Author: Momo Chan

The third year of our marriage, Austin came back. For the first time ever, Victoria didn’t eat dinner at home. She just grabbed her coat and left for the airport. She didn’t come home that night. I found Austin through Victoria’s Instagram follows. I refreshed the page. A new post had just gone up. [Finally back home. Surrounded by my love and my friends.] In the picture, Victoria was leaning into Austin, both of them smiling for the camera, flanked by people I recognized as her friends. I turned off my phone. I closed my eyes. And I closed my heart. 1 After work, I ate dinner out, then took a long walk along the riverfront before finally driving home. A light was on in the window. Victoria was back. I opened the door and stood in the foyer, changing my shoes. In a rare gesture, Victoria came over, took my coat and bag, and hung them on the rack. “Why are you so late tonight?” she asked. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I asked your assistant, and he said you left the office hours ago.” She hesitated. “Have you eaten? I made…” Doing these things, saying these words—that was usually my role. Tonight, she had taken my part. I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I’m tired. I have an early meeting tomorrow. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.” Walking past the living room, I saw the dining table was set with a full spread of dishes. There were even candles. What was this? A guilt-ridden attempt to make amends for spending last night with Austin? It was disgusting. I pushed open the guest room door without breaking stride. Victoria called out behind me. “Leo. What were you going to say last night?” I turned. The warm light cast soft, deceptively gentle shadows on her exquisite face. I had looked at that face for years and never grown tired of it. But the moment I saw it in that intimate photo with Austin, it had become unrecognizable. “I forgot.” I lowered my eyes and went into the bedroom. Lying in bed, my hand drifted to my chest. Last night, at dinner, I had been about to tell Victoria about my promotion and raise. But she took a call, dropped her fork, and grabbed her keys and coat, rushing out the door. “Something came up at the office,” was all she’d said. I sat at the table, waiting. I waited until the food grew cold and lost its color. Then a friend texted me. Austin’s back. On a strange impulse, I went to Victoria’s Instagram and opened her ‘following’ list. It was easy to find him. A minute ago, he had posted. [Finally back home. Surrounded by my love and my friends.] In the photo, he was pressed close to Victoria, both of them looking at the camera, surrounded by her closest friends. Friends who, in three years of marriage, Victoria had never once introduced to me. Whenever I’d tried to get to know her circle, she’d dismissed them as a “bad influence” and changed the subject. After a while, I stopped asking. I scrolled further back. I saw that for years, they had been in constant, intimate contact. The university he attended abroad? She had arranged it. The apartment he lived in? It was in her name. Even the steady stream of charges from high-end boutiques and five-star hotels on his European getaways—she had paid for it all. I never knew Victoria’s famous thoughtfulness could be so easily transferred to someone else. That night, I scraped everything from the dinner table into a garbage bag and took it outside for the stray cats. Click. The guest room door opened. I rolled over, shutting my eyes tight. The mattress dipped beside me. A chill ran down my spine as Victoria slipped under the covers. My body went rigid, my hands clenched into fists against my chest. A moment later, an arm snaked around my waist, and a warm body pressed against my back. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I shot upright, flicking on the bedside lamp. The sudden glare made Victoria squint. She sat up, her expression turning sour. 2 We grew up together in the same upscale neighborhood, Evergreen Hills. Our relationship felt inevitable. The summer after high school graduation, she confessed her feelings for me. It was more of a formality; we both knew where it was headed, and we fell into a relationship with ease. But that was also the year my mother brought home a boy a year younger than me—her illegitimate son. My father had been dead for less than six months. The woman I had known as a gentle, loving wife and mother was suddenly a monster wearing a familiar mask. We had a terrible fight. I told her this house wasn’t big enough for both of us. It was Austin or me. She just gave me a cold, hard look. “Do what you want.” I took the money my father had left me, packed a few changes of clothes, and walked out. I arranged for a dorm room at the university and never spoke to my family again. A year later, thanks to a hefty donation from my mother, Austin enrolled at my university. He was all smiles to my face, but behind my back, he played petty games, poisoning my relationships with friends and classmates. He even used my mother’s connections to squeeze me out of my position in the student government, then sauntered over to gloat about it. I never cared. Anything or anyone that could be so easily taken from me wasn’t worth having in the first place. And there was one person he could never take, no matter how hard he tried. Victoria. Austin pursued her relentlessly, even making a public declaration of his love for her. He befriended everyone in her circle just to keep tabs on her schedule, engineering “coincidental” run-ins at the library, the dining hall, the gym. He kept a gushing “secret love diary” on his blog, detailing every glance and word from Victoria as a sign of her hidden affection. He was a moth, desperately flinging himself at a flame that wanted nothing to do with him. Victoria complained to me constantly about his creepy behavior. She publicly told him to get lost, her face a mask of ice. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of him. But Austin was persistent, an unkillable cockroach. For three years of college, he was a constant, buzzing presence in our lives. I almost started to believe he was truly, deeply in love with her. Until he came to me one day and said, “It’s only a matter of time. She’ll fall for me, and she’ll betray you.” I scoffed at him. Anyone could see how much Victoria loved me. When I was living in the dorms, she rented an off-campus apartment for us. She wanted to have every meal with me. I loved the almond croissants from a little French patisserie downtown, but they always sold out before I could get there. So Victoria, a girl who had never known a day of hardship, would get up at the crack of dawn to stand in line for me. The pastry was still warm when she handed it to me. We both loved to travel, but I was lazy about planning. She handled everything—booking hotels, mapping out sights, buying tickets, packing our bags. All I had to do was follow her. … We had a lifetime of shared memories. I couldn’t imagine her ever betraying me. After graduation, Austin went abroad to study. I thought his chapter in our lives was finally over. But his social media told a different story. In the third year of his relentless pursuit, Victoria’s attitude toward him had changed. 3 I pulled back the curtains in the guest room. The night was dark and moonless, without a single star in the sky. Victoria sat on the bed in silence. Finally, her patience wore thin. A hint of irritation crept into her voice. “What is wrong with you?” That flicker of guilt she felt had bought me this much of her forbearance. It was a new record. As her company grew, so did her temper. It had been a long time since she had tried this hard to placate me. In the past, I would have given in by now, chalking it up to her being stressed from work. But now, I was done making allowances for anyone. I turned, leaning my back against the window. “Who were you with last night?” “I told you, I had a work emergency. Who else would I be with?” she snapped back. “When did you get so paranoid?” I just looked at her, my expression unreadable. I had always believed she was devoted to me, a woman of principle. I never questioned her travel schedule, always giving her the space she needed. But she had always volunteered the information, chattering excitedly as she had me pack her bags. Only now I knew that she had taken the suitcase I’d so carefully packed for her and boarded a flight to see Austin. A flash of guilt crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with a fresh wave of indignation. “Is this an interrogation? Do you need me to call my entire team in so you can check my story?” “No need. You can go now. I need to rest.” She wouldn’t admit it. After hiding it for so many years, she wasn’t about to let