Author: Momo Chan

The hospital lab exploded with a deafening roar, trapping me and Seraphina King, the golden girl of St. Augustine’s General, in a roaring inferno. My boyfriend, Liam, made his choice in a heartbeat. He abandoned me for her. I didn’t scream for him. I didn’t beg. I just watched as he left me to the mercy of the flames. I knew this would happen. In another life, I’d played my trump card—revealing I was the hospital director’s daughter—and used the threat of his career to force him to save me. Seraphina had died in that fire. And Liam, after inheriting my family’s fortune, had waited until I was nine months pregnant, locked me in that same lab, and burned me and my unborn child alive. As I’d pleaded for our lives, he’d sneered, his face a mask of cruelty. “Phoebe! If you hadn’t blackmailed me with your family’s power, Seraphina would never have died so horribly!” His voice had been a venomous hiss. “I’m going to make you suffer everything she felt, a hundred times over!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day of the fire, trapped with Seraphina King. … CRACK! The sound of splintering wood jolted me back to consciousness as a heavy cabinet crashed down on me. Pain, sharp and blinding, ripped through my body. I fought to see through the thick, acrid smoke that clawed at my lungs, my eyes watering as I doubled over in a fit of violent coughing. A deep, pulling ache radiated from my lower abdomen. Instinctively, my hand went to my stomach. “Baby… just hold on…” But where my swollen, near-term belly should have been, there was only flatness. What… how? Before the thought could fully form, a frantic voice cut through the haze. “Seraphina! Seraphina! Are you okay?” That voice. It was so familiar. From the other side of the room, Seraphina’s weak reply drifted through the smoke. “Liam… help me…” I lifted my head, my heart seizing in my chest. There was Liam, kneeling beside Seraphina, desperately trying to heave a collapsed table off her. The sight of them stole the air from my lungs. Wait… didn’t Liam just lock me in a lab? Didn’t he burn me alive? And my baby… A wave of agony, so profound it was physical, washed over me. I curled into a ball, my body trembling uncontrollably. From the doorway, my colleague Alison’s voice was a desperate shriek. “Liam! Are you insane? Get Phoebe out of there! She’s your girlfriend!” The scene was so terrifyingly real. This wasn’t a nightmare. I had been reborn. Reborn into the day I was trapped in the fire with Seraphina King. With a final, grating screech of metal, Liam wrenched the table free. He didn’t even glance my way as he scooped Seraphina into his arms and bolted for the exit. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Just like last time. I was his girlfriend, but he only had eyes for her. Of course he did. Seraphina was beautiful, the resident goddess of St. Augustine’s. And the rumors were she was the heiress to the King Medical Group. Liam, ever the opportunist, must have fallen for her long ago. I tried to push myself up, but the cabinet pinned my legs. Shards of glass had sliced into my calf, and the floor around me was slick with blood. I couldn’t move. Liam finally seemed to notice me. His eyes held no concern, only a cold, deep-seated annoyance. He scowled. “Seraphina is a King. If anything happens to her, the whole hospital goes under! I’m thinking of the big picture here!” He waved a dismissive hand in my direction. “You’re not hurt that bad. I’ll get her out, then come back for you.” I almost laughed again. If I hadn’t lived this once before, I might have actually believed his noble lie about the “big picture.” I was bleeding out on the floor, and to him, I wasn’t “hurt that bad.” Alison, bless her heart, tried to rush into the inferno, but another colleague grabbed her, holding her back. “Alison, stop! The lab is full of flammable chemicals! It’s too dangerous!” He was right. I remembered. This lab was a ticking time bomb, with maybe fifteen minutes left before a secondary, catastrophic explosion. In my last life, I’d been rescued and immediately screamed for everyone to evacuate, saving their lives. Liam had wanted to go back for Seraphina, but one look at the intensifying blaze had been enough to kill his courage. So how could I possibly believe he’d come back for me this time? I knew he wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t let the people who actually cared about me die for his mistake. Propping myself up on my elbows, I used every ounce of strength I had to yell, “Alison, don’t come in! It’s going to blow! Get everyone out of here! Run!” The word “blow” made Liam freeze in his tracks. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto me with an icy disbelief, as if seeing a stranger. “Phoebe, when did you become so manipulative?” “The fire department will have this contained in thirty minutes! What do you think our colleagues will think of me now that you’ve screamed that?” he seethed. “Why can’t you be more like Seraphina? Why can’t you have a shred of kindness?!” The sheer hypocrisy of it all was so absurd, I actually did laugh. “You didn’t seem to mind my ‘manipulative’ side when you were fucking me, did you?” That struck a nerve. But Seraphina, ever the damsel, tugged weakly at his collar. “Liam, I don’t feel so good…” Instantly, his attention snapped back to her, his expression softening. “Hang on, Seraphina. I won’t let anything happen to you.” With that, he turned and ran, leaving me behind without a second glance. Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I shoved at the heavy cabinet. The agony was immense, but compared to the memory of being burned alive… this was nothing. Alison slumped to the ground in disbelief. “Liam! You bastard!” she screamed after him. “The Director will have your head for this!” Alison was the only one at the hospital who knew my father was the director. Her threat only earned a cruel, mocking laugh from Liam. “The Director?” he called back, his voice dripping with scorn. “Please! Seraphina is the sole heiress to King Medical! He’d have my head if anything happened to her!” I finally managed to squirm out from under the cabinet. The movement tore the wounds on my leg wider, staining my lab coat a deeper crimson, but I didn’t care. I had to live. Time was running out. “Don’t beg him!” I screamed at Alison. “Just run!” I would never forget it. The insane glint in Liam’s eyes as he doused me in gasoline in my last life. There was no love left, only a roaring, consuming hatred. He ignored my screams, ignored the baby in my womb, and lit the match. I finally understood then. He blamed me for Seraphina’s death. He hated me that much. The memory was still burning behind my eyes when Alison, ignoring the flames, plunged back into the lab. “Phoebe! Hang on!” The smoke was a physical thing, choking me, blurring my vision. But through the haze, Alison’s small, determined figure was crystal clear against the backdrop of fire. “Are you fucking crazy? Get out!” I roared. She ignored me, gritting her teeth as she hooked an arm under mine, hauling my dead weight up and dragging me, step by agonizing step, towards the door. The air was scorching, blistering our skin. I saw a lock of her hair catch fire, the ends glowing like embers, but she didn’t even flinch. She just kept pulling me forward. Looking at her soot-stained profile, a storm of emotions churned inside me. I glanced at my watch. We were out of time. Any second now, we’d both be history. Taking a ragged breath, I shouted over the roar of the fire, “Alison, on three, we dive for the door! Don’t look back, just go! You hear me?” “You can count all you want,” she yelled back, her grip tightening. “I’m not letting go!” A warmth spread through my chest. No more words. I fixed my eyes on the doorway. Our only hope. Three! Two! One! “JUMP!” I shrieked, launching myself forward and pulling Alison with me with every last bit of my strength. BOOM! The world exploded behind us. We had barely cleared the threshold when a concussive blastwave threw us across the hallway. My eardrums felt like they’d been shattered. My vision went white, my hearing replaced by a high-pitched, unending shriek. “Phoebe! Phoebe! Can you hear me?” I don’t know how long I was out. Alison’s frantic voice slowly filtered through the ringing in my ears. I forced my eyes open. “I’m… I’m okay… my leg…” Alison’s gaze followed mine down to my leg. Her face went pale. “It’s bad. Don’t look. I’ll… just wait here!” She scrambled away, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Moments later, she returned with a few colleagues and a stretcher. The look on their faces when they saw my leg said it all. A young resident gasped, “My God… how many stitches will that even take?” Every inch of my body felt broken, but I clung to consciousness. As they rushed me through the ER, I saw Liam. He was holding Seraphina, stroking her hair and whispering reassurances, as if he hadn’t just left his girlfriend to die in an explosion. As if he had nothing to do with any of it. A head nurse I was friendly with gently examined my injuries, her face a mask of pity. “Oh, Phoebe, you poor thing… So many fractures. It could take a year for you to fully recover.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Thank God your right hand is okay. You’ll still be able to operate once you heal.” I tried to smile, to say something, but the pain was a gag in my mouth. The nurse leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That Seraphina, you know? I heard she just has a few scratches. The way Dr. Collins was fussing over her, you’d think she was dying…” Alison heard her and finally snapped. She marched over to Liam and jabbed a finger in his face. “You! You are the most disgusting piece of—” Before she could finish, Seraphina let out a delicate little cough. “Liam,” she whispered, “I’m feeling a bit tired.” Liam’s attention was instantly hers. “Just hold on, Seraphina, help is coming,” he murmured softly. Then he looked up, his gaze sweeping over me with utter indifference before landing on Alison. “Phoebe’s fine, isn’t she?” he snapped. “This is between me and her. Why don’t you mind your own business?” I stared at his smug, revolting face, and the words came out, low and clear. “From now on, there is no ‘us.’” “We’re done.” Alison nodded fiercely. “Good. No point trying to reason with an animal.” Liam looked stunned, as if the thought of me leaving him was impossible. “Phoebe, what is this? What game are you playing now?” A cold laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Play you? You aren’t even worth the game.” I fought back the tears that threatened to spill, locking my eyes on Seraphina. “You chose to save another woman over your own girlfriend. Is that what you call being a boyfriend?” Seraphina’s tears came on cue, streaming down her perfect face. “Phoebe… how can you say that to him?” she sobbed. “He just knew you were stronger than me. He had faith in you! He chose to save the person who needed him more…” The hallway devolved into chaos—Liam’s angry accusations, Seraphina’s pathetic weeping, and the murmurs of onlookers drawn by the drama. “Well, the goddess has a point. She’s so fragile, of course she needed help.” “Yeah, Dr. Collins made a tough call for the good of the hospital. Dr. Cattrall is just being dramatic.” “And let’s be real, Miss King is from the King Medical Group… saving her was the smarter move.” Just then, my father rushed in, having just flown back from an overseas conference. Liam’s entire demeanor shifted. He practically beamed as he intercepted him. “Director! The lab exploded… I managed to save Miss King, at great personal risk.” He puffed out his chest. “And she said she can help strengthen the partnership between King Medical and our hospital!” My father’s face hardened. “Where is Phoebe Cattrall?” Liam, assuming my father was about to reprimand me for the accident, quickly threw me under the bus. “Director, she and Miss King were the only ones in the lab. I’m certain Miss King made no mistakes. This accident is entirely Phoebe’s responsibility.” He didn’t stop there. “She’s been rescued and her injuries aren’t severe. But I recommend she be kept away from lab work in the future. Miss King can handle the project on her own.” My father’s expression grew darker with every word. I lay on the gurney, a cold, vengeful smile playing on my lips. Just wait, Liam. Without me to protect you, you’re about to find out what real suffering is. The world tilted, and before I could even register my father’s face, everything went black. … The next time I woke up, it was evening the following day. My limbs were encased in heavy plaster and bandages, immobilizing me completely. But I felt… reborn. “Phoebe!” Alison, her face etched with exhaustion but her eyes bright with relief, rushed to my bedside. I tried to lift a hand to her, but a fresh wave of pain shot through me. Seeing my state, her composure crumbled. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You idiot! Do you have any idea how badly you were hurt?” I managed a weak smile. “At least… I got to keep my life this time.” This time, I owed Liam nothing. And this time, neither my father nor I would die. “You…” Alison sobbed and laughed at the same time, fumbling for a tissue. “I told your dad everything that happened. He was so furious he’s calling a full incident review meeting for tomorrow morning!” At the mention of my father, my own eyes filled with tears. Last time, because of me, he lost everything… “Alison…” I struggled to compose myself. “There’s one more thing I need you to do for me…” “Anything. Just name it.” “The lab… the security footage from before the explosion. Can you… can you get it for me?” Alison gently smoothed my hair back. “Don’t you worry,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I already have it. There was a little… hiccup… trying to get it, but I took care of it.” I looked at her, guilt washing over me. In my last life, Liam had convinced me Alison was just jealous, that she was trying to undermine me. We’d had a massive fight, and I’d cut her out of my life. I died without ever getting the chance to apologize. How could I have been so blind? Trading a diamond for a shard of glass. I was about to close my eyes and rest when Liam walked in. Trailing behind him was Seraphina. She looked completely untouched, not a hair out of place, casually flipping her hair and drawing the gazes of everyone in the ward. And then there was me, a broken doll held together by plaster and gauze. Alison took a deep breath. “Well, look at the goddess,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not a scratch on her.” Liam ignored her, walking over to my bed and reaching for my hand. I flinched away in disgust. He didn’t seem to register his own fault in the slightest. In fact, he smiled. “See, Phoebe? You’re fine.” “Seraphina said she’s going to push for a closer partnership between King Medical and our hospital. My promotion is basically guaranteed. Aren’t you happy for me?” A choked, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. “Happy? I almost died in that lab, and you want me to be happy for you?” Seraphina sighed dramatically, her eyes narrowing. “I never realized how selfish you were, Phoebe. Willing to destroy Liam’s future over a little jealousy… frankly, I find it pathetic.” I fixed her with an icy stare. “You want to talk about destroyed futures? Let me tell you something. The moment Liam chose to leave me in that fire, his future was already over.” Liam pointed a finger at me, his brow furrowed. “Phoebe! Seraphina came here out of the goodness of her heart, she was even going to apologize to you, and this is how you treat her? Don’t forget, I’m your boyfriend! Instead of being grateful, you’re cursing me?” “This dead-end job of yours barely pays the bills! Everything I do is for our future!” The man standing before me was a monster. I fought to keep my voice steady. “Liam, let me remind you, we are broken up. Now get the hell out of my room.” The argument had drawn a crowd. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. “I mean, Dr. Cattrall is okay now, she should just let it go. What’s more important than her boyfriend’s career…” “If it were me, I’d just take the hit. When Dr. Collins gets his promotion, she’ll benefit too.” … Alison spun around, her eyes blazing. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, so shut your mouths!” she roared at the gossiping faces in the doorway. “The Director is holding an incident review tomorrow! We’ll see who’s laughing when the truth comes out!” Liam, who usually treated Alison like she was invisible, finally looked at her. “What are you talking about? What incident review?” Alison planted her hands on her hips, her eyes darting pointedly towards Seraphina. “That’s right! A meeting to determine exactly how the lab accident was caused! I’m sure some people know exactly what happened!” At her words, Seraphina visibly flinched. The color drained from her face, and she swayed as if she might faint, the picture of fragile beauty. Liam immediately wrapped a protective arm around her. “Seraphina, don’t be scared,” he soothed. “It’s okay. I believe you.” She melted into his embrace, her tear-filled eyes gazing up at him. “Liam,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “you won’t believe their lies, will you? I tried to warn Phoebe in the lab, I really did…” She paused, shuddering as if recalling a terrible memory. “I told her… to be careful… but she wouldn’t listen… she said I was being nosy… and then… then it exploded… I tried my best… I really wanted to save her…” The crowd, which had quieted down, now erupted in a fresh wave of condemnation aimed at me. “So it was Dr. Cattrall’s mistake that caused the explosion…” “No wonder Dr. Collins didn’t save her. The goddess was the innocent one…” Seeing Seraphina so helpless and vulnerable ignited Liam’s fury. He rounded on me, his face contorted with rage. “Phoebe! So you were at fault and you refuse to admit it? If you apologize to Seraphina right now, I might put in a good word for you at the meeting tomorrow, save you from—” Alison and I exchanged a knowing glance. I cut him off. “If you two get on your knees and apologize to me right now, I might consider showing you a shred of mercy tomorrow.” Seraphina gave a faint, mocking smile. “Phoebe… I’m only trying to help you. Why must you be so ungrateful?” I was done with them. I pressed the call button for the nurse. The head nurse bustled in, pushing through the crowd. “What’s going on?” I pointed at the two of them. “Last I checked, Dr. Collins and Dr. King don’t work in this department. Why are they so far from their posts?” The nurse, who already disliked Liam, crossed her arms. “Dr. Collins, perhaps you should leave. Dr. Cattrall just came out of a full night of surgery and needs to rest.” Seeing that his intimidation tactics weren’t working, Liam could only point at me, sputtering, before grabbing Seraphina’s hand and storming out. Alison watched me for a long moment. “You’ve changed,” she said quietly. I managed a wry twist of my lips, half bitter, half self-deprecating. “Dying once has a way of helping you see who’s a man and who’s a dog. It’s an expensive lesson, though.”

