On my way to pick up my son from school, I scrolled through a thread on a popular forum. “What’s the most reckless thing you’ve ever done?” The comments were a wild mix. Some people confessed to affairs, others to streaking through a park. The discussion was lively. I swiped past, uninterested. Until a familiar profile picture caught my eye. Her answer was about how she’d ruined a girl’s life with a single sentence. “She was my boss’s fiancée, young and beautiful.” “The night before her wedding, she was kidnapped. My boss sent me to deliver the ransom.” “I suggested we wait a few days. Let a little hardship teach her to behave.” “Turns out she couldn’t handle it. The kidnappers broke her mind. She ended up in a psychiatric hospital.” “This is her third year locked away.” “And me? I finally married my boss.” That one word, finally, dripped with the sweet satisfaction of a long-nurtured plan. It felt like a challenge, three years in the making. 1 The thread was popular. In just a few minutes, her comment had been voted to the top. Sarah had even posted a picture. Two hands, fingers intertwined. On them were the wedding rings I had designed myself but never had the chance to wear. “I don’t think I did anything wrong,” she continued in a reply. “If I had to do it a hundred times over, I’d make the same choice every time.” “After all, I’m the only one in this world who deserves him.” “Not some spoiled, pampered princess who only knows how to cry.” She wrote about the struggles she and Martin Vance had overcome together, how they had propped up a struggling company. She painted a picture of late nights, working side-by-side, relying on each other. But she never mentioned where Martin’s startup capital had come from. It wasn't time to pick up Leo yet. While waiting at a red light, a dozen more replies popped up. Some called her shameless, warning her that what goes around comes around. Others argued it wasn't her fault, that I was just mentally weak. Then, someone managed to dig up her identity and found the photos that had gone viral all those years ago. Staring at the grainy image, I felt a jolt. It was like peering through a crack in time. I saw her again—the lost, helpless girl from three years ago. Me. Stripped naked and thrown onto the street. Walking, bare and exposed, into the glare of the media’s flashbulbs. A stark contrast to the polished, radiant Sarah standing proudly at Martin’s side. Martin had spent a fortune to scrub the story from the headlines, but the humiliation was forever seared into the memory of the internet. The light turned green. I sighed and pressed the accelerator. By the next intersection, her comment had been deleted. But a new text message had appeared on my phone, sent five minutes ago. “Eliza, are you okay?” The number was unfamiliar. There was no name. But in this world, only one person ever called me Eliza in that particular way. I hesitated for a moment, then deleted the message. His concern had come three years too late. Whether I was okay or not had long ceased to be his business. The car moved forward. I had no time to look back. Only sometimes, when the autumn leaves swirled past my windshield, would I remember a life that felt a million miles away. 2 Before I turned twenty-three, I had never known a day of hardship. I was the jewel of my family, a princess in the city’s high society. A chauffeur drove me everywhere; housekeepers attended to my every need. Even my arranged marriage was to Martin Vance, the handsome and brilliant rising star of the elite. Everyone used to say it. “Eliza Chen has a charmed life. She’s the brightest star in the city.” That all ended the night before my wedding, when I was taken. They demanded an astronomical ransom from my family. Eighty million dollars. But I wasn't afraid. My parents adored me. Martin had sworn he’d marry no one else. They would liquidate every asset they had to bring me home safely. At first, the kidnappers were almost polite. But on the seventh day, a bucket of ice-cold water woke me from my dream. One of them grabbed me by the hair and kicked me to the floor. “Your family said they couldn't pay. So what the hell is this?” I looked up. On the television was Martin’s triumphant face. He was standing next to Sarah at a ribbon-cutting ceremony. The screen behind them blazed with a headline: “Vance Industries Celebrates Initial Success, Secures Further $80 Million for New Project.” Eighty million. The exact amount. The kidnappers let me make one last call to Martin. When the line connected, it was Sarah’s voice that answered. “Mr. Vance is busy. May I ask who’s calling?” “Oh, it’s you, Miss Chen. He’s unavailable.” Her voice then became a playful murmur, clearly meant for someone in the room with her. “Oh, Martin, stop it… the press conference is about to start. You’re wrinkling my dress, how am I supposed to face the reporters…?” The line went dead, cutting off the intimate sounds. It was a silent declaration from Martin. Between love and ambition, he chose