of profound love and crushing guilt. It made me work even harder, compressing my living expenses to the absolute bare minimum so I wouldn’t burden her. I never imagined that these numbers were carefully calculated psychological traps. Designed to move me to tears, bind me in guilt, and ensure I spent my entire life drowning in the mud. In an instant, rage, despair, and a profound sense of loss ripped through me. But a pathetic, desperate part of me still didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe my mother could be this cruel. I took a deep breath, walked further away from the balcony, and dialed her number. It was picked up quickly, and her gentle, maternal voice flowed through the speaker. “What is it, sweetie?” I stayed silent for a moment before forcing my voice to tremble. “Mom… I’m being harassed by my thesis advisor. He keeps using my graduation as leverage to make me come to his office alone.” My voice shook genuinely now. “The way he looks at me is disgusting. He texts me inappropriate pictures every day, hinting that if I’m not ‘obedient,’ he’ll fail me.” “Mom, please… can you help me?” Dead silence on the other end. I told myself that if she just used this opportunity to finally tell me the truth, or even if she just stood up for me once and protected me, I could pretend I never heard the conversation on the balcony. But she let me down. “Chloe, he is a professor, after all. Our family has no money and no connections. I worked so hard just to get you into college. Can’t you just endure it for a little longer?” “But Mom, he touches me. He grabs my thighs. He even tried to slip something in my drink—if I hadn’t been paying attention…” I closed my eyes. The suffocating terror I had kept buried for an entire semester, too scared to tell anyone, was finally pouring out. “Then just dress more conservatively!” my mother interrupted, sounding intensely annoyed. She paused, likely realizing her tone was too harsh, and immediately began to fake a coughing fit. She sounded incredibly frail when she spoke again. “I’m sorry, Chloe. It’s because your mother is useless. If you’re really that unhappy, then just drop out. I’ll support you. I raised you all these years, I just want you to be happy.” She followed it up with more violent, breathless coughing. Listening to her fake her illness, a sickening realization washed over me. It had always been like this. In middle school, when I qualified for the state Math Olympiad. In high school, when I got invited to an elite summer STEM camp. Whenever I earned those opportunities, she pretended to be thrilled for me. But behind closed doors, she would let me catch her swallowing painkillers, groaning in agony. She would let me see her getting humiliated and chased away by loan sharks while “trying to borrow money” for my entry fees. Driven by immense guilt, I would voluntarily give up those life-changing opportunities. This was how she kept me chained to her side, crippled and stunted. But she never treated Mia this way. When Mia first moved into our dorm, my mom called her every single night. Worried Mia didn’t have enough spending money, she randomly deposited thousands into her account. Worried Mia might face slight discomfort on campus, she endowed a five-million-dollar facility. She bought Mia’s way into prestigious internships just to pad her resume. I was her biological daughter. Why was she doing this to me? I opened my mouth to ask, but realized the call had already disconnected. From the balcony, my mother’s voice drifted down again. “Tell Professor Evans to apply more pressure. He needs to completely disrupt Chloe’s life so she can’t graduate. It’s best if she’s so stressed she doesn’t even have the time to work her part-time jobs.” Professor Evans. The man who had been making my life a living hell for a year. No wonder my complaints to the Dean and my anonymous letters to the Department of Education had vanished into thin air. My own mother had personally orchestrated it. And like an idiot, I had suffered in silence, terrified of burdening her. My legs gave out, and I collapsed against the brick wall. Tears mixed with snot as I bit my own hand to keep from screaming. I sat in the dark alley until the hotel’s lights shut off for the night. I was done crying. And I knew exactly what I was going to do. In the Academic Advisor’s office. I slid the application form across the desk. “I’ve decided I want to represent the university in the National Collegiate Physics Olympiad.” The advisor paused, then smiled broadly. “Chloe! You finally thought it through? I