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I was raised by my grandmother. When she died, she left behind four houses. In her will, Grandma Rose divided the properties, one for each of her four sons’ sons. One house for each of my cousins. My name wasn’t mentioned once. My uncle, Ben, sobbed uncontrollably, but then his tears dried up as his eyes started sizing up the mahogany furniture around me. “Ava,” he said, his voice suddenly stripped of grief, “this house belongs to your cousin now. I’ll give you two days to pack your things and get out.” He paused, adding as an afterthought, “My mother loved her vintage silk gowns. She had over twenty of them in that wardrobe. You can take those, as a little something to remember her by.” I nodded, tears blurring my vision. That night, I saw my grandmother in a dream. She was smiling, and she asked if I was angry with her for leaving me nothing. I shook my head, crying, and told her I didn’t want the property, I just wanted her back. Grandma Rose stroked my hair, her touch feeling impossibly real. “Oh, my sweet girl, such foolish words,” she murmured. “Now, listen to me. Get up and open that wardrobe. Grandma’s left you a little something special.” 1 The memorial in the living room had just been taken down. Tomorrow, I would have to leave the old house I had called home for fifteen years. My parents died in a car crash when I was three. It was Grandma Rose who pulled me back from death’s door, feeding me warm broth and soft porridge, one spoonful at a time, nursing me back to life. She was a formidable woman, tough as nails with everyone but me. With me, she was always soft. If it hadn’t been for the sudden heart attack, she would have been with me for many more years. I’d spent the last few days weeping until I felt hollowed out. But my four wonderful uncles, upon hearing of her death, had a first reaction that was chillingly uniform. “So… what did Mom leave behind?” I handed them the envelope my grandmother had prepared three years ago. Inside was a single phone number. My third uncle, Frank, his hand trembling, dialed the number. A lawyer arrived shortly after. He was dressed in a crisp black suit, his face an emotionless mask as he opened his briefcase and produced the will. “…The four properties under my name will be inherited by my grandsons: the eldest, Will; the second, Leo; the third, Jake; and the fourth, Finn. Each shall inherit one house.” As the last word was spoken, a collective, audible sigh of relief filled the room. The men deflated as if they, not the woman lying in the cold casket, had been the ones holding their breath. My fifth uncle, David, even patted his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Thank God Mom wasn’t senile. At least she knew better than to leave the family assets to an outsider.” As he spoke, his eyes darted pointedly in my direction. I said nothing. It felt like a hollow cavity had been carved into my chest, and a bitter wind was whistling through it. Grandma Rose used to say, “A woman makes her way in this world with her own two hands and the skills she carries.” She had already given me the greatest gift by raising me; I never once thought to fight for these material things. The lawyer packed up his documents. Before he left, he gave me a long, meaningful look. At the time, I didn’t understand the depth of what he was trying to convey. The crowd dispersed, leaving only Uncle Ben behind. He started by squeezing out a few crocodile tears, pulling me into a theatrical hug. But halfway through his performance, his gaze began to wander, appraising the fine lines of the furniture. “Ava, don’t be too hard on your grandmother,” he said, patting my shoulder. “This house belongs to your cousin now. Business is business, you understand. It’s just not right, a young woman like you living here alone.” He cleared his throat, putting on an air of generosity. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you two days. Pack up and be out.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing. Uncle Ben didn’t notice. His attention was now fixed on the closed doors of my grandmother’s wardrobe. “Oh, right. Mom adored those old silk gowns of hers. There are more than twenty in there. The fabric’s probably a bit dated, but the styles are classic.” “Take them,” he offered magnanimously. “A keepsake.” Tears streamed down my face as I nodded. The old clothes they scorned were the last tangible connection I had to her. After the burial that afternoon, they were all gone. The sprawling house was suddenly, terrifyingly empty, filled with nothing but the echo of my own memories. That night, I slept in my grandmother’s bed, the scent of her favorite sandalwood soap clinging to the sheets. I buried my face in her pillow and cried for hours, finally drifting into an exhausted sleep just before dawn. And then, I dreamed of her. She was wearing a stunning, moon-white gown, sitting right on the edge of the bed, watching me with a gentle smile. “My sweet girl,” she whispered. “Are you angry that Grandma left you nothing?” I threw myself into her arms, the embrace feeling so warm, so real. “I don’t want anything,” I sobbed. “I just want you back.” Grandma Rose stroked my hair and sighed. “We all have our time to arrive, and our time to leave, my dear. I can protect you for a while, but not for a lifetime.” “Now, get up. Go and open that wardrobe.” Her voice held a spark of mischief. “Grandma’s left you a little something special.” 2 I jolted awake. A glance at the digital clock on the bedside table showed 3:00 AM, sharp. My grandmother’s words from the dream were seared into my mind, as clear as if she’d just spoken them. My heart hammered against my ribs. As if moved by an unseen force, I slid out of bed and switched on my phone’s flashlight. The narrow beam cut through the darkness, landing on the enormous rosewood wardrobe in the corner of her room. Everyone knew what was inside. Just twenty old gowns. But for her to come to me in a dream… there had to be more to it. Taking a deep breath, I pulled open the double doors. The next second, the blinding glint of gold nearly seared my eyes. I stumbled back, the phone almost slipping from my grasp. Steeling myself, I crept closer, my heart pounding. Inside, the twenty gowns hung in a neat row. But under the focused beam of my flashlight, every single one of them was shimmering with an impossible light. It wasn’t the sheen of silk. It was… the gleam of gold. My hand trembled as I reached out to touch the nearest gown, a deep emerald green one. The touch was cool, unyielding, with the distinct heft of metal. It was only then that I saw it clearly. This wasn’t silk at all. The entire gown had been woven from threads of pure gold, each as fine as a human hair. And the phoenix embroidered on the chest with colored silk thread… its eyes were two pigeon’s-egg-sized rubies. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I turned the light to the sapphire-blue gown next to it. Its traditional knotted buttons were a row of perfectly round, lustrous black pearls. The silvery-white one beside that had its hem dusted with crushed diamonds that fractured the light into a thousand dazzling stars. Twenty gowns. Twenty masterpieces crafted from gold thread, rubies, diamonds, pearls, and the finest jade. Any single one of them was worth enough to make my four uncles, with their eyes glued to property deeds, tear each other apart. I stared, mesmerized, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest. This wasn’t a wardrobe. It was a vault. A king’s ransom disguised as old clothes. My mind buzzing, I took a step back and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. Click. The room was flooded with bright, even light. And just like that, the golden shimmer from the wardrobe vanished without a trace. I froze, then rushed back to look. They were just twenty gowns, hanging neatly in a row. Under the bright overhead light, they looked like ordinary silk and brocade. Beautifully made, certainly, with intricate stitching and vintage charm, but utterly devoid of their previous otherworldly glow. It was as if I had imagined the whole thing. My hand shaking, I reached out and switched the ceiling light off again, leaving only the weak, narrow beam of my phone. The miracle happened again. The gleam of gold thread, the fire of gemstones, the soft luster of pearls—they all burst forth in the focused light, a treasure trove so brilliant it hurt to look at. I understood everything in that instant. Oh, Grandma. My clever, clever Grandma. She had foreseen it all. Who would ever think to look for a fortune hidden in such an unbelievably clever way? And who, in the dead of night, would examine a rack of “unwanted old clothes” with nothing but a single, narrow beam of light? Only me. Her Ava, who loved her so much that I would be up at all hours, missing her. Grandma Rose used to say, “Never depend on anyone else. Always look one step ahead, think one step ahead, and only then, take your step.” She hadn’t just left me the means to stand on my own two feet; she had meticulously planned how I could secure it safely. An overwhelming wave of love and sorrow washed over me. I pressed my hand to my mouth, choking back silent sobs. But after the tears, a far more practical problem presented itself. How was I going to get all of this out of here without anyone noticing? I was being kicked out tomorrow. These twenty gowns were incredibly heavy. I couldn’t possibly move them all by myself. And if I hired a moving company, my four vultures of an uncle would surely see. Even if they couldn’t tell what the gowns were made of, the sheer weight and secrecy would make them suspicious. If that happened, I feared I wouldn’t make it out of this house, with or without the treasure.

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On what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, my fiancé and I went to get our marriage license. But a strange man suddenly appeared, pointed at me, and shouted, “Honey, I finally found you!” Two children at his side burst into tears and rushed toward me, crying in unison, “Mommy! Mommy!” I had no idea who they were. But my fiancé, without a moment’s hesitation, turned on me, his words like venom. His accusations quickly turned to violence. The strange man, fueled by his own rage, joined in, striking me until I collapsed. Even as I drew my last breath, I couldn’t understand. How could I have two children with a man I’d never met? And why had my fiancé, who had always loved me more than life itself, turned on me so suddenly? When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the day before we were supposed to get our license. 1 “Babe, I can’t wait for tomorrow! Once we get that license, you’ll officially be my wife. Get some sleep tonight, okay? Love you.” The sound of Richard’s voice confirmed it—I had been reborn. But before I could even respond, he’d already hung up. In my past life, Richard had always been a perfect gentleman. Before we were engaged, the most intimate he’d ever been was a soft kiss on the cheek. He’d treated me like a precious treasure, showering me with affection and care. But on the day we went to get our license, when that stranger accused me, he hadn’t even listened to my explanation. He’d just started screaming, his fists flying. The terror of my own death had overshadowed the disappointment, but now, the most important thing was to cancel our appointment for tomorrow. I found my parents in the living room, cuddled together watching a movie. “Mom, Dad,” I began. They looked up, surprised. “Ella, honey, why are you still up?” “Did we wake you?” They exchanged a confused glance. I took a deep breath. “Mom, Dad, I’m not getting the license with Richard tomorrow. I’m not going to marry him.” “What?!” “What?! I won’t allow it!” My mom’s reaction was… odd. She had always been against my marriage to Richard. She thought he was irresponsible, immature, and broke. The only reason she’d consented was because I’d threatened to do something drastic. So why the sudden change of heart? Was it because she thought I was treating marriage like a joke? My dad put a comforting arm around her shoulder and turned to me. “Ella, did Richard do something to upset you? Why the sudden change of heart? You know all our friends and family know you’re getting married. The wedding is in two weeks. Everything’s been booked. You can’t just call it off.” “We’ve spoiled you, that’s the problem,” he continued, his voice hardening. “Letting you think marriage is some kind of game!” My voice was steady and firm. “Richard cheated on me. He slept with another woman.” In my past life, I’d waited at the courthouse for two hours before he finally showed up, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, his clothes a mess, a hickey on his neck he hadn’t even bothered to hide. My mom just frowned, her tone dismissive. “You said he loves you. A man who loves you that much wouldn’t do something like that. You must be mistaken.” I stared at her, a flicker of confusion in my eyes. The old Mom would have been dragging me to Richard’s place to confront him, to defend my honor. But now, she just gave me a cold, detached look, as if I were a stranger, not the daughter she had cherished her whole life. “Well, I’m not marrying him,” I said, my voice resolute. “And I’m not going to the courthouse tomorrow. You can deal with it.” My parents had handled all the wedding arrangements. Richard’s parents had passed away when he was young, and his older brother, who had raised him, had died recently. Now, his only living relative was his sister-in-law. “You can’t just not marry him!” my mother shrieked. “What about our reputation? What will people say?” Her words triggered a flash of memory from my past life. After the stranger had accused me, and everyone was pointing and whispering, my mother had screamed at me, “You’ve brought such shame on this family! How could you be so shameless?” At the time, I had been so focused on defending myself, on trying to explain things to Richard, that I had completely missed how strange my parents were acting. My dad, seeing the confusion in my eyes, quickly tried to placate my mother. I shot them a suspicious glance but said nothing. I just turned and went back to my room. A second chance at life. Nothing was more important than that. And this time, I wouldn’t let that man destroy me. 2 I barely slept that night, the memories of my past life replaying in my mind like a horror film. I was in a daze when I heard my mother’s furious voice from outside my door. “Ella, you get up right now! So that’s why you suddenly didn’t want to marry Richard! You’ve been cheating on him, having kids with some other man!” The door handle rattled. Oh no, I thought. I rushed to the window. A crowd of neighbors had gathered outside, their faces eager with gossip. My heart sank. We lived in a townhouse. My room was on the second floor. There was no way to escape without being seen. While I was desperately trying to think of a plan, my dad kicked open my bedroom door. His face was a thundercloud. “Get downstairs. Now.” My heart pounding, I followed him down. The living room was filled with a gawking crowd. And there, in the middle of it all, was the same man from my past life, with his two children. I thought if I just stayed home, I could avoid him. But he had found me. The two children saw me and rushed forward, clinging to my legs. “Mommy! Mommy!” I frowned, looking down at the two small faces that bore a striking resemblance to my own. No wonder my parents had believed him so easily. Looking at them, a part of me almost believed it too. “I always thought the Miller girl was a good kid,” someone whispered. “Who knew she was so… loose.” “No morals at all! Having kids with one man and then trying to trap another.” “That guy looks old enough to be her father.” “Who cares? Maybe she’s into that.” “In that case, maybe she’d consider me! I’ve never been with a woman, hahaha!” “Me too! Let’s see if I’m her type!” The air was thick with their malicious whispers. I seethed with anger, but my parents just sat on the sofa, their faces impassive, as if they couldn’t hear a thing. “I’m not your mother,” I said, pushing the children away. “Stop calling me that!” They stumbled and fell, their cries adding to the cacophony. The crowd, enjoying the drama, grew louder. “Hey, that’s no way to treat your kids!” the man said, his voice laced with indignation. “You carried them for nine months. You gave birth to them. You’re the one who begged me to have them, and then you just abandoned us.” One of the children looked about eight, the other four. Eight years ago, I was still in high school. It was impossible. Four years ago, I was swamped with grad school applications. I had no time to have a baby. My best friend could vouch for me. In my past life, when Richard was late, I’d asked my best friend, Sarah, to go find him. She’d missed the whole scene with the stranger and the kids. But last night, I had told her I was calling off the wedding. She’d been completely supportive. And when she found out why, she’d vowed to give Richard a piece of her mind today. I pulled out my phone, but the man snatched it from my hand and smashed it on the floor. “Bitch! I heard you were getting married today. Not on my watch!” The screen shattered. My anger flared. “Are you insane?! Look at me! I’m not the person you’re looking for!” He stared at me intently. “Don’t you have a red birthmark on your back? And a black mole on your ass? And another one on your lower back?” He was right. But I didn’t know him. I’d never even seen him before. “If you want to prove I’m wrong, just take off your clothes and show everyone!” Without another word, he lunged at me, tearing at my clothes. I fought back, but he was too strong. The back of my shirt ripped open, exposing the birthmark and the mole to the gawking crowd. A wave of shame washed over me. My face was pale, my lips trembling. “It’s a coincidence,” I stammered, tears streaming down my face. “It’s all a coincidence. I don’t know him…” I looked at my parents, my voice pleading. “Mom, Dad, make him leave…” But they were gone. Seeing that my parents were no longer there, the man grew bolder. He pushed me to the floor. “Let’s see if you’re my woman or not.” His hands were all over me, pulling at my pants. 