Billions of doting wives, maniacs

Anna Cheng, seventeen, stood at 5'4" with a slender frame and a reputation for quiet beauty. She had a soft innocence about her, framed by wide, expressive eyes full of unspoiled hope. That morning, she wore a pale yellow blouse, her faded blue jeans, and plain canvas sneakers—the kind of outfit that spoke of simplicity rather than extravagance. Today was Ryan West’s birthday, and Anna had spent two months scrimping and saving to buy him a gift she thought he’d treasure: a fine pen crafted by a well-known artisan. It was an expensive indulgence for her, but she was eager to surprise her boyfriend, a senior school star and the dream boy of every girl in the school. As she stepped into Ryan’s apartment, an unsettling sensation prickled at her skin. By the shoe rack lay a pair of striking red crystal heels, and strewn across the floor were a crimson shawl, a crop top, a short skirt, and sheer stockings. Mixed in with these were a man’s shirt and trousers—Ryan’s. The bedroom door was ajar, and muffled sounds drifted out—discordant, intimate, and unmistakable. If this had been anyone else’s place, Anna might have been tempted to peer through the crack just for morbid curiosity. But this was Ryan’s home. A sultry female voice rose, dripping with temptation. “Ryan, do you love me?” "Y-yeah, of course I do, Emma, you’re amazing…" Emma? Her close friend? No, that had to be a trick of the mind—a hangover from too much gaming late at night. Slowly, Anna moved closer to the door. “Tell me, who’s better?” The woman's voice oozed seduction. “Me or Anna?” Hold on—let’s not compare skills just yet. Give me a few years and some real experience, then we’ll talk. “Obviously it’s you. Anna's way too stiff. After a whole year together, the most intimacy we've ever had was holding hands. She’s a wooden doll, totally clueless—nothing like you, my darling... Now, come on, a little faster…” Anna found herself oddly fascinated by the complexity of their embrace in that moment—the poses, the positions. Against common sense, she admired the audacity. Suddenly, Ryan’s voice broke through her bewilderment. “Anna...” His brow furrowed in surprise and guilt as he hastily tugged the blanket over them. “Anna…” Emma’s tone shifted from playful to shameless, standing up with complete disregard for her own bare skin, marked with telltale scratches and a desperate sensuality. Anna’s mind briefly catalogued Emma’s figure—fiery, bold, unapologetic—damning her in silent judgment. Emma flung a set of clothes toward Ryan and slipped on his shirt herself. Despite the shock, Anna maintained a calm exterior. Her pale face betrayed none of the fierce smile that twinkled in her eyes. "Mom always said: no matter what, keep smiling—it's the best disguise." Emma draped herself over Ryan’s arm, flicking a warning glance at Anna. “Anna, you saw for yourself. We’re together now. You should back off.” There was a venomous pride in her tone, as if granting mercy by allowing Anna to walk away. Anna, with her plain looks and modest background, seemed a mismatch for Ryan’s charm—a role Emma was all too eager to claim for herself. “Why, Ryan?” Anna asked softly. “If you’re going to cheat, why choose someone right here? And with a reputation like hers, no less.” Ryan sneered, tossing his hair, his handsome features contorted with disdain. “Honestly, Anna, I only chased you because of a bet with my friends. You were supposed to be impossible to get. Look at you—no makeup, shabby clothes. Do you really think you suit me?” Beautiful or not, being seen with her was embarrassing. Anna nodded, digesting the cruelty. Then she smiled sweetly. “How much was the bet?” “One million.” Anna’s smile only grew warmer. “Without me, you wouldn’t have won. Half the winnings, please.” Ryan's expression darkened to thunder. Typical—always chasing money with greedy eyes, such a fraud. He had just been caught in bed, and here she was—laughing and demanding a cut? What kind of creature was she? Emma exploded with outrage. “Anna, have you no shame?” “Of course I have,” Anna replied sweetly. “At least my face can bring in a price higher than yours. Stingy as always, keeping all the winnings to yourself. Careful, karma might bite.” Ryan’s voice cut through like ice, “Fine then. We’re done. I wish you all the misery—that’s what you deserve.” Their faces darkened with fury. Anna turned, smiling gracefully as she left. Outside, the city of Albion was waking up. Neon lights flickered on, transforming the night with their electric glow. In a bustling bar at the city's heart, a woman twisted her lithe waist to the throbbing beat, her heavily made-up face a mask of seductive charm. Men cheered from the crowd, intoxicated by more than the music. Anna sat at the bar, downing drink after drink, cheeks flushed with warmth. Despite the breakup, despite Ryan’s betrayal, she wore an act of indifference. Inside, there was a tiny ache, barely noticeable but there nonetheless. “Come on, Anna, forget your troubles. Drink up,” her older stepsister, Lindsay, coaxed softly, slipping a small pill into Anna’s glass without a trace of guilt. “Please, can you stop whispering? I just want quiet.” Anna’s voice was flat as she drained her glass. If it weren’t for having no money and needing Lindsay to cover the tab, Anna wouldn’t have come here—especially not with Lindsay’s noisy presence. Since their mother died, Anna’s father remarried, and Lindsay came with her. The two had barely tolerated each other for years. Lindsay’s shady social life and revolving door of boyfriends had always unsettled Anna. But now, forced by circumstance, Anna had no choice. Lindsay watched, simmering with secret glee as Anna drank. Pulling the bartender aside, Lindsay whispered to a sleazy man, “My sister here—$300,000. No negotiations.” She owed some loan sharks, and selling Anna to a shadowy underground market was the only way out. She felt no remorse; Anna’s heartbreak was her opportunity. “Deal,” the man purred, rubbing his portly chin. Such exquisite merchandise would fetch a cool million in the black market. Anna was tipsy—too drunk to be fully aware, yet her mind flickered with bitterness. Ryan called her dull, boring. Fine. She’d show him how “fun” she could be—drinking away her sorrows like a fool. Staggering up, she collided clumsily into a young man’s arms. He was in his early twenties, with chiseled features and a striking, almost otherworldly elegance. Yet his deep, cold eyes gave him an air of distant indifference. His gaze hardened when he saw the clumsy woman leaning on him, clearly irritated by her forwardness. Then, locking eyes with her, he suddenly froze. The whole world seemed to brighten. It was her.