Jealousy

My mother-in-law’s secret identity has been exposed.

I accidentally discovered that she is actually a legendary author of Stepmother Literature.

And my husband is her stepson.

Chapter 0

On April Fool’s Day, a pregnancy test with two distinct red lines fell out of my coat pocket.

I turned to my wife in surprise. “Are you pregnant with our second child?”

Her voice was flat. “Chen Wei, we haven’t had sex in six months.”

I froze for a second before quickly spinning a lie.

“It’s a prank prop! It’s April Fool’s Day, I was just messing with you. Gotcha, didn’t I?”

As soon as I stepped out of the house, I called my mistress to demand answers.

If she was pregnant, she needed to get an abortion immediately.

She had a worse temper than I did and denied it outright.

What a joke.

I only had two women in my life, and neither of them was pregnant.

Was this pregnancy test supposed to be mine?

On the day we got divorced, Song Zhiyuan and I nearly came to blows right there in the Civil Affairs Bureau. When the clerk asked for the reason behind the split, he had the audacity to claim he had seven girlfriends on the side. I laughed out of sheer frustration. Seven girlfriends? So you really don’t get a single day off all week, huh? I shot him a sideways glare. “Working seven days a week without a break-can your body even handle that?” Song Zhiyuan sneered. “You’re not my wife anymore. It’s none of your business whether I can handle it or not.” Beside us, the clerk actually gave him a thumbs-up. “A real man. Impressive!”

I’ve read so many novels about the “crematorium” trope-where the husband has to crawl back and beg for forgiveness-but I never expected to find myself starring in one.

Except there’s no chasing, only the crematorium.

Because I’m actually dead.

I’ve become a ghost, watching the man who betrayed me. Seven days after my death, he finally seems crushed by a delayed sense of grief. In the home I can never return to, he howls in agony, acting as if life is no longer worth living.

You want to know how I feel?

I just stand there blankly, carefully admiring every inch of pain etched onto his face.

I listen intently to his desperate wails, triggered by my departure.

Beyond the desolation and heartache in my soul, a massive wave of schadenfreude suddenly wells up within me.

A joyful, blissful sense of schadenfreude.

It’s a sensation so sharp it borders on thrill. I cover my mouth and begin to laugh.

This was the seventeenth time I’d run into my roommate Cheng Yuming’s girlfriend on my way downstairs.

As was her habit, she pulled a plump orange from her bag and offered it to me, her eyes curving into a gentle, sweet smile.

I didn’t take it. I simply called her name. “Jiang Tingyu.”

“Yes?”

“Try a different fruit,” I said, my voice flat. “Oranges cause too much internal heat.”

My sister was beautiful and brilliant, always effortlessly winning people over.

Compared to her, my plain self was like a timid little mouse.

My parents used to say, “How can you even compare yourself to your sister?”

My childhood friend said, “Jiajia and you don’t look like sisters.”

I asked him, “Then what do we look like instead?”

Sniffling, he replied:

“Like a princess and her maid.”

That was until I met Cen Yi.

My parents were clinging to my sister, introducing her to his family and boasting about how exceptional their daughter was.

I stood off to the side, stealing glances at the cookies on the table.

But he bypassed everyone else and pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Mine,”

he said.

When I married Pei Miao, everyone praised our union as a match made in heaven. Our honeymoon bliss lasted less than three months before I discovered he had a soulmate. Pei Miao cherished and adored her, even setting up a private residence for her outside our home. When I confronted him, he coldly rebuked me: jealousy was unbecoming of a virtuous wife. So I learned to be magnanimous, until I too stepped beyond the boundaries of marriage and forced him to taste the same pain he had given me.

My boyfriend was acting strange while we were getting intimate.

I was wearing the lace lingerie he’d been looking forward to for so long, yet he wouldn’t even touch me.

The lights were off as I leaned in and breathed into his ear, “I have a surprise for you. Do you like it?”

His breathing became ragged.

I felt a surge of joy, thinking it was finally working.

I hooked my arms around his neck and kissed him even more fervently.

But just then, my boyfriend’s voice suddenly drifted in from outside the door.

“The lights are all on, so why is no one here?”

I froze instantly, my blood rushing to my head.

If Jiang Chen was outside, then who was the man I was holding right now?

The tattoo on the back of Wei Yan’s neck was the initials of his ex-girlfriend’s name.

The only reason he had spared me a second glance in that vast sea of people was because my eyes and brows bore a striking resemblance to hers.

During our sophomore year of high school, the underprivileged student my childhood friend had been sponsoring transferred to our school.

She was plain, rustic, and awkward, yet her eyes carefully concealed a crush on Xiao Yunzhou.

Everyone at school mocked her for her wishful thinking, and they warned me with heavy hearts:

“Huaishan, you’d better be careful. Having Wei Xiaoyun stick to Xiao Yunzhou is like getting a piece of gum caught in your hair-you’ll never get rid of her.”

“Having someone like that hovering around your childhood friend every day is honestly disgusting.”

“Exactly, Huaishan. It’s not the thief you should fear, but the one who’s always watching. Sooner or later, you’re going to suffer at Wei Xiaoyun’s hands.”