Second Chances: I Studied, I Struck Back

Soft, sensuous music drifted from the lavish villa, and in the hush of night it made the muffled sounds coming from inside even more intoxicating. Behind the closed door, two people were tangled together, and whatever scene was playing out sounded intense.

Through the crack in the door, Claire Bennett watched with a calm face as the two flushed figures on the bed moved in a private, rapt bliss. One was her conniving "sister," the other her fiancé. Both lost in it.

Claire smiled, sweet and satisfied. This decadent tableau was exactly what she had wanted.

Finally… this day had come.

01 Claire Bennett had transmigrated into a novel — a glittering family drama about a fake heiress and the woman who supposedly stole her life.

This story is so melodramatic it could’ve been spit out by a soap opera—like a modern-day switched-at-birth tale that makes you click your tongue in disbelief.

"Crispy Corner" went into "Merry Café’s" "Merry"—the “mei” of elegance.

Hazel Bennett and the original girl were born in the same hospital on the same day. Hazel’s mother, unable to raise her, swapped Hazel and the other baby, calling it “giving her a better life.” They painted it as a saintly act of maternal love…yeah, right.

For more than a decade, Hazel grew up as a pampered heiress in luxury while the other girl was branded a country bumpkin, neglected and abused by the woman who raised her, turning her into someone standoffish and withdrawn.

Later, Hazel’s birth mother missed her so much she went to work as a housekeeper in Hazel’s home, doting over Hazel with obsessive care. That imbalance shredded the other girl’s sense of fairness.

One day, the other girl’s real mother discovered by accident that the babies had been swapped. She reclaimed her biological daughter—but, unwilling to give up the girl she’d raised for years, she left Hazel with them despite Hazel’s protests.

Claire Bennett arrived—well-timed—with that exact moment of the swap being corrected.

"System, what were the original girl’s unfulfilled wishes?"

"She wanted revenge against Hazel Bennett and the male lead, Logan Hayes; to find true love; and…to study hard."

After the switchback, everyone still favored Hazel. Her biological parents, her brother—even the woman who had raised the other girl—kept favoring Hazel. Hazel’s fiancé, Logan Hayes, was Hazel’s childhood friend, and the other girl, without even realizing it, became a stumbling block in their romance.

Hazel publicly acted sympathetic but quietly used tears and a helpless act to hoover up everyone’s affection, gradually pushing the other girl away. She even maintained a boundaryless friendship with Logan despite him being engaged—calling it “just friends.”

In the end, prompted by Hazel, Logan coldly betrayed the other girl’s feelings, schemed to take a share of the Bennetts’ company, dumped the other girl, and ended up happily with Hazel—the sweet, innocent heroine.

The other girl was crushed socially, sank into depression, and was shipped abroad by the family like a problem—she committed suicide.

Nobody truly loved her all her life. When she left, the looks on their faces were only contempt and indifference.

As for studying hard…Claire guessed the original girl had once enjoyed learning, but after realizing she was an heiress, she lost herself and gave up studying. Regret was likely why she’d wanted to make amends.

"Don’t worry. This life I’ll make you live for yourself."

Claire was doing calculus while wearing a face mask, studying her reflection. The original girl had inherited strong genes from her birth parents—delicate features, tall—but her skin was darker and her temperament less refined than the pampered Hazel’s.

The Fey had a technique to cleanse the body and renew the complexion; with time, Claire could remake this body. But there were more important things now. If Hazel was a white-flower facade green tea—sweet on the outside, toxic within—Claire would take that path and leave Hazel nowhere to hide.

Morning light seeped through the tall windows, touching a corner of the villa. Claire had risen early, bustling in the kitchen, seeming industrious.

When Margaret Bennett came downstairs she found the recently returned daughter busy at work.

To her, this girl was neither unfamiliar nor truly known. Guiltily, Margaret felt more remorse than maternal warmth. Affection wasn’t rebuilt in a day, and this child didn’t much care for Hazel… "Mom, you’re up."

Claire smiled shyly; when she said "Mom" there was a flicker of fear and awkwardness, but her tone couldn’t hide genuine warmth. She set dishes on the table—aromatic, colorful, appetizing.

Margaret watched the girl’s timid, eager-to-please manner and felt something stir.

"Claire, you made so much. Aren’t you tired?"

"No, Mom. I’ve always been like this since I was little. It’s nothing…"

Claire played the part of grateful, worried-for-rejection child. "I just wanted you to taste food I cooked. I was afraid it might not suit you."

Claire watched Margaret’s expression shift from surprise to a tender pity and knew she’d touched the right chord. Right now, Margaret felt more guilt than affection for the child she’d reclaimed; as long as Claire used that pity, she’d be cherished.

"You’ve suffered, child."

Margaret reached over and stroked Claire’s head, guilt twisting her heart. This biological daughter didn’t hurl accusations—she acted small and careful—and Margaret felt worse.

"It’s fine, Mom. I’m already happy."

Claire didn’t overplay it. When the rest of the Bennetts assembled, she didn’t make a fuss.

"Mom, did we hire a new cook? This tastes awful," Ethan Bennett said in a lazy, bullying tone—definitely a school tough-guy.

"This was made by me…" Claire’s voice was soft, hard to read.

Ethan looked up. The dark-skinned girl at the table stared back with big eyes that ignited an inexplicable flare of anger in him. If it weren’t for her, why would his sister have left so upset?

"You made this? No wonder it’s terrible— even pigs wouldn’t touch it…"

His words were cut off by Margaret’s look; she nodded at Claire to reassure her.

"It’s fine, sweetie. It’s really good."

Claire’s eyes watered and she bowed her head, smiling gratefully at Margaret while internally smirking. She’d done it on purpose: not because she couldn’t cook, but because this gave her a handy emotional play. If you watch someone work hard to become competent for your sake, aren’t you more likely to be moved?

"Go on, everyone eat," Edward Bennett intervened, smoothing things over. He was too busy with the company’s affairs to care for household drama. The biological daughter was harmless if unremarkable—neither loved nor disliked. His idea of mercy was to find her a decent family to ease his conscience.

After the tense meal, Claire put down her cutlery and faced the family directly.

"Dad, Mom, there’s something I want to discuss—about Hazel."

Claire’s darker face held a timid look. Before she could finish, Ethan leapt up cursing and pointed at her.

"Claire, don’t act ungrateful. What are you trying to do to my sister?"

He wanted to continue and say worse, but Margaret stopped him. Her gaze toward Claire turned guarded, though she wore a calm face.

"Claire, Hazel’s already had a hard time…"

Margaret’s eyes glistened. She regarded the girl at the table like a stranger.

"I think you misunderstood me," Claire said, voice steady. "I mean, bring Hazel back here."

Pain filled Claire’s eyes. A tear trembled but refused to fall; she stared at Margaret and Ethan like that.

For a moment neither of them knew what to say. Margaret had already arranged for Hazel to stay in another villa, planning to bring her back when the time was right. When Claire volunteered Hazel’s return, she’d assumed Claire had other motives—this wasn’t what she expected.

"Dad, Mom, brother, I know how much you love Hazel. Even if it’s hard for me…"

Claire lowered her head, masking her discomfort with a show of anguish. "But I can’t bear to see you unhappy."

The Bennetts were stunned. Claire straightened and, face streaked with tears, managed a small smile.

"If Mom and Dad are happy, then I’m happy too."

Margaret’s heart clenched. The child’s thoughtfulness was heartbreaking. For Hazel’s sake, she could make concessions.

"You silly thing…thank you."

In her previous life Claire had refused to let Hazel return, even threatening suicide because she knew that if Hazel came back, any shred of love she’d beg for would disappear forever. She was terrified and clung desperately to scraps of pity. In the end, even with every scheme tried, Hazel’s tears won out and Margaret brought her back—then blamed Claire for being immature.

So now Claire decided to yield outwardly. Better to retreat and win pity than to fight. She’d stack the odds and blindside Hazel when the time came.

When Margaret happily told Hazel the good news, Ethan felt sour. Seeing Claire, who didn’t fit in with the house, only stoked an unnamed ire.

"Come here."

Ethan looked at the so-called biological sister with a curt tone.

"Claire, what do you actually want?"

Claire’s face shifted from sorrow to something unreadable—calm and precise in a way that unsettled him.

"Ethan, admit it. You’re biased against me."

She spoke slowly. "To be exact—you dislike me."

Each word landed like a needle. Ethan’s ears burned. He did hate her—how could he not? Wasn’t she the reason the family ended up this way?

He opened his mouth but couldn’t retort. As he hesitated, someone else—someone who had intended to leave—stopped, turned, and with a sad, self-mocking tone and a single tear in his eye said, "Aren’t I a victim too? Maybe I don’t deserve to be loved."

By the time Ethan processed it, the figure was already walking away, leaving only a retreating silhouette.

04 When Claire Bennett chose to go to the public school, the whole Bennett household was shocked. Public school was tougher and more challenging. In her previous life Claire had been misled by Hazel Bennett into attending an elite international school, where she was bullied, laughed at, her studies ruined, and her spirit crushed—while Hazel thrived there despite mediocre grades, surrounded by admirers, putting on a nauseating onstage romance every day.

This time, Claire had no intention of going back to that gilded nightmare. It was toxic, and it would ruin her focus.

A villainess who doesn’t actually study isn’t a real cunning social climber.

But when she ran into Logan Hayes and Hazel at the school, Claire almost lost it.

“Claire, you’re avoiding me on purpose.”

Under the sun, the two of them in designer clothes looked perfectly matched—hands intertwined, the picture of a golden couple.

Claire, however, preferred oversized, ordinary athletic wear. It felt real.

Logan had seen Claire before—at their engagement ceremony months earlier—so this wasn’t their first meeting. They were technically engaged. Compared to the shyness and restraint of that last encounter, Claire this time barely acknowledged him.

“Logan, could you stop being so full of yourself?”

Claire rolled her eyes, glanced at their clasped hands, then rolled her eyes again as if it still wasn’t enough.

“Sis, don’t decide things like this just because you’re avoiding us,” Hazel said, eyes brimming with tears, looking terribly aggrieved.

“Hazel, I’ll have Mom and Dad take you back home if you want. I’ll give you my fiancé. I’ll give you my parents. Whatever you want, you can have it.

Just—don’t mess with my stuff.”

With that, Claire ignored the two of them and walked off.

She had her reasons for not attending the elite school.

The social standing between kids at public and elite schools wasn’t that different, but public school was better for studying. The atmosphere was healthier—everything was based on your own merit, unlike the elite school, which was full of fluff and prioritized family connections. It tolerated less; family background always came first.

And besides… Hazel loved stealing people’s boyfriends. Claire would hand them the chance to fall for each other—let the sparks fly and things get serious.

Maybe her old-life Hazel would sneer, but this Hazel, who’d grown used to life as a wealthy heiress and suddenly discovered she was a fraud, wouldn’t be able to keep up her prim-and-proper act. That would be entertaining.

On her way to class, Claire noticed that everyone seemed focused on studying; there was little horseplay. In the stairwell she saw a boy pass by—his steps were so quick Claire only caught his profile, but it was enough.

He was a handsome boy.

She wondered if his full face was even more striking.

Before she could dwell on it, she arrived at her classroom.

During the teacher’s brief intro, Claire spotted a boy sitting in the back. Head down, sunlight fell across his face; his lashes were long and thick, his features still carrying a boyish innocence that made Claire’s chest feel warm.

A boy who could make a fairy lick her lips.

