Every April Fool’s Day, Ethan and his childhood sweetheart, Chloe, would play the same old “I dare you” game they'd played when they were kids. “Remember eighth grade?” Ethan leaned back in his chair with a grin. “I dared you to skip class, and you dragged me into the bathroom looking for a thrill. Then you showed me your 20-centimeter dick.” He laughed louder. “That’s nothing. In college, I dared you to date the hottest guy on campus, and you ended up stealing Sarah’s boyfriend instead. You even showed me the sex tape afterward.” I stood at the doorway, clutching the pregnancy test report between my fingers. After five years of marriage and countless hospital visits, today I finally got a positive result. Chloe glanced over and noticed me. She lifted her chin and said to Ethan, word by word, “Let’s make this year’s game even more exciting. Ethan, I bet you don’t have the guts to announce our engagement tonight, right here in front of everyone.” The room erupted into whistles and cheers. Ethan turned to look at me and laughed. “Why not? Wait for me.” He stood up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the hallway. “Sarah, everyone’s watching. Don’t ruin the mood.” His tone was relaxed, as though this were already some trivial little arrangement. “It’s just an April Fool’s joke. Please sign this divorce agreement tonight. I’ll tear it up tomorrow morning. I can’t back down in front of Chloe.” I stared at the man before me. For five years, I had constantly compromised and tolerated all those “little games” between him and his childhood sweetheart. This time, I hid the report behind my back and gripped it tightly： “But I’m pregnant.” “Sarah, you’re unbelievable!” Ethan blinked, then burst out laughing. “You actually made up a pregnancy just to stop me from winning? Fine, you win. That’s impressive.” Chloe dragged out her words mockingly: “Sis, it’s only a game. If you can’t handle losing, just say so. Using a child as an excuse is kind of low, don’t you think?” “Exactly.” Ethan grabbed my wrist tightly： “Come on. The party downstairs is about to start. If we’re late, the media won’t have time to report the news.” Without hesitation, he dragged me toward the exit. Five years. Using the novels I wrote at home, he had built his publishing company from nothing into a publicly listed corporation. And every year, I endured the humiliations he staged on April Fool’s Day, all for Chloe. The ballroom downstairs was packed with people. Ethan took a pre-drafted divorce agreement from his lawyer and shoved it into my hands. “Sign it. Before I propose to Chloe, the media needs something to photograph.” I picked up the pen and looked at the signature line he had already prepared. “Fine. I’ll give you what you want.” I signed it without hesitation. Our five-year marriage ended like the punchline of a terrible joke. The moment the ink dried, Ethan took off his jacket and changed into a tuxedo. Chloe pinned a white lace veil into her hair. They had even hired a professional makeup team on standby. I sat in the shadows, watching the two of them under the ring lights as makeup brushes swept across their excited faces. Five years ago, on the day Ethan and I got married, he wore a T-shirt and ripped jeans. When I asked him to change, he said true love needed no decoration, that sincerity was everything. Now, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he wrapped an arm tightly around Chloe’s waist and smiled brightly at the camera. The photographer pressed the shutter, perfectly capturing their smiling faces. A few minutes later, Ethan walked toward me, holding two diamond rings. “Baby, see that? I won again. Tomorrow morning we’ll get ‘remarried.’ Don’t be mad. It’s just for the drama.” My morning sickness was so severe that I could barely stand. “Take me home,” I said, forcing down the acid rising in my throat. “I need to pack my things.” I reached for the passenger-side door. Before I could get in, Chloe squeezed past me. “Sarah, just cooperate a little. Tonight, Ethan and I are the ‘engaged couple,’ so this seat belongs to me.” She yanked the door open and slid into the seat. With one sweep of her arm, she knocked my cushion and stuffed toy onto the floor mat. Standing by the hood of the car, Ethan shrugged apologetically. I turned around and walked toward the roadside to hail a cab. Ethan jogged after me, opened the back door, and pushed me inside. “Stop sulking. It’s hard to get a taxi here. Just sit down.” A cheesy wedding pop song played through the speakers. Chloe hummed along, and when the chorus came on, she grabbed Ethan’s sleeve and swayed gently. “I’m marrying you today…” Ethan sang the next line. They looked at each other and laughed. She unscrewed a bottle of water, took a sip, then held it to his lips. Like a newlywed husband, he drank from the bottle in her hand. “Your collar’s crooked.” Chloe leaned closer to straighten his tie, her fingers brushing lightly across his throat. Half her body pressed against him. Ethan didn’t pull away. One hand stayed on the steering wheel while the other wrapped around her back. “Stop messing around. I’m driving.” His words said one thing, but his tone said the complete opposite. I leaned against the back window. The nausea surged again. I closed my eyes and placed a hand over my stomach.