was just about to try and convince you again. I held off on submitting the final roster for two days just hoping you’d change your mind.” He took the form. “You’re absolutely sure this time?” I looked down at the competition flyer. It was a prestigious national event hosted by an Ivy League coalition. The stakes were massive. If I placed in the top three, not only would I win a substantial cash prize, but I would earn a direct transfer to MIT. Previously, I had hesitated because I was terrified of leaving my “sick, impoverished” mother alone. I wasn’t going to give up my future for anyone ever again. I threw myself into studying, channeling the same obsessive, sleepless energy I had during my SAT prep. A few weeks later, my mother, who rarely called, rang my phone. “Chloe, how are things at school?” “I heard you’re representing the university in a national competition?” When I gave a brief “yeah,” her voice filled with exaggerated excitement. “That is amazing, sweetie! Just do your best, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just being selected is an incredible achievement!” “Do you have enough money? Let Mom transfer you a little something. You need to buy a nice outfit for the competition, you can’t embarrass your school.” As she spoke, she began hacking and wheezing violently, as if she were coughing up a lung. A second later, our “neighbor’s” voice yelled through the receiver. “Chloe! Your mom’s cough is getting worse! There’s blood! You need to come home right now and take her to the hospital!” My mother immediately yelled back, “Stop talking nonsense! I’m fine!” Then, her voice softened to a weak whisper for the phone. “Chloe, don’t listen to her, Mom is totally fine. You just focus on your competition. Don’t worry about me.” But her coughing grew increasingly aggressive, heavy, and desperate. Listening to the horrific sounds, I knew she was forcing my hand. She was trying to break my heart, forcing me to forfeit the competition out of guilt so I would rush home to take care of her. Mom, for Mia’s sake, do I really mean nothing to you? I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, took a deep breath, and said coldly: “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not going to forfeit this opportunity.” Dead silence on the other end. After a long pause, her gentle voice returned. “Chloe, Mom believes you’ll win.” For the next few days, I poured every ounce of my soul into preparation. On the day of the final mock exam, my advisor ran up to me with last year’s official competition paper. “Chloe! Do you know what you scored? An 89! That’s ten points higher than last year’s national champion! Keep this up and you’re going to win it all!” I stared at the red ink on the paper, my heart pounding with hope. The day of the competition arrived. I got to the campus plaza early to board the university charter bus. But standing right in front of the bus doors, looking at me with a sickeningly sweet, mocking smile, was Mia. A sudden wave of dread washed over me. A second later, my academic advisor stepped off the bus and looked at me with a complicated expression. “Chloe, you won’t be participating in today’s competition.” “On what grounds?!” I screamed. The advisor didn’t answer. He simply looked behind him. Several large men in black leather jackets stepped forward and surrounded me. “Are you Chloe Miller?” I instinctively nodded. The lead guy grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “You’re coming with us.” “What are you doing?! Who are you? Let go of me!” The man just tightened his grip. “Relax, we’re not going to hurt you. But you took out a massive payday loan from us, and the deadline has passed. Until you pay up, you’re not going anywhere.” My advisor looked at me with deep disappointment. “Chloe, how could you borrow money from loan sharks? Now your creditors have tracked you down to the campus. The university can’t protect you from this.” “No! I didn’t!” I struggled violently. “Advisor, you have to believe me, I have never taken out a loan in my life! You have to believe me!” He turned his back on me and looked at the campus security guards. “Take Chloe and these gentlemen to the security office. Until her family arrives, do not let them take her off campus.” “Wait a second,” Mia stepped out of the crowd, walking up to me and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Chloe, don’t even dream of competing with me in this lifetime. So what if you’re smart? As long as I want it, even if I have zero talent, I get to go to the competition.” Then, she aggressively