As she stared, he looked up. His eyes were a little lost—her intense, focused gaze made him quickly look down and return to his book.

“Congratulations, host. Target identified. This person is highly valuable to your objectives.”

Claire smirked inwardly. Of course she wanted to win him over—who doesn’t like a pure, beautiful boy?

Of course, years later Claire would remember this moment with bitter irony during nights when someone kept wearing her out in bed and she’d cry over her own misjudgment.

“Hi. Mind if I sit here?”

Claire smiled brightly, radiant. The boy pretended not to hear, but his faintly flushed ears betrayed him.

Claire wasn’t offended; she wrote her name on a slip of paper.

[Hi, I’m Claire Bennett. What’s your name?] She handed the note to the boy. He saw it but didn’t reply—he picked up a book and kept reading.

She glimpsed his notebook; the handwriting was bold and precise, and a name was written neatly.

“Evan Clarke.”

Claire smiled and whispered, “Evan, your name is so pretty.”

The boy’s back stiffened; he didn’t answer. His cool expression didn’t show much, but the slight furrow in his brow revealed his confusion.

After the first class, the counselor called Claire into the office. Ms. Parker was a pleasant but stern young woman.

“Claire, the principal informed me your family’s circumstances are quite privileged…” Ms. Parker paused, then continued, “There’s a student in the class, Evan Clarke. His family situation is special. Please be mindful of his dignity.”

Ms. Parker spoke delicately, but Claire caught the meaning: some wealthy kids could be thoughtless and hurtful without meaning to.

Claire nodded and left. In the hallway, Evan’s thin figure looked particularly lonely in the September breeze.

His clothes were plain—worn canvas sneakers slightly faded—yet his face was ridiculously handsome, and his clear eyes shimmered in the sun. He still looked a little embarrassed.

Claire reached for Evan’s hand and walked forward. The boy’s palm was slightly sweaty.

Maybe the September wind was too warm and melted the boy’s composure, revealing how unsettled he actually was.

“Did you hear that?” Claire tilted her head to look at him; tiny beads of sweat dotted his nose, his mouth was so inviting it made her want to bite it.

“You don’t have to treat me specially. I’m not that fragile.”

Evan’s expression remained calm, as if discussing something distant; a faint smile hovered in his eyes.

“Of course not.”

Claire turned her face toward the sunset and smiled.

“To me, my classmates are just classmates.”

“They shouldn’t be labeled anything more than themselves.”

Evan didn’t speak; he only nodded.

It was the first time he’d heard that response. His childhood had been harsh—his mother died early, his father was sick, he had to work part-time to afford tuition. Relatives said he was unlucky; classmates were polite but distant.

Even if he was strong, he was only eighteen.

“And I know Evan is amazing. You always get first on the exams.”

Claire’s voice was gentle as a breeze; Evan relaxed. He didn’t want special favors—just to be treated like a normal person. That was enough.

“Thanks.”

When the bell rang, his voice was drowned out. Claire walking ahead heard his quiet reply and turned, smiling at him.

“What did you say, my desk mate?”

“Nothing, go back.”

Over time Claire discovered Evan really was exceptional. He read books unrelated to class—advanced math and complex programming texts—and had already mastered the textbook material.

No wonder the system told her to win him over. He was a genius—exactly the kind who played dumb but was secretly brilliant.

“Evan, I’ll give you this ice cream if you teach me this problem.”

“Evan, I’ll do the cleaning duty if you teach me this problem.”

“Evan, teach me this problem…”

Their rapport grew. Evan would sigh but set his book aside to explain problems to her.

“You have no principles, Evan.”

Claire grinned mischievously, like a little sprite.

“You can be bought with an ice cream.”

Evan just shook his head, saying nothing. Claire, of course, was shamelessly pleased with herself.

“Evan, I’ll buy you ice cream if you teach me, okay?”

A girl from class walked over. She’d been watching Evan and Claire’s interactions and felt inexplicably peeved. She’d once considered helping Evan—she’d even talked to her dad about sponsoring him—but he’d refused.

And now Claire got him with one ice cream.

“Evan?”

Evan acted as if he hadn’t heard and continued reading.

“Didn’t hear? Evan?”

After several tries Evan finally looked up.

“I thought you were so proud. Turns out you just like climbing to higher branches.” The girl looked meaningfully between them, eyes full of scorn.

Some students gathered to watch; others thought the girl had gone too far. Classmates buzzed with gossip.

Claire stood up. Her height and presence gave her authority.

“How old are you, little sister? Need help? Taking someone by force now—is that your method?”

The girl had intended to save face but realized she couldn’t argue, her face flushing crimson. After the bell she stormed back to her seat in embarrassed fury.

People dispersed and returned to their seats.

After everyone left, Claire scribbled something on a note and passed it to Evan.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.”

Evan laughed in disbelief—how could he be afraid here? But still, he graciously explained one more problem to Claire.

05 After the school exam there was a holiday. Claire returned to the Bennett household. Hazel had arrived before her; the family was lively and cheerful. Ethan Bennett was the first to spot Claire—who knew how long she’d stood at the door.

After some time apart, Ethan noticed his plain-looking sister had become much more attractive—her skin brighter, her bearing improved. She finally looked like one of the Bennetts. Hazel noticed the change too.

“Claire, you’re back.”

Margaret and Hazel were chatting when they saw Claire at the doorway and waved her over.

“Hazel says she and Logan went to school to find you.”

Claire already knew Hazel would mention that—and probably exaggerate—so she just nodded, signaling Margaret to continue.

“Claire, if you and Hazel get along, Mom will be happy.”

Claire didn’t argue. She lowered her head and looked at her shoes.

"Mom, I can give her everything. As long as you’re happy."

After she said that, Claire Bennett’s tears fell drop by drop. She gently set down the gifts in her hands — four in total, one of which belonged to Hazel Bennett.

Margaret Bennett’s chest twisted at the sight. Her daughter had been away so long, and to come back and be treated like this—she felt awful.

Margaret had been prepared to treat Claire well, but when Hazel returned crying and said Claire was targeting her, Margaret had softened. She hadn’t expected… "Claire… I…"

Before Margaret could finish, Claire wiped her tears and went back to her room. The room had once been a spare room remodeled into a bedroom: just as pretty as the others, but it was still a guest room at heart.

Inside, Claire had shed any trace of the pitiful act. Calmly, she pulled out the calculus problems Evan Clarke had left her and started working through them.

Downstairs, Margaret opened the gift box Hazel had left and found a necklace. It wasn’t expensive, but it was creative. The card bore neat handwriting and a message that wasn’t simple, yet it made Margaret’s eyes sting.

"Mom, I’ve never given you a gift before.

I know a present only has meaning if you buy it with your own money. I used the money I earned from my weekend job to buy this. I hope you like it."

Signed: Your daughter who hopes you are happy, Claire Bennett.

Margaret’s nose prickled. She remembered that Hazel had always been pampered — everything she wanted, she got. Claire had grown up in the countryside and even helped with farm work. When Claire went to school, Margaret gave her a card and didn’t call once that month. As a mother, she had never proactively bought Claire a present — yet Claire had worked to buy one for her.

Guilt swelled inside her. She left the room and found Hazel standing in the living room.

"Mom, are you okay?"

Margaret shook her head and didn’t answer; her eyes were red. She was about to go back to Claire’s room when Hazel grabbed her hand from behind.

"Mom… Claire is very good at acting."

Hazel’s voice was quiet, but Margaret heard it clearly. She turned to face Hazel, understanding her daughter’s feelings, but hearing her speak like that about Claire disappointed her. Hazel had always been kind — she shouldn’t be steered the wrong way.

"Hazel, I understand how you feel, but Claire is a good girl. She suggested you come back herself. And this time she worked to buy gifts and didn’t forget to include one for you."

Margaret spoke earnestly. For a moment she felt it wasn’t Claire who needed teaching but Hazel.

"Hazel, Claire can make room for you. I hope you can make room for her too. After all, it’s us who owe Claire. Do you understand?"

Hazel felt her grievance deepen. She sensed her mother’s shift — and she had always assumed her mother and little brother were on her side.

Right… and her brother.

"It was Ethan who told me. I believed him."

Hazel thought of how much her brother favored her, and how he disliked Claire. A small fib seemed harmless.

At that moment, Ethan Bennett appeared behind them. Margaret scolded him, and he didn’t argue — he only listened quietly.

After Margaret left, Hazel moved forward to comfort him, but Ethan stepped back.

"Sis, you lied."

Ethan took the blame off Hazel without exposing her. But since Hazel had returned, he had noticed her change and couldn’t help feeling put out.

"Sorry, Ethan. I’m just so afraid of losing you."

Hazel couldn’t hold back her tears and reached for Ethan. He stepped away at first, and Hazel looked at him with real hurt — not an act. She stepped closer again. This time he didn’t move and allowed her to hug him.

"Ah… sorry. You’re making too much noise. You’re interrupting my studying."

Claire leaned against the wall, half smiling, half mocking as she watched the siblings clinging to each other. The heroine in this story was a bit much — not only did she try to snag her brother-in-law, now she was after her brother.

"Don’t talk nonsense. Ethan and I have been close for over ten years."

Claire approached Ethan, casually reached out, and ruffled his hair. Ethan froze, his ears flushing bright red.

"Hazel, Ethan and I are biological siblings, so that’s fine. You two aren’t — there’s a line between men and women. No matter how close you are, you should avoid impropriety."

Claire brewed some coffee, sipped it, and with a sly grin added, "I’m telling you for your own good. If my fiancé, Logan Hayes, found out…"

She trailed off when she saw Hazel’s squashed expression, satisfied, and left after patting Ethan’s head again.

Honestly, stroking heads was fun.

Claire remembered that in the previous life the heroine hadn’t even spared her own brother — a blooming white lotus who divided hearts into pieces.

Once Claire left, Ethan, still embarrassed by the hair ruffle, had no interest in staying. He ignored Hazel’s attempts to stop him and hurried off to his room to wash his hair, muttering a string of curses at Claire.

"You bitch," Ethan swore under his breath, then realized that was his mom. It didn’t sit right, so he swallowed it, tossed the limited-edition basketball Claire had given him into the hoop, and felt better.

At six in the morning, Claire got a call from Evan Clarke while still in bed. His voice on the other end was raw with anxiety and helplessness, even a faint sob bleeding through like a small, frightened dog.

"What’s wrong, Evan? Speak to me. I’m here."

Claire soothed him gently and listened in bits and pieces.

"Claire, can you lend me a hundred thousand? My dad’s bleeding heavily and needs emergency surgery."

Evan sat in the long hospital corridor. It was four a.m. The crabapple trees in the alley should be blooming, but he sat in darkness. Despair filled him.

When hope felt impossible, he saw a girl open a door and rush toward him like a shaft of light.

"I’m coming, Evan."

Claire had rushed over as soon as she got the call. She didn’t hesitate — compared to a life, money meant nothing. Besides, this was Evan’s only father. No matter how strong he seemed, he was only eighteen.

Claire stayed with Evan to get the paperwork done, then bought him breakfast. It was now six in the morning. Evan’s father had just been stabilized. Evan, exhausted, had collapsed into a chair in the corridor and fallen asleep.

No one knew that when Claire arrived, his heart felt like something hauled out of water by warm hands. For an instant, he had been tempted to sell his skills on the dark web, illegally hack into a site. He had feared becoming the kind of person who’d curse his parents to death.