ambition. Between me and Sarah, he chose Sarah. I stood there, frozen, unable to process it. I didn’t notice the way the kidnappers’ eyes had changed as they looked at me. On the eighth day, the ransom didn't arrive. They broke one of my fingers as a warning. Martin didn't respond. He didn't yield. On the ninth day, the ransom still hadn't arrived. They filmed me while they violated me, threatening to ruin my name forever. Martin remained silent. That afternoon, his company released a formal statement. “Vance Industries will never bow to criminals.” On the tenth day, my parents announced they were liquidating their assets in the country and moving overseas. I had been completely abandoned, an asset that had lost its value. The kidnappers were furious. Their rage turned on me. They used every method they could think of to torture and humiliate me. By then, both they and I were clinging to one last, desperate thread of hope. That someone, anyone, would come. But no one did. While I was imprisoned, Martin and Sarah grew closer. The news was full of them. Attending galas, hosting events. Clinking champagne glasses, basking in the glow of success. Every financial news channel was reporting on it. Martin’s investment was a massive success. He was on track to become the wealthiest man in the city. A golden road stretched out before him. A pack of ravenous demons was behind me. They unleashed all their rage and frustration on my body. Whips, daggers, branding irons, and steel needles. I was begging for life and praying for death. On the fifteenth day, I found a chance and I ran. I can’t recall the pain or the obstacles of that escape. I just remember running. Running until my feet were numb, until my wounds split open, until I was running on nothing but my last breath. Just as I was about to collapse, to give up, a sound drifted through the air. Music. It pointed the way. 3 I didn’t care that I was naked. I didn’t care about dignity or shame. All I wanted was to live. But when I stumbled into the clearing, I saw Martin. He was with Sarah, hosting a charity event in a rural town. It was a huge spectacle, swarming with reporters. How perfect. He had money for investments, for charity, but not to ransom his own fiancée. He had time for press conferences and interviews, but not to save his own fiancée. He was here, soaking in praise and applause, while he had left me to suffer every imaginable horror at the hands of monsters. I stood there, naked and frozen, a grotesque clown at their party. I let them all stare at the canvas of wounds that covered my body. In that moment, every camera turned to me. Martin’s face went cold. He didn't ask if I was hurt. He didn't ask what I had been through. He only said one thing. “Eliza, what kind of scene are you making?” A scene? A scene? So all the pain, all the torture I had endured… In his eyes, it was just a tantrum, a desperate bid for attention. My blood and my scars were less important to him than a speck of dust on the ground. I stumbled toward him, sobbing. “Why? Why didn’t you save me?” “Why? I’m your fiancée! We grew up together, we were supposed to spend our lives together…” My voice broke. “I’m… I’m carrying…” Before I could finish, Martin cut me off, his voice cold and hard. In front of everyone, he pushed my hand away. His gaze was heavy, a complex mix of emotions I couldn't decipher. “Eliza, why can’t you just learn to behave?” he said. “The moment I got the news, I sent Sarah to negotiate. I told you that once this busy period was over, the money would be sent. You were never in any real danger. Why do you have to be so dramatic?” Who would use their own life, their own dignity, for drama? I stared at the man I had loved since I was a child, my mind reeling in disbelief. But even as the last of my tears dried on my cheeks, his expression never softened. He just seemed vaguely annoyed that I had disrupted his charity event. Finally, someone wrapped me in a blanket and led me away. Sarah came over, feigning concern. But as she did, she deliberately pulled down the silk scarf from her neck, revealing a fresh love bite on her skin. “Curious, aren't you?” she whispered. “Wondering why your parents didn’t come to save you?” “Wondering why Martin’s attitude toward you has changed so drastically?” Her voice was a venomous caress. “Because… you’re not their daughter.” Sarah told me everything. The day the ransom note arrived, my parents were frantic. They were ready to liquidate everything to save me. But Martin stopped them. He produced a paternity test. It proved I was an imposter, a baby switched at birth by a vengeful nanny. The real heiress, their true daughter, had died years ago from that same nanny’s abuse. That revelation stopped my parents in their tracks. The jewel of the family… was a fake. Years of love made it impossible for them to completely abandon me. But the knowledge that they had raised their daughter's killer—or at least, the child who had taken her place—paralyzed them. Torn, they did the only