3 I struggled, but he held me down, his weight pinning me to the floor. Disgust and helplessness threatened to consume me. “Tsk. Still got a good body after two kids. A natural-born whore, aren’t you? It’s been a while. How about you give me a good time right now?” “Get off me!” I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. “Get off! I’ll call the police!” A sharp sting across my cheek. Then another. He’d slapped me, hard. I could taste blood. “The police?” he sneered. “I’m your man. I can do whatever I want with you. I could sell you, and the police wouldn’t do a damn thing. Anyone want a taste? Ten bucks a pop.” “Me! Me!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Me too!” “She’s a hot piece of ass. I’ll pay fifty!” The humiliation was a burning fire in my chest. I wanted to die. But he held me fast. Was this it? Had I been reborn just to die again? “Ella! I waited for you at the courthouse for hours, and you’re here putting on a live show with another man! You fucking slut! You cheated on me!” Richard pushed through the crowd, his eyes filled with disgust as he looked down at me. “Richard, help me…” I pleaded, ignoring the hatred in his eyes. “Help you? You cheated on me, and you want me to help you? Am I a fool?!” He kicked me in the stomach. A sharp pain shot through me, and I cried out. The man loosened his grip. I tried to scramble away, but he grabbed my hair, yanking me back. He then turned to Richard, grabbing him by the collar. “So you’re the one she was marrying. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re no better than her. Can’t even clean up your own mess.” He shoved Richard away and started dragging me by my hair. Just then, the sound of police sirens filled the air. “The police are here!” someone shouted. The man’s face hardened. “Who called the cops?!” “I did!” It was Sarah’s voice. A wave of relief washed over me. I was saved. The police dispersed the crowd. My parents reappeared, their faces a mask of concern as they spoke to the officers. “Officer, our daughter is just… promiscuous. She gets herself into these situations. We can handle this ourselves. You don’t need to get involved.” The officer gave me a strange, pitying look. Richard stood by, his eyes burning with rage. The two children huddled by the man’s side, their faces streaked with tears. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, you know Ella better than anyone!” Sarah’s voice was filled with righteous anger. “You’re just going to believe this man’s lies? She’s your daughter! You’re just going to stand by and let him assault her?!” But they just looked at me with disgust, as if they’d never seen me before. “Who said I was lying?” the man said, pulling out a piece of paper. “I have proof.” It was a paternity test. It clearly stated that Ella Miller was the biological mother of the two children. I demanded another test. Under the watchful eye of the police, a new sample was taken. The result was the same. A 99% probability that I was their biological mother. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?!” Richard sneered. My parents just shook their heads, as if they’d known all along. Only Sarah kept staring at the report, muttering, “This can’t be right… there must be a mistake…” The officer sighed. “Well… this seems like a family matter.” “No!” I grabbed his arm. “Officer, I swear, I don’t know this man! I’m willing to have a medical examination. That will prove I’ve never given birth.” The officer considered this. But then my parents started to make a scene. “A medical examination?! What for? Isn’t the paternity test enough? Ella, are you trying to drag our family’s name through the mud?! Do you want the whole world to know our business?! If that’s the case, I might as well just die!” My mother burst into tears, pretending to be on the verge of collapse. The officer, flustered, tried to calm her down. After a moment, he seemed to agree with her. “Miss Miller,” he said, his voice gentle. “The paternity test is conclusive. You don’t have any siblings. If the children aren’t yours, whose could they be?” His words hit me like a ton of bricks. The pieces of the puzzle, the things I had missed in my past life, started to fall into place. My parents’ sudden change in behavior… it was all starting to make sense. “What if there was a twin?” I blurted out. “Wouldn’t a DNA test have trouble telling us apart?” “Well, there is that possibility, but…” I gripped his arm tighter. “I know who the mother is.”

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The boy who tormented me at school became my brother. By day, he’d shove me into a bathroom stall at school, his laughter echoing with my humiliation. By night, he’d sit in front of our parents, ruffling my hair with a gentle, loving smile. My nightmare had followed me home. 1 Caleb Vaughn slipped into my room at one in the morning. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched me cower in the corner. “Good girl,” he murmured. “You didn’t lock the door tonight.” … I’d locked it yesterday. The next morning at school, he cornered me in the girls’ bathroom and cut my bra strap with a pair of scissors. Now, in the suffocating darkness of my room, he sauntered toward me. His face was a study in perfection, but when he smiled, all I saw was a demon crawling up from the abyss. He gripped my chin, his other hand moving with practiced ease to the buttons of my pajama top. His fingers paused, tracing the delicate line of my collarbone. A strange, searing heat bloomed under his touch, and I flinched, an involuntary shudder that only earned a cruel, mocking chuckle. He leaned in, his body pressing close, his breath hot against my ear. “Right here,” he whispered, the alien warmth of his voice seeping through my skin, a poison spreading through my veins. “How about we tattoo my name on you?” Panic, sharp and blinding, ripped through me. I shoved him away with all my might. He straightened up, shrugging with an air of casual indifference. “I’m just kidding.” …But every one of Caleb’s “jokes” had a way of becoming my reality. His eyes scanned my closet, landing on a simple sundress hanging on a hook. He pointed. “Wear that tomorrow.” Yes. After Caleb Vaughn became my stepbrother, he began to control everything. Even what I wore. 2 Caleb Vaughn hated me. I knew this with absolute certainty from the first day I transferred into his class. He was the student council president, a top-ten student, handsome and popular. He had the entire school eating out of the palm of his hand. Which made it terrifyingly easy for him to turn my life into a living hell. It started with social isolation. The moment everyone realized Caleb had it out for me, I became a pariah. No one would even look at me. Then, the violence began. Caleb himself rarely laid a hand on me. He didn’t have to. He had an arsenal of other, more creative ways to grind my dignity into dust, to make sure I could never hold my head high again. He took scissors to the long hair I’d been growing for years, then held my head, forcing me to watch my own shattered reflection in the mirror. He had his cronies scrawl obscene words on my desk in permanent marker, their raucous laughter filling the classroom as I tried in vain to scrub them away. The constant harassment made it impossible to focus on my studies. My grades plummeted. And they were always there, waiting for the teacher to hand back our tests, ready to shout my failing scores to the entire class. So when my dad told me the woman he was marrying had a son—and that son was Caleb Vaughn—I felt my world collapse. 3 “From now on, he’s your brother.” My dad clapped him on the shoulder, pushing him toward me. Caleb’s lips curved into that familiar, charming smile. “Caleb’s a great student,” my dad continued, oblivious. “If you have any trouble with your homework, you can just ask him.” So that night, Caleb “tutored” me. He stood behind me, leaning over the desk, his fingers brushing the edge of my paper in a gesture that was meant to look helpful. A good, caring brother. But under the table, his knuckles were pressing, slowly and deliberately, into the small of my back. “You can tell your dad everything I’ve done to you,” he whispered, his voice a low threat. “But I think you can guess what the consequences will be.” … The next morning, I didn’t wear the dress Caleb had chosen. At the breakfast table, he simply raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. He was a master of disguise, always playing the part of the perfect, well-behaved son in front of our parents. But by the front door, in the blind spot near the shoe rack, his mask slipped. He kicked the toe of my sneaker. “Didn’t I tell you to wear the dress?” “…” I bit my lip and finally looked up at him. “Why do you have to do this to me?” We were complete strangers before my dad met his mom. His hatred for me was so direct, so visceral, and it made no sense. He didn’t deign to answer. Instead, he leaned down, his eyes boring into mine. “You don’t listen?” A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. “You’re screwed.” … 4 I thought if I could just stay in the classroom, surrounded by people, I might be safe. I might escape his games for one day. I underestimated him. After morning exercises, I returned to my desk and reached into my pencil case for a pen. My fingers brushed against something soft and squirming. I peered inside, and a choked scream died in my throat. I flung the case away from me as if it were on fire. The one thing I’m terrified of—bugs. And my pencil case was filled with writhing, hairy caterpillars. Some fears are primal, a revulsion that’s both physical and psychological. For me, the mere sight of a bug is enough to make my skin crawl, my entire body break out in a cold sweat. I scrambled backward, knocking over my chair with a loud crash. I was terrified. Genuinely, gut-wrenchingly terrified. But as I huddled in the back of the room, my fear became everyone else’s entertainment. “Jesus, what was that?” “Dave, what did you put in her pencil case? Look at her, she’s freaking out.” Caleb walked in just then, a stack of papers in his hand. He saw me, and a look of mock concern crossed his face as he crouched in front of me. “Hey, you’re actually crying.” His thumb gently brushed against my eyelid, and I jerked my head away. That, apparently, was the wrong move. His fingers tightened on my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Such a goddamn coward.” “…” For the rest of the afternoon, his friends loitered near my desk, snickering. I kept my head down, terrified they were going to plant more bugs on me. “Hey,” Caleb’s voice came from behind me as school let out. “You mad at us?” He toyed with the keychain on my backpack. “You never used to get mad, no matter what we did.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and stood, turning to face him. “Caleb, do I have some kind of history with you that I don’t know about? Why are you doing this to me?” The setting sun caught in his eyes, creating a sliver of brilliant, beautiful light. He smiled, a look of pure, gentle affection. “You’re so cute.” … Psychopath. 5 My dad raised me on his own. He always said I was too quiet, too withdrawn, that I never told him anything. He was right. I have an incredible capacity for endurance. The fact that I’d survived two years of Caleb’s relentless bullying without a complete mental breakdown was proof of that. For the most part, I had learned to ignore them. But the bugs… that had crossed a line. So when we got home, I gave him the silent treatment. His “good brother” mask started to crack. I expected an explosion, but instead, after his shower, he just walked into my room. “Tch. Still mad?” he asked, his tone laced with something I couldn’t quite decipher. I kept my head down, focusing on the math problem in front of me, and ignored him. “You know, I wasn’t the one who put the bugs in there,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I’d known you were that scared of them…” He leaned closer. “…I would have made sure they appeared in a much more… exciting way. Right?” It was like a whisper from a demon’s lips. And then, to my horror, he ruffled my hair, a grin in his voice. “Problem four is wrong. No wonder you’re so stupid.” … I gritted my teeth and angrily scratched out all my work on the page. His only response was a soft, mocking laugh. 6 The next day, the boy who put the bugs in my pencil case apologized to me in front of the whole class. He stammered through his words, but the fresh bruises on his face told the real story. I kept my eyes on my textbook and didn’t look at him. My desk was still covered in the filthy words they’d written, but they’d taken it a step further. They’d given me the most broken-down desk in the classroom. It wobbled every time I tried to write. Frustrated, I pressed down harder, and it let out a loud squeak. Suddenly, a hand pressed down on the corner, steadying it. Caleb was crouching in front of me. He folded a piece of paper and wedged it under the short leg. “…” He was acting strangely these past few days. I knew better than to think he was showing me mercy. In my experience, when Caleb eased up, it just meant he was planning something much, much worse. He stood, hands in his pockets, and looked down at me. After a long moment, a slow, lazy smile spread across his face. … Today was my birthday. In previous years, it had always been a day I looked forward to. But this year, there was Caleb. That evening, our new family went out to a nice restaurant to celebrate. The cheerful atmosphere couldn’t distract me from the oppressive presence of the boy sitting next to me. Under the table, his leg kept brushing against mine, not by accident. When it was time to blow out the candles, he even reached over, his fingers giving my waist a light, playful tap. … My dad got me an e-reader. His mom gave me a necklace. And Caleb gave me a bottle of perfume. The gift box felt a little heavy, but I didn’t think anything of it at first. I never wanted a second look at anything he gave me. The moment we got home, I tossed it into a corner of my room. Until midnight, when he pushed my door open. He moved through my room with a practiced stealth that was deeply unsettling. I frowned at his smiling face. “Aren’t you going to look at my gift?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. I’d already opened it at the restaurant. He must have seen the confusion on my face because he added with a smirk, “There’s a second layer.” … Caleb always knew exactly how to humiliate me. My dear brother’s birthday gift. The first layer was a bottle of perfume. The second layer was a collar. A dog collar. … I glared at him, but his smile was infuriatingly pleasant. “Custom-made. Took three months. Don’t you like it?” He strolled over, lifted the collar from the box, and held it around my neck. The cool, smooth leather brushed against my skin. He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Perfect fit.” I shoved him away. I knew this was what he wanted. He loved to see this look in my eyes. Humiliated. Furious. Helpless. The more I suffered, the more he thrived. 7 When the results of the next exam came back, I stared at the pathetic scores. I’ve never been good with numbers. Subjects like math and physics have always been a struggle. The paper had already been passed around the entire class. By the time it reached me, it was crumpled and worn. After class, the teacher called me to her office. Someone else was already there. If I was consistently second to last, he was consistently dead last. I’d barely seen his face all semester; he always kept himself hidden in the corner of the classroom. “You two are the worst in my math class,” the teacher said, her sharp gaze piercing through her glasses. “I’ve arranged for someone to help you. I expect you to study hard.” She looked at both of us. “The three of you will be a study group. If you have any questions, you ask Caleb Vaughn. Got it?” … Caleb Vaughn. The ringleader of my tormentors was now my tutor. I watched as he walked into the office, the teacher clapping him on the shoulder, her face full of hope. He just smiled and looked at me. I could already imagine it. This wasn’t a study group. This was the beginning of a new nightmare. … The afternoon sun streamed through the classroom windows. Caleb was sitting on the desk in front of me. “What the hell, man? You’re really gonna tutor these two idiots?” one of his friends joked from behind him. The other boy in our “study group,” the one who always seemed to be curled into a ball, was named Leo Roth. He was huddled in the corner now, trembling. I knew he was a frequent target of the same group of bullies. And I suspected he might have some genuine learning difficulties. “Alright, let’s look at the first problem,” Caleb said, picking up my test paper with a theatrical flourish. My attention, however, was on the boy beside me. He was shaking so badly that his desk was vibrating. “Hey.” I snapped back to reality as Caleb’s foot kicked my desk. He stood over me, long-limbed and arrogant, hands in his pockets. “Are you looking at me or at him?” “…” We locked eyes for a long moment before he broke into a grin. “One of you got a 21, the other got a 12. You two are a perfect match.” … Maybe it was Caleb’s taunts about my grades, but when my dad saw my test scores that night, he blew up. “You used to win gold medals in the math Olympiad in elementary and middle school, remember? What happened to you?!” …It was true. The awards were still hanging on my bedroom wall. But now, the sight of numbers just gave me a headache. I stared at the test paper. I knew it took me longer to understand math than other students. I couldn’t even apply the formulas correctly. Because my dad had insisted, Caleb was now in my room, officially sanctioned to tutor me. He leaned against my desk. I braced myself for another round of insults, but he just said, softly, “Ask me if you don’t understand something.” … I thought the sun must have risen in the west. Then his mom walked in with a plate of fruit. “I’m so glad to see you two getting along so well,” she said, beaming. Caleb’s mom was a kind, elegant woman who had always been incredibly nice to me. She’d told me once that Caleb had a younger sister before… but something happened. She had passed away. Because of that, she was always worried that Caleb and I wouldn’t get along. “Alright, you two study hard. Caleb, make sure you help your sister.” The moment his mother was out the door, Caleb’s face changed. He leaned over me from behind, his fingers slowly, deliberately, pinching my earlobe. “Leo Roth,” he murmured, saying the name of the trembling boy from that afternoon. “How about you seduce him?” … I couldn’t understand the twisted logic of his mind. What was he trying to achieve? “I—” The word “no” was still on my lips when he grabbed my chin. He narrowed his eyes, his thumb stroking my jaw. “If you refuse, I’ll post those pictures from the other day on the school forum.” He was talking about the pictures he took in the bathroom after he cut my bra strap. I shoved him. “Go ahead. I don’t care.” 8 I didn’t care what other people thought of me. And in the end, Caleb never posted the pictures. But he wasn’t the type to give up. A rumor started circulating that Leo and I were a couple. Then one morning, I walked into the classroom to find our names scrawled across the blackboard in huge letters, a giant heart drawn between them. The sight was met with a chorus of jeers and laughter. “Those two? Together?” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Look, the lovebirds.” My name became inextricably linked with Leo’s. When a teacher called on me, someone would yell out Leo’s name. During morning exercises, they would deliberately push me into him. “You know, I think he’s actually starting to like you,” Caleb said that night, crouching by my bed. “I saw him looking at you today. The tips of his ears were red.” His hand closed around my throat, the pressure slowly increasing. “But he probably doesn’t know…” His grip tightened, just enough to make my heart pound. “…that the girl he likes looks like this in front of me.” I stared at him, my eyes burning with hatred. After a long, agonizing moment, his fingers loosened, stroking the side of my neck. Caleb always smiled so gently. But the words that came out of his mouth were pure poison. “You know something, Stella?” he whispered. “You were made for a collar.” … He was using an innocent boy to trample all over my dignity, to grind it into the dirt. I had told myself that if I was already in hell, I couldn’t drag anyone else down with me. But it was too late. … The next day, as I was being shoved against a wall, the contents of my backpack being dumped onto the floor, Leo suddenly rushed in and pulled me away. This was their usual routine. Accuse me of stealing money, then empty my bag to “prove” it. No one expected Leo, the timid, quiet boy, to intervene. Whistles and catcalls erupted behind us. Leo pulled me along, running blindly, as if he had no idea where he was going. I stared at the back of his head. His hair was getting long. He stumbled, and I almost went down with him. His glasses fell to the ground. I bent to pick them up and found myself looking directly into his eyes. … He always hid behind a thick curtain of bangs. It was the first time I’d ever really seen his face. I didn’t know what to say. I had never seen such beautiful eyes. A pale, smoky grey, so light they seemed translucent, but with an unnerving emptiness within. They were so striking that for a moment, I forgot to breathe. “You…” I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper. “You shouldn’t have done that.” I don’t know if he understood what I meant. He just pressed his lips together and said nothing. When we got back to class, the room erupted in a storm of teasing. But after that day, Leo started being… nice to me. He seemed oblivious to the malicious taunts of the other students. He brought me breakfast. He secretly left candy in my desk. Every time he did something kind, every time he looked at me with those innocent, unknowing eyes, a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. Caleb had won again. No matter how I struggled, he always got what he wanted. Now, he was enjoying building me up with a fragile, beautiful illusion, just so he could be the one to shatter it. 9 Our parents were going on a business trip for a week. Which meant I would be alone in the house with Caleb. For seven days. My body trembled at the thought. Caleb, sitting next to me on the sofa, just lowered his eyes and smiled. The first night after they left, he blocked me at my bedroom door. The vast, empty house was unnervingly quiet, and a flicker of fear ignited in my chest. He leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head as he looked at me. “You know why they haven’t been messing with you lately? Because Leo’s been taking the hits for you.” If the devil had a face, it would be Caleb’s. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to see it. The way they kicked him against the lockers.” “If you have a problem, take it out on me!” I lunged forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He simply reached up and slowly, gently, covered my hand with his. He must have felt the tremors running through my fingers, because he let out a low chuckle. “You haven’t fallen for him too, have you?” I stared at him, grinding my teeth so hard I thought they would crack. “Caleb, why are you doing this to me?” With every step he took forward, I took one back, until my back was pressed against the cold, hard wall. “Well,” he whispered, his face inches from mine. “Why don’t you fight back?” His fingers closed around my wrist. He was like a demon, peeling back the layers of my soul, asking the one question I could never answer. Why didn’t I fight back? I knew the reason. I had always known. It was because I… Something was clawing at the edges of my memory, a truth I had buried long ago. But in that instant, Caleb raised his other hand and gently stroked my hair. He leaned in, his smile disarmingly innocent. “Sleep with me,” he murmured, “and I’ll leave him alone. Deal?” Caleb was testing my limits, one by one. And in the end, he would make a shocking discovery. I didn’t have any. … Caleb’s bed was bigger than mine. When he pulled me down onto the mattress beside him, it didn’t feel cramped. And when he said sleep, he actually meant sleep. “You have to keep your promise,” I said, my voice flat, staring at the empty floor. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting fractured, painful slivers of light across the room. “Leave Leo alone.” He was lying behind me, closer than he had ever been. I could feel the heat of his body. His knuckles brushed against my shoulder blade. He let out a soft laugh and pulled me tighter against him. “Why are you so nice to him?” He waited a long time, but I didn’t answer. He must have known I wouldn’t. He toyed with a strand of my hair, then sighed, his breath warm against the back of my neck. His next words were so quiet, they were barely more than a whisper, a dreamlike murmur lost in the darkness. “To be honest, I’m a little jealous of him.” … 10 To his credit, Caleb was a man of his word. As twisted as it was to force his own sister to sleep in his bed, he kept his promise. He never laid a hand on Leo again. The bullying at school, for the most part, stopped. In the dead of night, I listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, then slowly, carefully, I slipped his arm off me. I crept out of bed and made my way to his desk. There was something I needed to confirm. For the past few nights, after he fell asleep, I had been searching his room. I was sure he would have kept it somewhere. Finally, in the back of the third bookshelf, I found a small, wooden box with a combination lock. It looked old. I tried a few different number combinations, but none of them worked. I frowned, considering my options. Maybe I could sneak it out and pry it open. A cool, clear voice broke the silence behind me. “The combination is 0604. Her birthday.” …Caleb was standing right behind me, watching me. When he wasn’t smiling, his face was a mask of cold, severe indifference. The moonlight poured into his eyes, making them look like polished, emotionless stones. I lowered my head and entered the code. The lock clicked open. Inside were a few trinkets, small mementos. I didn’t bother trying to understand their meaning. I was looking for one thing. And then I found it. A photograph. I was right. All those years ago… Caleb’s sister… It was my fault she died.

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On my wedding day, I suddenly developed the ability to read minds. I was listening to my husband’s heart as he smiled, gently taking my hand to place the ring on my finger. Lyle Whitman sends over this sacrificial lamb and thinks he can just walk away with the Sterling project? He’s dreaming. My head snapped up, my eyes wide with shock. My hand trembled so violently that the ring slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. Daniel looked at me, his expression a mask of tender apology, as if it were all his fault. Clumsy oaf. Born to be slaughtered. 1 The wedding had been arranged just three days ago, a decision made by my stepfather, Lyle Whitman. His company was teetering on the edge of a cliff, its cash flow frozen solid, bankruptcy breathing down his neck. Desperate to resurrect his failing business, Lyle had been pulling every string he could, trying to marry me off to secure a financial lifeline. He’d used my mother as leverage, forcing me to meet six different men in the span of two weeks. There was a fifty-year-old pig in a suit, greasy and obese; a sadistic trust-fund brat with a violent streak; and a mogul with a wife in New York and mistresses scattered across the country. They were all willing to take me, but none of them offered a price high enough to satisfy Lyle. Until Daniel Thorne appeared. He made Lyle an offer that made his eyes gleam with greed. The one condition: the wedding had to be within three days. Lyle agreed instantly, practically tripping over himself in his haste to deliver me to Daniel’s bed that very night. But Daniel, surprisingly, wasn’t in such a rush. He insisted on following every pre-wedding custom, step by step. He even made sure we were legally married before the ceremony. So, until this very moment, I had seen him as a perfect gentleman—polished, handsome, and deeply respectful. I had even allowed myself to believe in love at first sight, a fairytale I desperately wanted to be true. Until I heard the chilling truth echoing in his mind. He hadn’t married me for love. He’d married me to set a trap, a meticulously planned scheme to ruin my stepfather. This was a war between titans, and I was just a pawn on their board. 2 The ceremony continued, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. Cheerful, romantic music filled the air, and every face in the crowd was wreathed in smiles. Especially Daniel’s. He took my hand, his body bending in a graceful arc as his long, elegant fingers retrieved the fallen ring. As he looked up, his eyes were deep pools of devotion. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “I wasn’t holding it properly. I’ve troubled you, my dear.” This whole charade is dragging on forever. I mechanically straightened my finger, letting the cold metal slide into place. The sound of my own gulp was so loud, I was sure it cut through the music. When it was my turn to place his ring, I was a bundle of nerves, my movements cautious and fawning. “Mr.… Mr. Thorne, if you’re busy, you can leave. I can handle the reception toasts by myself.” My sudden, docile compliance seemed to catch him off guard. A flicker of confusion crossed his features before it was washed away by that practiced, charming smile. “Nothing is more important than our wedding,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Come, let’s go.” He took my hand and led me to face our friends and family, raising a champagne flute in a toast. Playing games with me? We’ll see about that when we get home. My heart sank. 3 My attempt to curry favor had spectacularly backfired. I spent the rest of the reception in a state of terrified silence, moving like a puppet on a string. After the festivities, I was whisked away to our new home, the bridal suite. The room was a cliché of newlywed bliss, dripping with the kind of opulence only serious money can buy. It had everything a lavish wedding demanded. Except people. The five-story mansion was a hollow, echoing shell. Not a single soul was present. It was clear a “pawn” like me wasn’t expected to just sit around prettily, waiting for the groom’s return. I found my suitcase in the second-floor bedroom, changed into a comfortable set of sweats, and scrubbed the thick makeup from my face. A long, hot shower washed away the last vestiges of the charade. Feeling refreshed and seeing the sky darken, I made my way to the kitchen. Over the years, trailing my mother through her three marriages, my culinary skills had become my most developed talent. With each new husband, she would lose herself in a whirlwind of romance and hedonism, leaving me to fill the role of the unpaid housekeeper. Some of my stepfathers, however, weren’t content with just a housekeeper. They’d wait until my mother was out, and their hands would start to wander. Lyle was one of them. Which is why, after learning of Daniel’s true intentions, a small, dark part of me was actually looking forward to the show. Love from a man was irrelevant. Usefulness was all that mattered. 4 The kitchen was barren. Not even a bottle of water. I did a quick tour of the mansion and came to a simple conclusion: Daniel wasn’t coming back tonight. And he intended for me to go hungry. I had some money on my phone and could have easily ordered takeout. But that would shatter the “helpless idiot” persona I apparently projected. Arousing the suspicion of a man as sharp and calculating as Daniel would be a fatal mistake. I put my phone away and returned to the bridal suite. On a small table, four small dishes of dried fruits and nuts were arranged, a traditional wedding touch. I scooped a pocketful of dates and almonds, went downstairs, and boiled a pot of water. The living room was a sea of crimson silk and satin, but the garish color only amplified the cold emptiness of the space. Assuming I was alone for the night, I kicked off my shoes, propped my feet up on the plush leather sofa, and settled in with a cup of hot water and a handful of wedding snacks. Just as I was starting to relax, a voice popped into my head, dripping with condescension. The little fool must be crying her eyes out by now. 5 Suddenly, the water and dates lost their flavor. Scrambling before Daniel could walk in, I shoved the snacks into a drawer beneath the coffee table and splashed some of the warm water from my cup onto my face to mimic tears. The front door creaked open. I turned, my expression carefully crafted into one of pure, pathetic misery. A smug, silent laugh echoed in his mind. He approached, his movements fluid and graceful, a gentle, concerned smile playing on his lips as he leaned down. Just as I thought… any minute now, she’ll break and call Lyle. That, I couldn’t do. Lyle was just like him—a gentleman on the surface, a monster underneath. Calling him for help was out of the question. But I had to sell the performance. I let my lower lip tremble and squeezed my eyes shut, willing tears to come. Then, I heard Daniel’s inner voice, laced with disgust: What the hell is that stuck on her tooth? His gaze immediately shot to the coffee table in front of me. A small trickle of water was seeping from a crack in the wood. He reached for the drawer. In a flash, I shot to my feet. “I want to go home to my mom!” Daniel’s hand froze. His expression was one of mild confusion. His inner voice was pure schadenfreude: Hah. Scared her so badly she’s talking nonsense. Alright, then. I’d play along. “There’s no one here,” I whimpered. “I’m scared. I want to go back to my house.” Daniel’s mind: From now on, you’re not taking a single step out of this house. Me: …House arrest? Outwardly, he took my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle, and sat beside me on the sofa. “Isla, we’re newlyweds. You can’t go back to your parents’ house just yet. And look, I’m here now, aren’t I?” I decided to test the waters. “Will… will you be leaving again?” “I’ll stay with you,” Daniel promised, his voice a soothing balm. Just wait. Soon you’ll be begging me to leave. 6 I instinctively clutched my clothes tighter. What the hell is he planning to do? Daniel blinked, his eyes practically overflowing with manufactured tenderness. “Are you cold?” He made a move to take off his suit jacket. Ugly creature. You really think I’d touch you? Hah. You dream just as big as your stepfather. Well, thank God for that. I wasn’t interested either. I let out a huge sigh of relief and grabbed his jacket before he could take it off. “I’m not cold. I’m just… I’m just a little hungry.” A wave of triumphant laughter roared in his mind. His words, however, were laced with pity. “Hungry? Oh, that is a problem. We’re quite far from the city, and there are no restaurants around here. The kitchen…” “The kitchen is empty,” I finished for him. I watched him struggle to hide a satisfied smirk and felt a sudden urge to twist his head off. After “comforting” me, Daniel went upstairs to shower. Before he left, he gave me one last, “soulful” look and whispered, “Wait for me.” I smiled back. Bring it on, I thought, answering his silent scheming. I’m not afraid of you.

