On my twentieth birthday, I married Alex Fleming. He set off fireworks for me over Victoria Harbor—a century's worth of light painting the sky.

On my twenty-eighth birthday, he brought home a pregnant girl and had her serve me tea. "This is my new eighth concubine, Lily Abbott. Honey, starting today, you'll help me take care of her."

The woman's pale eyes burned with ambition. She called me "sister" through gritted teeth, holding the teacup but refusing to kneel.

I wasn't surprised. My lips curled into a mocking smile. "This one isn't even as sensible as the previous seven. How many little sisters have you found for me out there? You might as well bring them all home at once."

"Jealous?"

He rubbed my lips, his smile teasing. "Honey, I told you—no matter how many women I have outside, you're the only wife who gets my last name."

I didn't collapse like before, screaming and making scenes. Instead, I stroked his face and played along. "It's my honor."

After all, only by staying in this position could I send him off properly at the end.

——

I reached for the tea—and Lily's body swayed. The cup fell and smashed right into my forehead.

Deep winter. The tea had long gone cold. My soaked clothes made me shiver, and when I opened my eyes, my vision blurred into something vicious through the dripping liquid.

Before I could say a word, she shrank behind Alex, playing the victim.

"Alex, I didn't mean to."

"The baby kicked me. I got startled and couldn't hold the cup."

Her voice trembled with fake tears, but her eyes were pure provocation. I stood, wiped the tea leaves off my face, and the bruise on my forehead throbbed so hard my tone went sharp. "A baby that hasn't even formed yet—where would it get a foot to kick you?"

Her face went white. Even her crying stopped. She clutched Alex's sleeve and wouldn't let go. "Alex, did she just curse our baby to be born without feet?"

Alex couldn't stand seeing a woman look weak and fragile. Noticing my forehead was only bruised, not bleeding, he tenderly rubbed Lily's belly and turned cold toward me for the first time.

"It's just clothes. I'll have the store send over all the new styles. Won't that do? You've been Mrs. Fleming for years—haven't you learned to be generous? Look how scared you made your little sister. What if you frighten the baby?"

"I just praised you for being sensible, and now you're being difficult again."

I opened my mouth. The bitterness in my throat, as I stood, twisted into a smile. Then I slipped a diamond bracelet off my wrist and clasped it around Lily's.

"Sorry. I was impulsive. Consider the tea served. This is a welcome gift—every sister who enters this house gets one. When you deliver the baby, I'll give you a red envelope too."

I looked calmly at Alex. "Honey, may I go upstairs to change?"

He froze. Seeing me so agreeable, he smiled in satisfaction, bent down, and pressed a hard kiss to my injured forehead.

"That's my good wife."

The pain made my fingers curl and my scalp go numb, but I didn't pull away. I looked at him with a happy face and smiled.

Mid-conversation, Sophie Turner called. He finally released me to answer. I turned to head upstairs—and Lily, ignored off to the side, dropped her fragile act and blocked my path. She deliberately thrust out her barely-there belly, staring at me like a predator sizing up prey.

"Mrs. Fleming, what's with the generous act in front of my man? You already saw what I left for you, didn't you?"

"Once I have this baby, your position as wife won't be so secure."

I laughed, unbothered by her rudeness.

"You deliberately put it under my pillow. Of course I could see it."

That bikini with water stains on it, and the body-shaped outlines pressed out on the glass—there was no way to miss them.

The fresh red marks on Lily's neck were deliberately shown through the collar that was never properly buttoned.

She was coming to provoke me.

Compared to the previous seven mistresses, Lily was more high-profile. Pretty features, an innocent purity about her, plus the ambition in her eyes that she didn't bother to hide.

It looked very familiar.

Eight years ago when I first met Alex, I was just like this.

Fearless. Reckless. And in the end, like a moth flying into the flame.

Thinking of the past, my heart was full of sarcasm.

I reached out and patted the back of her hand, speaking earnestly: "For the sake of us both being women, and for the sake of you having a child, I'll give you one sincere piece of advice."

"If I were you, I wouldn't choose such sexy underwear."

"He likes you because he happens to be missing someone innocent by his side. If you want to show off sexiness, there are plenty of women sexier than you."

After all, no matter how sexy she was, she wasn't as sexy as Alex's second mistress.

An international model, with nine-head proportions.

Three months after our child died, the media photographed her having a passionate night in a car.

They used up seven condoms.

Less than three days after I saw the report, Alex brought her into the house. She stood right where Lily was standing now, kowtowed to me, served tea, and I gave her an identical diamond bracelet.

Lily had obviously heard of the second mistress. She bit her lip unwillingly, suspicious of my purpose in saying these things.

Hearing Alex come back after hanging up the phone, I bent down and spoke close to her ear, passing on a few more points of experience: "From my experience, what Alex likes most is excitement and novelty—especially doing it by the window on thunderstorm days."

