1 For five years of marriage, Andrew Hayes had slept his way through half of Hollywood. I pretended not to see, commuting daily between the hospital and the film set. My mother’s leukemia demanded astronomical treatment costs, and Andrew held the reins of Hayes Enterprises’ medical resources. Until that day, when the new starlet he was promoting “accidentally” severed my safety wire on set. I plummeted from a ten-foot platform. The three-month-old life within me stilled. My hand trembling, I dialed his number. “Andrew, please, save our baby.” From the other end, a woman’s soft moans reached me, followed by Andrew’s voice, a languid drawl of satisfaction. “Evie, I’m utterly sick of your pathetic ploys for attention. If you truly want to die, do it far away from me.” By the time the crew rushed me to the hospital, the heartbeat had stopped. My mother, upon hearing the news, pulled out her oxygen tube in the hospital room. “My sweet Evie, Mom won’t be a burden to you anymore.” Those were her last words. Three lives for one. My debt to him, I thought, was finally repaid. From now on, the world was vast, and we would never cross paths again. Andrew arrived as I was signing the death certificate. He snatched the paper from my hands, tearing it to shreds. “Are you done with your theatrics? All you want is money, isn’t it? Name your price! Who are you putting on this pathetic dying act for? When your mother was on her deathbed, she practically groveled at my feet, begging for medical funds!” I stared at the shredded paper on the floor and offered him a docile smile. “What if I told you I don’t beg anymore?” Three seconds later, the slamming door rattled my very bones. Andrew had barely left when his assistant appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Hayes, Mr. Hayes instructed me to inform you: if you’re willing to apologize, your mother’s burial plot will be chosen in the most prime location.” “No need. Please tell him that we are completely even now.” By the time I returned from the cemetery, night had fallen. Pushing open the villa’s heavy front door, grating laughter echoed from the direction of the pool. Andrew was lounging by the poolside, an arm slung around a scantily clad model. Another face I didn’t recognize. Yes, he had never truly cared about me. Not even on the day I personally laid my mother to rest, he still brought a woman home. For three years, I had watched him replace one woman after another, my heart slowly hardening from agony to numb indifference. He claimed he wanted an apology from me, but in reality, he just wanted to use my mother’s final resting place as leverage, to grind me into his palm. I wouldn’t give him that chance again. “Stop. What was that message your assistant gave me supposed to mean?” I paused, but didn’t turn back. Andrew sneered, pushing the woman from his lap. “Your mother’s dead. You think that clears the debt? When your father forced my mother to her death, did he ever consider this day would come?” I looked at him and smiled faintly. “If she lacked the ability to protect herself, who else could she blame?” Andrew’s hand shot out, seizing my wrist. “Since you admit my mother was too weak to protect herself from your father, then the one lacking ability now is you! So I’m justified in tormenting you.” He snapped his fingers. His assistant immediately approached, holding a polished mahogany box. My pupils constricted. It was clearly my mother’s urn, the very one I had just buried with my own hands! “I heard you spent all your savings on that burial plot?” Andrew nudged the box with the tip of his leather shoe. “Pity, I just had someone dig it up. Guess what happens if my hand ‘slips’ now?” That was my mother. How dared he? For three years, I had endured his humiliation, his betrayal, even watching my own child vanish into blood. I thought I had reached the very depths of hell. But it turned out Andrew could be even more cruel. In a daze, I saw my mother’s face as she opened her eyes for the last time. Her thin fingers clutching the oxygen tube, offering me a smile of sweet release. “My sweet Evie, Mom won’t be a burden to you anymore.” She was the one person in this world who loved me most, who even chose death for my freedom. And now, the urn containing my last hope was being toyed with so casually by Andrew’s wedding-ringed hand. I lunged, mad with grief, but he easily restrained my hands, pinning me against the wall. He savored my breaking expression, then spoke slowly, methodically. “Want your mother to rest in peace? Fine. From today on, you’ll stay by my side and serve me. Until every last bit of what you owe me is paid back.” His words hung in the air, and then Andrew glanced towards the model approaching. “Go, dry her off. Quickly now.” 2 For the sake of my mother’s ashes, I had no choice. I picked up the towel, my fingers trembling uncontrollably. Four years ago, by this very pool, Andrew had wrapped this same towel around my body, kissing me amidst cheers and playful taunts. His ears had been flushed crimson, yet he had pulled me into a fierce embrace. Now, I was forced to act like a servant for Andrew’s latest conquest. The model suddenly giggled, complaining of tickles, deliberately wriggling her body. It was then I noticed her phone screen, placed beside the pool, was lit up – she was live-streaming! The comments scrolled wildly: “Isn’t that Evie Hayes? Working as a maid?” “Heard she’d stooped to anything to get ahead.” “Serves her right! Always hated her.” I snapped my head up, meeting the model’s challenging gaze. Andrew leaned back in his lounge chair, enjoying the spectacle. He was doing this on purpose. I turned to leave, but Andrew’s hand shot out, seizing my wrist. “Where are you going? Your father made my mother suffer a hundredfold. I’ll make you repay every single bit of it.” The model’s live