grabbed my hand and raised her voice for everyone to hear. “Chloe, don’t worry! I’ll do my absolute best for both of us!” She shot me one last provocative glare, turned on her heel, and boarded the bus with the advisor. I watched the bus pull away, screaming and thrashing against the men holding me. “Let me go! I never borrowed money!” It was useless. I collapsed, bowing my back, grabbing the sleeve of the loan shark, and begging. “Please… just let me go. This competition is my entire life. Please, I’m begging you.” The leader looked down at me with genuine pity. “Our only job is to keep you here so you can’t compete. Until the competition is officially over, you aren’t leaving.” He paused, then added, “And don’t bother calling the cops. All our paperwork is entirely legal. Your signature is on the contract, and the funds were deposited into an account under your name. The police won’t find anything wrong. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Once the clock runs out, you’re free to go.” In a split second, it all clicked into place. The only person in the world who could forge my signature and bypass my identity checks was my mother. But why? Why did she have to destroy me over and over again?! I slumped onto the concrete. My fingernails dug so hard into the pavement that my fingertips were torn and bleeding, but I couldn’t feel the pain. At the leader’s gesture, one of the men placed a tablet in front of me. “The client’s other requirement… is that you watch the competition from start to finish.” The screen lit up. A live broadcast. Mia was sitting in the exact seat assigned to me. As the camera zoomed in, I saw the test paper. I could have solved those equations with my eyes closed. Mia didn’t even pick up her pencil. Noticing the camera, she gave a mocking little smirk, tossed her pencil aside, leaned back in her chair, and went to sleep. I stared unblinkingly at the screen until the final buzzer rang. It was gone. My one way out was destroyed. Tears poured down my face uncontrollably as my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. Text after text from my mother flooded the screen. “Chloe? What happened? Why isn’t it you at the competition?” I looked at the messages from the woman still trying to play the victim and let out a broken, hollow laugh. I turned my head to the large man beside me. “Can I go now?” He checked his watch. “Yeah. You’re clear.” I dragged my heavy legs up from the pavement and began to walk. As I passed a campus trash can, I casually tossed my relentlessly ringing phone inside and never looked back. Miles away, my mother stared at her phone, a sudden spike of panic hitting her as the call went straight to voicemail. Just as she was grabbing her coat to drive down to the campus, the front door burst open. Mia sprinted inside, tackling her with a hug and chattering excitedly about her day in the city. Drowned in Mia’s spoiled affection, my mother’s fleeting worry completely evaporated. She affectionately ruffled Mia’s hair. “As long as my sweet girl is happy! I promised you that after your competition, I’d take you to Europe. Go pack your bags, get your dad, we’re going to Paris.” They had the time of their lives in Europe. Fine dining, luxury shopping, thousands of photos. Their Instagram feeds were a shrine of joy and wealth. It wasn’t until a week later, while scrolling through her phone, that my mother suddenly realized something. I hadn’t called her once. A cold sense of dread washed over her. She quickly dialed my number. The number you are trying to reach is out of service. She tried calling from my dad’s phone. Same result. The panic amplified into sheer terror. She didn’t hesitate; she pulled up my academic advisor’s contact and called him. The second he answered, she demanded frantically, “Hello? I am Chloe Miller’s mother! What is she doing right now? Why isn’t she answering my calls?!” “Chloe Miller?” the advisor’s confused voice came through the speaker. “She dropped out of the university a week ago.”