it all unravel so easily. And I didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. Her infidelity was a thorn in my heart, of course. All those years of love… the pain was real. But my rational mind told me it was better to know the truth now than to live in a lie. A clean break was the best path forward. Unable to stand my coldness, Victoria stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The confrontation left me wide awake. I opened my laptop to deal with some leftover work. When I graduated from college, my mother called, begging me to come home. She had been diagnosed with brain cancer and didn’t have much time left. When I got to the hospital, she was struggling just to get out of bed for a glass of water. She was skeletal. The housekeeper told me the company had been in trouble, and my mother had worked herself into the ground, collapsing in her office. By the time they got her to the hospital, it was too late. In the face of death, all my old resentments seemed to melt away. I started to remember the happy times from my childhood. How she would lift me onto her shoulders and play horsey. How she’d come home from work with strange and wonderful snacks in her briefcase. How, when I was older and she had more time, she would spend hours in the kitchen, making a rich, savory fish soup just for me. … She had wronged my father, but she had, in her own way, loved me very much. I took over the failing company. My life became a relentless cycle between the office and the hospital. And Austin, after going abroad, was never heard from again. 4 The next morning, I dressed and left the bedroom early, hoping to avoid Victoria. But my luck had run out. As I stepped out, she was placing a bowl of oatmeal on the dining table. It was as if last night’s fight had never happened. She smiled and waved me over for breakfast. Then, she walked toward me and pulled a small box from her pocket. Inside was a watch. Another custom piece from a master watchmaker. She’d given me one every year for the past three years. All to cover the long, pale scar that ran across my left wrist. It happened just before we got married. We were scouting a project in a remote mountain village. On the way back, the car’s brakes failed on a steep descent. We went careening down the slope, crashing into a large tree that stopped us from flipping into a ravine. The driver’s side took the full impact. Victoria was knocked unconscious instantly. My door was jammed shut. I had to use my tablet to smash the window and crawl out. Victoria was slumped over the steering wheel, her face covered in blood. Both our phones were smashed. I managed to drag her from the wreck, and in the process, a piece of torn metal from the car door sliced deep into my wrist, leaving the scar that was now a permanent part of me. The road was deserted. I had no choice but to carry her, to drag her, falling again and again, until we finally reached a main road where a passing driver called for an ambulance. I collapsed from exhaustion right there on the pavement. When I woke up, Victoria was by my hospital bed, her eyes bloodshot. Soon after we were discharged, she proposed. I had always been so confident in our love. It never occurred to me that her proposal wasn’t born from love, but from guilt. I took off the old watch. She instinctively reached out to put the new one on. I pulled my hand away, gently tracing the raised, uneven line of flesh on my wrist. “Don’t. I’m not wearing them anymore.” Her hand, holding the new watch, froze. “Why?” “I don’t like them.” Victoria was speechless. I had never liked wearing watches; they felt like shackles. I only wore them because she had gone to such great lengths to have them made. Now, there was no reason to wear one at all. I pressed the old watch back into her hand and went to the foyer to put on my coat. “Leo.” I turned back. Her expression was complicated, her words caught in her throat. “Maybe… I could pick you up from work today.” I rolled my eyes, opened the door, and left. 5 At the office, my assistant, Liam, was acting strangely, hovering around me nervously. It wasn’t until the elevator reached my floor that he finally stammered it out. “Mr. Hayes… Mr. Evans is waiting for you in your office.” Mr. Evans was a major shareholder in the company and a man my mother had trusted implicitly. Liam’s nervousness was out of place. Something else was going on. I nodded to show I understood and pushed open my office door. Mr. Evans was standing in front of my desk. And sitting in my chair—my chair—was Austin. A mocking smile played on his lips. “Brother. I’m back. Aren’t you going to welcome me?” “You didn’t even come back to see Mom before she died. What are you doing here now?” Austin picked up a framed photo of me from the desk, studied it for a moment, and then let it slip from his fingers. It shattered on the floor. He walked over to me, his eyes glinting with malice. “Oh, I wanted to come back. But Mom told me not to, unless Mr. Evans called for me.” Mr. Evans smiled kindly and gestured for me to sit on the sofa. As if I were the visitor. “Leo,” he began, “before she passed, your mother entrusted me with her will. She instructed me to wait until the company was back on stable ground before making it public.” “Now that the company is thriving, the time has come. You and Austin are her only sons. In consideration of Austin not being with her for most of his life, your mother decided that he will inherit the company. You will inherit the family home and 5% of the company’s shares.” The heat was on in the office, but a chill crept up my spine. My body felt the pain and betrayal before my mind could even process it. I watched Mr. Evans’s mouth move, but the words were a dull roar in my ears. I mechanically took the will. The handwriting was hers. From somewhere, Austin produced a small audio recorder, his eyes filled with venom as he pressed play. My mother’s voice, weak but clear, filled the room. “The company is in bad shape. You stay abroad and focus on your studies. Don’t come back. Your Uncle Evans will wire money to your account. When your brother has rebuilt the company, he will call you back at the right time to take over. If the company fails… then you definitely shouldn’t come back. As long as you stay away, the debts won’t find you. The money I’ve left you will be enough to last a lifetime.” “Mom is gone now. You have to learn to take care of yourself. Find someone who will truly love you.” Before she died, my mother had gripped my hand and told me the company was her and my father’s life’s work. She made me promise to bring it back from the brink of death. I promised her I would. For that promise, I had hustled for clients, begged for investments, worked myself to the bone. I had humbled myself at endless dinners, navigated a world of sharks and sycophants. I had worked until I ended up in the emergency room, answering emails with an IV drip in my arm. … After countless sleepless nights, I had dragged the company back from the abyss. And now, they were telling me that everything I had fought for was nothing but a joke. So much for the idea that people’s final words are always true. I fled to the restroom and stood there for a long time, waiting for my hands to stop shaking. When I returned to the office, I was completely calm. “I want the 5% of shares liquidated at today’s market value and transferred to my account. Along with all the salary, bonuses, and dividends I am owed for the past several years. I want it done immediately.” Austin looked at me, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. This was not the breakdown he had been hoping for. Mr. Evans hesitated. “That’s not possible today. It has to go through the proper channels.” “You have one hour,” I said, my voice level. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want any… reputation-damaging stories about the company to appear online, would you?” I had rebuilt this company with my own two hands. I knew its every strength and every weakness. If I wanted to, I could send it spiraling back to where it was years ago. I wouldn’t do it—too many good people’s livelihoods depended on it. But they didn’t know that. They couldn’t take that risk. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mr. Evans called an employee into the office. An hour later, a string of transaction notifications lit up my phone. I picked up my bag and walked to the door. An annoying voice called out from behind me. “Leo. Victoria will be mine, too.” I turned and looked at his triumphant face. In that moment, he just looked pathetic. Desperately trying to prove his worth, to feel like he existed. It was the mark of a profoundly insecure man. I smiled, my voice laced with indifference. “Whatever.” The color drained from his face.