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On Halloween night, the club brought eight strangers together in an empty classroom for Truth or Dare. The rule: confess to a “murder.” Not wanting to ruin the mood, I made up a clumsy crime story. The gloomy guy next to me muttered about pushing his cousin into a well as a kid. A sweet-faced freshman timidly admitted to poisoning her friend’s moisturizer with acid over a crush. Another, bookish student calmly described dissolving his stepmother over a denied allowance. I thought everyone was just trying too hard to fit in. After the game, we returned to our dorms. The next morning, police sirens woke me. The academic building was sealed off. My advisor, pale with terror, informed me the seven others from the game were all dead—each matching their confessed “crimes.” On my desk, police found a blood-drawn smiley face and a note: “Eight players, seven confessions. Only you, the liar, are spared.” 1 The incessant wail of sirens and the murmur of a crowd below my window finally dragged me from sleep. My head was splitting, as if I’d chugged a bottle of cheap vodka the night before, even though I’d only had a few sips of a soft drink. I stumbled to the window and peered down. My breath hitched. The quad below was a sea of flashing blue and red lights. Police cars were everywhere. The old, decrepit academic building where we’d been last night was wrapped in yellow caution tape, its entrance swarming with uniformed officers, their faces grim. A crowd of students huddled at a distance, whispering, their expressions a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. My heart began to pound a nervous rhythm against my ribs. What happened? A fire? A break-in? Just then, a sharp, urgent knock rattled my dorm room door. Standing outside was Mr. Davison, my advisor, his face a shade of gray I’d never seen before. Flanking him were two police officers, their sharp eyes sweeping over my small room. “Ivy Morgan?” Mr. Davison’s voice was hoarse. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine, Mr. Davison. What’s going on down there?” I asked, confused. The older of the two officers spoke, his tone all business. “Miss Morgan, please get dressed and come with us. We have some questions for you.” A cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I followed them downstairs, my legs feeling strangely disconnected from my body. The closer we got to the old academic building, the stronger the smell in the air became—a faint, cloying mix of sweet rust. They led me to a makeshift incident room in a nearby administrative office. More police were inside, and the air was thick with a tension so heavy it was hard to breathe. “Ivy Morgan, did you attend a freshman mixer in room 304 of the academic building last night?” a senior-looking officer asked. The insignia on his shoulder told me he was in charge. I nodded. “Yes. It started around ten, I think.” “And after it ended? Where did you go? Who were you with?” “It was almost midnight when we finished. We all just went back to our dorms. I walked back alone, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.” I answered honestly, the knot of dread in my stomach twisting tighter. “Officer, what happened?” The senior officer exchanged a look with my advisor. Mr. Davison swallowed hard, his voice trembling when he spoke. “The seven other students… who were in room 304 with you last night… they… something happened to them.” My mind went blank. A roar filled my ears. “Happened? What do you mean?” “It means they’re all dead,” the officer said, his voice cold and blunt, each word a shard of ice in my ear. “Time of death is estimated between one and three this morning. Causes of death… vary. But they were all brutal.” Seven people… all dead? The seven students who were alive just last night, laughing and making up horrible stories… gone? 2 My legs gave out, and I nearly collapsed. A female officer caught me just in time. “We’ve checked the security footage,” the senior officer continued, his eyes locked on mine, leaving no room for evasion. “You were the first to leave room 304, and you did go straight back to your dorm. But we need you to recount every detail of last night, especially that ‘game.’” I sat in the chair they offered, my hands ice-cold. A policewoman handed me a cup of hot water, but I couldn’t feel its warmth. I forced myself to calm down, to remember. I started from the beginning, from the moment I walked into that classroom. When I got to the strange icebreaker game—“Truth or Dare”—I paused, then explained the rule: We all had to confess to a ‘murder’ we’d committed. Across from me, the officer’s brow furrowed. “So, you were playing a game… where you described murders you’d committed?” His voice was laced with disbelief and suspicion. “Not real murders!” I explained hastily. “We all knew it was just a role-playing thing, like a murder mystery game! Our club is the Suspense and Detective Society, and it was Halloween night. A game like that is supposed to be thrilling…” “Fun? Thrilling?” a younger officer, taking notes, muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with incredulity. I swallowed, unable to respond. I just kept talking. I told them about the cliché hit-and-run story I’d made up. Then about the gloomy guy, Kevin, who had mumbled about pushing his smarter cousin into a well. Then the sweet-faced girl, Tina, who had timidly confessed to mixing acid into her friend’s face cream. And finally, the nerdy guy, Ryan, who had adjusted his glasses and calmly described dissolving his stepmother with chemicals. “…I just thought they were all being overly dramatic,” I said, my voice trailing off as I saw the expressions on the officers’ faces grow darker and darker. The senior officer held up a hand, stopping me. “Are you sure… that these stories were ‘made up’?” “Weren’t they?” The chill that had been creeping up my spine shot straight to the top of my head. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took several crime scene photos from a folder and slid them across the table. He covered most of the images with his hand, but the small corners that were visible—a twisted limb, an unnatural discoloration, a blurred, dark red background—were enough to make my stomach churn. “According to the preliminary report,” the officer said, his voice low and steady, every word a hammer blow to my nerves, “Kevin’s body shows signs consistent with death by drowning.” “Tina’s face was severely corroded by a chemical agent. An overturned jar of face cream was found next to her.” “And Ryan… what’s left of him is a partially dissolved mass of human tissue, consistent with exposure to a strong acid.” My breath caught in my throat. A wave of cold washed over me, freezing me to the bone. Could it be? The stories they told last night… they weren’t stories at all? They were their deepest, darkest, bloodiest secrets. “No… that can’t be! How is that possible?” I stammered, shaking like a leaf in a storm. “Who would confess to something like that? Especially in a game?” “We’re wondering the same thing,” the officer said, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel. “Why would seven people, on the same night, during a game, suddenly confess to deeply hidden crimes? It doesn’t make sense.” A terrifying thought crossed my mind. I shivered. “Officer, is it possible… that the classroom is haunted? I mean, everyone on campus knows that building is spooky!” Yes! That had to be it! What else could explain how so many people were killed in one night, each in a different, specific way? But my suggestion only made the officer’s expression more grim. He leaned forward slightly, the pressure of his presence almost suffocating me. “Ivy, during the game, did you notice anything unusual? Anyone being coerced? Or perhaps something that might have affected their state of mind? Like… food? Or a drink?” A drink? I suddenly remembered the club organizer, a student council member named Mark. He had handed out cups of a strange-colored juice. It had a weird, bitter taste. I’d only taken a few sips before putting it down. “Yes! There was a drink!” I said, grasping at the straw. “Mark gave everyone juice! It tasted strange! Maybe there was something in it?” The officer immediately made a note and spoke into his radio. But the preliminary feedback came back quickly. The remaining juice had been collected for testing, but other sealed bottles of the same brand found at the scene appeared to be fine. And besides, the drinks had been purchased by Mark. And Mark… he was one of the dead. His cause of death… decapitation. His head had been stuffed inside his own stomach cavity. The officer turned his gaze back to me. “Even if the drinks were drugged, getting seven people to confess to murder simultaneously is… highly improbable. Ivy, think carefully. Did anything else happen during the game? Anything at all? For instance… what did you do?” I shook my head frantically, my thoughts a chaotic mess. Something special? What could I have done? I was just another player! Just then, there was a knock on the door. Another officer entered and handed the senior officer a clear evidence bag. Inside was a single sheet of paper. It was a piece of lined paper, torn from a notebook, folded in half. It was stained with dark red, irregular speckles. The senior officer put on a pair of gloves and carefully unfolded it. His pupils contracted slightly. Then, slowly, he turned the paper so I could see it. Drawn on the paper, in the same dark red, almost black, dried liquid, was a crooked, childish smiley face: :). And below it, written in the same substance, were a few chilling words: “Eight players, seven confessions.” “Only you, the liar, are spared.” 3 A cold, formless fear wrapped its fingers around my heart and squeezed. I couldn’t breathe. “What… what is that?!” My voice was a high-pitched squeak. “We found this inside the desk where you were sitting—third row, by the window, in room 304.” The officer’s voice was like ice. “Preliminary tests confirm the substance on the paper is human blood. It was written sometime between ten and twelve last night, during your game.” He stared at me, his gaze trying to pierce through to my soul. “Forensic analysis has confirmed that the handwriting on the note is yours, Ivy. Now, would you care to explain… what this ‘bloody note’ is all about?” Blood rushed to my head, then receded just as quickly, leaving me ice-cold. Human blood? “No, that’s not right! That was a prop we used in the second half of the game!” I shrieked, scrambling backward in my chair, trying to get away from the ominous piece of paper. “Mark told me to write it! He gave me the ‘paint’! I didn’t know it was blood!” “Mark told you to write it?” the officer repeated, his eyes narrowing. “But the blood on this note belongs to him.” He paused, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer. “‘Seven confessions’ refers to the seven victims who confessed to their crimes. And ‘you, the liar’… Ivy, you were the only one who claimed your murder story was ‘made up.’” “Because it was!” I was on the verge of tears. “Officer, you can check! I’ve never been in a car accident in my life, let alone killed someone! Anyone who knows me can tell you that!” “We will, of course, verify your story,” the officer said, his tone unwavering. “But the facts are this: seven people who confessed to murder are dead, and their deaths mirror their confessions. The one person who claimed to be lying survived, and a note with a very specific message was found at her seat.” He leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, creating an intimidating posture. “It’s too much of a coincidence, Ivy. It’s so coincidental that it feels like a carefully orchestrated… declaration.” I stared at him, bewildered. “What… what does that mean?” The younger officer closed his notebook and interjected, “It means there was no mysterious mastermind. The so-called ‘game’ was a setup, designed by you.” “You used some method we haven’t yet identified—maybe drugs, maybe psychological manipulation—to induce the seven victims to confess their deepest secrets while in a suggestible or uncontrolled state.” “Then, after they confessed, you executed them, one by one, in a manner corresponding to their secrets.” “Finally, you faked this note to deflect suspicion onto some supernatural force or a non-existent ‘judge,’ thereby clearing your own name. Because you knew your story was the only fiction, making you ‘innocent’ and thus, ‘spared.’” The string of accusations exploded in my head like a series of bombs, leaving me shattered and cold. “You’re crazy… You’re all crazy!” I screamed, tears finally breaking free. “Me, alone? One girl? How could I possibly kill seven people in one night, in seven different ways? It’s not possible!” “Oh?” The senior officer let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Is it really not?” He produced another file.