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My fiancée hired an intern whose astrological chart supposedly perfectly aligned with the company’s “vibe,” and he claimed to be our literal good luck charm. When I signed my first million-dollar project, he said it was because of his “manifesting.” When I pulled all-nighters to lead our team to a successful bid, he said it was because of his good karma. When I secured land to develop a billion-dollar resort, he said it was because I was carrying his lucky crystal. After he stole all my performance metrics, HR cornered me at the end of the year: “All your KPIs were achieved thanks to Dylan’s presence. Your annual bonus is canceled.” “Your performance rewards will all be transferred to Dylan!” I immediately threw my hands up and started coasting, playing video games at my desk every single day. The “lucky mascot” panicked. Without me, where would an intern with zero experience steal credit from? So, at the year-end summary meeting, he smashed my computer in public, throwing his weight around: “If you keep slacking off and being a total loser, I’ll have the boss fire you!” My fiancée chimed in from the sidelines: “The company only has this much revenue because of him. You dare to slack off without his good luck guiding you?” “If it weren’t for the good vibes he brought, this company would have gone under by now.” I laughed out loud in anger and spoke into my gaming headset to my teammate—my billionaire CEO dad: “Hear that? He means he can land projects purely on good luck!” “If that’s the case, let’s see if he can secure that hundred-million-dollar contract at the end of the year with just his ‘lucky vibes’!” Chapter 1 The company was holding its year-end meeting. All employees, including upper management, were present. I was the only one missing. I was at my desk, having the time of my life in a massive multiplayer raid. A coworker walked by and tried to pull me along: “Stop gaming. The VP is calling everyone in. If you’re late, you’re going to get roasted in front of everyone.” “Not going,” I flatly refused. “We have our lucky mascot, Dylan, right? What’s the point of working hard when it doesn’t matter anyway?” My coworker choked on his words. He knew exactly what had happened. When I signed that hundred-million-dollar contract, Dylan snatched the credit with a single sentence: “It was my manifesting that allowed you to sign the big deal.” This was the third time Dylan had stolen my credit. I was entirely done trying. Now, I was just getting paid to play video games. “You’re skipping the meeting to sit here and game?” My fiancée, Chloe Vance, marched over in her stilettos, glaring at me aggressively. “You won’t even attend the meetings, you just lay flat all day. Do you have any drive left in you at all?” “Why can’t you learn from Dylan? Even though he’s our lucky charm, he still showed up early to actively participate in the company’s strategic planning!” I was furiously clicking my mouse, cornering the raid boss, not even bothering to look up. “Sorry, I don’t have any drive. If he does, let him do the work.” “Besides, isn’t this meeting to give him an award? Why would I go?” Chloe frowned deeply. “He just signed a million-dollar order. You’re not even going to congratulate your colleague?” The irony was sickening. My mouse clicks grew faster and more aggressive as I executed the boss: “You, out of everyone, know exactly how many days I stayed up, how many client dinners I suffered through, and how I drank until I practically had a stomach ulcer to secure that order. Your little intern Dylan took all my hard work with one casual sentence.” “And you want me to congratulate him? Congratulate a useless freeloader?” This enraged Chloe. She reached over, forcibly shut down my monitor, and dragged me toward the conference room. “You are going today whether you like it or not!” As we entered the room, I heard Vice President Mitchell on stage, loudly praising Dylan for bringing good fortune to the company. “The new generation is truly making waves! Even an intern can lock down a million-dollar contract now! Everyone in the company needs to learn from Dylan; he is our ultimate lucky star!” Seeing me walk in, VP Mitchell shot me a look of pure contempt. “Unlike some people, who just slack off and play games all day! Grinding on a single contract for half a month and failing, proving you’re less effective than a few words from our intern!” Whispers broke out among my colleagues. The mocking comments drifted to my ears: “An intern gets the contract with one sentence, while a guy who’s been here a year can’t get it done. What a loser…” “I heard Chloe is Carter’s fiancée, yet she promoted Dylan. Just goes to show how useless Carter really is.” I ignored them all and took a seat in the back corner. My dad had just texted me to help him rank up, so I immediately rejoined the lobby on my phone. I was completely absorbed in the game when someone tapped my shoulder. I looked up to find the entire room staring at me. That’s when I heard Dylan on stage, pointing a finger in my direction: “It’s because the company has dead weight