thing they could. They left me a dowry of eighty million dollars and entrusted my care to Martin. In their minds, they had done their duty. They just never imagined Martin could be so ruthless. He took that eighty million—my dowry, my ransom, my life savings—and poured it into his new project. It made him a tycoon. It made him a legend. And it left me to be tortured until I had nothing left. That day, I cried until I had no tears left. When I looked up, Martin was standing over me. He was silhouetted against the light. I couldn't see his expression, but I could see the necklace around his neck. It matched the one Sarah was wearing. He looked down at me. “Eliza,” he said, his voice low. “I won’t abandon you just because of this… disgrace.” “But I want you to remember, you have no family to run back to anymore.” “If you want to marry me, if you want to be Mrs. Vance, you need to learn to behave.” Everyone told me this was his way of extending an olive branch. They said he knew my prideful nature, knew about my traumatic experience, and yet he was still willing to accept and forgive me. They said it was proof that he loved me. But all I heard was a threat. The old Eliza would have screamed. She would have raged. She would have burned the world down. But after being beaten into submission by fate, I was afraid. I realized my entire life was now in Martin’s hands. My future, my happiness, my very existence. It was all up to him. So, I did as he wished. I learned to behave. 4 At dinner, I pretended not to see the elegant, smiling Sarah sitting across from me. I silently swallowed every piece of food they placed on my plate. Even when my stomach churned. Even when my heart was hammering against my ribs. I didn't dare show any disgust. I was too afraid. Terrified of that feeling of having nothing, of being completely at the mercy of others. Compared to the leaves and garbage I’d been forced to eat in that cage, swallowing the food on my plate was easy. I tried so hard to be the perfect, obedient wife-to-be, tucking away all my pride and my fire. But there was one thing I couldn't do. I couldn’t bear Martin’s touch. His every caress, the sound of his breathing… It threw me back to those fifteen days in hell. It made me see the faces of my captors, feel their hands on me. I was terrified. Terrified of remembering. Terrified of the barely-healed scars being ripped open again. Whenever Martin came near me, whenever he touched me, I would start shaking uncontrollably. Then I would scream and scramble away, pushing him off me with all my strength. Martin never hit me, not like they did. He would just watch me, his voice cold and distant. “Eliza, haven’t you made enough of a scene?” I had lost the right to make scenes long ago. But I couldn't speak, couldn't meet his eyes. I could only curl into a ball in the corner, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, holding onto the last shreds of my dignity. The more I withdrew, the angrier he became. The night of his birthday, he was drunk. He yanked me to my feet, grabbing my face in his hands. “Say something! Why won’t you say anything?” he demanded. “You used to be the one who never shut up, who was always clinging to me. What is this, some act? Playing the untouchable saint?” “Is this still about that one little incident? How long are you going to keep this up?” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Eliza, why can’t you just learn to behave…” Something had set him off that night. He was determined to be with me. He tore at my clothes, his hands rough. He pinned me down, his mouth closing over mine. In that instant, the carefully buried terror erupted. The mattress beneath me became an iron cage. The man above me became one of my captors. It felt like every scar on my body was splitting open, dragging me back into that endless nightmare. I lost all reason. All that was left was the instinct to survive. In a blind panic, I grabbed the crystal vase from the nightstand and swung. Sarah burst in to find Martin on the floor, covered in blood. She made a huge show of it, calling the police, calling an ambulance. “Help! Somebody help!” she screamed. “Eliza’s gone insane! She’s trying to kill him!” And just like that, I was taken away by the police. Sarah produced the photos from the charity event, the ones of me naked and distraught. She claimed I’d had mental health issues for years. She had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. Martin handled all the arrangements. From setting up a trust fund to cover my expenses to arranging my meals, he took care of everything. Before they left, he looked at me. “Eliza,” he said. “You be a good girl in here, you hear me?” “When you’re better, I’ll come take you home.” Everyone knew it was a lie. The rumors about him and Sarah were already everywhere. He needed a plausible excuse to get rid of me, the inconvenient baggage from his past. So, I had to be the crazy one. … An autumn leaf drifted onto the windshield, and the school bell rang, pulling