Compared to his father’s life, his own future seemed insignificant. In this world, a hundred thousand can be a trifle to the rich, but it can snuff out a poor man’s life — or the future of a promising young man.

He thought of Claire’s always-smiling face. There was no one else he could turn to.

Half asleep, he felt movement and saw Claire in a little dress step in from the backlight, sit beside him, and gently pat his head. He hated it when people touched his head, but with her he let it be.

"Thank you…"

Evan mumbled, and Claire only shook her head. She leaned close and whispered something too soft for him to catch; he drifted off again.

When he woke, she was gone, leaving only a note.

"No need to thank me. You’ll owe me one."

His face flushed. Claire must have been a flirt in her past life.

Back at the Bennett living room, "flirt" Claire was on trial — everyone demanding to know where she had gone the night before.

The informer was Hazel. She’d seen Claire sneaking out at three or four in the morning and made a show of it at breakfast, pretending it was casual. The Bennetts prized family reputation above all, so they insisted Claire explain herself.

"Claire, just tell Mom and Dad what you did. They’ll forgive you."

Hazel smiled, concerned and sincere.

Claire knew Hazel had been spying when she snuck out. She’d played into it on purpose, putting on a guilty look. The act had to be convincing — she couldn’t exactly waste the heroine’s sacrifice, after all.

"Mom, Dad… I really didn’t do anything. Please believe me."

Tears streamed down Claire’s face as if she were utterly wronged. That made Margaret and Edward even more irrational.

Not being able to tell… this was intolerable.

"Say it!"

Edward’s patience snapped. He struck Claire across the cheek. He’d always thought of himself as upright — stern, cold, but dignified.

"Yaoyao… come on, tell us. If you say it, we can help you fix it."

Hazel looked at their mother’s sorrowful face and tried to soothe her while speaking. Margaret thought she knew Hazel’s personality—but she didn’t understand Claire Bennett at all. In her heart, she was already ninety percent sure what had happened.

"Dad, Mom, do you really think I’m that sort of person?" Claire lifted her head, grief making her look like a wounded blossom.

"I’ll say it!

Last night I went to the hospital."

Edward and Margaret exchanged a guilty glance: oh no…didn’t she go for an abortion?

"Hospital?

You had an abortion?"

Hazel’s face showed shock, like she was looking at something filthy.

"An abortion… is that what you all think?" Claire murmured. She was enjoying the performance too much—playing the tragic, stubborn little victim fit perfectly. The act was set.

The dirtier their suspicion, the deeper their remorse would be when the truth came out.

"Dad, Mom, here’s the hospital bill.

My classmate’s dad had severe bleeding and needed surgery. I lent him my allowance." Claire’s eyes were full of stubborn resolve.

Edward was silent a moment, then pressed on, unwilling to let it go: "That’s a good deed—what else are you not telling us?"

Claire wiped her tears and forced up a self-deprecating smile. "Do you know?

I’d never seen a thousand dollars before. Ten thousand was a fortune to me.

When I was little I once took Mom’s ten dollars and she nearly beat me senseless…"

Edward looked at his daughter in disbelief. Her face was pained, despair clinging to her—so much so that even his cold heart softened a little.

"Why did you never tell us…?" His voice thickened. He genuinely couldn’t believe that ten thousand in allowance meant so much to his own child. He thought of the hard slap he’d given her—and felt a prick of regret.

"Do you know?

When I looked at him I saw myself—we’re both kids with cursed luck.

Mom, Dad, are you sure you’re not biased?"

Tears fell from Claire, and the red marks on her face made her appear pitiful as she voiced the grievances of the girl she’d become in her previous life.

The hospital receipt was solid proof. Their daughter Claire Bennett hadn’t been wasting money—she’d helped a classmate with her only pocket money.

Margaret remembered Claire always watching her with eager, cautious hope—so hungry for a mother’s affection that Hazel received effortlessly. Her own daughter had worked so hard and still gotten nothing. The accusation of favoritism cut deep; Margaret’s tears slipped down her cheeks.

Yes. In this moment she had to admit: her heart had leaned toward Hazel. If it had been Hazel, how could she stand by and watch her husband strike her? How could she repeatedly wrongly accuse her or let her shoulder suspicion and humiliation alone?

"I’m sorry, my Claire…" Margaret whispered.

Claire lowered her head without answering. She was silent for a long time, shutting out everything around her.

"Dad, Mom, I don’t blame you. I only blame myself."

She quietly packed and returned to school. Leaving, she was distant but polite—the silhouette of her back a long, endless stretch of loneliness and disappointment.

On Route 07, Claire hummed cheerfully. How could she not be happy thinking of the Bennetts’ reactions?

Hazel’s repeated scheming had failed again; trust in her would be diminished.

And people—how they ache when they finally realize what a precious thing they almost lost. Guilt, regret, pity—they ferment into something heavier. When the heart’s ill grows, only the right remedy can cure it.

Sunday night self-study: Evan Clarke saw Claire lazily working through an extra set of harder worksheets, and his ears went a little pink.

He felt oddly unsettled as he sat down. Autumn wind teased the window; sheets of sunset clouds burned bright. Classmates chattered about clubs and gossip, but Claire and Evan sat in the back row. Many students thought the two of them looked impossibly good together.

Evan had always been handsome—he stood out even in a school full of attractive guys. Quiet, reticent Evan was the center of female whispers. Claire hadn’t been especially striking when she first arrived, but two months in she’d become radiant, fair-skinned, still a bit youthful but already blossoming into a beauty.

Claire didn’t notice the undercurrents around her; she read quietly until she felt a hot gaze.

"What’s wrong with your face?" came the cool voice behind her. The ticking clock and murmuring students blurred around Evan’s close presence. Claire felt him lean nearer; even the little mole beneath his lashes was clear, making him look even more handsome.

"What, did someone hit your face?" Evan’s voice softened into unexpected tenderness, a kind of worry even he hadn’t meant to show.

"It’s nothing." Claire waved it off, blinking and smiling as if it didn’t matter.

Logically, a small bruise like that would heal quickly using the charm-based regimen she knew.

But she’d done it on purpose—to make Evan feel protective. It was their little game.

Smart Evan guessed the truth. That sum of money had been significant; Claire helped because of him. Watching her nonchalant smile, he felt a tickle in his chest, like a cat pawing at him, making his nose sting.

As soon as self-study ended, Evan tugged Claire, intent on going to the hospital.

"I’m not going. Hospitals are so dark." Claire protested, clutching Evan’s hand and batting her huge eyes.

"I already mustered up courage to come find you that day." Evan couldn’t help her when she acted like that. He did have a first-aid kit at home—very barebones, admittedly—"My place has a kit. Will you come?"

His cool voice sounded out of place among the noisy crowd; moonlight gave his face an expression Claire couldn’t read.

She’d never seen Evan react so uncertainly even when classmates gave him odd looks. His gaze flickered, his head dipped. The proud, stubborn boy’s ears were flushed.

So Evan could feel insecure too… Claire’s chest tightened for no reason. She reached up and smoothed his hair, again and again.

"Evan, if you take me, I won’t be scared." Her soft words sank into him like a pebble in a still pond. In the dark, his eyes glistened with red—tears no one could see.

Back in Evan’s small apartment, his father was still in the hospital recovering. Though out of immediate danger, Mr. Clarke needed observation, so Evan lived alone for now.

Evan switched on the desk lamp to brighten the shabby room, sat on a worn wooden chair, and took out the first-aid kit to ice and dress Claire’s face.

His hands were so practiced it was almost painful to watch. No one knew how helpless eight-year-old Evan had felt watching his mother collapse. No one knew how many cruel taunts and insults had come after she died.

"Has a mom but no one to raise you."

"Your mom killed herself, she’ll kill your dad next."

Those slurs crashed like waves. He’d have fought the kids who mocked him until they cried, returning home wounded to his father’s pale smile and burying himself in books.

Rain began tapping the windows. In the little room, the warm light made everything feel cozy; it haloed Evan’s face and made him look gilded. Claire thought he seemed ever more fairy-like, and her hand grew mischievous—she wanted to poke that nose bridge that was just too perfect.

"Don’t move…" Evan warned in his usual cool, youthful tone, but if you listened closely there was something different.

Evan’s ears matched the flush of his lips. No matter how innocent, he was still a hot-blooded boy. Claire smiled wickedly, sliding back into her plaintive act. "Evan, my face hurts because of you… boo hoo…"

Her mock-woe left Evan stuck and sighing; he blew on her bruise gently.

"Really doesn’t hurt now. Evan, you’re amazing." Claire gave him a look that made him jittery.

"If I could touch your face, maybe it’d heal faster." Evan’s ears felt like they were burning, but he obliged—leaning in and offering his cheek.

Claire treated him like a giant, affectionate dog, stroking his head and nose until she’d had her fill.

She remembered that scrap of paper and whispered into his ear, "Weren’t you going to give yourself to me?" She smiled wickedly—a sprite—and the room’s atmosphere turned suddenly, deliciously ambiguous.

"Claire, you’re still a kid. Don’t talk nonsense…"

Claire laughed—clear and bell-like. Mischievous as she was, she loved teasing people she found interesting.

"No need for you to sacrifice yourself or anything…"

Evan couldn’t tell if he felt relieved or a little let down. He just watched Claire quietly. Under the warm light, her eyes shone like a fawn’s in the woods.

"Help me study, rain or shine."

Claire propped her chin on her hand and thought for a moment, then winked at Evan.

So, while rain tapped at the window, the lamp in the little room stayed on all night. The two of them studied together.

"This problem is really hard. Teach me."

"How many ways can this formula be used again?"

"Are there any derivative question types from this problem?"

…Claire was a patient little sprite. When she set her mind to something, no matter how dry it was, she threw herself into it wholeheartedly.

"Evan, you have to become someone amazing."

Claire suddenly lifted her fluffy head from the textbook, her expression serious.

Evan really was smart. He grasped things instantly, even dipping into coding that Claire couldn’t begin to understand.

Maybe it was Claire’s bright eyes and earnest expression that stopped him in his tracks. They looked at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Evan solemnly nodded.

Somehow the rain had stopped and the night faded. A red sun slowly rose on the horizon.

Claire saw Ethan again on an ordinary afternoon in early winter. She hadn’t gone home in over a month, and the money her mother sent hadn’t been used.

Ethan pulled up in a flashy sports car that clashed with the modest crowd around it. He had the family’s refined features, so many girls turned to stare and whisper.

"Claire, someone’s looking for you."

Claire had already seen Ethan through the window, but his swagger made her annoyed, so she pretended not to care.

After being called three times, Claire lazily stood and walked out of the classroom.

"Claire, Mom wants you home at the end of the month."

Claire ignored him and kept reciting the long English passage in her head.

"Don’t be so cocky, Claire."

The little sprite didn’t spare him a glance.

"If you have something to say, say it. If you just want to fart, go ahead—I have plenty of assignments to do."

From her seat by the window she could see Evan pretending to study, but his wandering eyes betrayed his nervousness. Ethan’s sudden appearance had unintentionally made him jealous.

"Claire!"

"Ethan, don’t shout at me."

Ethan ground his teeth; Claire was shamelessly pushing his buttons and she did it perfectly.

"Okay, tell me—what’s Mom offering you?"

Claire lazily lifted her head; the sunlight was sharp enough to make her squint as she yawned. She didn’t believe Ethan had come without an incentive.

"Claire!"

Ethan grew angrier watching her act like she didn’t care.

"You’re my brother, right?" Claire’s face bloomed with a big, dazzling smile.