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Returning from a business trip, I scored a lucky upgrade to first class with my points. I had barely settled in when a man in a sharp suit pointed a finger right in my face and told me to get the hell out and go to economy. He claimed he’d been sitting in this exact seat for five years, that it was practically his, and as far as he was concerned, my ticket was worthless. If I didn’t move, he’d have me thrown off the plane. His arrogance was breathtaking. A flight attendant hurried over, trying to placate me. “Mr. Place is one of our Platinum Elite members. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind…?” I stood my ground. On what planet was my ticket worthless? Just then, the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Will the passenger in seat 1A please come to the cockpit immediately.” 1 Every head in the cabin swiveled to look at me. Mr. Place and the deceptively sweet-looking woman clinging to his arm exchanged triumphant smirks. The flight attendant let out a sigh of relief and gestured for me to go. “Ma’am, the captain would like to see you.” Her tone practically screamed, The party’s over for you. I took a deep breath, stood up, and followed her toward the front of the plane. Mr. Place’s taunting voice followed me down the aisle. “Why are you even wasting time talking to her? Just have security drag her off.” He scoffed. “Do you have any idea how much money I lose for every minute you waste?” My steps faltered. I turned and shot him a look of pure ice. The cockpit door opened. The captain and co-pilot sat inside, their expressions grim. “Ma’am, hello.” The captain pointed to an empty jump seat. “Please, sit.” I sat, cutting straight to the chase. “Captain, my seat is 1A. My ticket is legal and valid.” The captain nodded, his face unreadable. “We’re aware of that. However, Mr. Place is one of our most valued VIP clients.” “The revenue he generates for this airline annually is thousands of times the price of your ticket.” “Furthermore,” he continued, “he has made it explicitly clear that if he cannot sit in 1A today, he will immediately terminate all of his contracts with our company.” I almost laughed out of sheer disbelief. “So? So you’re going to sacrifice the legitimate rights of an ordinary passenger to appease your corporate god?” “Is this the official philosophy of your airline?” The co-pilot frowned, his voice edged with impatience. “Ma’am, we’re not negotiating with you.” “Right now, this entire flight is being held up because of you. You are wasting every other passenger’s time.” “You have two options,” he said, holding up two fingers. “One, you accept our compensation package and voluntarily move to an economy seat.” “Two, we will be forced to remove you from the flight for ‘causing a disturbance.’” I stared at them, incredulous. “Causing a disturbance? Me?” “That man is the one throwing a tantrum, and you’re pinning the blame on me?” The captain sighed, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “Ma’am, we’re just employees trying to do our jobs. Please try to understand.” “Mr. Place is a very powerful man. We can’t afford to cross him.” “How about this,” he offered. “We’ll refund you three times the price of your ticket and add fifty thousand miles to your account. How does that sound?” “That’s the most generous offer we can make.” Looking at his supposedly “sincere” face made my stomach turn. I took out my phone and, right in front of them, turned on the voice recorder. “Let me be clear. I am not changing seats, and I am not getting off this plane.” “If you attempt to remove me illegally, I will release this recording, along with a full account of everything that has happened today, to the public.” My voice was low and steady. “Then we’ll see what’s more important: your VIP client, or your company’s reputation.” The captain’s face turned to stone. The co-pilot shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Are you threatening us?” I met his glare without flinching. “I am simply defending my rights.” The cockpit fell into a dead silence. After a few tense seconds, the captain waved his hand, signaling the co-pilot to sit down. He stared at me for a long time, so long I thought he was about to call security. Finally, he picked up the intercom, his voice cold as steel. “Inform Mr. Place to return to his assigned seat. We are preparing for takeoff.” The weight in my chest finally lifted. When I walked out of the cockpit, Mr. Place and his companion were standing in the aisle, waiting to gloat. The sight of me walking out, calm and composed, wiped the smug looks right off their faces. A flight attendant scurried over, bowing and scraping to Mr. Place. “Mr. Place, I’m so sorry, but the captain said… could you please return to your seat for now.” His face was a thundercloud. He glared at me, his eyes burning with a look that could skin a person alive. “Fine. You win,” he hissed, the words squeezed through his clenched teeth. “But you just wait.” He spun around and slammed himself into seat 1B. The plane finally took off. I thought that was the end of it. I had no idea it was only the beginning. After we landed, I went to baggage claim. I waited by the carousel for a full hour, watching as every other passenger retrieved their luggage. My own silver suitcase, however, never appeared. My stomach dropped. A terrible feeling washed over me. 2 I immediately went to the baggage claim office. A staff member typed on his computer for what felt like an eternity before looking up with an apologetic expression. “Ma’am, the system shows that your luggage was not on this flight.” Panic flared in my chest. “That’s impossible! I watched the agent check it in at the counter myself!” “I still have the claim tag right here!” I handed him my ticket and the tag. He double-checked, his brow furrowing. “That’s strange. There’s no record of this bag being scanned into the system.” “It’s as if… it never even made it onto the plane.” My mind reeled. I remembered Mr. Place’s parting words: But you just wait. Could he…? “I need to see the security footage,” I demanded, my voice sharp. “I want to see all the surveillance video from the check-in counter and the baggage sorting area for my flight!” The staffer looked uncomfortable. “Ma’am, we don’t have the authority to access the footage from the sorting area.” “We can file a request for the check-in counter footage, but it will take time.” “How much time?” “If you’re lucky, a day or two. If not… maybe three to five days.” I was shaking with rage. My suitcase didn’t just contain clothes; it held all the crucial documents and samples for my business meeting. If it was lost, the damages would be catastrophic. Just as I was about to lose it, the last person I wanted to see appeared in the distance. It was Mr. Place and the woman, whose name I now knew was Vivian. They weren’t just passing by; Vivian’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before her face arranged itself into a mask of innocence. “Joanna, darling, what a coincidence! Did you just land too?” she cooed, her fake smile suggesting the unpleasantness on the plane had never happened. I gave her the silent treatment. She didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes fell to my empty hands, and she covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my, Joanna, where’s your luggage?” “Don’t tell me it’s lost! That’s just awful. It’s so inconvenient to be without your things when you’re traveling.” Her little act fueled my fury. “Did you and Place have something to do with this?” Vivian’s eyes flickered. “Darling, whatever are you talking about? I don’t understand.” “Mr. Place is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time to worry about a little squabble on an airplane.” She paused, her tone shifting to one of casual bragging. “Marcus is here to close a nine-figure deal with a titan of the industry.” “He has no time to waste on petty matters.” I stared daggers at her. “It had better be that way.” Vivian smiled, then leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “A little friendly advice, Joanna. Don’t waste your energy.” “If Marcus doesn’t want you to find something, you’ll never find it.” She straightened up. “Sometimes, a person just has to learn what’s good for them. Otherwise, you might lose more than just your luggage.” With a wink, she sashayed back to Mr. Place’s side. He wrapped an arm around her waist, shot me a look of pure contempt and mockery, and they swept away. I stood frozen, ice spreading through my veins. Anger, humiliation, and helplessness washed over me in a suffocating wave. I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling as I dialed the airline’s customer service number. Come hell or high water, I was going to get answers. 