At the IPO celebration banquet, the massive screen suddenly began playing photos of me working as a bottle girl at a nightclub years ago—a job I took solely to raise funds for his startup. In front of everyone, Julian announced my dismissal from the company. "You'll do anything for money. Julian, you use me and throw me away. Have you no shame?!" I screamed. Raising his champagne glass, he mocked me in front of the entire press corps: "You're asking if I have shame? You were sharing a bed with a man when you were seventeen. Who knows how dirty that money you gave me really was." The flashing cameras blinded me. A surge of blood rushed to my head, and I collapsed on the stage. When I jolted awake, I was back in the past—on the very day a seventeen-year-old Julian knelt on the floor, begging me to lend him the money to start his business. 1. The burning sensation from thousands of camera flashes erupting simultaneously still danced across my retinas. My ears were ringing with the snickers of the so-called "elite" at the banquet. "Who knows how dirty that money you gave me really was." Julian's arrogant, condescending voice echoed in my head. I shot up, my back drenched in cold sweat. I gasped for air, my oxygen-deprived brain buzzing. There was no champagne tower, no red carpet, and no media waiting to watch me become a joke. Before me was only peeling, yellowed wallpaper, and the air smelled of cheap ramen and the distinct mustiness of a humid Southern summer. Where was I? I frantically felt my surroundings until my fingertips brushed against a round mirror with rusted edges. The face in the mirror had tight skin, full of youthful collagen. But beneath her eyes were the dark circles of chronic sleep deprivation, and her hair stuck messily to her cheeks. Seventeen. I stared dead into the mirror, my nails digging so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. This wasn't the exhausted face of a thirty-year-old. It was the face of a seventeen-year-old—the stupid, naive girl who would fight the whole world for Julian. My stomach churned, a physical wave of nausea rising in my throat. Back then, to sell just one bottle of liquor, I let people force me to drink until my stomach bled. He held me, crying like a baby, swearing he would treat me right for the rest of his life. And what happened? At his IPO celebration, in front of the entire world, he casually dismissed that painful past as "dirty." This cramped, 100-square-foot room was once our so-called "love nest." We squeezed onto a twin-sized bed. To save money, we even used newspapers as curtains. Back then, I thought it was romantic struggling together. Looking at it now, it was just absurd. I stood up, my bare feet hitting the concrete floor. The chill seeped through my soles straight into my bones. This real, physical sensation forced me to admit the truth. I had been reborn. Right after being publicly humiliated by Julian, fainting from pure rage, I had returned to a decade ago. I didn't know whether to be thankful that God gave me a second chance, or laugh at the cruel irony of being stuck in this damn time loop. The cicadas outside chirped incessantly, making the summer heat even more suffocating. The muggy, damp air inevitably dragged my thoughts back to the past. It was on a similarly stifling afternoon. During P.E. class in my junior year of high school, the sun was so brutal it felt like it was melting the track. Not wanting to roast, I hid in the shade behind the equipment shed. I had barely sat down when a figure stumbled and collapsed right in front of me. It was Julian. He was as thin as a rail back then. His uniform hung loosely on his frame. He was deathly pale, his forehead covered in cold sweat. The symptoms... looked like low blood sugar. I didn't have any candy on me, so I half-dragged, half-carried him to the nurse's office. The nurse wasn't there. I ran back to my classroom, swallowed my pride, and begged a girl who always had snacks for a piece of chocolate. When I ran back, panting, and shoved the half-melted chocolate into his mouth, those eyes that usually avoided everyone stared straight at me. Like a drowning man clinging to his only piece of driftwood. In that moment, I thought I had saved a young man in distress. Looking back, it wasn't a rescue; it was the prologue to the story of the farmer and the viper. Julian was an outcast at school. It wasn't a secret. The rumors about his family background were more numerous than summer mosquitoes. His mother, despising poverty and craving wealth, had run off with another man when he was very young. Unable to cope, his father committed suicide by jumping into a river. He was raised single-handedly by his grandmother in a rural village. His uniform was always