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While I'm waiting for my wife, Anna Fulton, I happen to come across a popular post on social media that's posted by someone who lives in the same city as I do. "What should I do if my husband clings to me too much?" Among the comments that make fun of the original poster for flaunting her happy marriage on the Internet, the lengthy comment left by a masculine ID attracts my attention. "You gotta pretend to be ditzy and dumb. My childhood friend was forced to marry the man she doesn't love, so I suggested to her that she should pretend to be a directionally-challenged idiot. She kept up that facade for five years so far. "After that, her mother-in-law kept urging her to give birth to a baby. So, she secretly coated the stairs with grease, leading to her husband falling down the stairs. When she drove him to the hospital, she pretended to lose her way and drove a few laps around the suburban area. In the end, her husband could never get his manhood up ever again because the treatment got delayed. "Her mother-in-law thought it was an accident. She was afraid that my childhood friend might abandon her husband, so she bought her a house and a car. You have no idea how much that mother-in-law sucked up to her! "Today is her husband's professor selection day. She even suggested to him that she'd drive him to the campus. But the truth is, she plans on pretending to lose her way in the traffic just to drag the time out so that I can replace him in the selection. "Once her husband fails the selection, she'll use the opportunity to convince him to resign from his job. He's already a loser, to begin with. Once he loses his job, she'll have a valid reason to divorce him once and for all." The familiar experience makes my heart skip a beat. Before I can ruminate about the details, I hear Anna's guilt-ridden voice drifting into my ear. "I think I'm lost, Claude. Surely you can make it to the selection on time, right?"

Chuck Bassett, heir to an Urbington East fortune in Nuvark City, has dated 42 girlfriends—all foreign, all in white dresses, every single one with a mole at the corner of her eyebrow. People joke about his obsession, saying he'll never get over his first love, Lylith Fowler. Then, Lorrie Scarrow shows up. She's sharp, short-haired, hates dresses, and her eyes are clear and bright. She's nothing like the women he's dated before. Chuck buys her a private island. When she mentions how much she loves the stars, he fills the sky above their estate with millions of drones, crafting a shimmering galaxy just for her. He even gets her initial tattooed beneath his collarbone. Everyone is amazed. Chuck has finally moved on from the past. Even Lorrie starts to believe it. Until she spots him in the red-light district, shelling out a fortune to book a hostess for a whole month. The woman has short hair and a button-down shirt. She looks just like Lorrie. Chuck's friends are floored. "Have you lost your mind? Lylith changed her look, and now you're after someone who looks even more like her? Remember how she dumped you for that wealthy foreign businessman when she thought you were broke? "She only came crawling back after she found out you're the heir to one of the Four Great Families. You've always said there's nothing you hate more than women like that!" Chuck knocks back the shot. "I hate her, and I love her. She pulled me out of a fire ten years ago. No one else can ever replace her in my heart." "And what about Lorrie? You proposed to her! She gave up a career at one of the world's top design firms for you. Aren't you worried she'll walk away when she finds out?" Chuck leans back on the couch, his expression cold. "I won't marry a traitor. Lorrie's pure, innocent—the closest thing to how Lylith used to be. So I'll still marry her. She loves me too much to walk away." Unseen in the shadows, Lorrie stands frozen, her heart plummeting. Turns out, she's just another her.