3 The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. In the calmest voice I could manage, I recounted the entire story, from the confrontation over the seat to my missing luggage. The customer service agent’s voice was sweet and scripted. “Okay, Ms. Hayes, we’ve logged all the information you’ve provided.” “Regarding the seating issue, our records show the captain resolved it for you on board.” “As for your luggage, we will launch an immediate investigation. Please keep your line open.” “How long will the investigation take?” I pressed. “Well… we can’t give you a precise timeline at the moment, but we will contact you as soon as we have any news.” What followed was an endless, maddening wait. One day. Two days. Three. The airline’s call never came. It was as if my complaint had been dropped into a black hole. Every day I went to the baggage office at the airport, and every day the answer was the same: “It’s still under investigation.” When I demanded to see the security footage, they gave me a carousel of excuses. “The technician in charge of surveillance is on vacation.” “The system is down for maintenance.” “It appears the footage from that day has been overwritten.” I knew they were stonewalling me. In their eyes, the whims of a top-tier VIP client were far more important than justice for an ordinary passenger. What I had lost wasn’t just a suitcase; it was my dignity, ground into the dirt by their indifference. I was exhausted and stressed. The deadline for my project was fast approaching, and without my documents and samples, I was dead in the water. Just as I was about to give up hope, I received a call from an unknown number. “Hello, is this Ms. Hayes?” a low, feminine voice asked. “This is she. Who’s calling?” The woman on the other end chuckled. “Who I am isn’t important. What’s important is that I know where your luggage is.” My heart leaped. I sat up straight. “Did Mr. Place put you up to this?” “Marcus is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time for you,” the voice purred, dripping with a sickening mix of triumph and pity. “It’s me. Vivian.” “Joanna, darling. Your things? I have them right here.” My hand tightened around the phone. “What do you want?” “Oh, nothing much,” Vivian said, her tone growing playful. “I just feel so sorry for you, I thought I’d show you a way out of this mess.” “Tonight. Eight o’clock. The Grand Hyatt, Presidential Suite, room 8888.” “Marcus will be waiting for you.” “You come over, get on your knees in front of us, and apologize. Properly. Three times, head to the floor.” “If you’re sincere enough, maybe Marcus will be in a good mood and give you your things back.” “In your dreams!” I was shaking with fury. “I’m calling the police! This is extortion! It’s theft!” Vivian burst out laughing as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “The police? Go ahead. Call them. What proof do you have?” “Do you have any evidence that we took your bag?” “Don’t be a fool, Joanna. In this world, without proof, your words are just noise.” Her voice turned sharp. “And one more reminder. Those documents of yours… they seem pretty important, don’t they? It would be a shame if they were to get… damaged. Or worse, leaked. Can your company afford that kind of loss?” It was a naked threat. Shameless, vile, and despicable. “Oh, and one more thing,” Vivian added. “Come alone.” “If you try any tricks, you’ll regret it.” She hung up. I stood there, gripping my phone so tightly I thought it might shatter. Rage and humiliation were two venomous snakes, gnawing away at my sanity. Should I go? If I went, it would be a complete debasement. If I didn’t, my job, my entire career, could be ruined. I paced the room, my mind a chaotic storm. I unlocked my phone, intending to call someone, anyone, but the screen was still on the call history. And looking at the unknown number, my heart suddenly stopped.

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1. Three in the morning. The widow next door was banging on my door, saying her son had a fever and she needed to borrow some medicine. My husband, Thomas, a doctor who’d just fallen asleep after a grueling late shift, was up and out the door in an instant. He didn’t come back for half an hour. “It’s not easy for Jenna, raising a kid on her own,” he said, shrugging off his coat. “The fever’s finally broken, thank God.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed, a familiar wave of weariness washing over his face. “I know you don’t like me getting close to other women, Claire, but this was a life-or-death situation. It’s my duty.” Normally, I would have nodded and said I understood. But not tonight. Instead, I spoke with a calm that felt foreign even to me. “I want a divorce.” … Thomas’s hands froze, the motion of taking off his jacket halting mid-air. His face was a mask of exhaustion. But just as quickly, he smoothed his features, stepping forward to pull me into his arms. “What, are you jealous? C’mon, all my energy goes into my work and into you. There’s no room for anyone else.” He held me, his voice a low, placating rumble. “You can be mad at me, but don’t say things that hurt, okay? You know better than that.” It was a gentle scolding, the kind you’d give a petulant child. There was a time I found that tone intoxicatingly charming. Tonight, it just made my skin crawl. I pushed him away, a flicker of disgust in my heart. “I’m not being petulant.” “I’m serious about the divorce.” His eyes locked onto mine, a response forming on his lips before dissolving into another sigh. The living room fell silent, the only sound the soft cadence of our breathing. Finally, he broke the stillness, taking my hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “Claire, I know I’ve been distant lately, but work has been insane. And your birthday… I didn’t mean to forget. Your gift is already on its way.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Once this crazy stretch is over, I’ll take you on that trip we talked about, just the two of us. Get away from it all. Okay? You know I was on my feet for almost twenty hours today, right? Be good. No more of this…” His eyes were shot with red, a testament to his fatigue—and, I supposed, to the wound I had just inflicted. He was making perfect sense. By all accounts, pushing this further would make me seem unreasonable, ungrateful even. But I pulled my hand away, my voice laced with a scorn that surprised us both. “Thomas, I said I want a divorce. Are you deaf, or just stupid?