like Carter that we’re struggling to move forward!” “It was only through my subtle energy work that your project succeeded! Otherwise, you’d never see a high bonus in your entire life!” “I suggest you put the game away, or else I, representing the company, will see to it that you’re strictly disciplined!” I pulled out an earbud, looking completely unfazed. “Really? You, an intern, want to fire me?” “Do you even have that authority?” The room gasped. No one expected me to clash with Dylan so openly. Everyone knew Chloe was the one backing him up. I looked at Chloe, but the gaze she returned was ice-cold. “What if I give him that authority?” she said. “The company only has this much revenue because of Dylan. You dare to slack off without his good luck guiding you?” “If it weren’t for him, we might have gone bankrupt.” My eyes instantly darkened. I smirked and spoke into the mic to my dad: “Hear that? Turns out all our corporate contracts are signed purely because of an intern’s good vibes.” No one expected Chloe to publicly tear me down for Dylan’s sake. Dylan looked incredibly smug, giving me a provocative sneer. I shrugged, stood up, and prepared to leave. “Fine. Process my termination papers today.” My complete indifference shocked Chloe, and Dylan’s face immediately darkened. His track record was stolen from me; without me in the company, he had no one to leech off of. “Wait! Chloe, firing him is too severe.” Dylan suddenly marched out, went straight to my desk, and carried my personal laptop into the conference room. “Why don’t we just teach him a lesson he won’t forget!” Right in front of everyone, he lifted my laptop high and slammed it onto the hard floor. The screen shattered, and the chassis cracked open. “I’m warning you, no more slacking off!” The loud crash silenced the room. My laptop was reduced to scrap metal. Everyone stood up, looking highly entertained: “Smashed his laptop! Carter’s life is going to be hell now!” “People fight tooth and nail to get a job here, and Carter doesn’t even care about being fired. Is he playing hard to get so Chloe begs him to stay?” “He’s been here a year and is still entry-level. With zero ambition, there’s no way Chloe actually wants him…” Pieces of hardware scattered at my feet. It was a top-tier, custom-built rig I had specially imported for $150,000. I stared at Dylan, who was wearing cheap, off-brand clothes, and asked calmly: “You smashed my computer. Can you afford to replace it?” Dylan sneered. “How expensive could a regular employee’s laptop be? Just go to the IT closet and grab a spare.” I turned to Chloe. “You’re just going to let an intern run wild like this? Not only does he steal my contracts, but he destroys my personal property?” Chloe stepped right next to Dylan, looking down her nose at me. “He didn’t ask me to fire you. Letting you stay here to earn a paycheck is already a mercy.” “Dylan smashing your computer is for your own good. He wants you to have some ambition.” I laughed coldly and shook my head. The voice chat on my phone had gone dead silent. My dad and my grandfather are notoriously hot-tempered and fiercely protective. I figured they were already boarding a private jet to get here. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I crouched down to pick up the shattered motherboard, but Dylan stepped forward and planted his shoe right onto it. “Still want to take it home and play?” He ground his heel into the circuits. “Chloe gave you a pass, and you’re still unrepentant?” “You slack off in public, ruining the company’s hustle culture. You only deserve the oldest spare machine!” “Furthermore…” He pulled out a stack of project reports. “This data you compiled previously has a massive loophole! If I hadn’t caught it with my intuition, you would have cost the company millions!” The crowd gasped. “Oh my god, Dylan really is our lucky star! He even catches data errors!” “Look at Carter. So shameless. Without Dylan protecting him, his projects would have bombed, and now he’s giving him attitude!” I picked up the data report. It was a file Dylan had put together himself a few weeks ago, but he had swapped his name for mine. “I didn’t write this.” I shrugged, tossing the report on the floor. “I might play games all day, but I always hit my KPIs. I’m not stupid enough to make mistakes like this.” “I’m guessing only an intern would make such a rookie error.” I looked at him mockingly. Dylan’s face went pale, then flushed red. He pointed at me and yelled: “Carter, you game all day! How could you not make rookie mistakes? Your name is right on