video went viral that very night. #EvieHayesServesOthers and #EvieHayesExposed trended, racking up hundreds of millions of views. My phone vibrated endlessly, bombarded with abusive texts and death threats from unknown numbers. I switched off my phone. A single tear splattered onto the back of my hand. Andrew watched me cry, finally satisfied. After he left, the butler, Mr. Finch, approached, offering me a tissue. “Madam, please don’t blame the master. He’s just…” I waved him off, turning into my bedroom. The next morning, my door was violently kicked open. Andrew stood in the doorway, a petite figure clinging to his arm. It was her—Scarlett Davies, the starlet who had “accidentally” cut my safety wire on set. She stood behind Andrew, looking innocent and fragile, just as she had cried to the media, claiming it was “not on purpose.” My vision blurred. My mother’s last moments, pulling out her oxygen tube, flashed before my eyes, alternating with the image of the tiny, formed life on the ultrasound screen. He knew full well those hands were stained with our child’s blood, yet he indulged her, letting her trample over my heart again and again. Yes, this child was merely an accident to him. He wouldn't care. Scarlett suddenly dropped to her knees, her tears flowing on cue. “Evie, I’m so, so sorry. That day, I really didn’t mean to.” Then, she looked up, her voice barely a whisper, for my ears only. “But a bastard should never have been born anyway!” I lunged to slap her, but Andrew’s hand clamped down on my wrist, hard. He looked down at me, and from his pocket, he produced a familiar silver locket. It was the family heirloom my mother had worn her entire life. “Remember this? I found it in the urn.” I struggled to snatch it, but he casually tossed it to Scarlett. Scarlett caught it with a gasp of delight, then, right in front of me, she put it around her neck. This locket was a cherished Hayes family heirloom. When my mother had given it to Andrew years ago, she had smiled and said, “From now on, we’re family.” Back then, Andrew would respectfully call my mother “Aunt Evelyn.” He would anxiously offer her warm water when she coughed. He would arrange the best hospital for her the moment she fell ill. But later, he had savagely thrown the locket onto my mother’s hospital bed, declaring it a jinx. My voice trembled. “Andrew, you know what that locket meant to my mother.” He gripped my chin. “When your father forced my mother to jump to her death, did he consider what that meant?” Scarlett flinched at the sudden intensity. The locket slipped from her grasp, falling onto the marble floor. Scarlett frantically bent down, but as she picked it up, she fumbled and dropped it again. Time seemed to stop. I knelt on the floor, staring at the shattered locket. It was like that misunderstanding from years ago, tearing two families apart. “Tonight, Scarlett will stay in the master bedroom. You, clean this up.” Andrew put an arm around Scarlett and walked upstairs. Mom, I lost your last keepsake too. Outside the window, thunder cracked, and rain poured down. Just like that rainy night many years ago, when Andrew, drenched, stood outside my house just to coax me to sleep. And now, he was holding another woman, sleeping in the marital bed my mother and I had picked out together. This time, I didn't cry. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to a number that had been dormant in my contacts for years: “Attorney Miller, regarding my father’s case from back then, I need all the information.” 3 The message had barely sent when I heard faint laughter echoing from upstairs. Rain lashed against the window, like countless tiny needles pricking my heart. At three in the morning, I got up to pour myself some water in the kitchen. In the darkness, Scarlett suddenly appeared before me. “Evie, still awake so late? Oh, that’s right. Your mom’s dead, your baby’s gone, and even your last shred of dignity has been trampled by Andrew. Of course you can’t sleep.” I slammed the water glass onto the counter. “Scarlett, Andrew has so many women. Why are you so fixated on me?” She poked my shoulder. “How could those other women compare to you, Evie? Are you angry? How about we play a little game?” The next second, she turned and walked towards the balcony. “Evie, what do you think would happen if I jumped from here?” Before I could react, she had already climbed onto the balcony railing. “Ah! Evie, don’t push me!” My instincts took over, and I lunged, grabbing her arm. Just then, Andrew’s furious roar erupted from behind me. Scarlett’s body leaned backward, her terrified eyes reflecting my outstretched hand. Just like all those years ago. Andrew’s blood ran cold in that second. Memories flooded him like a tidal wave. Ten years ago, on a rainy night, he stood downstairs, watching his mother fall from the window. And in the window, my father’s silhouette flickered past. And now, I stood in the same position, my fingers almost touching Scarlett’s shoulder. “No!” His rage exploded like magma, incinerating his last shred of reason. How dare I? How dare I use the same method, once again, to take someone he cared about! In his vision, my face slowly overlapped with my father’s cold countenance. Of course, we shared the same blood. The next second, a massive force sent me sprawling to the ground. Andrew seized my throat, pressing me against the wall. “You and your father, you’re both murderers!” “No, it was her own choice.” I managed to gasp, the words raw and strained. Scarlett cried out, throwing herself forward to clutch Andrew’s leg. “Andrew! I’m so scared! Evie suddenly said she would make me pay, that she would push me off!” The butler, Mr. Finch, rushed in at the sound, desperately pulling at Andrew’s arm. “Sir! Sir, calm down! Miss Scarlett is unharmed!” I clutched my throat, my voice hoarse. “The