"Say ‘sis’—say it for me."

Ethan couldn’t resist—he wasn’t about to give in… and then, "Sis…"

Alright, fine. For the new sports car, he would.

"Oh, too quiet. Say it louder."

Ethan: ???

This girl must’ve been a monkey in a past life—always climbing the pole.

"SI S!"

Claire smiled in satisfaction and snuck a hand to ruffle the kid’s thinning hair.

He fluffed even more.

"Tell Mom I’m coming home at the end of the month."

Ethan calmed himself, telling himself at least the car was secured.

When Claire returned to her seat, Evan was clearly avoiding her. He even put his calculus book away.

Immature. Completely immature!

She liked him that way.

"What’s wrong, Evan? Why are you acting like that?"

Claire puckered her lips adorably. Evan didn’t answer.

"Evan, Evan…"

Evan couldn’t resist her pleading cuteness forever. Finally he let out a few words.

"You smiled at him a moment ago."

Claire started to explain, but Evan continued, "And you… touched his head."

Second Chances: I Studied, I Struck Back

Evan didn't know why he was like this. He was usually even-keeled, but around Claire his feelings bubbled up like a spring—free and inexhaustible.

"Are you jealous, Evan?"

There was a trickster glint in Claire's voice. Evan didn't deny it; his ears flushed redder.

"He's my brother."

"Hm…"

Evan's face stayed calm, but Claire knew he was still upset.

"I can ruffle your hair too, and smile at you."

She mussed his hair into a mess and added, "He can't compare to you. If you want, I'll ruffle your hair and smile at you every day."

Hearing that half-hearted comfort, Evan's tight chest eased a bit.

But late-night breeze and windowpane could only tell part of the truth. From his angle in the hallway, he could see Claire's face but not hear her voice. She seemed to glow wherever she stood—smiling at others, touching other boys' heads.

At that moment he admitted it: he was jealous.

He felt like he was falling for someone undeniable—captivating and dangerous, addictive in a way he was willing to savor and never quit.

This time Claire's mother came to pick her up.

Ethan sat in the car with his legs crossed, looking ready to say something and then holding back.

"Well… Mom made me come," he offered.

Claire barely acknowledged him, said hello to Margaret, and climbed in.

"How's school, sweetie?"

Claire answered politely, quieter than before but still civil.

Margaret was secretly relieved—she had feared Claire would ignore her. Last time Claire had mentioned being mistreated as a child, Margaret had hired a private investigator. They'd discovered Claire had indeed suffered under her foster mother, and that the foster mother had intentionally swapped babies.

Margaret was furious and heartbroken. Though she knew Hazel was innocent, after repeated coldness from Claire, they could never go back to how things were.

Claire sat in the back, humming and letting the wind tousle her hair. Her face looked dewy and alive like a newly ripe peach, tempting to touch.

Ethan looked at her profile and felt an odd, deep familiarity. Maybe… blood was thicker than water?

When they got home, Hazel was in the living room cutting fruit.

"Sis, you're back."

She'd clearly taken some hits at home these past weeks; the brazen spark in her eyes had dimmed. She'd learned to be careful.

Sitting beside her was Logan Hayes in a white shirt and black pants, his look almost ascetic. When he saw Claire, barely anything masked the hostility in his eyes.

In the original story, this was the stretch where the heroine and the male lead had already gotten cozy at school. The heroine had been elevated by contrast with the original girl's supposed purity, and people kept protecting her. Without the original's shading, Claire's charm and popularity would falter, and Logan was her main support now.

Claire ignored the pair's closeness and flashed an innocent smile at them.

"Little sister and Logan are such childhood sweethearts—what a lovely bond."

Her teasing wasn't loud but it prickled Margaret's nerves.

Logan was Claire's betrothed's child from the Lin family—seeing him so close to Hazel made Margaret uneasy. Once she'd brushed it off as mere friendship, but now, watching Hazel seek Logan's help, she worried.

"Honey, my future husband is at school; be sure to look after him," Margaret said, encouragingly.

Claire looked pure as milk and smiled.

Logan felt a surge of suppressed anger. Hazel had come to him in tears last time, claiming the Bennetts favored Claire. He'd thought it an overreaction, but now it seemed Claire was crowding Hazel out.

"My fiancée is being so considerate. Of course I’ll look after my little sister for her," Logan said smoothly, comforting Hazel with a glance before he and Claire left together.

Hazel watched them go, the gaze lingering until they disappeared. Even though it had been her idea to have Logan seduce Claire, it still hurt.

This should have been hers.

"What are you thinking about?" Ethan asked, coming up behind her. He saw an unfamiliar emotion in the sister he thought was always sweet and good.

"Nothing, Ethan. I'm just a little tired."

Hazel shook her head, pretending she didn't feel well. As she turned to leave, Ethan grabbed her arm.

"Sis…"

He moved his lips but couldn't find the words. Instinct told him that if he didn't hold onto Hazel, she'd drift further away.

"What do you want to say, Ethan?"

Ethan shook his head and walked away without answering.

In the warm parlor, Logan’s face had already turned green with anger. Could someone tell him why the girl in front of him had two completely different faces?

A moment ago she’d been all eager and flattering. Now she was sitting with her legs crossed, snacking, leaving him hanging.

“Aunt Song, Brother Logan… loves lychees the most. Go get some lychees for him.”

Claire deliberately emphasized the word “Brother.”

That sticky, cloying tone made goosebumps run up Logan’s arms.

Aunt Song came in, feeling pleased to see her young miss so attentive to Master Logan. What a lovely match they made—the perfect pair.

Logan stood there, stunned. Who the hell liked lychees?

After Aunt Song left with the tray, Claire didn’t even look at him—she just started eating.

“Who likes lychees? I don’t like them.”

Watching Claire eat with such obvious delight, Logan couldn’t help but snap back.

Claire rolled her eyes as if it troubled her not at all.

“I do.”

She finished, then flashed Logan a challenging smile—brilliant and dazzling for a heartbeat that made him blink.

Roses behind her bloomed lush and full. In front of them stood the girl with bright eyes and white teeth, every expression vivid—like a little vixen.

Logan suddenly realized, a second too late: when did Claire get this pretty?

That’s the effect the little enchantress wanted. The heroine would behave foolishly, throw herself at Logan, and the protagonist would belatedly realize the one he loved was someone else.

How delightfully ironic.

At lunch, the little charmer hovered over his plate, fussing over him.

“Eat more—you love shrimp, right?”

Claire looked at Logan with big, expectant eyes. Margaret watched their interaction and smiled.

“I don’t like shrimp.”

“You don’t like shrimp, Logan?”

Logan said it through gritted teeth.

Hazel’s face showed worry as she repeated the same line.

Claire’s eyes glistened with fake sorrow. Pitiful and imploring, she looked at Margaret. “Sis really knows Brother so well. Unlike me… I’ll learn what he likes next time.”

Margaret, seeing the child’s pitiable look and remembering how the two had just spoken in unison, felt her heart ache for Claire even more.

“It’s fine. My daughter just be herself.”

Margaret fondly patted Claire’s head and served her some shrimp.

“It’s okay, Mom. Brother Logan is worth it.”

Claire smiled sweetly and ate what Margaret handed her.

Logan’s mind went in a hundred directions—Claire was such a drama queen!!

After the meal, Logan pulled Claire into the back garden, face serious.

“Don’t you feel like you’re two-faced?”

A boy in his teens hadn’t yet grown into the protective, towering figure the book described. Without the old version’s manipulations pushing Hazel and the rest, his feelings for Hazel were still just the simple affection of childhood friends.

“What do you mean, Brother Logan?”

“You don’t like me, yet you pretend you do.”

Logan spoke seriously, and the more he thought, the more sense it seemed to make.

“I do like you, Brother Logan.”

Claire nodded with mock sincerity, then turned her head and blinked. Under the night sky her eyes shone like stars, and Logan instinctively looked away.

“Nonsense. You clearly—”

“Loving someone is exhausting. Sometimes I need a break.”

Claire kept spinning her nonsense. “You see, Mr. Hayes works and needs rest. You study and need rest. So when I like you and pamper you, I need breaks too.”

Logan had no idea liking someone required rest.

Claire yawned lazily.

“Brother Logan, I won’t accompany you now. This is my rest time.”

She deliberately emphasized “rest,” waved, and walked off, leaving a baffled Logan behind.

This girl must have some screws loose.

After returning to her room, Claire went to Hazel’s room with fruit.

“What are you doing here?”

Hazel went on alert, her gaze sharp and probing.

“Bringing you fruit.”

Seeing Claire’s face getting prettier and prettier made Hazel’s jealousy grow more intense.

“Sis, I really like Brother Logan.”

Claire’s expression was full of admiration and fondness.

“At school, please take good care of Brother Logan for me.”

Hazel’s jealousy sprouted uglier roots at those words.

“I’ll make sure to take care of my brother-in-law.” Hazel said it with dangerous calm.

Claire looked thrilled, as if favored beyond belief, beaming at Hazel.

“Thanks, sis. We’ll be the best sisters.”

Margaret had been standing at the door while they talked. She’d wanted to talk to Hazel about the Hayes boy and, hearing Claire’s words, felt reassured—this child was so kind and sensible. She quietly closed the door on the two girls and left.

As soon as Margaret walked away, the little enchantress found an excuse to leave too. Claire couldn’t bear to stay in Hazel’s room for another second.

Now Hazel would dig in her heels even harder. The more she rushed, the more mistakes she’d make. And in front of Margaret, Claire’s attempt to play the devoted, lovestruck girl had clearly taken root.

The end of term was approaching fast. Claire had been tutoring Evan for over a month.

That evening the city library was warm; outside the wind bit hard. Snow started to fall in soft, scattering flakes—the first snow in Brighton.

“It’s snowing, Evan.”

Claire looked up at the window. The boy at the sill had a handsome, clear-cut face and eyes like moonlit stars, yet his gaze couldn’t help lingering on the girl watching the snow.

“Yeah… it’s snowing.”

They left the library side by side under a black umbrella. Night had already fallen; streetlamps flickered on, one by one leading the way.

Claire noticed Evan’s black jacket was thin—cold could slip right through. His shoulders stayed straight, but his nose was a little reddened and his lashes trembled with the cold.

From behind, Claire took Evan’s hand. Her warm palm enclosed his slightly chilled one.

Feeling her soft, warm fingers, Evan’s ears flushed. He thought he could smell a faint, special scent on her—an almost-there fragrance distinctly hers.

It was the scent of a charm-witch—only someone who loved a charm-witch could perceive it. At its strongest it was intoxicating but not mad-making; it made people clear-headed yet willingly surrendered. In private, it was the perfect aphrodisiac.

“Evan, tilt your head down.”

Though puzzled, Evan complied. Being taller than Claire, when he bent his head he looked obedient and gentle.

In the next instant, Claire stood on tiptoe and looped her beige wool scarf off her neck, one circle after another, and placed it around his neck—bringing her unique warmth and scent close to him.

Evan froze. His hand holding the umbrella trembled. From this angle she was unbelievably close—he could see even the lashes on her eyes. Her portrait-like features were only a finger’s breadth away. Warmth, tempting scent, the endless snow, Claire’s breath—all amplified.

Suddenly a seed of desire sprouted inside him. His Adam’s apple bobbed; his face flushed scarlet.

Damn it, that scent was stronger now.

“For you. This will keep you warmer.”

Claire tapped his cheek with a blink. The usually mature-seeming boy looked adorably awkward—so rare it was almost deadly cute. Claire found Evan more and more handsome; even she, a little enchantress, sometimes felt jealous of his looks.