me back to the present. I looked up, searching the crowd of children for a familiar face. Instead, I saw Martin. He looked surprised, then a flicker of something like joy crossed his face. He hurried through the throng of parents toward me. “Eliza? What are you doing here?” “You were discharged? Why didn’t you call me? Do you have any idea…” Before he could finish, a small, cherubic boy ran up and hugged my leg. “Mommy, what took you so long?” “All the kids at school made a bet to see whose mom would pick them up first. I’m going to lose again!” I smiled and squeezed his cheek, about to comfort him. But it was Martin who spoke first, his eyes suddenly red. 5 He crouched down, his gaze fixed on Leo. His face was a canvas of shock and disbelief. “This is… your son?” “How… How is that possible…?” Martin’s eyes lifted from Leo to me. His deep-set gaze was filled with an emotion I couldn't name. It was almost an accusation. As if he was demanding to know why I had kept something so important from him. And underneath, there was something else. Regret. As if he was finally realizing he had left both me and his child in that hell. But I knew Martin. Nothing—not me, not a child—would have changed his decision. Even if he had known I was pregnant back then, he still would not have come for me. I didn't want to have this conversation in front of Leo. I took my son’s hand, lifted him into the car seat, and positioned my body to block Martin’s view. “Leo is my son. He has nothing to do with you.” “I hear you and Sarah are getting married soon. Congratulations.” “From now on, let’s live our own lives. Don't contact me again.” The moment Martin had me committed, any relationship between us was over. After I was discharged, I gained access to a trust fund my parents had left for me. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to live comfortably. I didn't need Martin. I didn’t need anyone. I just wanted to cut all ties with the past. Leo, always observant, sensed the strange tension between us. He glanced curiously at Martin but stayed quiet, obediently fastening his seatbelt. As I turned to close the door, Martin’s hand shot out, bracing it open. The door frame bit into his flesh, drawing blood, but he refused to let go. “Now that you’re out, come home,” he said, his voice strained. “I promised your parents I’d take care of you. I can’t go back on my word.” The wedding ring on his finger caught the afternoon sun, glinting brightly. I stared at it for a moment, then gave a small, tired smile. I was useless to him now. Why was he still putting on this act? I sighed, my voice calm and even. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever we had ended three years ago. You have no responsibility or obligation to me.” A financial debt can be repaid. An emotional one is impossible to calculate. What he gave me, what he took from me… who could ever say? It was better to leave it all buried in the past. You have to look forward. Compared to the twisted wreckage of my past with Martin, I much preferred the quiet, simple life I had now. Martin just stared at me, searching my placid eyes for a spark of the vibrant, fiery Eliza he once knew. He found nothing. I was a stranger to him now. After a long moment, he looked down, his expression defeated. “I saw Sarah’s post,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.” It was the first time Martin Vance had ever apologized to me. He claimed he didn’t know the details of what had happened. He said he was so consumed with the new project that he had delegated all the “minor” issues to Sarah. He never imagined she would twist his words, that she would deliberately delay things. “She said with our families’ influence, no one would ever dare to actually harm you.” “She said you had a temper, that it would cause trouble for you later in life. She thought this would be a good lesson for you, a way to make you learn to behave.” His voice cracked. “I never thought it would go so far. I never knew how much it hurt you…” Did he not know, or did he not want to know? In fifteen days of captivity, he never once called to check on me himself. In three years in that hospital, he never once came to visit. His love was a thin, cheap veneer. Something to pass the time when he was bored. I didn't need it. I didn't want it. This time, it was my turn to push his hand away. “Martin, we’ve known each other since we were children. I know you better than anyone. I know your temper, your ambition, your stubborn pride. That’s why I want nothing more to do with you.” My voice was firm, final. “I’ll say it one last time. Leo is not your son. If you don't believe me, go get a paternity test.” “Now please, stop interfering in our lives.” I slammed the car door shut, sealing out the sound of his voice, sealing out the past. Leo watched me carefully from his seat. Seeing that I was calm, he asked tentatively, “Mommy, who was that man?” “Was he your boyfriend a long time ago?”
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