"However, you're pregnant. For the child's sake, you should sleep in separate rooms."

"After you give birth, there will be plenty of opportunities."

I saw the suspicion in her eyes disappear completely.

It turned into secret delight instead.

I turned to look out the window, then headed upstairs.

"I heard there's going to be a hurricane in a few days."

I hadn't gone far when I heard Alex say he was going to the Harbor District to see Sophie.

After Lily coquettishly acted unhappy, I heard the sound of a belt being undone, and her broken, intermittent panting.

I turned around in satisfaction, and suddenly heard Lily ask in a low voice.

"Darling, what she said just now about not letting me be intimate with you—was she jealous of me? Our baby is so well-behaved, nothing will happen, right?"

Alex lazily held her, and let out a careless snort: "Don't mind her. She hasn't been pregnant for years—what does she know?"

"Married eight years and no child? Is there something wrong with her?"

"There used to be. The child died in an accident."

My movement going upstairs paused. I didn't turn back.

Only the hand I had on the railing clenched so hard it hurt.

What Alex said after that, I didn't hear.

Back in the room.

Closing the door, I saw the child's innocent, adorable smile in the photo frame, and all the calmness I had maintained scattered completely.

My eyes swelled.

My nails dug into my palm. It hurt, but it wasn't even one ten-thousandth of the pain in my chest.

Alex didn't just forget that today was my birthday.

He also forgot that today was our child Ethan's death anniversary.

Six years ago, I was at the hospital taking care of my critically ill father.

When I got home, I found Ethan unconscious from an allergic reaction, his throat swollen, not waking up.

Even though I did first aid immediately and sent him to the hospital, he still gradually went stiff, and lay in the morgue ice-cold.

All that was left were his eyes, full of defiance, and a terrified "Mom" squeezed from his throat.

That day, I lost my child.

That same day, I lost my father.

At the funeral, the local media tore me apart—wall-to-wall coverage calling me a death omen, a lone star who killed her father and her child.

They said bad luck clung to me. That I killed my own son.

Old Mrs. Patterson even waited along my route and splashed chicken blood on me to "drive away evil."

Alex rushed to the hospital and didn't blame me. He sued over a dozen outlets for reckless reporting. He held me, told me again and again it was an accident, that I still had him.

After Ethan died, every six months a new "sister" moved in.

And I accepted every single one, obeying Alex's demands in almost self-punishing obedience, becoming a laughingstock in the local press.

Because I was terrified he'd leave me.

Until six months ago.

A box of film negatives arrived.

And I finally learned the truth about Ethan's death.

Through the haze, I swore I heard him calling "Mom" again.

I touched his photo and murmured, "Soon, Ethan. Mommy will get you justice. Very soon."

The next morning, before dawn, the bedroom door swung open.

Lily strolled in and sprawled across my bed like she owned it. She picked up Ethan's photo and laughed.

"So this is the dead kid."

"You still keep his picture around? Aren't you afraid it'll bring bad luck?"

I snatched it back and clutched it to my chest, voice ice-cold. "Get out."

She stuck her tongue out, unafraid.

The moment Alex walked in, she ran into his arms, tugging his hand, voice syrupy. "Honey, you said I could stay wherever I wanted. I pick this room."

"The windows are huge."

Without bothering to hide it, she pulled out little toys meant for lovers and set them on the nightstand—right where Ethan's photo had been.

Alex frowned and glanced at me, wanting to speak but stopping himself.

I turned away, placed the photo in front of my vanity, and set a bag of snacks beside it like I always did.

Behind me, her breathy voice wouldn't stop: "The doctor said babies need sunlight. And last time we had so much fun here... there are still marks from us on the glass."

"I've got even more exciting things we haven't tried yet."

"I heard there's a typhoon coming. Lightning and thunder—that's what makes it romantic..."

She'd learned fast. Every word I said yesterday, parroted back perfectly.

Today she wore a pure white dress, but her moves were shameless. She bit Alex's ear and whispered to him right in front of me, not taking me seriously at all.

He didn't agree right away. But his throat bobbed—clearly tempted.

I tucked away the mockery in my eyes and reminded him, staking my claim: "Alex. Did you forget what you promised me?"

This house was my father's legacy.

Back then, Alex had been penniless—the most invisible intern under my father. Because of me, he was kept close and taught everything.

My family's business became his foundation. He mortgaged this property for capital and inherited every connection my father left behind.

He made it. Five years ago, he tore down the old house and rebuilt it. He said he wanted to erase the bad memories, and so I could wake up to the ocean, he had an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass custom-made for my bedroom. After that, he set up one little love nest after another outside.

But we both understood without saying: no matter how he played around, those women would never set foot in this house.