“Thanks…”

Evan muttered, tilting the umbrella to shelter Claire, letting the snow fall on himself.

Snow hadn’t been kind to Evan in childhood. It meant leaky roofs, a father with rheumatism in pain, cruel classmates pelting him with snowballs—sick and dizzy while caring for a hurt father. He’d never liked pity or charity.

But when this girl gave him her scarf, his chest filled with an incredulous sweetness and a racing heart.

He felt the damp flakes on his clothes, the winter wind as always, and wanted to burn this moment into memory.

He hated snow, but for the first time, he felt he could forgive all the winters of his past.

Their footprints—some deep, some shallow—stretched down the snowy path. Passersby stole glances, especially at the tall boy; one look and his striking face was unforgettable.

“They’re all looking at you,” Claire complained, annoyed.

Evan just lifted the corner of his mouth.

How he wanted to say, I only want to look at you.

But he… didn’t dare.

Before finals, Claire and Evan reviewed everything together. They were either in the library or on the way there.

On the day exams ended it was bitterly cold. Evan and Claire didn’t have exams in the same room. Halfway through his English test, snow began falling heavily outside. A freezing gust poured into the classroom and Evan, rubbing the scarf at his neck, glanced at the sleet and turned in his paper early.

Claire left the exam room with her classmates. People clustered at the door—calling parents, rushing out into the snow.

Claire, nose reddened by the wind, was about to call Margaret when a black luxury car pulled up. The window rolled down. Logan sat inside.

The boy had just been let out of class. Seeing the snow, he’d remembered Claire was heading back to the Bennetts and thought he’d give her a lift. She’d surely appreciate it.

“Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Logan’s handsome profile and air of privilege drew attention from the waiting students, who started whispering about the two and shipping them as a couple.

“Evan might have the looks, but these two are a perfect match socially.”

“I like rich and handsome.”

The chatter irritated Claire. She didn’t know why Logan had come today, but she knew his presence meant trouble—he’d shown up to make a scene.

Claire didn’t make a fuss. She opened the car door and climbed in. As the car pulled away from the school, she caught sight in the rearview mirror of a boy a short distance away in black, holding a black umbrella and wearing that all-too-familiar scarf, standing there and watching them leave.

Claire would never know why Evan had handed in his exam early, or what ran through his mind when he saw the snow.

He was so afraid his girl would be soaked by rain and snow. Without an umbrella, her pretty, obedient hair would get wet. She might catch a cold.

He’d taken the scarf she’d given him, carefully wrapped it in a bag, put it in his backpack, and then ran home without stopping to fetch an umbrella—then ran back without stopping.

The wind and snow on that run were freezing… but he was so happy. He wanted to walk her home.

Claire turned and looked toward him. The boy’s striking features seemed dusted with frost; his eyes were rimmed red, but he stubbornly straightened his spine. He tipped the umbrella just enough to shield his eyes, leaving only a jade-like jaw visible beneath.

But Claire still saw.

She saw—Evan… was he crying?

“Stop the car! Stop the car!”

“Pull over!”

Claire paid no mind to Logan’s impatient face or the driver’s warnings. Before the car had come to a full halt, she yanked the door open and ran off; her silhouette disappeared into the crowd.

“Evan! Evan!”

In the blink of an eye, she couldn’t see him anymore. She ran until she was exhausted and collapsed onto a bench at the roadside.

Suddenly, the snow seemed to ease.

A pair of white sneakers entered her field of vision. She looked up to find a black umbrella over her head. Evan bent, lashes trembling, lips pressed thin, and crouched down.

“Your shoelace came undone.”

Claire took the umbrella in his hands. She watched him with bowed brows tie her shoe with care, and felt a sour sweetness in her chest. She reached out and ruffled his hair—soft and fuzzy, warm and pliant.

“Evan, I came back to find you.”

Her voice brushed across him like a tiny brush, warming the frozen places in his heart.

“My socks are soaked,” Claire said, lifting her foot for him to see. She noticed that his clothes were wet too—less obvious because they were black—but she worried. He’d catch a cold if he didn’t change.

“Can I come to your place and change socks?”

Claire’s voice was impossibly sweet. Evan’s face heated; he nodded and pulled out a tightly saved wad of change from his backpack, then hailed a cab.

“Get in. It’s warm inside.”

Claire didn’t refuse. She understood Evan—his goodness, his awkward poverty, the way he sometimes wouldn’t buy an extra bread just to save money—yet still gave her everything he had.

She couldn’t refuse that kindness. Accepting it happily felt like the right answer. What he wanted wasn’t some condescending “for your own good,” but equality and acceptance.

In Evan’s tiny house he bustled about, brewing hot water and steeping ginger tea. Claire sat on the small but tidy bed and flipped through his bedside notebook.

Pages were dense with handwriting and marks she didn’t understand—circles, crosses, all kinds of symbols.

While she stared, he brought a basin of hot water and crouched to test the temperature.

“Soak your feet in hot water, then drink some ginger tea.”

His voice was hoarse and different from usual; his cheeks were flushed. Claire touched his head—it was too hot.

“Evan, go shower and change your clothes.”

He shook his head, worried, trying to keep his head from feeling so heavy. “I’ll watch you soak first. I’m afraid you’ll catch a cold.”

Claire immediately kicked off her shoes and tucked her cold little feet into the steaming basin. “Now go!”

He couldn’t help but smile at her glare; the smile surprised Claire—it was breathtaking. He looked so handsome when he smiled, and in his eyes was a softness that made her heart thud.

“Okay.”

Claire hid a blush and nodded.

The bathroom water ran, hot steam curled from the basin, and Evan’s ginger tea steamed on the bedside table. The snow outside thickened. Claire finished the tea and felt warmth spread through her body; she drifted off to sleep.

In a half-dream she felt someone wipe her feet with a warm towel, slip on clean socks, and tuck a blanket over her. She knew it was Evan, but her eyelids were heavy; she wanted to keep sleeping.

A long while later, thinking Evan had gone out, she heard the boy’s voice by her ear, broken and hoarse.

“Claire, wait for me.”

“Claire, wait—wait for me.”

He remembered that afternoon’s scene. He’d run with everything he had to give the girl support, and someone had easily offered her something better. In that moment his blood seemed to freeze; his eyes burned in a way they hadn’t for years. The boy who’d survived upheavals in his life had not cried in a long time—but now he broke.

He hated himself for being born in the dark, for feeling unworthy of that light.

Evan reached out to touch her fuzzy head, aching to be closer, but he drew his hand back.

As dusk fell, the light inside the room lit only a corner; it washed his handsome, cool face in a faint glow. He spoke softly, like a vow and like a whisper: “Claire, wait for me. I will grow up. I will be worthy of you…”

Claire woke to the smell of dinner—already seven in the evening.

In the kitchen the boy skillfully lit the stove and made scallion oil noodles.

“It smells so good. I want it so much.”

“Evan, you’re a hidden treasure.”

“Handsome, smart, you’re amazing.”

Claire admitted she was terrible at everything except flattery—first place in complimenting.

Evan’s ears flushed a little; he kept a calm face but was thrilled inside.

The sweet-talking little imp happily ate a whole bowl of noodles.

On the walk back to the Bennetts’ estate, Claire alternated between saying her legs were tired and fretting that her socks might get wet again.

“Carry me, Evan.”

Under the streetlamp Evan’s face was resigned but he didn’t hesitate—he bent down and hoisted the girl onto his back.

“You’re so good, Evan.”

She lay against his broad back, feeling his burning body heat, wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing in his faint scent.

Streetlights streamed on. The snow had eased. The tall, cool boy’s mouth quirked up as he walked slowly. The girl held the black umbrella over them; their footsteps left a long trail behind.

Near the villa district he stopped, pausing across a long road, the lights gleaming. He didn’t step forward.

“Claire, your family will come pick you up soon.”

Claire understood. From this angle she could only see his Adam’s apple tremble.

“Don’t leave first, Evan. I’m scared to be alone.”

His features hardened, but when he looked at her, he was unexpectedly gentle.

“All right. I’ll wait behind this lamppost.”

He smiled and said it as if putting on a brave face.

The Bennetts wouldn’t like seeing Claire so close to him. He didn’t want her to be embarrassed.

When the Bennett car arrived, Claire slipped behind the lamppost, flew around, and hugged Evan from behind.

“I’ll wait for you.”

She said it and left before he could answer.

Evan froze. Normally clever, his mind blanked. He remained motionless until the Bennetts’ car drove away; then he stepped from behind the lamppost, shielding his eyes with the umbrella as his eyes went red once more in the dark.

Before the final exam results came out, Hazel’s school—an elite academy—published grades early.

Margaret opened her inbox and saw an email from Hazel’s teacher: Hazel’s grades had slipped recently. Although she was still in the top ten, it wasn’t high enough; her improvements were mainly in art class.

“Hazel, why have your grades dropped so much lately?”

They’d barely finished breakfast when Margaret pulled Hazel into a talk. Claire ate calmly, totally unbothered.

Hazel’s face flushed. She’d been spending too much time nurturing relationships with Logan and other second-gen kids, and her studies had suffered. Even her strong suit—art—had fallen behind.

“Mom, I want to pursue art. I can study abroad later.”

Her voice was soft; Margaret understood but couldn’t hide her disappointment. She remembered Hazel practicing piano and working hard—where had that gone?

“Hazel…”

Margaret sighed, the kind of disappointed plea parents give when they want more.

“Mom, if you support my sister choosing this path, that’s fine. Everyone can shine in their own field.”

Claire’s expression was earnest—she sounded sincere, but Hazel knew better. Her words were meant to needle. Hazel was embarrassed and furious all at once.

“Claire, who do you think you are? Don’t think just because you went to a public school you’re something special. I’d like to see what you can actually achieve over there.”

Hazel closed in on Claire, defiant despite Margaret’s attempt to intervene. “No matter how I’ve slipped, I’m still better than you.”

Exactly what the little imp wanted—make the heroine flustered, make her snap and make the Bennett family and Logan fracture.

On the sofa, wearing a silk robe and looking impossibly pretty, Claire blinked and smiled at Hazel, completely unbothered.

“If saying that makes you feel better.”

Mr. Bennett had been watching from the stairs. From his angle, Claire’s movements had grown more poised; Hazel, by contrast, was losing composure. Mr. Bennett didn’t expect much from the daughter who’d returned to the family late—he only hoped she wouldn’t embarrass them.

“Hazel! Go to your room!”

Margaret was furious at Hazel’s reckless words. “Claire, don’t take it to heart. We don’t ask much—we just want you safe.”

Raised in a border town with an offhand mother, Claire had already done well just by studying. She wouldn’t dare hope for too much.

“Mom, I’m Claire Bennett. I don’t intend to stop here.”

Mrs. Bennett hurriedly nodded. It was already good that Claire had ambition.

Seeing her mother like that, Claire didn’t argue further. She stretched, then went to the sunroom to read.

On the day the school results were released, Margaret got a call from Ms. Parker early in the morning.

“Is this Claire’s mom?”

Margaret was taken aback. She was usually called Mrs. Bennett — even “Lady Bennett” at Ethan and Hazel’s school — so hearing such a warm, informal greeting felt oddly pleasing.

“Yes, this is Claire’s mom. Is this Ms. Parker?”

“Y-yes! I’m calling to tell you Claire’s grades.”

