Chapter 1
I was desperate to scrape together 800,000 dollars for my son's surgery, so I signed a death waiver and joined a survival reality show streamed live from a deserted island. One with a terrifyingly high fatality rate.
Before the stream went live, the production team made every contestant record a final message for their loved ones, just in case.
The other female celebrities sobbed their goodbyes to their families, voices cracking as they babbled about how much they'd miss them.
When it was my turn, I fished a crumpled hospital bill out of my worn jacket pocket instead.
"If I die on that island, please wire the compensation payout directly to this hospital," I said, keeping my voice steady. My son's only five years old. He's waiting for that money to get his surgery . . ."
The live chat went dead silent all at once. Not a single new comment popped up for three whole seconds.
Then a cold, sharp scoff cut through the quiet from the investor seating area off to the side.
Crunch.
"Sophie Sullivan. Five years apart, and your little pity act has only gotten more convincing."
I snapped my head up so fast my neck ached. It was Troy Harrington, my ex-husband.
Five years had passed, and he'd grown into a wildly powerful, top-tier business tycoon.
"You ran off with one billion dollars in divorce settlement money back then, and now you're here playing the broke, desperate housewife? Save the act."
I stared at him, the numbers on the hospital bill blurring in front of my eyes. I was so stunned my mind went totally blank.
"What one billion dollars divorce settlement money? Your mom forced me to sign a statement saying I was leaving voluntarily, giving up all claims to anything. I didn't get a single cent out of that divorce. Nothing, not even a lousy coin."
The live chat went completely dead, the silence so thick you could almost feel the shock rippling through every viewer tuning in from home.
Crash!
Troy kicked the monitor in front of him so hard it toppled over, the screen shattering on the floor. His hands were shaking as he pulled out his phone and dialed his mother's number.
The line rang twice before someone picked up.
"Mom, when Sophie and I got divorced five years ago, did you actually give her that one billion dollar settlement or not?" His voice was tight, strained.
The other end of the line went quiet for a beat.
Minerva Harrington's voice was smooth, unruffled. "Of course I did. The payment went through all the proper procedures, we even have the records on file with the legal department."
I couldn't hold back and cut in before Troy could say another word.
"Minerva, what you made me sign back then was a divorce agreement that left me with absolutely nothing—"
Minerva cut me off sharply, not letting me finish. "Troy, one billion isn't pocket change. You can check the records yourself if you don't believe me."
Troy fixed his gaze on me, his eyes so cold they sent a chill right down my spine.
He ended the call with his mother and dialed his assistant's number without a second's hesitation.
"Look into the divorce settlement payment from five years ago. I want to see the actual transaction records right now."
A tiny spark of hope flared to life in my chest. As long as he followed the trail, the truth would come out. He'd know I wasn't lying.
Two minutes later, the assistant called him back.
"Mr. Harrington, our internal financial system does have a record of a one-billion-dollar divorce settlement payment made to Ms. Sophie Sullivan. The legal department also has signed confirmation of the transfer on file."
Troy spun the digital document toward the live camera, his voice sharp as shards of ice.
"Dated May 17th, one billion dollars, payee Sophie. What do you have to say for yourself now?"
I stared at my name glowing on the screen, and a cold, creeping chill seeped into every bone in my body. This couldn't be real.
"That's impossible! I never got a single cent of that money!"
The comment section blew up instantly.
A: [Mr. Harrington even had his assistant look into it. Did she blow through the entire billion already, so now she's faking this whole sob story to grift more money?]
B: [Wait, is that hospital bill even real then?]
The last flicker of hesitation in Troy's eyes snuffed out completely.
"Sophie, you can claim my mother lied to you, but are you seriously saying the entire finance department is in on some grand lie to trick you?"
I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. What was the use, anyway?
I spun around instead and asked the director when the competition would start.
Noah was still lying in a hospital bed waiting for that surgery money. I didn't have time to bicker with him about this right now.
The director hurried to kick off the pre-contest bag check. The other female contestants had packed luxury high-end sunscreen, fancy survival gear, and all kinds of expensive gadgets.
When they got to me, the staff upended my beat-up old canvas bag, and out spilled a few packs of almost-expired compressed biscuits, a bottle of stomach medicine, and a pair of patched-up work gloves.
"Ms. Sullivan, why are you bringing stuff that's almost past its expiration date?" the worker asked, confused.
"Got them from the supermarket's clearance section. Four packs for nine dollars and ninety cents. I eat these all the time when I work night shifts, they keep me full for ages."
When the staff picked up the gloves, the camera zoomed in perfectly on my hands, covered in calluses and cracked, frostbitten scars.
The comment section kept blowing up:
A: [Those hands look like they've been doing heavy manual labor for years.]
B: [If she really has a billion, why would she be working night shifts?]
Troy suddenly strode over and grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip. "What on earth have you been doing these past five years?"
"Hauling cargo at the docks, processing frozen fish at a seafood plant, and working night shifts as a cleaner."
His gaze locked on my hands, and a faint flicker of shock crossed his eyes.
Five years ago, if I'd so much as nicked my finger peeling an apple, he'd have fussed over me so much you'd think I'd seriously injured myself and insisted on rushing me to the hospital.
Now, staring at my hands crisscrossed with scars, all he could ask was, "Sophie, where the hell did you spend the 1 billion dollars?"
I wrenched my wrist out of his grip, hard.
"Troy, if I really had 1 billion dollars, my son wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed right now waiting to die!"
His face dropped instantly. He was just about to press for more details when the director announced the official start of the competition.
The rules were clear: All food brought by contestants was to be confiscated immediately.
A staff member reached for my pack of biscuits, and I shot my hand out to stop them before I even thought about it.
"Can I keep these? I have gastritis. I'll get stomach pains if I don't eat on time."
Fanny Mitchell spoke up, her expression awkward. "Ms. Sullivan, everyone signed the rule agreement. If we make an exception for you, the other contestants will think it's unfair."
Troy glanced at my hands, like he was on the verge of saying something, but he held his tongue and said nothing in the end.
I could only watch helplessly as my biscuits were taken away.
The camera caught me bowing my head, rubbing my sore stomach as I tried to calculate how much food I'd be able to get allocated once the competition started.
Troy didn't take his eyes off me the whole time.
He probably still remembered.
Five years ago, I'd had the biggest sweet tooth ever.
I'd even thrown a little tantrum and moped for hours once when he forgot to bring me my favorite cake.
But now? I was clinging to 9.9 dollar packs of near-expired biscuits like they were gold.
