I paid an eight-figure breakup fee and faked my death to escape from a fire, and I lived happily on the beach for three years. I thought I was completely free from the fate of being a substitute, but on the day I returned to Beijing, I was blocked by the convoy of my paranoid ex. He dragged me into the luxury car with red eyes, an irresistible possessiveness on his fingertips, "After hiding for three years, it's time to come back to me." The past use and betrayal, now the crazy entanglement, this belated fetter, is it redemption or an abyss?