Margaret’s heart began to race. Were Claire’s grades that bad that the school had to call? Quick—call Edward, come steady the situation.

“Teacher, I’m so sorry Claire’s caused trouble—”

“Claire ranked second in her grade for credits on the final, and third nationwide in the Challenge Cup.”

Margaret opened her mouth to say “Thank you for your care,” but then—

Second in her grade?

Top three in the nation?

Edward was about to soothe Margaret.

Then—

Second in her grade?

Top three in the nation?

Hazel had been ready to put on a sympathetic act and say something comforting.

But—

Second in her grade?

Top three in the nation?

No good. The astonished, slack-jawed expressions spread from one face to another like contagion, getting more and more exaggerated.

“Hello? Hello? Claire’s mother?”

“Yes, yes! Thank you, teacher, thank you for looking after Claire.”

After the call ended, the house fell into a strange silence. Edward and Margaret looked at each other, eyes wide, both blinking in surprise.

“You heard that too?”

Edward — usually calm — nodded, equally stunned.

“Of course I heard!”

No kidding. Ms. Parker’s voice had been loud and excited; how could they not hear? And this was a legit top public school and one of the most influential competitions. The pressure was fierce. Even if their family had resources to get kids into good schools a hundred ways, Claire’s results were something to brag about for a year.

“Claire is extraordinary!”

Margaret belatedly hugged Edward, beaming, which made him blush. He remembered something Claire had said a few days earlier.

“If my last name is Bennett, I won’t stop there.”

Suddenly Edward understood: his daughter had ambition and ability. The score alone didn’t explain everything, but the effort, intelligence, and maturity behind it were exceptional. His opinion of his daughter improved; he felt a new, quiet appreciation.

That night they celebrated. Margaret invited a house full of ladies — a clear signal of how much the Bennetts cared about Claire.

Mrs. Hayes came with Logan Hayes. She exchanged polite niceties with Margaret, while Logan, bored, settled into a corner alone.

“Logan, you came?”

Hazel had dressed carefully in a white dress, looking sweet. After greeting the adults, she went straight to Logan.

“Claire’s really in the spotlight. Mom and Dad adore her.”

Hazel put on a pitiful look. She was growing more and more afraid — her parents’ sudden attitude and Claire’s performance made her restless.

“Ranny, calm down. Look at yourself. You’re excellent.”

Logan hadn’t expected Claire to do so well, but he didn’t want Hazel losing herself.

“Logan… oh, you and my sister are together?”

Claire had appeared behind them without anyone noticing. She swirled the drink in her hand. Her aqua dress gave her a quiet elegance; her bright, slightly cool face smiled sweetly and strikingly. Her voice carried; heads turned.

Logan was Claire’s fiancé — technically Hazel’s half-brother-in-law — so the two of them being close had people murmuring.

Margaret quickly intervened, suggesting Claire and Logan check the desserts. Claire feigned excitement, looked at Logan with wide eyes and fluttering lashes, like tiny brushes, which momentarily stunned him.

“Come on, Logan.”

Casually, Claire took Logan’s hand. Her slightly cool fingers in his warm palm made his heartbeat quicken.

“Claire… why are you grabbing a man’s hand so casually?”

Logan tried to sound indignant.

The little imp just smirked; some men denied with words while their bodies told different stories. Look — his hand was obediently in hers.

“How is this casual? You’re my fiancé.”

Claire tossed a flirtatious look at Logan, her eyes bright and inviting. Logan’s face flushed—whether from embarrassment or anger, it was unclear.

Hazel, now a forlorn extra, turned green with jealousy but was powerless. She watched her crush walk off hand-in-hand with the girl she hated, amid the amused, whispering gazes of onlookers.

At the doorway, Claire abruptly let go of Logan’s hand, then pouted at him.

“Oh, Logan, why did you let go of my hand?”

Logan widened his eyes. He was usually reserved, not one to show emotions easily. But—

He’d never seen Claire act so shamelessly. She was audacious to the point of being thick-skinned.

“You let go of my hand!”

Unexpectedly, Claire stepped closer, tipped up on her toes, and stared at him. The mischievous grin vanished; her eyes softened with a kind of sultry charm.

Under the moonlight her lips glistened like juicy peaches. She leaned close to Logan’s ear and murmured, “I don’t just want to hold your hand. I want… to kiss you.”

A tiny smile curved at her mouth. Warm breath skimmed Logan’s neck, making him itch. Something in him suddenly stiffened, embarrassed and alive.

Before he could react, Claire turned and left.

“My fiancé, I’ll go check the desserts.”

She departed with effortless flair, leaving Logan dumbfounded.

His head buzzed. In this scene, Claire felt like a heartless temptress. Then he forbade himself that thought — he should be the one in control here, not the other way around.

Logan followed her. He straightened her dress, smoothed a stray hair, and tossed a few polite French phrases to a foreign guest. In every small motion he radiated… charm.

Claire thought of it as putting on a peacock display — all show, self-satisfied.

Still, she played along, tilting her head and looking at Logan with adoring eyes.

“Wow, my fiancé is amazing.”

“Logan’s so talented!”

Logan felt her act was a bit fake, but he liked seeing stars in her eyes; it encouraged him to perform even more. If only it would say “Women, fall for me” in neon on his forehead.

Hazel’s look could kill. Logan didn’t notice. The more attentive he became, the more he invested—emotionally and otherwise—the harder it would be for him to walk away.

Hazel grew more and more muddied with resentment, nothing of the clear, haughty girl left.

“Stop this, Claire.”

Ethan walked over. Seeing Hazel like that made him disappointed. Why couldn’t she understand that things that weren’t hers simply weren’t hers, whether the Bennett name or Logan.

“You’ve changed! Back her, Ethan. Pretend I don’t have you as a brother.”

Hazel’s anger flared in random directions. She had been the favored one all her life: wealth, her parents’ love, the envy of others. Now those comforts slipped through her fingers like water, no matter how she grasped.

Everyone around her treated her as if she were invisible, while the center had become the despised Claire.

Hazel didn’t know whether she truly loved Logan, but she knew if she couldn’t hold him, she would be pushed farther from her once-glamorous life.

Family was unreliable; if she wanted something, she had to take it. Without a glance at Ethan, she turned away, leaving with eyes full of unfamiliar hate.

On New Year’s Eve, the variety show buzzed loudly on TV. The Bennett kids went with Edward to the Hayes house to pay respects; Margaret stayed home to entertain guests.

When Logan arrived, he saw Claire chatting and laughing with Mr. Hayes, whose face was flushed and unexpectedly happy. He stepped closer and heard them discussing National Geographic, then the differences between hard- and soft-tip brushes.

Claire wore a red sweater with a Mandarin collar; her black hair was tied in a bun, revealing a slender, fair neck. She turned, smiled at him, eyes bright.

“Logan, Mr. Hayes is so interesting.”

Logan suddenly found Claire… endearing. After leaving the Bennett house that day he would sometimes, without meaning to, catch himself remembering the faint, delicate scent she’d had when she spoke in his ear — subtle but memorably sweet.

Hazel sat on the couch, uneasy and prickly. She’d been to the Hayes house before and always avoided Mr. Hayes, thinking him stern. Now he was so close with Claire; it stung.

The little schemer scanned the room, satisfied, and slipped away. Everything was unfolding exactly as she planned.

As soon as she got home, Claire called Evan Clarke. His phone went straight to voicemail.

She didn’t know how many times Evan had picked up the phone during the vacation only to put it down again. In between studying, he stared at his phone, lost in thought. A few stray messages from Claire could keep him savoring the feeling for days. Most of the time his screen just filled with random notifications.

A boy’s eyes can only see the square sky through a dim window, but across that square sky Claire’s face crossed his mind again and again.

“Claire, I miss you so much.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t dare send that confession to the other end. He held it in, waiting for the day he could face her openly and tell her he missed her.

On New Year’s Eve, when every house was lit up, he’d just come back from the hospital, exhausted. He stared at the pitch-black room, couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Cold wind slipped in through the window. Outside there were kids chattering and the smell of dinner — but in here felt cut off from the world.

He really… missed her. Missed her so much… he wanted to hold her.

Half asleep and unsure how long he’d dozed, someone knocked — once, twice — again and again.

“Evan… Evan…”

His eyelids were heavy, too heavy to lift.

“Evan, are you home?”

“Evan, it’s Claire Bennett, open the door!”

Claire… Claire Bennett?

Evan’s mind snapped back. His head cleared a little and his heart raced. When he opened the door his hands were trembling.

Claire stood outside in a thick coat; her cheeks were flushed, the tip of her nose red. There was something in her eyes that looked like it could burn him alive — was she… worried about him?

Evan’s face and ears turned scarlet. Claire reached out and felt his forehead; he had a fever.

Before Claire could scold him, a burning, warm embrace wrapped her up. Evan bowed his head and pressed his forehead to hers, letting out a happy little sound.

He had finally, finally held her.

Claire froze. His voice was husky; he nuzzled her hair and murmured, half-faint, “Claire, you smell so good.”

There was a sweet scent on his breath and in his hair that made him burn hotter — the kind of alluring perfume usually only noticed in intimate moments. In short, something was off with Evan, and it was a little alarming.

“Okay, Evan, I’ll give you some cold medicine.”

Evan wouldn’t let go of Claire. Then he laughed softly, in a way that sounded teasing, and Claire felt a warm flutter.

“Now that you’re here, don’t even think about leaving, Claire.”

Days of longing that Evan had shoved down finally overflowed; he kept saying her name over and over.

Claire was stunned — beneath that pure exterior, this guy was sly.

“Take the medicine!”

Claire quickly handed him the fever medicine. She’d slipped out to his place while her parents were at friends’ for mahjong.

“No! I want you to feed me.”

Evan’s face flushed deeper; his voice went soft and childish.

“Feed you how? With my mouth?”

Claire snapped back, half-irritated, half-amused. This kid was getting cocky.

To her surprise, Evan actually considered it. He blushed hard and nodded, whispering, “You can…”

Claire tapped his head, then handed him the water and sat on the nearby stool, fuming but playing along. Evan grew bolder.

A small smile curled his lips; the emptiness that had been inside him felt filled.

Is there anything more fun than teasing Claire Bennett?

Because it was late, Evan had Claire sleep in his bed while he took his father’s.

The next day, when Claire slipped back to the Bennett household, she ran straight into Logan Hayes arriving for New Year greetings.

“On the first day of the year, lucky star shines — Logan, you really glow.”

Claire pretended she’d just been out for a morning run and bumped into Logan, tossing off a few half-hearted compliments.

Logan didn’t respond. Claire kept on: “With that handsome face, you’re blessed, Logan — a real little genius.”

Logan frowned. Claire went on, more blunt: “Dog poop with dog poop, Logan’s not ugly.”

Logan found the insult from Claire’s mouth increasingly distasteful and left in a huff.

Claire breathed out — this trick always worked to divert attention. Now nobody would worry about where she’d gone.

She followed Logan into the house, calling loudly as they walked, “I’m a little foggy after my run, Logan, don’t be mad at me!”

Now the whole Bennett household would believe Claire had been out jogging; she’d conveniently “forget” to mention the foggy brain part.

Lately, Hazel had been acting different — more sensible, more obedient.

“Sis, I’ll clean your room.”

“Sis, I’ll cut you some fruit.”

“Sis, I’ll…”

Claire accepted everything, and Hazel froze.

Why wasn’t Hazel following the usual playbook? Wasn’t she supposed to decline so later she could pout that she wanted to help and Claire wouldn’t allow it?

Claire smiled and urged her on.

“Little sister’s getting so mature.”

Margaret Bennett beamed; Edward smiled quietly; Hazel’s mother smirked like she’d won.

While the parents smiled, Hazel went to wash Claire’s fruit.

Visiting relatives over the holidays was exhausting; the Bennetts were no exception. Some relatives were particularly insufferable.

Ethan watched his cousin’s son, Andrew, with a grim look that said he wasn’t happy.

“Ethan, I heard your finals slipped again.”

Twelve-year-old Andrew loved acting like a little adult and delighted in taunting his older brother.

Ethan tried not to engage and kept playing his game.

“You keep playing games, you’ll ruin your future.”

“If you ask me, you’re just not motivated.”

Andrew jabbered on and on; Ethan’s expression turned sour. Every year this cousin annoyed him.

Hearing the noise, Claire sat on the couch and joined Ethan’s game.

“You’re that Claire Bennett, one of the top in the city? Don’t be like your brother, ruin your life with games.”

Claire rolled her eyes without looking up.

“What my brother does is his business. Do whatever you want; no one needs your critique.”

She raised a lazy brow, yawned, and draped her hand over Ethan’s shoulder like she was protecting a chick.

Ethan blushed at the sudden affection. He was the school tough guy — and he almost lost his temper — but Claire’s harmless smile and shining eyes instantly calmed him.

“I want to be your brother too!” Andrew said enthusiastically. He liked talented people and wanted Claire’s study tips.

“I only have one brother — Ethan. Aren’t you… a cousin?”

Claire’s frank manner silenced Andrew. Ethan felt a jolt.

Growing up, Hazel had always treated the younger kids well, no matter who they were. Even when Ethan struggled at school and was criticized by their parents, Hazel would just smile and enjoy their praise. He hadn’t felt that doting affection in a long time.

And Claire saying she had only one brother — Ethan — warmed something inside him. Maybe this sister wasn’t so bad.

“Nonsense. Ethan’s never called you sister. He only has eyes for Hazel,” Andrew sniffed, looking for something to needle Claire with.

Claire froze; her eyes brimmed and turned red. Without another word, she left.

“I’ll get a glass of water,” she mumbled.

Watching her go, Ethan felt a tightness in his chest — and a little guilt. On impulse he followed her into the kitchen and found Claire wiping away tears.

“What are you doing here?”

Claire hurried to wipe her eyes.

“I came to see you.”

She put on a wounded look, but inside she was secretly thrilled — being the sweet sister had its perks.

“Andrew was right. Maybe I overthink things. You’ve never really treated me like a sister.”

Claire shook her head, teary-eyed, and stared at Ethan. He felt awful.

“I….”

“Sis….”

Ethan’s voice was tiny, barely audible. Claire stepped closer.

“What did you say? I didn’t hear…”

Ethan rolled his eyes, then forced himself again.

“Sis…”

Claire burst into a little pleased laugh — she looked delighted.

“I still like being called… sister.”

Eager, she encouraged him. “Sister…”

She ruffled his hair and patted his head. “Such a good little brother.”

Ethan had thought he’d be embarrassed, but instead he liked it.

Before he could process it, Claire hummed a tune and skipped away.

Actually, Claire made a pretty good sister.

Ethan grinned.

Claire’s holiday had been smooth; relatives had praised her until she was practically the model child.

“This kid has been clever since she was little.”

A relative gushed. Claire shot back without mercy.

“Sister-in-law, wasn’t I only brought back this year? Weren’t you only married in this year?”

The sister-in-law’s smile froze.

“Ha ha ha, this kid, always something to say…”

Claire proudly noted she’d been feisty since childhood.

Classes officially resumed on the eleventh day of the first lunar month. Edward drove Claire to school himself.

“Study hard, keep it up. Make us proud, Claire.”

Claire thought the pep talk was over-the-top. Then she replied, “Okay, Dad. I won’t let you down.”

Just inside the school Claire ran into Evan, who had arrived late.

“You didn’t do well this time.”

Evan was still first, but this exam result was far below his true ability.

He nodded slightly. His usually handsome features looked hollow and strained; something about him was off.

“What’s wrong?”

Claire felt it too — Evan wasn’t himself.

On the stair landing she stopped him as if she could see into his heart.

“My dad… got a notice that he’s critically ill.”

Evan’s lashes trembled. His jacket rose slightly, hiding his trembling throat and parched lips, leaving only his sharp nose and striking eyes. He kept his head down so you couldn’t read his expression.

But Claire knew. He was hurting — profoundly hurting.

“Evan, treat him. Get him treated. Don’t worry about money — I have lots and I’ll give it to you.”

Evan looked up at Claire. Tears brimmed and his eyes turned red.

The bell rang — loud enough to hurt Claire’s ears — but she still heard him say it.

“There’s no cure.”

Evan said it could not be cured.

He finished speaking and walked off by himself. The winter wind bit colder than usual, and under the warm streetlights his silhouette looked so lone, like he could disappear at any moment. The breeze shook leaves down, and they fell around him.

Claire froze for a long time, then resolutely followed.

She thought: Evan is only eighteen.

In class, Evan kept reading and taking notes, but he was colder than before—as if he were holding back a river of grief in his chest, determined that no one should notice his shame or sorrow.

The world around them went on, loud and oblivious—flirting and teasing, weekend plans, heated debates over homework, kids gossiping about teachers.

But that bustle didn’t belong to him. He drifted outside of it, alone and without warmth.

A warm hand suddenly reached across the desk and squeezed Evan’s under the table, passing him a slip of paper.

“After class, can I take you to the hospital?”

Evan didn’t answer. After a moment he had another note in his hand.

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

Still no answer.

Claire wasn’t upset. After class she cornered him in the bathroom.

“Evan, let me be with you. Whatever happens.”

In the stairwell, Evan stopped with his back to her, eyes reddening again.

People said he was cursed—a bringer of misfortune who’d killed his mother, then his father. Once he didn’t believe it, but as family after family was ripped away, he had to consider the possibility that he was a jinx.

He refused to do anything that might put Claire in danger.

“No need.”

Evan’s voice choked.

“Don’t push me away… Evan.”

He turned, gave a small smile—Claire’s face was bright and lovely—but he’d made up his mind to push her away.

Light had no place in his life; he couldn’t let it be dimmed by him. He wanted her to live fully—the breeze, the moonlight, the sun and stars—not have her happiness sanded down by even the hint of his hurt.

“Claire, stop being sentimental.”

Before she could react, he left. His desk moved away from hers.

Rumors rippled through the class; nobody knew what had happened. Maybe the wealthy girl had grown bored and wanted a change.

“He’s probably bored of her.”

“Even if he’s handsome and smart, he’s not worthy of the Bennett family.”

“Yeah…”

Claire heard that and felt a knot in her chest. But she had a sharper instinct than most and a cooler head—she knew Evan must have reasons, and pestering him wouldn’t help.

“Enough. Can you keep it down? Haven’t you ever seen a couple argue?” she snapped.

The chatter died down, and in the back Evan’s ears turned faintly pink.

Even when she’d said harsh things, Claire couldn’t actually hurt him—she defended him.

His face looked pale, his features painfully arresting. Fate had a dark sense of humor: it made him watch the ones he loved slip away time and again, and now it forced him to push away the girl he cared for most.

Evan gave a bitter little smile.

If there were a god, he hoped that god would keep her safe and grant her peace year after year. Even if he remained in darkness, he’d be grateful.

Unfavored by gods, he still wished they’d favor her.

Lanterns hung everywhere for the Lantern Festival; streets and shops buzzed with families celebrating and watching lion dances, admiring the moon, and admiring lanterns.

After eating tangyuan, Claire returned for evening study but couldn’t find Evan. A bad feeling rose in her chest.

She hurried to ask Ms. Parker for leave, went to the hospital, to Evan’s home—no sign of him. She searched everywhere and couldn’t locate him.

At school the next morning he was back in his seat. The room filled with whispers and scornful looks aimed at him.

“He came to class the day after his dad died—how heartless.”

“He didn’t even cry. Must have been waiting for it.”

“They say he’s a jinx—killed his mom, killed his dad.”

“Yeah… I’d be scared to be in the same class.”

The voices, even hushed, gathered like a roaring flood. Claire understood then: Evan’s father had died last night.

On a night when the whole world celebrated, the boy had lost his family forever.

Claire rapped the desk, cold and impatient.

“You’re disturbing my studying. Quiet.”

The noise shrank, and when the bell rang the class finally fell silent.

Evan stayed at his desk the whole day, head bent over books, blocking out everything—acting as if nothing had happened.

A month passed like this. The gossip only got worse, relentless. But Claire knew better—Evan wasn’t what they said.

After school, when it was still early, Claire grabbed her bag and left, but she followed Evan anyway.

Night fell. His small room’s light stayed off; under the weak moon she saw him curled on the bed, clutching a scarf and a framed photo.

“I’ll forget you… but I don’t want to forget, and I can’t.”

By day he could fake strength—he’d promised his father he’d stay in school. At night he was a wounded creature, licking his wounds alone.

Lately he’d find himself staring at Claire’s back in class, noticing the small things she did—the brief talks, the tiny smiles, the irritated frowns, the trips to the bathroom or snack runs. He held the scarf like it still carried her scent.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. Evan smoothed himself and opened the door to see the girl he thought of morning and night. Before she could even react, Claire grabbed his collar and kissed him.

His face flushed, eyes rimmed in red; his heart suddenly pounded. His body burned with a fever. His already-handsome features seemed to blaze.

Claire had never seen Evan so fragile—tears the size of beads fell, wetting his long lashes.

She had never seen him ready to break—so she pressed her kiss harder.

Evan melted into it, but he knew he ought to push her away.

“Claire…”

He turned away from the kiss, his face growing solemn.

“I’m a jinx, you know?”

Claire’s anger broke into a laugh.

“So what? Evan, you’re missing me.”

He froze, not sure whether to follow his heart or something else.

“Life and death are fate. Evan, your parents’ passing is not your fault. They wanted you to be happy.”

Claire stroked his face, wiping his tears.

“Evan, don’t decide things for me. I want you to stand at the top, shining. Then come and marry me.”

“Evan, the gods may not favor you, but I favor you.”

“Evan, I told you I’ll wait.”

Each word was soft and relentless. Evan’s heart had already softened.

Unloved by the heavens, a light came to him instead—her light—telling him to rise, to shine, to marry her.

“Kiss me, Evan.”

No one knew how fast his heart raced.

His body burned; through fabric his heated lips found the girl he loved—restrained and wild all at once.

From that moment, his world had but one god.

Two years later, when the international physics competition results were announced, the school erupted—Evan had brought home a long-awaited gold for the country.

Overnight, it seemed everyone adored him. Media clamored. Classmates suddenly claimed how close they’d been. A speech video resurfaced: the pale, composed boy at the podium, cool and magnetic—an internet sensation, spawning legions of fans.

Evan refused all interviews. June rains fell on City B like a heavy, hot shroud.

In the suburban cemetery he stood under a black umbrella, rain pelting around him. Silent and still, he’d borne misunderstanding and silence for two years.

No one knew that on that Lantern Festival night, an eighteen-year-old had watched the lights and stood with his dead. The rain thickened. He placed a simple bouquet of daisies, the umbrella shielding his eyes but revealing his straight nose and thin lips.

“Mom, Dad, don’t worry about me. Because… I met an angel.”

Rain ticked. Tears or rain soaked his lashes; he smiled faintly.