The moment we walked through the front door, Ethan’s mother, Victoria, rushed straight to Chloe. She affectionately held Chloe’s hand, opened a jewelry box, and placed the family heirloom bracelet onto her wrist. It was something I had never received in five years of marriage. I had always assumed it was because I was too young and careless to wear it. Now I realized they had simply never accepted me. “Ethan already told me everything. This is absolutely ridiculous,” Victoria said in a tone full of indulgent affection. “Chloe, darling, I always knew you two were made for each other. If it weren’t for what happened back then—” As I bent down to take off my shoes, our eyes met, and she immediately changed the subject. “You’ve always been his destined partner.” Ethan stepped between them. “Mom, it’s a prank. An April Fool’s joke.” His mother gently patted Chloe’s hand： “Well, personally, I wish this performance could last forever.” Without saying a word, I walked straight to the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. I had barely packed two outfits before Ethan followed me in. “Sarah, everyone’s here. Don’t throw a tantrum now.” He lowered his voice： “Stay for dinner tonight. Think of it as a warm-up celebration.” I shook off his hand and continued packing. “Tomorrow is the release day for the final book of your Nightwalker trilogy. The whole team will be here. If you disappear tonight, tomorrow’s promotional launch will be a disaster.” I paused. That trilogy had consumed three years of my life—countless sleepless nights rewriting drafts and starting over from scratch. Before the copyright transfer was fully settled, a fallout now would destroy everything I had worked for. I closed the suitcase. “Fine. I’ll stay for one meal.” Ethan immediately brightened and walked into the living room to make phone calls. I told myself this would simply be a farewell dinner with the team. Not long afterward, Chloe appeared at the kitchen doorway, leaning elegantly against the frame while swirling a glass of red wine. “Sis, since you already signed the divorce papers, shouldn’t you at least fulfill your duties as the hostess one last time before leaving? ” “Ethan works himself to death running the company. You spend all day at home scribbling away. The least you can do is help entertain the guests.” Ethan sat on the couch, drinking tea without saying a word. More than half of Apex Global Media’s core assets, including the screenplay concepts major film studios fought to acquire, had been written word by word by me in this apartment. And now, in her mouth, I had become a dead weight who merely “scribbled away” at home? Victoria chimed in as well. “The housekeeper has the day off. Darling, help out a little. The guests will arrive soon.” I didn’t want the team’s final memory of me to be an argument, so I rolled up my sleeves and walked into the kitchen. My stomach was still churning, and a dull ache twisted through my lower abdomen. I prepared the ingredients and carefully controlled the temperature before pouring oil into the frying pan. Chloe hovered nearby the entire time like a supervisor. “Don’t use too much wine. Ethan can’t handle strong tannins. Use baby carrots for the side dish. Don’t make it look like some country housewife’s stew.” The editors gradually began arriving. Jamie, one of the junior editors, finally couldn't stand it anymore. He rolled up his sleeves and started helping wash vegetables. Chloe stopped him with a polite but sharp smile. “Sorry, Jamie. Touching things at someone else’s private dinner party isn’t exactly professional editor etiquette. Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the guests?” Flushed red with embarrassment, Jamie retreated back to the living room. I placed the final dessert delicately at the center of the long dining table. The doorbell rang just as I untied my apron. Chloe ran to the entrance while several deliverymen carried in huge insulated containers. “I figured Sarah’s homemade dishes might not be refined enough for everyone’s picky tastes,” Chloe said as she directed the delivery men to unpack everything. “So I went ahead and used Ethan’s card to order Michelin-star foie gras with black truffle and caviar tarts.” The table quickly filled with extravagant dishes. Without changing expression, Chloe picked up the beef noodles I had just made and dumped them into the trash to make room for her luxurious Michelin cuisine. Ethan didn’t even look up. He simply handed her a wet wipe to clean her hands. “You’re always so thoughtful.” I took a step forward, but someone grabbed my sleeve. Jamie shoved his phone into my hand, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sarah… look at this.” It was a book cover proof sent to Jamie for review. Above my name, “Sarah Quinn,” another name had been added: “Chloe Hart.”
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