washed until the colors faded, with obvious patches on the elbows. The soles of his sneakers were peeling, sometimes making an embarrassing flapping sound when he walked. The boys in our class made a sport of bullying him. They would "accidentally" knock over his water bottle or scribble on his desk. The girls would dramatically cover their noses when he walked by, acting as if he carried some incurable disease. He always kept his head down, shrinking into corners like a frightened quail. Even the day he passed out—if I hadn't happened to see him, he probably could have baked into a mummy under the sun, and no one would have given him a second glance. Back then, I had an overflowing sense of justice. I felt the whole world was bullying him, and it was my duty to protect this "poor soul." I started seeking him out constantly. If someone purposely tripped him, I would charge forward and shove them back, even if they were a head taller than me. When no one in the cafeteria would sit with him, I would slam my tray down right across from him, ignoring the weird looks from everyone else. One thing led to another, and as our feelings grew, we started dating. He was very good at pleasing people. Every morning, he would carefully pull a still-warm hard-boiled egg from his patched pocket and press it into my hand. I only learned later that it was his entire breakfast. At the time, I thought it was the most precious gift in the world. On the way home from school, he would pedal his beat-up bicycle—where everything rattled except the bell—and carry me through the streets and alleys. The wind would catch the hem of my skirt. I would hold onto his thin waist, listening to him paint a picture of our future. "When I make money, I'm going to buy you a big house. I'll make you the happiest princess." "I'll be good to you for the rest of my life. I'll never let you suffer." The vows still echoed in my ears, but reality had slapped me hard in the face. I looked around the cramped apartment. That single twin bed was glaringly obvious. This was where we lived after "eloping" for the sake of our so-called love. To save rent, we squeezed onto that bed, keeping each other warm, dreaming of the future. Back then, his eyes were full of gratitude and love. But ten years later, at the IPO banquet, the Julian in the tailored suit could effortlessly spin this as a stain on my character. "You're asking if I have shame? You were sharing a bed with a man when you were seventeen." The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted my thoughts. The rusted cylinder made a harsh, grinding noise. Click. The door opened. Seventeen-year-old Julian stood in the doorway. He was wearing his faded uniform, the collar slightly askew. His hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. That face was incredibly deceptive, especially paired with that cautious, terrified-of-being-abandoned expression. In my past life, it was this exact face, crying so heartbrokenly after his grandmother passed away, that broke me. I thought he was the most pitiful person in the world, and that no one but me could save him. I ran home like a maniac, begging my parents to take in this "homeless" soul. The result was entirely predictable. My parents were already against high school romance, and given Julian's terrible reputation at school, they refused outright. "You've lost your mind! What's so great about a guy like that? He's dirt poor, and he's got no character!" my father roared, his face red with anger. My mother stood beside him, bent double crying, gripping my sleeve tightly: "Sweetie, don't be stupid! This is about your entire future!" At the time, my head was full of the image of Julian standing alone at his grandmother's funeral. I thought my parents were cold-blooded, materialistic, and full of adult prejudice. Like a self-righteous crusader, I yanked my arm away and screamed at them: "You're just snobs! I despise you!" Then, in the dead of night, I stole my parents' savings and stormed out, never looking back. I thought I was so cool. Fighting the whole world for love—it was a plot straight out of a romance novel. The night we eloped, Julian and I huddled in a train station waiting room. He held my hand and swore, "I promise I'll treat you ten, a hundred times better in the future. I'll make sure you never regret choosing me today." I believed him. I really believed him. Even later, when we were living in a basement apartment and eating instant noodles, I thought it was just a necessary trial for true love. How was I supposed to know that what I gave up wasn't just my education, but my bright, promising future? I hadn't just abandoned my parents; I had abandoned the only people in the world who truly loved me. Life after