The world cheered for him now, but the ones he wanted to tell were gone, never to clap for him again.

Outside the cemetery a girl had been waiting a long time.

“You didn’t let them down, Evan.”

Hearing that, his nose stung. He shook his head—he hadn’t done enough.

He’d promised Claire he’d stand at the top and shine.

After the award, Evan was recruited into a research program and quietly left to join development work. Claire had known he’d been studying coding and algorithms all these years; his performance at the competition was outstanding.

His future was blinding.

And she would wait.

Besides, it was time to deliver the final boxed meals to the heroine, and Claire chose to pursue higher studies in education.

Her parents had objected when she picked this major, but she followed the original heroine’s heart. The Bennett family had heirs for the family business—Hazel—but Claire wanted to be an educator, to repair the regrets of the original life and teach kids the value of learning.

Hazel, meanwhile, squandered her artistic talent, hiding her reckless lifestyle from their parents.

As the Bennetts doted more on Claire, Hazel grew more restless, and Logan Hayes was the only handhold Claire could grasp.

On the graduation trip, Claire, Hazel, and their friends went to a hot-spring resort and settled into villas.

Logan made all the accommodation arrangements.

“After we soak in the springs, let’s do a barbecue—make our own food,” Claire suggested. The other second-generation kids agreed; an open-air barbecue sounded fun.

At the resort, Claire slipped into a floral bikini. Her impressive figure, increasingly pale fine skin, and cheeks just flushed made the guys present all lose their composure.

Logan stole another look. After spending these past few years with Claire Bennett, he’d actually realized…this fiancée of his wasn’t so bad.

Claire stretched when she reached Logan, arching just enough to show a sliver of a delicate waist.

“See you later, Logan,” she said, smiling at him so sweetly his ears flushed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. He nodded.

Claire noticed Hazel Bennett’s dark glare out of the corner of her eye, but she only lifted the corner of her mouth and turned away.

For years she’d cultivated the image of the perfect fiancée for Logan—so convincing that even Logan couldn’t read her true thoughts. He’d quietly convinced himself she genuinely cared for him.

While Claire soaked in the hot spring, Hazel sidled over, wearing a floral bikini that added to her allure in the steaming pool.

“Sis, what do you think of my husband?” Hazel’s eyes were dull as she asked, applying lotion to her skin.

“I like him very much. He’s everything to me.” Claire sounded like a lovesick girl—easy to read, disarmingly guileless. Some people are born to pry at hearts, to lay traps and lie without blushing.

Hazel’s smile widened as she dabbed on rose-scented oil. “What’s that scent? It’s so good.”

Claire humored her. Hazel said casually, “It’s called Soul-Stealer.”

Yes—she’d use that scent to steal your fiancée’s soul, to make him run wild over Hazel Bennett.

The thought made Hazel delight in herself. She smiled with a sweeter tilt.

“You’ve got taste, sis,” Claire said as she stood, smiling, already looking forward to the little drama about to unfold.

Hazel had no idea Claire had predicted every step of her scheme. Staring into the abyss meant the abyss would stare back.

That night after the barbecue, everyone had drunk more than enough at Hazel’s suggestion and staggered tipsily.

Logan suddenly felt a flush of heat through his body. He felt feverish—then his hand brushed something cool and soft.

A pair of hands, featherlight and without stiffness, steadied him and guided him toward a plush bed. The room was hot; the woman’s body against his was cool and soft, kissing him with desperate force.

“Claire?” Logan mumbled, half-conscious, moving with her. The woman paused, then resumed, panting—her breath dragging him deeper into desire.

He didn’t hear Claire’s voice.

“Husband, husband…” came a woman’s whisper, triumphant and delighted. She finally had Claire Bennett’s man. Even if the price was her own body, it was worth it.

Hazel thrilled at the thought of Claire’s misery. The idea made her body respond more eagerly.

At the crack of the door, the woman who should have been passed out looked uncommonly calm. Claire watched the two inside with a cold, strange composure, a small victorious curl at the corner of her mouth.

Tonight, Hazel would pay for her greed and choices.

The next morning, a scream ripped through the villa, waking the hungover crowd.

“I—I…how could this happen? Logan, you’re Claire’s fiancée—this was my first time…” The woman wailed, miserable. Logan looked stunned—last night it had seemed like Claire. And she had been the one kissing him.

Something about it felt off to Logan, but a hangover fog clouded his thoughts.

Word reached both parents in no time. When the Bennetts and the Hayes showed up, the scene turned painfully awkward.

Mrs. Bennett stared at Hazel, tearful and shaken, while Claire stood pale but composed. Mrs. Bennett felt torn—both girls looked injured by this fiasco.

“Mom, sis, I’m sorry—this wasn’t on purpose…” Hazel sobbed. Mrs. Bennett’s heart broke further; she stepped forward to comfort her.

“You’re not to blame, my good girl,” she murmured.

The Hayes parents scolded Logan and scrambled to figure out how to make amends to the Bennetts.

“Mom, will I never be able to marry?” Hazel cried, but inside she was quietly triumphant—this would make her Logan’s wife and reduce Claire to a scandalous joke.

“This is our fault. Logan, haven’t you always liked Hazel?” Logan’s mother said, though she disliked the idea. But practical minds sought the easiest fix.

“We owe Claire an apology. You should marry Hazel,” Mr. Hayes urged.

Logan felt his chest tighten. This had once been his dream—and now he hesitated.

But things had gone too far to back out.

“Claire, I…I'm sorry,” he said, stepping forward, words dying in his throat.

Hazel’s cries grew louder behind him. “Logan, I’m sorry, sorry, it’s all my fault…” she kept repeating, trying to contain her glee.

Claire suddenly walked up to her and cut her off coldly. “Hazel, how shameless can you be?”

Everyone froze. Claire was the victim here—wasn’t Hazel supposed to be innocent?

“If it weren’t for Aunt Zhang, who cleaned up the yard and filmed what she saw, I might’ve believed you,” Claire said.

Hazel blinked. Aunt Zhang?

Claire had called for the cleaner, a woman who usually stayed in the background.

“It was a mess in the yard last night. I came to clean, and by the kitchen window I saw Miss Hazel slipping something into the drinks,” Aunt Zhang said in a steady voice. “Later, everyone was drunk—I saw Miss Hazel help Mr. Hayes inside…”

Her voice was soft, but everyone fell silent. Could this really have been an act staged by Hazel?

“No way, Claire, you’re framing me!” Hazel hissed, furious. If there was no proof, she’d deny it until it stuck.

“There’s video,” Aunt Zhang said, pulling out her phone. The crowd gasped when they saw the footage.

Hazel had been a remarkably good actress.

Mrs. Bennett watched the video over and over: Claire unconscious, Logan drugged, Hazel the only clear-headed one, Hazel helping Logan away…and the little smile at the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t believe her daughter could be so calculating—stealing her sister’s fiancé, using her body and then blaming her sister. Yet the evidence was undeniable.

She felt guilty for having pitied Hazel earlier and overlooked Claire. Claire had loved Logan so much. Mrs. Bennett stepped toward her younger daughter, who had always been the strong, hard-working one—the bright, smiling daughter whose eyes always sparkled.

“Claire…” she whispered.

Claire’s eyes were rimmed in red. “Mom, I’m in so much pain,” she finally let herself cry, and the emotion made everyone else sympathize with her. Their looks toward Hazel turned to contempt.

Hazel lunged toward Logan, eyes wide with fear. “Logan, you have to believe me—it wasn’t me.”

Logan stared at Hazel, the warmth draining from his gaze. The innocent, piano-playing girl who used to play Twinkle Twinkle to cheer him was gone—what stood before him felt like a stranger.

Perhaps he had been fooling himself all along. She’d long ago lost herself in greed and jealousy.

Claire moved toward Logan step by step, wiping her tears and forcing a smile. “Logan, I don’t blame you. I won’t cling to you anymore.”

Logan tried to speak but felt a faint ache in his chest. He remembered the girl in the conservatory by the roses—the bright, triumphant smile like a mischievous fox. Now she looked drained, petals wilted and face drained of color.

He’d had no chance to understand his feelings before he was about to lose her.

“Logan, let’s call off the engagement. No debts between us,” Claire said softly, smiled, and turned away.

Hazel’s little performance had reached its peak.

From then on, Hazel couldn’t stay in the Bennett household. Mr. Bennett sent her abroad for school and severed ties. The engagement between Claire and Logan was annulled. Feeling guilty, Logan gave Claire a sizable compensation, which she donated in full to educational charities.

By the early 2020s, Claire had become a respected educator and philanthropist.

On TV, a Chinese team’s self-developed AI program had just won an international prize, a breakthrough that made headlines. At the awards, the team leader’s jaw-dropping looks and cool, unattainable aura set the internet buzzing—he gained a legion of fans—but his acceptance speech left people puzzled.

“I finally stand on top. I hope she can see me.” His striking face and cool voice froze Claire in front of the screen.

It was him—her teenage crush, Evan Clarke.

On a rainy night years earlier, Claire had just washed her hair when someone knocked on her apartment door. Standing there was a man in a black jacket, collar up, a black umbrella in hand. His eyes shone like stars—burning, unable to hide the heat beneath.

He’d matured into a confident, handsome man. Only his eyes had changed the most—full of hunger, longing, and possessiveness. A few strands of dark hair fell over his smooth forehead, adding a dangerous edge.

“Claire, I’m here to keep my promise,” he said.

The next moment, Claire was swept up in a hot embrace. Evan Clarke had become a wolf—he lifted her in one strong motion.

“You still have a chance to back out, Claire…” he murmured.

Years of restrained longing, the long days buried in research and data—his only comforts were the rare memories of walking beside her. No one knew how much he’d missed her, how many nights he had dreamed of being tangled with her, how she had been the focus of all his desire and jealousy—especially toward the man named Logan.

He had waited. Now he stood at the top, shining—and finally closer to her.

"Do as you wish, Evan."

Claire Bennett slipped off her coat, revealing a slender waist, and smiled at Evan Clarke. One hand lifted his chin; her eyes were at once bewitching and pure.

The air filled with a heady, intoxicating scent.

Evan's lips trembled, his ears flushed. Heat flushed his whole body. He bowed his head with a reverent, aching tenderness and kissed every inch of her skin, loving her in the night just like in his dreams—again and again—listening to the soft, winding music of her beneath him.

The usually cool, distant man tilted his head back slightly; even his passion looked impossibly handsome. Sweat beaded down the line of his abs, and the man who always seemed so ascetic had finally let his guard down, giving himself over completely.

He closed his eyes slowly; sweat dampened his lashes, and a single tear trailed down with it.

At last, he had the light from the year he was eighteen — the dream he'd chased his whole life.

His goddess, Claire Bennett.

In this life, Claire and Evan stayed by each other's sides, each achieving in their own fields. Evan became one of the most influential scientists, and their love story was told and retold.

Sunlight poured through the window and fell across the man's face as he lay in a rocking chair, having had a long dream.

On the brink of death, Evan's mind filled with the smile of the girl from when he was eighteen.

"Claire, if there's a next life—"

At the same moment, Claire woke up in the space.

"Ding dong!

Congratulations, host. Task completed. Would you like to open the next world?"

"Open it."

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The next scene of Second Chances: I Studied, I Struck Back begins with: Evan didn’t know why he was like this. He was usually even-keeled, but around Claire his feelings bubbled up like a spring—free and inexhaustible…. Continue with the remaining 637 story sections.

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