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet room. “Monday is in two days. I expect you to take the day off. We’ll meet at the courthouse. You will…” Before I could finish, a dark flush crept up his neck. With a frustrated roar, he threw his coat to the floor. It knocked over a crystal glass on the entryway table, which shattered on the hardwood. Shattered. Just like us. The crash seemed to sober him. The anger in his eyes was replaced by a deep, aching disappointment, but he held on to his patience by a thread. “Claire, this isn’t you. Even if you were serious about this, there has to be a reason, right?” His voice cracked. “It can’t be because I gave Jenna our Tylenol, can it? A high fever in a kid can cause seizures. It can be fatal. I’m a doctor. Was I supposed to just let him die?” His words struck a nerve. A tremor ran through me, and my hands clenched into tight fists. “Yes, that’s exactly why!” I spat, the hatred in my eyes so raw it felt like I was staring at a crime scene. “A man and a woman, alone in a room in the middle of the night. You disgust me.” The fight, now raw and loud, had woken the neighbors. And among them was Jenna. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked utterly lost. Before I could process it, she dropped to her knees in front of me. “Claire, please… did I cause a misunderstanding by asking for medicine so late?” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “There’s nothing going on between me and Thomas. It was just… it was too late to get a cab, and I knew Thomas was a doctor, so I thought you might have something…” Two other neighbors emerged from their apartments, drawn by the drama. Their whispers quickly turned into open condemnation. “Look at her. So pretty on the outside, but her heart is pure poison.” “He’s a doctor, for God’s sake! He was saving a life. What kind of person gets jealous over that?” “Dr. Hayes must have done something terrible in a past life to end up with a wife like you!” The chorus of accusations washed over me. I lowered my head, a shield against their glares, but inside, a cold, bitter laugh was echoing. 2. The growing crowd and escalating noise prompted someone to call building management, and the small mob dispersed. Thomas grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, and pulled me back inside. “Claire, you were just joking, right?” he pressed, his eyes searching mine, desperate. “Those things you said… you didn’t mean them. I’ve given medicine to neighbors before. You’ve never been like this. I don’t believe you would…” His whining grated on my ears. I cut him off, not with words, but with the sharp crack of my palm against his cheek. “If your head’s not right, go get it checked,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Don’t come barking at my door.” “And I’ll see you at the courthouse on Monday. Don’t make this any uglier than it has to be.” Without another word, I turned and slammed the bedroom door in his face. It was the first time I had ever left him so utterly stripped of his dignity, with no way to save face. Even his legendary patience had its limits. I heard him kick the door, a muffled thud of frustration. “Claire, there’s a line, and you’ve crossed it! This is insane!” he roared from the other side. “I’m not agreeing to a divorce. So you can forget about it!” Then, the sound of the front door slamming shut. The violent noise echoed through the apartment, but inside me, there was only silence. A profound, unprecedented calm. Was it finally ending? I didn’t waste any time. I packed a small bag with my essentials and started searching for a divorce lawyer online. I didn’t sleep a wink. As dawn broke, the apartment was empty. Thomas was gone, but on the coffee table sat a bouquet of flowers. It was his signature move. For years, every fight we had ended this way. He’d buy me flowers, cook my favorite meal, and we’d wordlessly agree to move on. But this time was different. This time, I was done. I picked up the beautifully wrapped bouquet and noticed something odd. It was supposed to be nine roses, but there were only eight. I didn’t have to wonder where the missing one had gone. After tossing them in the trash, I headed for the door, but my foot caught on something jutting out from under the edge of the rug, making me stumble. I bent down and picked it up. It was a tube of lipstick—the newest, not-yet-released shade from Dior. My friend, a beauty influencer, had been raving about it for weeks. My job was conservative; I hadn’t worn a color that bold in years. But Jenna, I recalled, loved bright red lipstick. … Just then, my phone rang. It was one of Thomas’s colleagues from the hospital. “Claire, you need to get down to the hospital, now,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “Thomas’s had some kind of sudden allergic reaction. He’s in bad shape. We need a family member to sign off on the procedure.” His parents lived hours away; they’d never make it in time. I drove to the hospital. But when I arrived, standing before a crowd of his worried colleagues, I played my hand. My only one. “I’ll sign,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “as soon as he signs the divorce papers.” The room went silent. Then, it exploded. One of our mutual friends, his face contorted in disbelief, called me a heartless bitch. “Don’t you get it? The only reason he was testing that new trial drug was to get a few extra vacation days approved to take you on that trip! And this is how you repay him? Are you even human?” “We all see how he worships you,” another chimed in. “Whatever this is about, can’t you just talk it through? Why blow everything up like this?” “Pull yourself together, Claire. We heard about last night. Thomas did the right thing. It’s his job to save people, and that kid’s life was on the line. You can’t divorce him over something like that!” From the hospital bed, Thomas watched me, his eyes filled with a bottomless despair. “Claire… I don’t want a divorce,” he rasped, his voice weak. “I’ll be more considerate of your feelings. I promise. Please… don’t do this.” He struggled to sit up, reaching a trembling hand out to me, his eyes welling with tears. It was a performance that would have melted any heart. But I remained rooted to the spot, unmoved, my voice as cold as ice. “Sign the divorce agreement and the asset division forms, and I’ll sign the surgical consent.” The room erupted again, the insults flying like poisoned darts. “You monster! He could die, and all you can think about is money?” “It’s true what they say, isn’t it? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Why isn’t it you in that bed?” But through the cacophony of their rage, I heard another sound. A small, almost imperceptible noise from behind the partition curtain of Thomas’s cubicle. As every eye in the room fixed on me, I strode forward and, with one swift motion, ripped the curtain aside. 3. Jenna gasped, clearly not expecting to be discovered. She scrambled to compose herself, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Claire, don’t get the wrong idea! After the fever broke last night, I was still worried, so I brought him to the ER for a proper check-up.” She gestured around the crowded room. “They’re swamped, there are no private rooms. They’re just putting patients wherever they can fit them. I had no idea Thomas was in the same cubicle.” “I know you don’t like me,” she finished, her voice laced with false sincerity. “As soon as my son wakes up, I’ll ask a nurse to move us. I won’t cause any more trouble for you two.” Just as she’d said, a small boy was asleep in the adjacent bed, his cheeks flushed. Jenna’s performance was flawless—the concerned mother, the considerate neighbor, the innocent bystander. Before I could even speak, Thomas jumped to her defense. “Jenna, the boy needs his rest. Don’t trouble yourself. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear. We both know we’re innocent…” Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. It all felt so pointless. The scathing words I had prepared died on my tongue. I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You’re right. You’ve done nothing wrong…” My voice dripped with a loathing so thick it was almost tangible. “I just find you filthy. And that’s why I want a divorce.” The color drained from Thomas’s face. He stared at me, his expression a mask of profound disappointment. “Claire, how long are you going to drag out this petty nonsense?” he pleaded. “All I did was give a sick child a box of Tylenol…” His voice rose, cracking with desperation and rage. “Is this because you can’t have children of your own? Is that it? You can’t stand to see anyone else with a healthy kid?” He’d gone too far. The words, flung in the heat of the moment, hung in the air like poison. A friend standing nearby shoved him hard. “Thomas, what the hell is wrong with you? That’s too much.” Realization dawned on his face. He looked at my hands, which were shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes filled with regret. “Claire… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up…” Five years ago, Thomas made a rookie mistake during surgery. A premature baby didn’t survive. The father, broken by grief, came to the hospital with a knife, looking for revenge. I had just arrived to bring Thomas his dinner. In the ensuing chaos, Thomas grabbed me and used me as a shield. A long paring knife pierced my abdomen. The baby I had been carrying for three months was gone. My uterus was so severely damaged that I could never have children again. Afterward, Thomas had knelt by my hospital bed, slapping his own face until it was bruised, his body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. “Claire, it’s all my fault. I’m a monster. How could I…” he’d choked out between tears. “I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. We don’t need kids. I only need you.” Now, those words were nothing but a bitter joke. My silence seemed to terrify him more than any outburst. He ripped the IV needle from his arm, ignoring the protests of the nurses, and stumbled toward me. He collapsed at my feet, his voice a desperate plea. “Claire… it was a slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean it… Please, I’m begging you, don’t divorce me. I can’t imagine my life without you. What would be the point?” For a fleeting moment, I was transported back five years, to that hospital room. The scene was almost identical. The only difference was me. My face was a mask of ice. I kicked him squarely in the chest. “Get off me.” “And don’t ever call me that again. It makes me sick.” “Sign the divorce papers, or don’t. I have a thousand ways to ruin your life. Go ahead and test me.” With that, I turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance. Halfway down the hall, I stripped off the jacket he had touched and threw it in a biohazard bin. As I stepped out of the hospital, I heard someone call my name. It was Lily, a new friend from my apartment building.

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My husband Mark and I have a blended family with my daughter Lily and his daughter Daisy. Just before school began, my stepdaughter’s interview “The Pain of a Broken Home” went viral. When Daisy moved in, I tried to make her feel welcome—moving Lily’s desk to the living room so Daisy could use the larger one in the spare room, buying her two sets of school supplies in her favorite colors like Lily’s, and ignoring my daughter’s complaints. A week before school, a news crew filmed a “Youth Development” piece. Daisy eagerly joined. On camera, she said tearfully, “I have to study in the spare room because my stepmom says the living room is for my sister. She gets new supplies—I’m told mine are fine.” When it aired, #EvilStepmother exploded. We were doxxed; strangers gathered outside shouting insults. Lily was bullied at school. Once, while picking up Daisy, a crowd shoved me down the stairs. Hurt, I heard Daisy whisper, “Sorry, Sophie… they were defending me.” I opened my eyes and was back to when Mark dropped Daisy’s suitcase in the entryway. He was usually meticulous, but neglectful with his own daughter. As Daisy bent to change shoes, I saw the calculating look in her eyes and smiled slowly. So this was the “pain of a broken home” you meant? Fine. This time, I’ll let you learn what it truly feels like to suffocate. 1 In the entryway, my husband Mark tossed Daisy’s suitcase on the floor and turned to me with a warm smile. “I passed by the market and picked up some grapes, your favorite. Where’s Lily? Tell her to come have some.” Daisy stood frozen by the door, clutching the hem of her shirt, her small frame curled in on itself. In my last life, that pitiful act was all it took to fool me. She was just a child, I’d thought. Her parents’ divorce was hard enough; she shouldn’t have to bear the weight of adult resentments. So I had rushed over, setting her suitcase upright and carrying it inside for her. Worried she’d feel uncomfortable being around us all the time, I moved Lily’s desk out of the spare room and into the living room, giving Daisy the bigger, better space. Even when Lily pouted that I was playing favorites, I had just smiled and soothed her, “Her sister just got here, sweetie. We have to take good care of her.” I bought two sets of stationery in Daisy’s favorite lavender. I gave her Lily’s nightlight. I woke up early to make her a special lunch for school. Mark had even teased me, “You care more about Daisy than you do your own daughter.” And what did I get for it? In that interview, she’d looked into the camera with red-rimmed eyes and lied. “Every day after school, I have to hide in a tiny corner of the spare room to do my homework. My stepmom always says the living room is my sister’s special place, and that I’d be rude to go in there.” “And the school supplies… she tells me to make do with my old things, but my sister gets to go to school with brand new stuff. And then she accuses me of being jealous and trying to compete with her.” “All I want is a few new pens and a decent place to study. Is that really too much to ask? I just don’t understand why she treats me so differently.” The trending hashtag, #ThePainOfABrokenHome, had crushed me. Strangers at my door, my daughter ostracized at school. I was pushed down a flight of stairs and left to die, and Daisy never showed a shred of remorse. A chill ran down my spine. I looked at Daisy now, but the familiar pang of pity in my heart was gone. Mark brought out the grapes and called for the girls. Lily came bouncing out and asked, “Isn’t my sister having any?” Daisy looked up at me, her eyes pleading, expecting me to pull her over like I always did. I didn’t move. Mark peeled a grape and fed it to me. Lily pointed at the fallen suitcase. “Daddy, Daisy’s suitcase fell over.” “She can pick it up herself. She’s old enough to handle something that simple, isn’t she?” Mark went back to peeling grapes for me, completely ignoring Daisy’s humiliation. In my past life, I always tried to make up for Mark’s coldness toward her, thinking of us as a team. In the end, I, the one with no blood ties to her, became the one who owed her everything. Daisy’s shoulders slumped, her eyes turning red. I finally spoke, my voice flat. “Listen to your father. He’s just trying to teach you to be responsible.” Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Mark paused, then chuckled and ruffled my hair. “See? You get me. She needs to learn to do things for herself.” I watched Daisy struggle to right the heavy suitcase, her knuckles white. This time, I wouldn’t pay for her sob story. My only job was to protect myself and Lily. “Daddy, more grapes, please,” Lily chirped, pulling me back to the present. I took a grape from Mark and gave it to her, the warmth returning to my eyes. 2 Daisy finally got the suitcase up, her fingers leaving red marks on the handle. She probably never expected me, the always-smiling stepmom, to watch her struggle, and she certainly never expected her own father to tell her to do it herself. I ignored her, leading Lily into the living room and deliberately raising my voice. “Lily, we’re going shopping for school supplies tomorrow. What color do you want? Pink or blue? Mommy will get you the newest imported binders.” Lily’s eyes lit up. “Pink! And I want the highlighters with the little strawberries on them!” “You got it,” I said, smiling as I stroked her hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daisy’s shoulders slump even further. She was still frozen in the entryway. Last time, I had specifically asked for her favorite color and bought two lavender sets of everything, right down to the matching pencil cases. And in return, she told her friends, “My stepmom only buys the good stuff for her real daughter. I just get the leftovers.” This time, I wasn’t going to waste my energy on such a thankless task. If she wanted something, I wasn’t the person she should be asking. Mark finished his grapes and wiped his hands, finally remembering his daughter. “Daisy, your room is the guest room. Go get yourself unpacked. Oh, and about your school supplies—have your mother get them for you. I’ve been so busy lately, I forgot to ask her about it.” The words were like a needle, and Daisy’s head shot up. Her mother had moved out of state after the divorce and hadn’t called once, let alone sent money for child support. Mark knew this perfectly well, but he deliberately pushed the responsibility onto her. I pretended not to notice her discomfort and added, “That’s right. Your mother dotes on you. I’m sure she’ll get you the very best.” Daisy’s lips parted as if to say something, but she swallowed the words. She gripped the handle of her suitcase and slowly trudged to the guest room, closing the door so softly it was almost silent. But I heard it. It wasn’t the sound of sorrow. It was the sound of simmering resentment. The next afternoon, Lily and I returned from the stationery store. As we walked in, we saw Daisy sitting on the sofa, clutching a worn-out pencil case, her eyes red and puffy. Mark sat beside her, looking annoyed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, placing Lily’s new pencil case on the coffee table. The pink strawberry pattern was bright and cheerful. Mark didn’t answer, but Daisy spoke up, her voice thick with tears. “Sophie… my mom said… she said she doesn’t have any money right now and told me to just use my old supplies from last year. But they’re almost all used up, and I need to take notes for my classes…” She looked at me as she spoke, that familiar, pleading look in her eyes. This time, I said nothing. Mark cut her off with a frown. “What’s wrong with old supplies? When I was in school, I wrote on the back of the page when the front was full. When a pen ran out of ink, I just replaced the cartridge. It didn’t stop me from getting into college.” Daisy stared at him, stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected her own father to say something like that. Her mouth opened, tears trembling on her lashes. “But Dad… the teachers specifically said we need new notebooks for the new semester…” “The teachers can say whatever they want. You know our financial situation, don’t you?” Mark’s tone grew colder. “If your mother says she doesn’t have the money, then you’ll have to make do. She’s already skipping out on child support; the least she can do is buy you some damn school supplies.” At his words, the color drained from Daisy’s face. Her mother didn’t want anything to do with her anymore; of course she wouldn’t send money for notebooks. But Daisy couldn’t say that out loud. Admitting it would be admitting she’d been abandoned. She gripped the old pencil case tighter, tears shimmering in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Lily looked from Daisy to me and whispered, “Mommy, I have two highlighters. Should I give one to my sister?” I squeezed Lily’s cheek and shook my head with a smile. “Mommy bought your school supplies with her own money, not from the family savings. If your sister wants new things, she can either ask your dad to buy them, or she can ask her mom for the money.” Daisy shot up from the sofa, grabbed her old pencil case, and stormed into the guest room, slamming the door behind her. I stared at the closed door, my expression calm. She always talked about the pain of a broken home, but I was never the source of that pain. It was her mother who abandoned her and her father who pretended not to notice. Why should I rush in to take the blame, only to be branded an evil stepmother without so much as a thank you? 3 Three days before the start of school, there was a parent-teacher conference. Mark claimed he had a work emergency and asked me to go. I agreed, but not before calling the teacher and explaining that Mark was primarily responsible for Daisy’s education, and that he should be the first point of contact for any issues. When I arrived at the classroom and sat in Lily’s seat, I overheard two parents whispering nearby. “See her? That’s Daisy’s stepmom. I heard her parents are divorced and she lives with her dad now.” “Yeah, I saw her dad bring her shopping the other day. I’ve never seen her mom around.” I said nothing. I knew the truth. No matter how much good I did, in their eyes, I would always be the villain. And her actual parents, the ones who neglected her, could hide in the shadows, completely blameless. Halfway through the meeting, the teacher made an announcement. “After the semester begins, the school is organizing a trip to visit some elite universities on the East Coast. The students will get to tour the campuses and attend lectures by top professors. It’s an incredible opportunity for their academic growth. The fee is five thousand dollars per student, and we need confirmation and payment today. Spots are limited, so please decide quickly.” After the conference, I was walking out of the classroom when Daisy ran up and blocked my path. “Sophie,” she began, her head bowed. “The fee for the trip… My mom said she doesn’t have the money and told me to ask you…” Her voice was small, but it held a hint of certainty. She was sure I’d give in. I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I pulled out my phone, dialed Mark, and put him on speaker. “Honey, the teacher just announced a university tour that costs five thousand dollars per person. Daisy says her mom won’t pay. What should we do?” There was a pause on the other end, and then Mark’s voice turned cold. “Tell her to talk to her mother herself! She’s not paying child support, and now she can’t even cough up the money for a school trip?” His voice grew louder. “Either her mom transfers the money today, or she doesn’t go. I’m not going to foot the bill for everything and do her mother’s job for her.” As his voice echoed from the phone, the color drained from Daisy’s face. She clutched the hem of her shirt, and a tear finally rolled down her cheek. “Dad… Mom really doesn’t have the money… and the teacher said it’s due today…” “Then she needs to figure it out!” Mark snapped. “If you can’t even handle something like this, how are you going to get through college? Solve your own problems, Daisy. Stop expecting other people to do it for you!” With that, Mark hung up. Daisy stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. I put my phone away, my voice neutral. “You heard your father. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but things are really tight for us right now. Between tuition for both of you and the mortgage last month, there’s not much left. I honestly don’t have five thousand dollars for this trip. You should really try calling your mom again, or maybe talk to your dad when he’s in a better mood.” Her head shot up, her eyes filled with shock and betrayal. “Sophie, can’t you just help me this one time? Just once…” “Help you?” I looked at her, my gaze steady. In my last life, I helped her with everything. I moved her desk, bought her supplies, paid her fees. I made sure she had everything Lily had, and more. I worried about her teenage pride, coddled her, tiptoed around her feelings so she would never feel left out. And what was my reward? She called me a monster on television. Strangers screamed at me in the street. My daughter lost her mother. “Daisy, don’t look at me like that. There is truly nothing I can do. You need to talk to your parents. Don’t stand here bothering me. I have my own daughter to raise.” Daisy froze, and her tears abruptly stopped. 4 It was probably the first time anyone had ever laid her parents’ indifference out so plainly before her. I didn’t look at her again. I turned and walked toward the school gate. Behind me, Daisy remained rooted to the spot, clutching her empty, worn-out pencil case like an abandoned child. I knew this was only the beginning. In this life, I would make her see with her own two eyes who was truly responsible for the pain of her broken home. Who was it that made her beg for a new pen or a clean notebook? It wasn’t me, her evil stepmother. It was her own parents, the ones who did nothing but shift the blame. She had hated the wrong person. And she had taken her revenge on the wrong person. When I got home, Lily was at the living room desk, happily unpacking her new stationery. The pink and white binder was open, and she had used a strawberry-scented highlighter to draw a wobbly smiley face on a piece of paper. Seeing me, she held up the pen. “Mommy, this pen writes in a sweet color!” I walked over and stroked her hair. I noticed the guest room door was slightly ajar, but there was no sound from within. Daisy was probably still stewing over the trip fee. Or perhaps she was staring at her old pencil case, plotting her next sob story. That evening, Mark came home on time for once, bringing a new toy car for Lily. Daisy sat across the dinner table, pushing rice around her bowl, her eyes darting toward the toy every few seconds. Last time, seeing that look, I would have made Lily share. This time, I didn’t say a word. Mark acted as if he didn’t even see his own daughter’s disappointment. He was too busy putting food on Lily’s plate. “It’s the weekend tomorrow. How about Daddy takes you to the amusement park?” Lily cheered. Daisy suddenly put down her chopsticks, her voice laced with a carefully concealed bitterness. “Dad, school starts the day after tomorrow, and the strap on my backpack is broken. Can you…” Before she could finish, Mark frowned. “If it’s broken, sew it yourself. The backpack I used in school lasted three years. I patched it up five times and it worked just fine. If you really don’t want to use it, ask your mom for a new one. Surely she can afford to buy you a backpack?” There it was again. That same refrain. Daisy’s face flushed a deep red, her knuckles white as she gripped her chopsticks. She couldn’t understand why her father, who had always been at least civil to her, had suddenly changed, deflecting every request back to the mother who had long since vanished from her life. I kept my head down, sipping my soup, pretending not to see the hatred brewing in her eyes. She was pitiable, yes. But my daughter deserved to have her mother. I would not sacrifice Lily’s well-being for Daisy’s sake ever again. Her pain was for the people who caused it to bear. But Daisy clearly didn’t see it that way. She suddenly slammed her chopsticks on the table, her eyes burning with pure hatred as she stared at me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re the one who turned my dad against me, who told him not to pay for my trip! I’m going to the media! I’ll expose you for child abuse and see how you can show your face in public then!”

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In my wildest years, I was reckless and wild. I made the mistake of sleeping with mob boss Rocco Kane—never expecting his obsession would grow so dark. When I became pregnant, he locked me away. I overheard him say: “Once the baby is born, she’s useless. With an heir, we can take the Ashworth empire.” Fury consumed me. That night, I stabbed him in the eye. Enraged, he broke my legs repeatedly to prevent my escape, yet kept doctors close to protect the baby. So I cut open my own pregnant belly. “You’re asking to die,” he snarled, carrying me out. I smiled, twisting the knife toward his other eye. “No. We die together.” Rocco wrenched my arm with brutal force. The knife missed his eye, plunging deep into his left shoulder instead. Blood bloomed across his crisp white shirt, spilling onto the floor in a growing crimson pool. “Nora, are you fucking insane?” he roared, his free hand clamping around my throat like a vice. The ruined socket of his blinded eye was a terrifying void. I stared back at him, gasping for air, but a cold smile touched my lips. “I’ve always been a psycho. Is this the first you’re hearing of it?” Panic for the baby must have finally broken through his rage, because he let go. He threw me to the floor. My legs, already broken and reset so many times, were useless. I struggled to push myself up, a pathetic, futile gesture. Still, I wasn’t afraid to spit venom. “Rocco, I will never, ever give birth to this child.” “Get her!” Rocco cursed, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he barked orders at his bodyguards. “The baby in her belly cannot be harmed. If anything happens to it, you’ll all be eating lead!” As his men dragged me away, Rocco shot me a chilling smile. “Nora,” he purred, his hand, impossibly gentle, caressing my face. “Remember this. As long as I’m here, you won’t die. And there is only one future for that baby in your womb—” He leaned in closer. “It will be born.” I was thrown back into my gilded cage. The sprawling villa was decorated like a princess’s fairytale, all pinks and golds. A cruel joke, considering I was a prisoner who couldn’t even move. Several private doctors tended to the gash on my stomach, bandaging it with practiced efficiency. “Mr. Kane,” the butler’s voice drifted in from outside my window. “Miss Ashworth’s baby is fine. Just a little shaken, but there are no serious issues.” I could almost feel Rocco’s relief. He doubled my guard, posting ten more men around the villa. Every day, he had the finest food and drink sent to my room. Every sharp object was confiscated; not even a butter knife remained. “Miss Ashworth, the Master has already promised to marry you,” the butler said one day, sighing with a look of genuine confusion. “You only need to deliver the child safely, and you can live a life of luxury. Why are you so determined to throw it all away?” I didn’t answer. I just laughed, a cold, empty sound. “That sham of a wedding? He’s not marrying me. He’s just putting on a show.” The butler tried to reason with me again, but I silenced him with a single glare. Everyone in Rocco’s mansion thought I was a lunatic. They learned to keep their distance, afraid my madness was contagious. After a week confined to my bed, I noticed a new, curious face peeking in through my window. A young girl in a frilly princess dress. “So you’re Nora Ashworth?” she asked, her nose wrinkled in a sneer. “You’re not even that pretty. Do you really think my brother Rocco would look at you if it weren’t for your Ashworth blood?” She tossed her hair back. “And that wedding? Don’t even dream about it. To my brother, you’re nothing but a cheap incubator.” My eyes locked onto her. She was so clean, so delicate. So fragile. My interest was piqued. I’d heard the rumors—that Rocco kept a sweet, innocent young thing hidden away like a treasure. A girl named Clara, his adopted sister. And, more importantly, the one who had saved his life six years ago. A wicked idea began to form. