The day I was released from prison and immediately went viral on every social media platform, Anya Prescott, my wife—no, my ex-wife—waited outside the federal penitentiary until deep into the night. Ten years ago, a student Anya had secretly sponsored used my architectural model to win a national competition. That’s when I learned they had a three-year-old child. Dean Miller had named my creation after the boy. I lost myself, struck out, and was locked away for a decade. Stepping out, I was no longer the brilliant, ambitious scientist I had been. I was a shell. I spotted a piece of discarded metal near a trash receptacle, picked it up, wiped it clean, and slipped it into my pocket. A nervous habit. A familiar, trembling voice came from behind me. “Gabe. I’ve been looking for you for days. Why didn’t you wait?” She grabbed my pale wrist, her touch jarring. “I never married anyone else, Gabriel. You have to believe me.” I gave a faint, detached smile and pulled my hand away. “Ms. Prescott, I’m flattered you’d joke. But your child must be starting middle school now, shouldn’t he?” Her pupils contracted, and her lips began to tremble. She was the key witness who had put me behind bars a decade ago. 1 Anya and I were photographed almost instantly. The headline GABE ASHTON STALKS ANYA PRESCOTT ON RELEASE immediately went to the top of the trending topics. The photo showed Anya’s back, making it look as though I had cornered her. The online community, who had been following the story of my release, erupted in outrage. He has no shame! First thing he does out of prison is harass Ms. Prescott! Terrifying. How is a psycho like this allowed back on the street? @DeanMiller protect yourself and your kid! I heard he only attacked him because she rejected his marriage proposal! Scientists going crazy are the worst. Absolute sociopath! Everyone began tagging Dean Miller. He responded quickly, posting a selfie from a lab with the caption: Everyone, rest assured. I am safe. I will protect the people who matter most to me. That little exchange earned him another wave of public sympathy. I logged off the feed. The next second, my phone rang. The number was unlisted, but I knew the sequence—it was once etched into my memory. I rejected the call without a second thought. Once, twice… I dragged the number directly into the blocked list. A text message immediately popped up from a new number. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would be like this. I’ll handle the media. I blocked that number too. I had just put the phone down when it rang again. I didn't check the caller ID. I answered, ready to unleash a torrent of suppressed anger, but a familiar, gentle voice came through. “Gabe, dear, the best way to prove yourself is to live your life well. I don’t want those awful online words to touch you.” My old middle school teacher, Ms. Reed. She continued, “Our district is hosting a robotics and intelligent modeling competition, and we’re short on an experienced mentor. Do you have the courage to come?” My eyes instantly welled up. She was my junior high teacher, the woman who first lit the spark for me in physics. Tears caught in my throat, I nodded. “Ms. Reed, I will be there. Thank you.” The voice on the other end caught. “Oh, good boy. I knew you’d find a way to stand back up.” After hanging up, my heart pounded for a long time. It was true—my life had nothing to do with Anya Prescott anymore. I followed the time and address Ms. Reed gave me and arrived at the high school lab precisely on time. I paused at the doorway when I realized two students were arguing heatedly. I decided to listen first. “My thermal-dynamic coupling model is absolutely right! My dad told me so! My dad is Dean Miller—his theory won a national prize! Who the hell are you?” Finn Miller’s eyes were bloodshot as he glared at a skinny, nervous-looking boy. “I’m not saying the theory is wrong, but the value you used is too high. It will burn out the circuit…” 2 “Bullshit!” Finn suddenly grabbed a handful of project materials off the table, ready to throw them at the other student. I quickly stepped forward to intervene, accidentally knocking Finn off balance. He froze for a moment, then shouted, “Who are you? Why did you hit me? I’m calling the police!” I looked coldly at the boy—he had Anya’s sharp features, but the arrogance of Dean Miller was unmistakably etched in his bones. “You’re Finn Miller? Your father is Dean Miller, so everything he says is automatically right?” I felt the blood rising in my neck. “Did your father ever tell you that he stole someone else’s work?” I couldn’t help myself. Confronting that stain on my life, that name, broke the dam. The words were out before I could stop them, and immediately, I regretted it. But it was too late. The incident escalated, and before the evening was over, the police were involved. That night, I was trending again. Everyone claimed I was obsessed with Anya, and since I couldn’t have her, I was seeking revenge by attacking her son. My temporary rental apartment was quickly tracked down. The door was covered in vile graffiti and hateful curses. Someone had even left a suspicious package on the mat—a cardboard box doused in red paint with razor blades taped inside. The landlord demanded I vacate immediately. As I was carrying my clothes—which had been thrown onto the floor—down the stairs, I ran straight into Anya. “I’m so sorry…” She nervously rubbed the edge of her coat pocket, looking down, but stealing glances at my face to gauge my reaction. The movement instantly flashed me back to Anya in middle school. I closed my eyes, trying to clear those toxic images. “Ms. Prescott, I never want to see you again. I just want a quiet life. Don’t show up around me.” Her eyes reddened, and her expression was guarded and pained. “Gabe, I just wanted to apologize. It’s fine if you don’t forgive me. We’re still old friends, and I can actually help—” “The best way you can help me is to stay far away.” I met her gaze squarely. “Anya Prescott, if I had known that meeting you would bring this much disaster, I never would have…” She interrupted me frantically. “Gabe! Stop! Please, I’ll leave.” I had forgotten. The past we shared, the one we could never return to, contained not only my scars but hers as well. Even after all these years, we both still knew exactly how to twist the knife in the other person’s deepest wound. When I first met Anya, she was the school’s favorite target for bullies. One afternoon, a few older high school kids had her cornered in an alley, pelting her with empty water bottles. “Your grandma is a junk collector, right? We’re helping you! How are you going to thank us?” “Little trash brought up by old trash. You stink!” A rush of misguided empathy made me step in front of her. “Her grandmother works hard to put her through school. There’s no shame in that.” “If your parents knew you were harassing people, that’s what would be shameful!” After that, I started splitting the breakfast my mother prepared for me with her. I helped her with her homework and supervised her study. We even worked side jobs together. She became my shadow, my loyal knight, always looking after me. During our senior year of college, she used her part-time earnings to buy a cheap, simple wedding dress. She put it on and stood before me. “Gabriel Ashton, I only want to marry you in this life. I will only marry you. Will you… will you be with me?” I smiled, lifting the veil she wore. “Yes, Anya Prescott. I’ll marry you.” The night of our wedding, she wasn't a good drinker, but she didn’t miss a single toast. She drank until her feet were unsteady and her mind was cloudy. Yet, she still stood before my parents and family, swearing her fidelity to the heavens. 3 “I, Anya Prescott, swear I will only ever marry Gabriel Ashton and only love Gabriel Ashton. If I break this oath, let the heavens strike me down, let me not find….” I stopped her foolish oath with a kiss. With the cheers and blessings of our families, I truly felt like the happiest man alive. She was an exemplary wife for the next few years. Even when her company grew busy, she always made time to surprise me. She took my parents on trips and helped my relatives’ children find jobs. She did everything she could to be good to me. And that’s exactly how she fooled everyone. Dean Miller was a student I had started sponsoring after college, a kid I personally introduced to Anya. In the first few years, when Anya’s company was just starting up, she worked nonstop. She would come home late at night, smelling heavily of smoke and alcohol. “Gabe, the men under me keep undermining me because I’m a woman…” As I massaged her temples, I thought of Dean Miller. He was smart, hardworking, and had a fierce, defiant persistence in his eyes. “Have Dean go help you. He’s bold and meticulous. He can be trusted.” That’s how Dean entered the company. Because I vouched for him, he gradually took over some confidential but tedious tasks. Anya had less to worry about and finally found some relief. She even started spending time with me in the lab. She would watch me tinker with different robotic models, then hold me from behind, her voice full of emotion. “When I was little, I always wished a Knight in Shining Armor would come save me and defeat all the bullies.” “I stopped wishing for that a long time ago.” I turned my head to ask why. “Because my Knight, my protector, came into my life when I was in eighth grade.” From that day on, in addition to my main research, I wanted to give her a surprise. I began to integrate the concept of protection into a model I was designing. It was meant to be my gift to her. Later, her career stabilized. Dean Miller became a regular fixture at our house. He often delivered documents or asked me for technical advice. I never held back any knowledge. Our relationship grew closer. He knew I loved tea and searched high and low for rare blends. He never missed a birthday. “Gabe, I wouldn’t be here without you. Ms. Prescott trusts me, and I can’t let either of you down.” My own research reached its most critical stage. I was the one spending all my time in the lab. Dean often took Anya’s place, bringing me dinner. I thought he was simply expressing gratitude. Until the day of the globally recognized model design competition. I saw my design—the one I’d poured my soul into—named after the boy, Finn. I saw Dean Miller’s signature as the sole author on the project summary. I wanted to ask Anya if she knew. Instead, I saw a small boy running back and forth outside her executive office. The woman I had spent fourteen years building a life with. She had a three-year-old child with another man. I stormed into her office. “Anya Prescott, is that child outside yours?” She merely looked up, detached. “Gabe, watch your tone and the setting.” “My tone? I am your legal husband! When did you get pregnant? How could I have—” My voice died in my throat, cut short by her cold expression. I suddenly remembered a time when I had traveled abroad for a seven-month seminar. The week before I was due back, she claimed she needed to expand the market, staying away from home for four months straight. I closed my eyes, unwilling to ask any more. 4 She leaned back in her leather executive chair. “Since you know, I won’t hide it. I’ve had the child. I can’t put him back. Your mother always complained I couldn’t bear children. The truth is, you’re the one who couldn’t.” I stared at the blatant cruelty on her face, seeing a woman I’d never known. She paused, then slid a stack of prepared documents across the desk. When I saw the word Divorce on the papers, I ripped them to shreds. I looked at the woman I had poured everything into supporting, utterly disbelieving. I refused to sign and, in a rage, went back to my parents' house. My mother, furious, marched to Anya’s office and slapped her publicly. “You’re despicable! Without my son, you’d still be scavenging for food! You ungrateful snake!” Anya’s eyes were filled with scorn. “Fine. Let’s see who really needs who.” That very day, Anya withdrew her investment from my father’s manufacturing company. The news spread like wildfire. The next day, competitors deliberately undercut my father’s bids, causing the company’s cash flow to collapse. Partners abandoned him. She even forced my relatives' children out of the company and blacklisted them across the industry. These were the same people who had gathered every penny they had to help Anya launch her company when she was short on startup capital. But in an instant, she had turned, ready to cut off everyone’s livelihood. My father suffered a stress-induced heart attack and was hospitalized. Anya eventually swallowed up the company for a fraction of its value. My mother, unable to bear the shock, fell gravely ill. Anya appeared again, tossing a new agreement in front of me. “Sign it. You walk away with nothing, but I’ll stop harassing your parents.” Looking at my father in the ICU, my hand trembled as I signed the papers. When I walked out of that house with my last few belongings, Dean Miller was waiting at the door. “Gabe, this is the right choice, isn’t it? If you’d just given up your spot sooner, would your parents have had to suffer like this?” He laughed triumphantly. All the anger and humiliation I’d stored up burst forth. I grabbed a utility knife from a nearby moving box and pointed it at him. “Get out of my house! Get out!” Instead of backing away, he lunged forward, grabbing my hand and plunging the blade deep into his own abdomen. Anya arrived just in time to rush him to the hospital. Under Anya’s manipulation, all the evidence pointed against me. No lawyer dared to take my case. She personally took the stand as a witness. “I saw Gabriel Ashton attack Dean with a knife out of jealousy. He is volatile and has repeatedly threatened Dean.” My hospitalized parents fought through their illnesses to run around, trying to save me. But Anya was resolute. She wanted me destroyed. On the day of the final verdict, my father coughed up a mouthful of blood on the courthouse steps. He didn't make it. Not long after, my mother also passed away. I was convicted of aggravated assault and given the maximum sentence: ten years. Now, I watch her call a press conference, releasing surveillance footage from the high school lab. She went to extreme lengths to clear my name. “Gabriel Ashton did not target the child. I will pursue legal action against all false statements online. Regardless of the full truth of the past, I owe him. I will not allow anyone to defame him.” I don’t know how much time passed. A single tear hit the black screen of my phone. The screen reflected my face, etched with a bitter, hollow mockery. 5 Dean Miller tracked me down as I was eating a cheap, ten-dollar bowl of plain noodles at a greasy spoon in a rundown part of the city. He pulled up in a sports car, wearing a costly suit—a jarring contrast to the neighborhood. “Gabe, why are you eating in a place like this?” He placed his designer briefcase on the table, glanced with disdain at the mismatched, stained chair, and didn't sit down. “Here’s a hundred thousand dollars. Leave the city. Don’t ever show your face to Anya again.” I kept my head down and continued eating my noodles, ignoring him. He wasn’t upset; instead, he leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice. “Ten years in prison didn’t teach you a lesson?” “Look at yourself—you’re a mess. How do you think you deserve her now?” I put down my chopsticks and looked up at him—at his designer labels, his desperate attempt to project success. His six-figure watch and thousand-dollar jacket couldn’t hide the scent of insecurity clinging to him. He hadn’t been doing well. “Dean, why the rush? What are you so afraid of?” His face twitched. “Afraid of you? Gabriel Ashton, look at yourself! Do you think I’m afraid of or jealous of an over-the-hill man who spent ten years in jail and has nothing to show for it?” “Then what’s the money for? In your mind, the successful Anya Prescott is only worth a hundred thousand dollars?” Dean seemed to realize his mistake. He clutched the briefcase, forcing a smile that was too wide, and raised his voice slightly. “You’re joking. I know you’re struggling right now, and I just wanted to help! But since you brought it up, if a hundred thousand isn’t enough, how much will it take for you to finally leave us alone?” His performance was nauseating. I stood up to walk away, but he grabbed a handful of my jacket near my waist. “Gabriel Ashton, Anya and I have a teenage son! Are you still going to cling to her? Are you really going to be the pathetic third party who won’t let go?” I pulled hard on my jacket. He held on stubbornly. In the struggle, my jacket was ripped down, exposing a section of my forearm—a winding, twisted burn scar. He stared blankly at it. I quickly snatched the jacket back, which knocked his briefcase onto the table. His phone slid out. That’s when I saw it. He had clipped a camera to the bag’s interior, running a live stream. OMG! He has so many injuries on his body! Must be prison beatings. Good! Serves him right! That looks terrible, but it doesn't look like a beating. Could he be self-harming? That explains the obsession! Poor Dean Miller! Look how desperate he is! The comments section was instantly flooded with malicious speculation. I shut off the live stream, unwilling to let so many people pry into my life. The moment the stream cut out, Dean's mask dropped. It was replaced by raw, frantic hatred. “Gabriel Ashton! How dare you come back? You’re a killer! You tried to kill me ten years ago, and you almost killed my son now!” “And now you’re stalking my wife, harassing her, and trying to ruin my family! If your parents knew how low you’ve become, they’d be turning in their graves!” His chest heaved, and spittle landed on my face. “Why are you staring at me? Am I wrong?” I swung a punch hard, the impact jarring my arm. Dean completely lost it, lunging at me to fight. Suddenly, a figure appeared, pulling me aside and stepping between Dean and me.
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