it. Just confess!” “Don’t wait until I bring out the hard evidence and humiliate you completely!” Watching his guilty, panicked expression, I found it incredibly amusing. An intern who knew absolutely nothing had somehow become a tyrant in the office. “Evidence, huh?” I pulled out my phone and called a professional contact. “Can you come over here right now? I need a handwriting analysis and camera footage pulled.” “You think you can just conduct private investigations in our office?” Chloe frowned. “Don’t think bringing in some sketchy outside friends is going to make us believe your ‘investigation’.” I ignored her, sat back down, and resumed my game. VP Mitchell’s face turned thunderous. “Carter, what is the meaning of this? You made a mistake, and now you’re causing a scene? Security! Don’t let any unidentified personnel into the building!” “Don’t bother with security. We showed ourselves up.” Everyone turned toward the voice at the door and simultaneously sucked in a breath. Two men who had just been on the local news yesterday were standing at the entrance to the conference room: The Chief of Police, and the CFO of Vanguard Enterprises, one of the Fortune 500 partners of our firm. No one expected such heavyweights to appear. VP Mitchell’s face drained of color as he scrambled forward, bowing with a desperate, sycophantic smile. “What brings such esteemed guests to our humble office? Is there something we can help you with?” The Chief and the CFO didn’t even look at Mitchell. They walked straight toward me. “Carter, where’s the evidence?” “If anyone dares frame you, we will absolutely clear your name!” I tilted my chin toward the files on the floor. Trembling, Dylan picked up the papers and handed them over. The two men immediately began inspecting them. Chloe, stunned that actual authorities were stepping in to help me, stared in disbelief. “Who exactly are you? How did you get them to come here?” I kept tapping on my phone screen. “None of your business. As long as someone can prove my innocence, that’s all that matters.” Dylan glared at me, guilt written all over his face, but he didn’t dare throw a tantrum in front of the Police Chief. He was Chloe’s junior from college. Right after he graduated, she pulled strings to get him hired as her personal assistant. Dylan’s performance was garbage, but he was great at kissing up. He’d always say things like, “You’re totally getting promoted soon!” or “The universe is aligning for you to win this client!” Whenever he coincidentally guessed right, Chloe would praise him to the high heavens. Slowly, the office started treating him like a literal mascot, and he became a local celebrity. Then, he started claiming my hard-earned wins were the result of his “good luck aura.” Even though Chloe knew I was pulling all-nighters, she still looked at him with adoration: “I knew it! Your manifesting is what pushed his contract over the line!” Seeing Dylan pocket the bonuses that were rightfully mine and claim the top performer spot made my efforts feel like a joke. Now he was publicly framing me? Did he really think I was just some pushover? The inspection finished. The Police Chief held the report, looking sternly at Dylan. “The handwriting on the corrected sections matches yours perfectly. I also had my guys remotely check the hallway cameras. You were the only one who entered the archives.” “The CFO has also traced the data logs. You were the only one who touched this spreadsheet. Therefore, you are solely responsible for this compromised data!” The room fell dead silent, followed by an explosion of whispers. “Wow, he framed him… Carter was innocent all along.” “Our ‘lucky star’ went too far. It’s one thing to take credit, but framing someone?” Dylan’s face was completely drained of blood. He stammered, “I… I must have just misread it.” “Does ‘misreading it’ fix everything?” I leaned back in my chair, watching him casually. “You make a mistake, and you don’t even apologize?” The Chief and the CFO stood behind me, staring Dylan down. The pressure was immense. He finally lowered his head, utterly humiliated. “I… I’m sorry…” I stood up and shook hands with the two men to thank them. Once they left, I pulled up a digital receipt on my phone. “Since the defamation is cleared up, let’s talk about compensating me for my laptop.” Dylan immediately reverted to his arrogant self, crossing his arms and scoffing. “I’d love to hear how much a piece of junk laptop costs.” I held up one finger. “One…” “Tch, one grand? I’ll Venmo you right now.” I shook my head. “One hundred and fifty