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I let my sister Rachel choose a wedding dress from my bridal boutique. As she left, a new intern stopped her, demanding $30,000 for the gown. Rachel explained, “I’m the owner’s sister. I don’t pay.” The intern rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Our boss has no sister. You’re just a freeloader.” She blocked Rachel’s path, threatening, “Pay now, or I’ll rip the dress off you and throw you out naked!” Rachel called me, stunned. I rushed over and heard Maria, my longtime manager, supporting the intern as she threatened Rachel. “Wise up,” Maria said coldly. “This is our boss’s wife. Cross her and regret it forever.” The intern pinned Rachel down, smugly accusing her of scamming. I froze, chilled. Immediately, I canceled my husband’s credit card and called him. “Have I been too good to you, Mark?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. “Or did I give you too much money to chase other women?” 1 When my sister’s call came in, I was just about to drive over to the boutique. “What did you say?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “The new intern, Jessica, is claiming she’s the boss’s wife?” I let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “Didn’t you tell her you’re my sister?” The next thing I heard was the sharp, ugly crack of a slap, followed by Rachel’s cry of pain. My blood ran cold. I screamed Rachel’s name into the phone, but my voice was drowned out by Jessica’s shrill shouting. “This boutique belongs to my husband!” she shrieked. “You think I wouldn’t know if my own husband had a sister?” Maria’s voice, cold and mocking, followed right after. “Listen, sweetie, I’ll be straight with you. You’ve really messed with the wrong people today.” “This boutique belongs to Mr. Collins,” she continued, the lie rolling smoothly off her tongue. “And the woman you’re looking at is Mrs. Collins! The real owner’s wife! If you wanted to walk out without paying, you should’ve come up with a better excuse!” Their arrogant words echoed in my ears, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. Just a week ago, on our wedding anniversary, my husband, Mark—who never showed the slightest interest in my boutique—had come to me with a request. “Honey, there’s a girl from my old neighborhood whose family I’m close with. She just graduated and can’t find a job,” he’d said, his voice earnest. “Her mom called me, and you know, for old times’ sake, I told her I’d help. Could you… could you let her work at your boutique?” He must have seen the hesitation in my eyes, because he quickly held up four fingers in a solemn vow. “I promise you, Evelyn, she’s a real go-getter, sharp as a tack. You’ll love her!” “Fine,” I’d said, giving in. I then forwarded Jessica’s resume to Maria, my most trusted employee. Now, the line to Rachel went dead, the last sound I heard being a furious curse from Jessica. My mind racing, I urged the driver to speed up, simultaneously pulling up the live security feed from the store on my phone. The image sharpened, and my breath caught in my throat. Jessica had Rachel pinned to the floor, her face contorted in rage as she slapped my sister again and again. “You wear a dress from our store and refuse to pay? That makes you a thief! A common freeloader!” Jessica screamed. “For a piece of trash like you, even beating you to death wouldn’t be enough!” Rachel struggled, but she was no match for Jessica’s brute force. What sent a wave of pure fury through me, though, was the sight of Maria—my manager of three years—acting as Jessica’s willing accomplice. She was crouched beside them, flipping through a ledger with a grim look of satisfaction. “Mrs. Collins, I’ve done a quick tally of the last three months,” Maria announced. “This little bitch has taken over a dozen dresses from the store. The total value is well into the hundreds of thousands.” Maria’s words were like gasoline on a fire. Jessica’s rage intensified. She grabbed Rachel by the throat, her voice a venomous hiss. “You say you’re my husband’s sister? Sister?” she spat. “What’s your real relationship? Before I showed up, just how many dresses did you steal from my store?” The scene made me tremble with a rage so potent it was hard to breathe. Seeing Rachel’s face, already swollen and red, sent a spike of pain through my heart. I dialed Mark’s number. I needed to ask him just how the sweet, capable girl from his neighborhood had turned into a violent maniac who dared to call herself the owner of my boutique. He picked up almost immediately, his voice light and cheerful. “Evelyn! Shouldn’t you be sketching designs right now? What’s up? Miss me already?” I took a deep, shaky breath. “Mark, I’m going to ask you one question. What, exactly, is your relationship with Jessica?” “Why is she telling everyone that she’s Mrs. Collins… your wife?” The other end of the line went completely silent. All I could hear was the faint hum of static and the sound of his heavy breathing. His silence was an answer in itself, and it fueled my anger. “Mark, answer me!” I snapped. “Have I been too good to you? Given you so much freedom and money that you thought you could get away with keeping another woman on the side?” He chuckled, a low, condescending sound. “Evelyn, we’ve been married for years. Don’t you have even a little bit of trust in me? Look, I don’t have time for your games. I have a meeting to get to.” The line went dead. When I tried to call back, it went straight to his voicemail. 2 In that moment, fury burned away every last shred of reason. Without hesitation, I called my executive assistant. “Revoke Mark Collins’s position as COO, effective immediately. Have security escort him out of the building. And freeze his corporate card.” Designing gowns was my passion, but I couldn’t run my fashion empire and my boutique at the same time. Mark had stepped in, promising to manage the corporate side so I could focus on my creative work. To thank him, I’d gone against the advice of my board and promoted him to Chief Operating Officer. I’d even given him a supplementary card to my personal account with no spending limit. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Was I being too impulsive? The memories of our good years washed over me, a painful contrast to the present. “We’re here, Ms. Hayes.” The driver’s voice jolted me back to reality. I stormed out of the car and shoved the boutique door open. Everyone inside froze. Jessica glared at me, her expression a mask of irritation. “Who do you think you are, barging in like that? Don’t you know how to knock?” I ignored her, walking straight to my sister on the floor. Rachel grabbed my hand, her grip desperate as fresh tears streamed down her bruised cheeks. “Evelyn, you’re finally here,” she sobbed. “What is going on? Who is this woman?” Her voice was weak, but Jessica heard every word. Her eyes, now fixed on me, narrowed with malice. “So you’re the sister this little tramp was talking about? Evelyn Hayes?” Maria looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “Ms. Hayes, I didn’t realize she was your sister.” Her surprise quickly curdled into contempt. “I know you’re the lead designer here, but that doesn’t give your family a free pass to freeload.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. As I helped Rachel to her feet, I pointed to the red marks on her face. “Did you do this?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Maria swallowed hard, a brief flash of guilt in her eyes before she hardened her expression. “She’s lucky we didn’t call the cops! Do you have any idea how many expensive dresses she’s stolen from this store, using your name? And on top of that, she had the audacity to claim she was Mr. Collins’s sister right in front of the real Mrs. Collins!” She punctuated her speech by spitting on the floor beside my sister. “Absolutely shameless! Doesn’t she know her place? Trying to impersonate family in front of the real deal!” Jessica, puffed up by Maria’s defense, crossed her arms, her posture dripping with arrogance. She scanned me from head to toe with a dismissive sneer, her eyes finally landing on my designer handbag. “That bag,” she demanded. “Where did you get it?” I glanced down at the bag in my hand. “And why would I need to explain that to you?” I shot back. “Furthermore, who told either of you this boutique belongs to Mark Collins?” This boutique was my baby. I’d poured my heart, soul, and the very first big check I ever earned into creating it. Suddenly, a thought struck me. “Is it because his name is on the business registration as a co-owner? Is that why you think he owns the place?” The idea was so absurd I almost laughed. “If that’s the case, let me clear things up for you. This boutique is—” “I asked you a question! Where did you get the bag?” Jessica shrieked, her face turning a blotchy red with rage. “Answer me, Evelyn!” Faced with her unhinged questioning, I drew myself up to my full height. “My husband bought it for me.” “You’re a liar!” In the next second, Jessica lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “You stole it! That bag was supposed to be mine!” “You’re a thief!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “No wonder your sister is one too! It runs in the family! I’m going to teach you both a lesson you’ll never forget!” 3 My priority was protecting Rachel, who was still weak and shaken, so I didn’t fight back as hard as I could have. My face stung as Jessica’s nails raked across my skin. Seeing me get attacked, Rachel forgot her own pain and threw herself at Jessica, pulling her off me. That gave me the opening I needed. I seized the opportunity and landed several hard slaps across Jessica’s face. One against two, Jessica was quickly overwhelmed. “Maria, are you blind?” she screeched, flailing. “Don’t just stand there! Help me!” Maria, suddenly caught in the crossfire, hesitated. Her eyes met mine, and the predatory glare I gave her seemed to root her to the spot. “Maria, have you completely lost your mind?” I said, my voice low and cutting. “Think for a second. Who gave you Jessica’s resume? In all the years you’ve worked here, have you ever seen another manager besides me?” My words hit their mark. A visible wave of panic washed over Maria’s face. Even Jessica paused her assault, breathing heavily. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she panted. “This store belongs to my husband, Mark Collins. I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this place otherwise!” A dawning horror crept into Maria’s expression as she processed what I’d said. She took a shaky step back. “But… Mrs. Collins,” she stammered, her voice trembling, “your file… it was Evelyn who gave it to me.” When I first opened the boutique, the high salary and benefits attracted a flood of applicants, including the daughters of several business partners. I turned them all down. They were unqualified and hadn’t bothered to submit a proper resume. So when Mark sent me Jessica’s file, I hired her on the spot, assuming she was properly vetted. The atmosphere in the room grew thick with tension. Maria looked utterly lost, her eyes wide with a fear she could no longer hide. Jessica stared at me, her chest heaving. “What did you say?” she whispered, then a cold, cruel realization dawned on her. “I get it now.” With a sudden burst of strength, she shoved me backward into a rack of gowns. “Tell me!” she snarled, her face inches from mine. “You’ve been sleeping with my husband behind my back, haven’t you? You pathetic homewrecker! You’re the other woman!” The absurd accusation seemed to clear the fog in Maria’s head. “So that’s what this is about!” she exclaimed, her loyalty snapping back to Jessica. Jessica snatched my handbag and threw it violently to the floor. Not satisfied, she began stomping on it with her high heel, grinding the expensive leather into the polished wood. “This bag!” she seethed. “Mark promised this bag to me for my birthday! How did it end up with you? You must have seduced him! Coaxed him into giving you what’s rightfully mine!” “A homewrecker and a thief! You two really are a perfect pair of sisters!” With Maria now joining the fray, and me trying to shield Rachel, I was at a clear disadvantage. Jessica seemed to know it, yanking my hair with vicious glee. I could feel the tearing sting at my scalp. Just then, the door flew open. “Everybody freeze!” a stern voice commanded. “Police! Who is Evelyn Hayes?” 4 A wave of relief washed over me at the sound of the officer’s voice. Maria and Jessica immediately stopped, their hands dropping to their sides. “I am!” I called out, stepping forward. “I’m Evelyn Hayes. I’m the one who called.” I’d dialed 911 right after Mark had hung up on me. Thank God they’d arrived when they did. With the unhinged state Jessica was in, I dreaded to think what might have happened to me and Rachel. But before I could say another word, Jessica burst into tears and launched into a performance for the police. She pointed a shaking finger at Rachel. “Officer, this woman was trying to steal a dress from my store! I caught her red-handed! Is it a crime to stop a thief?” Maria immediately jumped in, nodding vigorously. “It’s true! If we hadn’t caught her, the store would be out thirty thousand dollars!” Rachel gripped my arm, her jaw set stubbornly. “This is my sister’s store! I wasn’t stealing anything!” “Liar! It’s my husband’s store!” Jessica shrieked back. Cutting through the chaos, I stepped toward the lead officer, pulling out the official ownership documents for the boutique from my briefcase. I then recounted the events of the past hour calmly and factually. To my utter disbelief, when I mentioned Mark’s name, Jessica collapsed into a fit of dramatic, gut-wrenching sobs. “Officer, I know I shouldn’t have hit her!” she wailed. “But I was hitting the other woman! The woman who’s trying to destroy my family! She seduced my husband! Doesn’t a woman have the right to defend her marriage?” The officer looked utterly bewildered. Finally, he sighed and decided to take all of us down to the station. In the precinct’s mediation room, Jessica continued her act, crying about how she was the real victim. “All I did was slap a homewrecker a few times!” she sobbed to the officer. “A woman like her, with her morals? Back in the day, she would have been shamed publicly! You have to understand!” I had reached the end of my patience. I opened my purse, took out my marriage certificate, and slid it across the table to the officer. In that moment, I was grateful for my odd habit of keeping the certificate in my car’s glove compartment ever since we got married. I’d slipped it into my bag before leaving the car, and now, it was my trump card. “Mark Collins and I are legally married,” I stated, my voice firm. “Officer, I have nothing more to add. As for her assault, I will not be settling this amicably. You can proceed with charges as you see fit.” But then, in a move I never saw coming, Jessica pulled out her phone and confidently swiped to her photo gallery. “Officer, that certificate is a fake!” she declared. “I have the real one right here! See for yourself!” I leaned forward, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs. On her screen was a crisp, clear photo of a marriage certificate. With her name, and Mark’s. What the hell was going on? Did Mark have an identical twin I never knew about? The thought was absurd. No one would give twin brothers the exact same name. Rachel squeezed my arm, her whisper urgent. “Evelyn, what’s happening? Did Mark marry both of you?” The officer, clearly stumped by this unprecedented situation, placed my certificate and Jessica’s phone side by side on the table. “Alright,” he said with a heavy sigh. “This is something that needs to be cleared up face-to-face. You need to get Mark Collins in here.” Since I had presented the physical document first, the officer gestured for me to make the call. The irony was bitter. Mark’s phone rang and rang, unanswered. When it finally connected, it was his assistant. “Mr. Collins is in a meeting. Please do not call this line again.” He hung up. The sound of the dial tone was punctuated by Jessica’s smug, triumphant laughter. Beside her, Maria shot me a look of pure contempt and flashed a middle finger. “So, you’re the fake one after all,” she sneered. “And to think you were acting so high and mighty.” I tilted my chin toward Jessica. “Your turn.” Jessica raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and dialed. The call connected in less than ten seconds. “Honey,” she whimpered into the phone, her voice thick with fake tears. “I’ve been attacked! I’m at the police station!” A knot of anxiety tightened in my gut. Finally, a familiar voice came through the speaker. “Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” That voice—his voice—extinguished the last flickering ember of hope in my heart. Rachel shook my arm, her eyes wide with confusion. “Evelyn, what is happening?” I could only shake my head, my mind a blank slate of shock and betrayal. Under Jessica’s gloating, victorious gaze, the long, agonizing wait began. Half an hour later, a familiar figure rushed into the room. Mark went straight to Jessica, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Jessica, are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Who did this to you? I’ll make them pay!” “That would be me,” I said, my voice flat and cold. I watched his entire body go rigid. He turned around slowly, his face draining of all color when he saw me. “Ev… Evelyn?” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