eloping was a slow, agonizing execution. Julian's so-called "startup" started out as just flipping electronic scrap. He didn't have enough capital. So, he set his sights on the savings I had stolen from my parents. It was the last of our living expenses. "Just this once. If we make money, we can move into a big house. You won't have to suffer with me anymore." I refused. He dropped to his knees and begged me. Kneeling on the cold concrete, he slapped himself hard, over and over, calling himself useless, saying he had dragged me down. My heart softened. I gave him the money, and we couldn't even afford food. To make ends meet, I was forced to wash dishes. My hands peeled from the harsh detergent. But that meager salary was just a drop in the bucket. It couldn't fill the massive hole in our lives. Finally, unable to pay rent, I went to work at a nightclub. The first time I put on that revealing promotional uniform, I hid in the bathroom and cried for a long time. Greasy hands groped me, and the harsh liquor burning my throat felt like swallowing razor blades. Every time I came home, vomiting until I was dizzy, Julian would hold me with red-rimmed eyes. "Just wait a little longer. When I'm rich, I'll give you my life." How touching. In those moments, I felt all my suffering was worth it. Even when someone secretly took photos of me selling liquor at the club, I didn't care. I only thought that selling one more bottle meant a little more startup capital for Julian. Later, Julian actually succeeded. His company went public; he was worth hundreds of millions. I thought our hard times were finally over. But what followed were his increasingly late nights and the lingering scent of foreign perfumes on his clothes. I found diamond stud earrings in his pockets. I saw texts from interns on his phone: "Mr. Vance, where are we going tonight?" I confronted him with the evidence. He didn't even look up. "Do you have any idea how much pressure I'm under? Can you stop being unreasonable and suspicious all the time?" Unreasonable? I suffered with him for ten years, and my reward was being called unreasonable. On the day the company went public, a beautiful young woman stood beside him, holding his arm, smiling brightly. Julian listened to her. He decided that if he didn't fire his "plain Jane" wife, he would look like he was "afraid of his wife," which would undermine his authority with the shareholders. And so, that scene unfolded. The big screen lit up. It didn't show the company's brilliant achievements. It showed videos of me being forced to drink and being groped at the nightclub. The audience gasped. Julian stood under the spotlight, looking deeply pained. "I never imagined my wife had such a disgraceful past." "For the sake of the company's image, I have to make this decision..." He kicked me off the board, using the excuse that he wanted me to "return to the family." With just a few words, he manipulated public opinion to nail me to the cross of public shame. I snapped completely out of my past memories. Looking at the slightly awkward teenager in the doorway, my stomach churned again. The visceral disgust overpowered the shock of rebirth. Julian moved his lips, as if trying to say something. This time, he didn't drop to his knees and beg for the money like I remembered. He didn't put on a tearful performance. He just stood there, his expression complicated. It was a strange look. Not the look of a poor kid desperate for cash, but more like he was scrutinizing me, even carrying a hint of... an unnameable hesitation. Could he also be...? The thought flashed through my mind for just a second. Whether he was or not, it had nothing to do with me anymore. I didn't say a word. I simply walked around him toward the stairs. As we brushed past each other, I heard him call my name: "Elena..." His voice was very quiet, as if something was caught in his throat. I didn't stop, and I didn't look back. I walked out of that dilapidated apartment building, found a payphone, and with trembling hands, dialed the number I knew by heart. Half an hour later. A taxi slammed on its brakes by the curb. My father hadn't even put his shoes on properly. My mother's hair was a mess. They stumbled out, running toward me. Seeing them looking so worn out, my tears fell instantly. "You stupid girl! Do you have any idea how worried we were?" My father raised his hand as if to slap me, but when it landed, it was just a gentle pat on my back. My mother pulled me into a fierce hug, crying so hard her whole body shook. "You're back. Thank God you're back..." I hugged her back just as tightly. That warm embrace felt so real I wanted to bawl. This time, I would absolutely never let go.
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