security… the security footage…” “Enough!” Andrew bellowed. “I saw you standing behind her with my own eyes! My mother was killed by your father in the very same way!” He wouldn’t even listen to an explanation. It was always like this. Three years ago, it was like this, and now it was like this again. He would always only believe the truth he decided upon, never giving anyone else a chance to speak. But the cruelest irony was this: If he hated me so much, why wouldn’t he let me go? My mother was dead, I had endured endless humiliation for three years, and I had even lost our child. Wasn’t all that enough? Did I have to die to repay his mother’s life? Andrew finally calmed down after hearing Mr. Finch’s voice. He left, holding Scarlett, with a chilling “Be careful” for me. After his footsteps completely faded down the hallway, the old butler dared to step forward and help me, where I was slumped on the floor. “Madam, please don’t blame the master. He just… he doesn’t recognize his own heart!” The butler’s voice was filled with a poignant sadness. “All these years, everyone at the estate has seen it. The master’s study drawer still holds the gifts you gave him, the jasmine scent you love is replenished precisely on time every month, and your favorite foods…” Doesn’t recognize his own heart? I remembered Andrew’s furious eyes as he choked me. I remembered Scarlett’s triumphant smile as she wore my mother’s locket. I remembered the moans from my phone, the night our unborn child turned to blood. Enough. Three years of enduring, of conceding, of pain—it was all enough. I pulled my arm from the butler’s grasp and walked towards the bedroom. The next morning, I opened my eyes. My phone screen lit up, a text from Attorney Miller. I stared at it for three seconds, then, with a faint, detached smile, I opened my contacts. “Andrew Hayes, I need to see you.” This time, I would not hesitate, I would not be soft-hearted. Either we would go to hell together. Or I would personally tear apart the lies of these past three years. My phone screen lit up, Andrew’s name flashing. “3 PM, Northwood Studios, Stage 7. Kneel and apologize to Scarlett, or you’ll never see your mother’s ashes again.” 4 Scarlett had a new project recently, so Andrew must have been staying with her. As I pushed open the heavy, soundproof studio door, I found the entire set deserted. Suddenly, the clang of an iron door closing echoed behind me. Three men in crew uniforms emerged from the shadows. “Mrs. Hayes, isn’t it? Someone wants us to add a little extra scene for you.” I understood instantly. It was Scarlett. I stumbled backward, hitting a prop stand. My self-defense spray slipped from my bag. The men chuckled, one of them kicking the spray away with his foot. “Don’t be nervous, this scene is simple. Our client said she wants it filmed clearly.” I snatched up a prop knife and lunged, but received a sharp slap across the face instead. The sky had fully darkened by the time I stumbled out of the studio. My phone screen lit up, displaying a new message from Scarlett: “The video turned out really professional, want to see it? Andrew will be able to enjoy it soon, too! Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Andrew was in my bed all day today! He watched me send that message to you!” The night wind whipped my torn clothes, revealing the dried blood on my legs. I slowly sank to the ground, burying my face in my knees. So Andrew knew. This was his tacit approval. I thought his torment and humiliation were merely forms of revenge. But I never imagined he would allow something like this to happen to me. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, dripping onto the cold studio floor. In a daze, I remembered that summer night four years ago. At a noisy night market barbecue stall, a drunkard’s hand had just grazed my waist when Andrew seized a beer bottle and smashed it over his head. The man, face covered in blood, begged for mercy, but Andrew was like a furious beast, his fists breaking two of the man’s ribs, refusing to stop. Finally, I hugged him from behind, my voice trembling as I said, “Enough, Andrew, I’m scared.” Only then did he stop, turning to embrace me tightly, his voice hoarse and broken. “Whoever touches you, I’ll take their life.” And now, the man who once fought for me, had hired others to ruin me. I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling. The moment the screen lit up, Andrew’s heart skipped a beat. “Andrew Hayes, why won’t you let me go?” “Do you hate me or do you not want to let me go?” “Will you only be satisfied when I’m dead?” Every word was a needle pricking his heart. He stared at the message, his brow furrowing unconsciously. The tone of this message wasn’t about the apology he’d demanded earlier today. Last night, when he choked me, the look in my eyes exploded in his mind. In those eyes, besides hatred, there was a raw, unreadable pain. He turned to Scarlett, who was applying lipstick in front of the vanity mirror. “Has Evie arrived at the studio yet?” Scarlett’s movement paused imperceptibly, then she flashed a sweet smile. “Why are you asking about that, Andrew? Don’t worry about her. Shall we watch the rushes from yesterday, first?” Andrew didn’t move. He looked back at his phone, scrolling up. It was the message telling me to go to Stage 7. He scrolled further up. It was the text I had sent him, asking to see him. Andrew suddenly stood up. He clearly remembered he hadn’t sent Evelyn any messages today. Half an hour later, when Andrew arrived at Northwood Studios, Stage 7, it was completely empty. In the dim studio, there were only a few torn scraps of fabric. Looking closely, dark red bloodstains remained on the floor. His heart plummeted. His phone suddenly vibrated. It was a text from his assistant:
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