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A month after the divorce, I posted a picture to my Instagram: a stunning diamond ring nestled between two fresh marriage certificates. The caption was simple: It’s official. Two minutes later, my ex-husband’s call came through. “Tiffany, take down that post. Now.” “I know you’re just trying to make me jealous with fake marriage certificates, but what will people think if they see it?” “We’ll go remarry tomorrow. I’ve already calmed Anna down; she’s forgiven you.” I was about to tell him the certificates were very much real when a deep, masculine voice drifted from the bathroom. “Tiffany, I forgot a towel.” On the other end of the line, I could hear the distinct sound of teeth grinding. My ex-husband’s lazy tone sharpened into a blade. “Who is that? Who’s in the room with you, Tiffany?” 1 I hung up and got a towel for Jim. After he was dressed, he gave me a warm hug before heading out for a work emergency. Half an hour later, the front door was kicked open. Miles rushed in, his eyes wild. He grabbed my hands, spinning me around to check for injuries. Seeing I was unharmed, he let out a shuddering breath and pulled me into a crushing embrace. “Tiffany, baby, are you mad at me? I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. Please, don’t use some other guy to make me jealous.” His eyes were red-rimmed, and he nuzzled his chin against my shoulder. “Baby, you know I love you more than anything. Even if it’s a joke, it drives me crazy.” “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He claimed he loved me most, but the moment his assistant, Anna, threw a tantrum, he’d filed for a “temporary” divorce without a second thought and jetted off to take wedding photos with her. He missed me so much that he took Anna to see orcas in New Zealand, then immediately flew her to Norway for the Northern Lights. Her Instagram had been a non-stop highlight reel of their romantic getaway for the past month. Hearing his heartfelt speech now, I let out a short, bitter laugh. “It wasn’t a joke.” His smile froze. My own expression was serene. “We’re divorced, Miles. I have no reason to make you jealous.” He forced a laugh, his posture relaxing instantly. “Still holding a grudge, huh? C’mon, baby, don’t be like that. She’s just my colleague. It’s not like I did anything to betray you.” “Look, to make it up to you for the whole divorce thing, I’ll propose to you all over again. We’ll be fine. Forgive me, just one more time.” He pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket. “It’s a custom-designed necklace. I had it made for you on my last business trip.” My gaze fell to his left hand. On his ring finger was the faint, pale band of skin left by a wedding ring. When we got married, he’d refused to wear a ring, claiming it was unprofessional. That tan line, combined with this sudden, extravagant gift, told me everything I needed to know about who he’d been wearing a ring for. Just then, our daughter burst through the door and threw her arms around me. She opened her small hand to reveal a delicate, lifelike butterfly hairpin. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? The little butterfly is saying sorry.” I took the pin and clipped it into my hair. The cold refusal on my lips died away. You can’t stay angry at your own child. BOOM! The sound of fireworks crackled outside. Miles took my hand and led me to the doorway. A heart formed by 999 drones was drifting slowly through the night sky. As it reached our house, the drones shifted, spelling out my name. TIFFANY, HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY. My daughter looked up at me with hopeful eyes. Miles’s smile was as warm and tender as the day he’d first confessed his love to me, surrounded by 999 candles. Passersby stopped, oohing and aahing, some even applauding. “Wow, that’s so romantic!” “Kiss her! Kiss her!” they chanted. I met Miles’s eyes, saying nothing. He bit his lower lip and leaned in, about to kiss my cheek. At that exact moment, a pair of bright headlights washed over my face, followed by Anna’s broken sobs. 2 Anna teetered towards us on impossibly high heels, her eyes swimming with tears as she stared at Miles. “We just had our wedding photos taken, and you’re already cheating on me? Miles, you told me you’d only love me for the rest of your life! You’re a liar! I’m just going to go kill myself then!” She made a dramatic run for a nearby tree, only to collide with Miles’s chest instead. She pounded his chest with her small fists. “You’re a monster, Miles! If you’re going to break my heart, you might as well just let me die.” Our daughter, Lily, ran to her side, gently wiping away her tears. “Mommy, don’t cry. Daddy and I love you the most.” Instantly, the curious gazes of the onlookers turned sharp, pointing at me. “So, she’s the other woman?” “Obviously. They have a child together. I can’t believe she has the nerve to seduce a married man.” I opened my mouth to explain, but Miles cut me off with a frown. “You should go, Tiffany. I can’t do this to Anna.” Lily reached up and yanked the hairpin from my head, taking a clump of my hair with it. She snatched the necklace box from my hand. “Did you really think this was for you? It was a gift from Daddy and me to Mommy.” In just one month, my daughter had started calling Anna “Mommy.” A smirk played on Miles’s lips. He dropped to one knee before Anna. “I kept feeling like I still owed you something. I think… this was it.” Lily clipped the butterfly pin into Anna’s hair. “Mommy loves butterflies. I picked this out just for you.” On a bystander’s livestream, the hashtag #RealLove was trending. Her husband and child adore her! She’s the real winner here! Oh my god, is that a two-carat diamond? It looks like the ‘Heart of the Ocean’ masterpiece that took three years to design. It’s worth over a hundred million, the only one in the world! Amid the chorus of praise, Anna shot me a look of pure contempt before melting into Miles’s arms. He held her with one arm and took Lily’s hand with the other, turning their backs on me. I simply pulled out my phone, screenshotted every single one of Anna’s gloating posts, and then blocked and deleted them both. I had no time for this pathetic homewrecker soap opera. 3 A little while later, a video call from Jim came through. “Tiffany, I’ve handled things at the office and I’m on my way back. Want me to pick up a late-night snack?” I thought for a moment. “No, thanks. I don’t really have an appetite.” Jim’s expression immediately grew tense. “What’s wrong? Did that guy from this afternoon bother you? He… he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” He tried to look casual, turning his head to the side, but the way he bit his lip betrayed his concern. I shook my head, a small smile touching my lips. “What are you thinking? It’s just the heat.” When Jim got home, he saw the empty living room and rushed into the bedroom, only relaxing when he saw me packing a suitcase. “I thought you weren’t leaving for another month. Why are you packing now?” I smiled and gave him a hug. “I changed the flight to three days from now. If we leave early, we can do some sightseeing.” I had agonized over buying that ticket for weeks, but the decision to finally leave took only a second. I had always stayed for Lily’s sake. Now, I realized there was nothing left here for me to hold onto. But before I left, there was one last important thing to do. The next morning, I arrived at the auction house. My parents had gone missing during a round-the-world trip years ago. An island up for bid today held the only clue I’d found to their whereabouts. I hadn’t even reached my seat when a stiletto heel shot out, tripping me. I stumbled and fell. Anna laughed. “Oh, Tiffany, I know your daughter calls me ‘Mommy’ now, but you don’t have to bow to me.” “You’re so much older than me. I’d hate for you to shorten my lifespan with such respect.” She didn’t move, however, instead motioning for her friends to help me up. “You’re so good at playing the victim. If I were a man, I’d probably fall for it too. Too bad for you, Miles is completely devoted to me.” I slapped their hands away. “You seem to be enjoying the role of the other woman. Is that why you’re so happy?” Her smile vanished. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes.” I assumed she was talking about Miles and brushed it off. I couldn’t care less about a man who had already cheated. But to my horror, when the bidding for the island began, one of Miles’s employees walked to the podium and began presenting my proposal. They had stolen my work. I stared at Miles in disbelief. He couldn’t meet my eyes. I had poured my heart and soul into that proposal, working sleepless nights for a month, all for the chance to get access to that island and investigate my parents’ last known location. I never thought he would do this to me, all for Anna. Anna tilted her head, pointing to the presentation on the screen. “Isn’t it a great pitch, Tiffany? That island is mine.” To find the truth, I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and called my assistant. “Add ten percent to the budget. I don’t care what it takes. Get me that island.” Miles opened his mouth as if to explain, but Anna tugged on his arm. “Miles, you promised you’d give me this island. You can’t let Tiffany use your money to steal it from me.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. So, after all the years we’d spent building our company from nothing, in everyone’s eyes, I was just a gold digger living off his wealth. I was about to tell him I would fight him for it when he suddenly stopped Anna. “Why fight over a deserted island? I have a much better gift for you, Anna.”

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The richest man in the country wanted me. Not for himself, but for his son. He wanted me to be his wife. My job? To whip his spoiled, playboy, trust-fund-baby of a son into shape. He asked if I was up to the challenge. Are you kidding me? From this day forward, if that brat so much as looks at another girl, I’m breaking his legs. 1 I was at a dive bar with my best friend, demolishing a plate of BBQ wings. She was scrolling through her phone, making little “tsk-tsk” sounds. “Look at this,” she said, shoving the screen in my face. “The nation’s golden boy has a new girlfriend. Again.” I glanced at the screen. It was an article about David Brown, son of the wealthiest man in the country. The accompanying photo showed a guy more handsome than any movie star, with an air of effortless privilege that screamed “old money.” Too bad the guy was a complete train wreck. He went through a dozen girlfriends a month. With his looks and money, women lined up. He never said no, and when he inevitably broke up with them, he’d pay them off with a hefty “severance package.” “So what?” I said, downing another beer. The room was starting to spin. My friend nudged me, raising an eyebrow. “What would you do if he were your husband?” “What would I do?” That question sobered me up real quick. “If I were married to that moron?” I slammed my glass on the table. “If he even thought about another woman, I’d break both his legs!” “And don’t get me started on his ‘investments’!” I continued, getting louder. “He buys a stock, it tanks. He touches a company, it goes bankrupt. If he were my husband, I’d lock him in a closet. He wants to go out and burn through my money? I’d kill him!” “And look at those dark circles under his eyes! How many kidneys does he think he has to burn through at this rate?” Halfway through my rant, my friend’s eyes went wide with terror. She stared at something behind me, blinking frantically. I let out a boozy burp. “You got a twitch?” “And his dad! His dad’s an idiot too! He’s got one son, and he’s letting him run wild like this? What a mess!” “If I were his mom, I’d give him a good smack upside the head, then hurry up and have another kid. Start over with a new character!” I was getting worked up, losing control of my volume. Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder. “I think you have some excellent points,” a calm voice said. “Would you be willing to manage him for me?” Who? I squinted and turned around. Crash. The beer bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Standing behind me was a middle-aged man in a crisp white shirt. His gaze was sharp, his posture impeccable, and he looked incredibly familiar. Harrison… Harrison Brown? The richest man in the country? Can someone please tell me why the richest man in the country is eating at a dive bar on a Tuesday night? My friend covered her face and made a swift exit. “Don’t be alarmed,” Harrison Brown said, his expression serious. “I meant what I said. I think you’re right. Would you be willing to be his…” My eyes lit up. “His mom?” Harrison’s face darkened. “His wife.” 2 Harrison Brown brought me to the legendary Crestwood estate. I’d never seen a mansion this big in my life. The marble floors probably cost more per square foot than my entire apartment. I sat on a plush sofa while Harrison sat across from me. A few minutes later, the front door opened. A man in a black Gucci t-shirt walked in, holding a leash. David Brown. Harrison’s son. He froze when he saw us. “Dad? What are you doing here?” “What is this?” Harrison asked, his face grim as he pointed at the leash. “It’s my dog. You’ve seen him before… wait, holy crap, where’s my dog?” David panicked, yanking on the empty leash and looking around wildly. I just stared. A moment later, a husky trotted in nonchalantly. David dropped the leash and pointed a shaky finger at me, his face turning sour. “Are you really bringing your new girlfriend here? In front of me?” Harrison’s expression grew even darker. “My wife is still very much alive.” “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, feeling like I should probably say something. I chose my words carefully. “David, is it? Come here, kneel down. Mom has something to tell you.” David’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What is the meaning of this?!” he snarled, turning to his father. Harrison was unfazed. “Get acquainted. This is the wife I’ve found for you. From now on, you will listen to her.” David was speechless. “Her?!” He looked me up and down with disgust. “She looks like she crawled out of a sewer. And you want me to listen to her? You must be dreaming.” Harrison ignored him and handed me a bank card. “This is for you. From now on, all of his allowances will be deposited into this account.” “What do you mean?” David sputtered. Harrison narrowed his eyes at his son. “From now on, all of your money is in your wife’s hands. That includes your cars and properties. They’ve already been transferred to her name. Understood?” “On what grounds?!” David roared. “Even my money is managed by your mother. You think you get a choice?” Harrison’s voice was like ice. “Now, shut up before I decide to slap some sense into you.” I held the heavy, black card in my hands, a giddy smile on my face. So this is what wealth feels like. “From now on, this waste of space is your responsibility,” Harrison said to me. “Keep him in line. The money is yours to spend as you see fit.” With that, he turned and left, ignoring David’s furious protests. Just before the door closed, he gave me a final nod. “Don’t hold back. Hit him if you need to. You were right.” “If you accidentally kill him, I’ll just start over with a new one. I’ve still got time.” Slam! The door shut. Me: … David: … There’s some fatherly love here, but not much. 3 What does it feel like to become a millionaire overnight? I was clutching the black card, too excited to sleep, so I texted my best friend. Me: I’m rich. Her reply was instantaneous. BFF: Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped. Me: … Even if I had been kidnapped, you wouldn’t be able to see me blink. After I explained the whole story, she sent back a single number: 6. BFF: I almost feel sorry for David Brown. You, in charge of him? Tsk tsk. He’s about to experience all the childhood discipline he ever missed. I scoffed. I can be gentle. “Hey, you!” An annoyed voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned around. Whoa. David stood there, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his eight-pack abs glistening. He offered a sly smile. “Well, what do you think, gorgeous?” “Nice,” I said honestly, then added, “My name is Hannah.” He really was ridiculously handsome. “Hannah…” David moved closer, the scent of citrusy body wash filling the air. He leaned in, his face just inches from mine. Oh no. I think I’m about to get a nosebleed. “So… can I have my money back?” His words were a splash of ice water. I hugged the card to my chest and spat out a single word. “No.” He was handsome, sure. But he wasn’t “a limitless black card” handsome. Trying to seduce me? He picked the wrong woman. I’ve spent ten years gutting fish at the city market. My heart is colder than a walk-in freezer. Unless you’re offering cash. David’s face instantly darkened. “Don’t push your luck. That’s my money!” “No.” Still the same word. “Fuck!” he cursed, his face flushing with anger. “If you were a man, I’d punch you!” I tilted my chin up proudly. “If I were a man, I couldn’t be your wife, could I?” “Get out.” Now it was his turn to say it. 4 The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes. I’d been too excited to sleep. There was a knock on the door. I yawned and opened it to find a man in a black suit. “Ms. Reed? I am Mr. Brown’s assistant, Mr. Davies.” “These are Master David’s car and house keys. Mr. Brown asked me to deliver them to you.” Before I could process what was happening, Mr. Davies handed me a heavy, custom-made tote bag from a private bank. It was filled to the brim with keys of every shape and size. I nearly dropped it. His task completed, Mr. Davies gave a curt nod and left. Carrying the heavy bag, I took the elevator down to the underground garage. I hit the light switch by the door. One by one, rows of lights flickered on, illuminating the space. The bag of keys slipped from my fingers and hit the concrete with a loud jangle. Before me was a garage the size of an amusement park, filled with an endless sea of luxury cars. There were no Mercedes or BMWs here. The lowest tier was a Porsche 911. Further in, I saw Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, McLarens, Maseratis… you name it, he had it. I fell to my knees. So this was the fortune of a billionaire’s son. My apologies for my earlier disrespect, Master David. … After hauling the keys upstairs and locking them securely in my room, I made myself some breakfast. A little while later, David stumbled down, rubbing his eyes. The moment he saw me, his face soured. “Why the hell are you still here?” I just smiled and dangled the key to the Crestwood estate. “Sorry, this is my house now.” “Fuck!” He cursed, grabbing his jacket from the sofa. “Fine! You stay here, I’m leaving!” “Where are you going?” I stepped in front of him. “I’m your wife, remember? You have to tell me where you’re going.” “I’m going to the Dynasty Club, and you’re not following me!” he snapped, pushing past me. He stormed out the door, then stopped, patting his pockets. An enraged roar echoed back into the house. “Where the FUCK are my keys?!” Right here with me. I chuckled. David shot me a look that could kill before stomping off. I went back to my room, grabbed a random key, and headed down to the garage. I picked a sleek McLaren and sped off towards the Dynasty Club. Alright, pretty boy. Let’s see if I can’t knock you back into line today. 5 Before heading to the club, I made a detour to the city’s most exclusive shopping district. I bought myself a new outfit from head to toe. Looking in the mirror, I had to admit, I cleaned up pretty well. Dressed like this, I could almost pass for the heiress of some great fortune. Hey, all of David’s assets were mine to command now, right? By the time I arrived at the Dynasty Club, over an hour had passed. I figured David was probably well into his party by now. Time for my grand entrance. “Good evening, miss. Who are you here to see?” a hostess asked, rushing to greet me. I gave her a warm smile. “I’m looking for David Brown. Could you take me to him?” “Of course. Right this way.” She led me to the top floor, to a private suite at the end of the hall: 1603. As I approached the door, I could already hear David’s voice. “I swear, my dad has lost his mind. He found some trashy hick off the street and wants me to marry her. It’s driving me crazy.” “And he gave her all my money! All of it! Is he senile? He’s barely even met her!” So much filial piety. Another voice, a woman’s, cooed, “Oh, David, don’t be angry.” “Your father was probably just tricked by that woman. Don’t worry, we’re all on your side.” David sighed. “You’re the only one who understands me, Tiffany.” Understand this. I’d had enough. I kicked the door open and stormed in. The chatter in the room died instantly. David was sitting on the sofa directly across from the door, a delicate-looking girl practically draped over him. Four or five of his cronies were scattered around the room. “What are you doing here?” David asked, a flicker of shock in his eyes before it was replaced with his usual disdain. “David, who is this?” the girl, Tiffany, asked, tightening her grip on his arm. “She looks so… aggressive.” I smiled. What a perfectly brewed pot of green tea. “I’m his mother,” I said. And before anyone could react, I walked over, grabbed the fruit platter from the table, and slammed it upside down on David’s head. He was stunned, staring at me with a mixture of fruit salad and fury. “What the hell—” He didn’t get to finish. I stepped onto the coffee table, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the sofa. Then, I executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. THUD! David hit the floor, hard. I started training in taekwondo, kickboxing, and Muay Thai when I was ten. I was the national champion for fourteen years straight. Taking down a pampered pretty boy who spent his days chasing skirts? Child’s play. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock. 6 The little green tea, Tiffany, was especially terrified. She swallowed hard, trembling. “Ah… fuck!” David groaned, trying to push himself up. I promptly sat down on his back, pinning him to the floor. He was stuck, propped up on his elbows, unable to move. I calmly lit a cigarette and smiled sweetly at the room. “Hello, everyone. I’m David’s wife, Hannah.” “My apologies for the poor upbringing. Please forgive the embarrassing display.” His friends stammered, exchanging nervous glances, their earlier bravado completely gone. “Uh… Mrs. Brown… you’re… quite something.” “Yeah, definitely…” I nodded, taking a drag from my cigarette, and turned my gaze to the trembling Tiffany. She flinched under my stare. “Sweetheart,” I began, my voice dangerously soft. “I’m his wife. I assume you know that?” “I… I know…” she squeaked, shrinking back. “You know, and you’re still draped all over him like a cheap scarf?! Do you think I’m a vegetarian?!” My sudden roar made her burst into tears. I shook my head. Tsk. This generation of home-wreckers is so fragile. “I’ll let it slide this time,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. I stood up, and David collapsed face-first onto the carpet. “But if I ever see you near him again, I’ll break your legs.” Tiffany nodded frantically, sobbing. “Get up. We’re leaving.” I hauled David to his feet and offered a final, apologetic smile to his friends. “Sorry to cut the night short. We’ll have to do this again sometime.” David croaked, “Help me!” His friends all stood ramrod straight, their faces grim. “Goodbye, Mrs. Brown!” “Come back anytime, Mrs. Brown!” No one paid any attention to David’s plea for help. Who would dare? I’d take them all on. “You’re all useless!” David roared in frustration. I backhanded him across the face. “Shut up.” 7 I drove David straight back to the mansion. In the living room, I leaned back on the sofa. David was squatting in the corner. “Did you have fun today?” I asked with a smile. “No… no, not at all!” David grimaced. I sighed and patted his shoulder. He flinched. “Look, David, we’re technically a married couple now… or at least in a relationship, right?” “There are some things I’d really rather not get physical about.” “You can probably tell that I’m a very gentle person. It takes a lot to make me angry enough to hit someone, don’t you agree?” David looked at me with a pained, conflicted expression and nodded. I smiled, satisfied. “See? You have me now, but you still went out looking for other girls. Don’t you think you deserved that?” Even though our relationship was a transaction, I still had a job to do. And I don’t tolerate cheating. As long as we were together, if he dared to look at another woman, I’d break his legs. It was the only way men like him learned. David opened his mouth to protest, but I narrowed my eyes, and he immediately started nodding vigorously. “Good. So you agree you deserved it. What happens next time, if you go looking for other girls again?” I was getting into his head. David looked confused for a moment. “…You’ll hit me again?” “Exactly.” I patted his head consolingly. Hey, his hair was surprisingly soft, like petting a dog. “So learn your lesson, okay? Don’t do it again.” “Any time you’re with another girl, it’s going to hurt my feelings, understand?” David nodded. I grinned. This brat. Not only was he physically weak, but his brain wasn’t much better. No wonder he lost money on every business venture. “Excellent. Now, sign this.” I pulled a document out of my purse and handed it to him. He stared at it, bewildered. “What’s this?” “The rules of engagement.” I crossed my legs. “From now on, if you break a single rule on this list, you lose all your allowance for the month, plus you get a beating.” David shot to his feet, his earlier submissiveness gone. He glared at me. “Hannah! This is exploitation! Are you some kind of slave driver?!” “I swear, today I’m breaking my rule about not hitting women! I’ll show you what a real fight looks like!” “Heh.” I scoffed. “You and what army, pretty boy?” “Fuck!” David’s face turned red. He rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me. 8 I sent him flying with a single kick. He landed several feet away. “Fuck!” David clutched his stomach, sprawled on the floor. “You… you really hit me?!” “What did you expect?” I retorted. “You were coming right at me. I’m a delicate flower, you know. I get scared easily.” “You call that delicate?!” David scrambled up and lifted his shirt. A nasty purple bruise was already forming on his perfect abs. Oops. That was from my foot. Well, it was self-defense. “Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “It’s not my fault you wanted to start something.” David gritted his teeth. “Can I ask what you do for a living?!” “Isn’t it obvious? I’m your wife. I’ll probably be a housewife after we’re married,” I said innocently. He just kept glaring, so I waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. I’m a martial arts coach. For the national team.” “Right.” David just stared at me, his expression a mixture of awe and horror. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “My dad is a goddamn genius for finding you to manage me.” I tried to be modest. “I do my best.” … Later that night, David was lying on his bed after a shower, waiting for me to put some ointment on his bruise. Every time I rubbed it in, he yelped. “Can you please shut up?” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been beaten up twice by you today! I think I’m allowed to make some noise!” he whined. Fine, fine. I glanced at him. He really did have a great body. Great face, too. Body, check. Looks, check. Brains… well, he had great looks. Aside from being a bit of an idiot, he was basically perfect. “A girl like you will never get married,” he grumbled after I finished. “You’re a monster. A she-devil.” “Don’t worry,” I said soothingly. “I’ll do my best to marry you.” “Get out!” he yelped, horrified.

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The night before my engagement party, my stepsister’s reckless driving left me broken. Joey Sterling, my once-gentle fiancé, lost his mind. He locked Ailsa away, pulling every string to make her pay for what she’d done. He burned through his fortune and called in every favor to keep me alive, but it was no use. I slipped into a vegetative state. In the last moment of consciousness, I saw Joey kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of tears. “Elara,” he choked out, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.” Three years later, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Ailsa, her hand resting on a swollen belly as she flaunted a diamond ring on her finger. “Joey and I are getting married soon,” she purred. “So be a good girl, stay quiet, and get the hell out of our lives.” She flicked a wad of cash at my face, the bills scattering across my lap. I picked them up, one by one. Then, under Ailsa’s disbelieving stare, I shoved them into her mouth. As Joey rushed to her side, pulling her protectively into his arms, I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my throat and slapped him across the face. “You’re disgusting, Joey.” 1 The force of the slap snapped Joey’s head to the side, a raw, red mark blooming on his cheek. His eyes were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He reached for me, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling uselessly to his side. After a long, heavy silence, all he could manage was a hollow, “I’m sorry.” I wanted to scream at them to get out, but the words wouldn’t form. My breath came in ragged gasps. Panic flared in Joey’s eyes. He shot up, calling for a doctor. The physician who arrived assumed Joey was my next of kin and began to speak, but Ailsa suddenly clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. In an instant, Joey abandoned the doctor’s report. He swept Ailsa into his arms, barking orders and summoning half the medical staff to her side. “Elara, just wait for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, leaving me in the sterile silence of the room. A dark drop landed on the pristine white sheet. It wasn’t a tear. It was a grim reminder of my borrowed time. The doctor had barely finished explaining my prognosis when my father, Arthur Gabriel, walked in carrying a bouquet. Trailing behind him was Ailsa’s mother, Miranda. After a few empty pleasantries, Miranda slid a stack of photos onto my bedside table, her smile saccharine sweet. “These are some of the most eligible young men in the city, Elara. See anyone you like?” I kept my eyes down, refusing to acknowledge her. She shot a wounded look at my father. He took his cue, his voice stern. “Your sister is getting married. It’s time for you to stop dwelling on the past and find someone to settle down with.” A flicker of triumph lit Miranda’s eyes. “Love doesn’t wait, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s a shame you and Joey didn’t work out, but you can’t interfere with their happiness now.” That was it. I snatched the photos and threw them in her face. “My mother is dead,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Played the homewrecker for so long you’ve started to believe you’re the lady of the house?” For a moment, even Miranda’s practiced mask slipped, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes before she dissolved into crocodile tears. “Elara!” my father roared, his hand raised to strike me. For the first time in my life, I fought back. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. My voice was ice. “A story about you cheating on my dying mother, or one about you striking your sick daughter… which do you think the tabloids would prefer, Dad?” We were locked in a standoff. Finally, he backed down, his face turning a shade of purple as he stormed out, dragging Miranda with him. “I can’t believe three years in a coma turned you into this monster!” he spat as he left. Only when they were gone did I allow myself to collapse. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My eyes landed on the bouquet they’d left behind—a cluster of yellow roses, now trampled on the ground. With my mother gone, no one remembered my allergy. Leaving the hospital, the doctor’s words echoed in my head. I was diagnosed with stomach cancer right before the wedding, three years ago. They said I wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. I’d been on my way to tell Joey, to call everything off, when Ailsa’s car slammed into me. I had missed the window for effective treatment. Now, the clock was ticking. I had two weeks left. 2 A heavy rain began to fall as I arrived at the house my mother had left me. It was supposed to be my wedding gift, the home where Joey and I would start our lives. Only the two of us knew the passcode. I stood in the downpour, trying every combination I could think of, my fingers numb and clumsy. Finally, on a whim, I typed in Ailsa’s birthday. The door clicked open. The entryway was cluttered with Ailsa’s designer shoes. On the main wall, a large wedding portrait of her and Joey had replaced the landscape painting that used to hang there. My mother’s photograph was tucked away in a dusty corner, forgotten. Ailsa was lounging on the sofa, a smug look on her face, while Joey knelt before her, gently massaging her feet. The sight of me turned them to stone. Joey froze, his expression a mixture of shock and guilt. I didn’t even look at him. My voice was a shard of glass. “Get out.” Ailsa’s disbelief quickly curdled into a malicious grin. “This is my house now. You’re the one who needs to get lost. Guards! Drag her out of here!” As two burly men moved toward me, Joey shot to his feet. He kicked them both to the ground, his face dark with fury. “Don’t you dare touch her!” His gaze softened as he turned back to me, and he reached out to cup my face. I flinched away as if his touch were acid. “I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Don’t you understand English?” A shadow passed over his features. “Ailsa loves this house, Elara,” he said, his tone pleading. “I have other properties. You can have any of them. Just… let her have this one, please?” My stare was glacial. “Hit-and-run. Unlawful occupation of private property. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you both thrown in jail.” Ailsa laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you know that Joey already—” “—Take Miss Gabriel back to the main estate,” Joey cut her off, his voice sharp. Ailsa’s face fell. As she was escorted out, she deliberately knocked over my mother’s portrait, the frame shattering on the floor. “Oops,” she said with a vicious smile. “Slippery hands.” The glass splintered, and a gust of wind from the open door caught the photograph, sending it tumbling into a pile of trash by the curb. Joey sighed, a familiar weariness in his voice. He didn’t even notice the note of indulgence as he made excuses for her. “She’s young, she’s used to getting her way. Don’t mind her.” I ignored him, bolting out the door and into the rain. I fell to my knees beside the garbage heap, desperately clawing through the filth, all dignity forgotten. Joey saw me, my hands covered in grime, clutching the torn, wet pieces of the photograph like they were priceless treasures. A strange ache bloomed in his chest. He pulled me up from the mud, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re Elara Gabriel. What do you think you look like right now?” I slapped him again. “You have no right to tell me what to do, Joey,” I sneered. The look in my eyes seemed to shatter him. “Elara, I can explain everything,” he pleaded. “I’m not going to marry her.” But his words were cut short by one of his men running up to him, breathless. “Sir, it’s Miss Ailsa! She’s street racing again. We couldn’t stop her!” Joey’s mouth snapped shut. He looked at me, his face a canvas of regret, and uttered a single phrase: “Wait for me.” Then he turned and ran, leaving me standing alone in the storm. The old Joey would have run to me, no matter what. The new Joey only ever showed me his back. A bitter smile twisted my lips as the rain washed over my face, mingling with tears I couldn’t stop. Joey, I’m done waiting for you. 3 News of my miraculous recovery slowly trickled through our social circle, but the lack of an official announcement fueled rampant speculation. Unable to stand the gossip, my father insisted on throwing a party to celebrate my return. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve my belongings from the family home, so I agreed. At the party, Ailsa was the center of attention, preening in a designer gown as sycophants flocked around her. She caught my eye from across the room and raised her glass in a mocking toast. “You’re so pathetic, Elara,” she whispered as I passed by, her voice laced with venom. “Did you really think this party was for you? It’s my engagement party with Joey.” I clutched the documents in my bag, ignoring her. Her perfect face twisted in a snarl. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path and tilting her neck to reveal a series of fresh, angry-looking bruises. “Don’t run off just yet. I wanted to thank you. Joey was so angry last night… he didn’t stop until dawn.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “I bet you didn’t know this, but during the first week you were in that coma, Joey and I tried out every inch of your wedding bed. Have you ever seen him when he’s rough, when he just takes what he wants?” Her eyes were filled with contempt. “You’re just as useless as your mother. I hit you with my car three years ago, and no one lifted a finger to help you. I could still crush you today without a second thought.” “So tell me,” she purred, a strange smile playing on her lips, “who do you think he really cares about? You, or me?” With that, she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. “Elara, I already apologized! Why would you push me?” she shrieked, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at me with a look of pure betrayal. A crowd gathered instantly, their whispers and pointed fingers a fresh wave of assault. Joey pushed through them, his face a mask of concern as he rushed to Ailsa’s side and helped her up. The movement jostled me, and I stumbled back, the sharp corner of a marble pillar digging into my spine. The pain was blinding. I didn’t say a word. In front of everyone, I walked over to Ailsa and slapped her, hard. “How old are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this pathetic little act the best you can do?” “Elara!” Joey’s shocked voice and Ailsa’s shriek of outrage echoed through the room. “The security cameras are right there,” I said, my gaze locked on Ailsa. “I dare you to let them play the footage. Do you?” I turned back to her. “You deserved that slap for your filthy mouth. We can settle all our scores, old and new. Why don’t you repeat those threats you just made to the police?” I pulled out my phone to dial 911. Joey knocked it from my hand. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking. “That’s enough! Calm down,” he commanded. He stood there in silence for a moment before scooping Ailsa into his arms and carrying her away. The room erupted. Voices, sharp and pitying, sliced through the air. “Even if Ailsa’s a terrible actress and rotten to the core, she has him wrapped around her finger.” “Didn’t you hear? Mr. Sterling personally erased the records of the accident three years ago. No one even dares to mention it.” “It’s all part of their twisted game. The imprisonment, the drama… it’s just their version of foreplay. The great Elara Gabriel is nothing but a pawn.” My cold stare swept across the crowd, and they fell silent. A hot surge rose in my throat, and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. I stumbled away from the scene, my legs barely holding me. Once I was out of sight, the strength I’d been faking deserted me. My whole body seized with pain, a fire tearing through my organs. I could barely stand. In a daze, I wiped away the blood streaming from my nose and mouth, but it just kept coming, a relentless tide telling me my life was about to end, right here, right now. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me enough to pull out my phone again. My voice was steady. “Yes,” I said to the person on the other end. “I have the evidence.”

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