thousand.” The conference room erupted in laughter. “I’ve never even heard of a computer costing $150,000!” “I almost felt bad for him, but now he’s just trying to extort money.” VP Mitchell slammed his hand on the desk, pointing at my face and roaring: “Carter! How far are you going to take this farce!” “The CEO and the Chairman just called me! They said there’s an employee causing a massive disruption, and they are on their way here right now to handle it personally!” “So what? Just because the CEO and Chairman are coming, does that mean fairness goes out the window?” I met Mitchell’s gaze calmly. “They should be much more reasonable than you.” Besides, once they arrived, Dylan was completely finished. “Cut the crap!” Mitchell pointed a finger at my nose. “I’ll give you one last chance. Go to IT, get a spare laptop, and before the CEO gets here, optimize the ‘Nova’ bidding proposal.” “If we win the bid, I’ll let you off the hook!” Gasps echoed around the room. “Oh my god, the location for that project hasn’t even been zoned yet, the bid is practically impossible… Mitchell is totally setting him up…” The harder a project was, the more I enjoyed the challenge. Since he was giving me a chance to prove myself, I wasn’t going to back down. “Fine. I’ll have it done by noon.” HR purposely gave me a dusty, ancient laptop that could barely run Solitaire. It reminded me of the grueling days when I first joined the company. After returning from abroad, I wanted to learn the ropes of my family’s business. I specifically told my dad and grandpa not to reveal my identity so I could start from the bottom. I never expected that after a year of grinding and securing the highest KPIs every quarter, my achievements would be hijacked by an intern who claimed to “bring good vibes.” This time, I was going to use this bidding proposal to take back my glory. With my vast experience and extensive field research, I put together a flawless proposal. The client was thrilled. While I was resting my eyes for a moment, I noticed a piece of paper on my desk. A manifestation sigil. “What is this garbage?” I frowned and tossed it into the trash. Not long after, news broke that our bid had won. The land I selected had suddenly skyrocketed in value by a hundred times because the city just announced a massive new school district development right next to it. When the news hit, the entire office was stunned by my foresight. VP Mitchell was dumbfounded. He walked over and patted my shoulder. “Alright, I won’t report you to the board this time. Keep up the good work.” Suddenly, Dylan marched over and shouted, “Hold on! Winning this bid was my doing!” He dug into my trash can, pulled out the sigil, and held it up for everyone to see: “Look! To help him succeed, I specifically placed my special manifestation sigil on his desk.” “I didn’t expect him to be so ungrateful and throw it away after winning the bid! That’s why I’m exposing him now!” He glared at me. “If I hadn’t brought you the right energy, could you have possibly picked such a perfect plot of land?” It was the exact same script he used every time he stole my credit. Just as I was about to fire back, Chloe started clapping loudly from across the room. “Classic Dylan! Carter, every time you succeed, it’s always because Dylan is working his magic in the background.” “Apologize to Dylan immediately! If it weren’t for him, how could you possibly be so lucky as to pick the exact right spot?” “Dylan is truly the company’s lucky star!” Backed by Chloe, the rest of the office joined in the applause. VP Mitchell nodded, as if experiencing a revelation, and clapped Dylan heavily on the shoulder. “You really are a fantastic hire. Incredible intuition! The entire bonus for this bid goes to you!” I let out a dark laugh. They were just openly robbing me now. “With people like you in charge, this company is going straight to hell.” I pulled out my phone and called my CEO dad. “I quit. There are too many parasites in this company!” To my shock, Dylan snatched the phone right out of my hand and spoke mockingly into the receiver: “You’re Carter’s dad, right? Your son is totally useless, whining to his parents at work. I suggest you come down here and discipline your deadbeat son!” He hung up and laughed uproariously. “Your dad is probably getting gray hair just stressing over you!” Right at that moment, VP Mitchell’s phone rang. He answered it with a sycophantic grin, which quickly morphed into a shriek of pure terror: “What? You said your son is in the office?!”

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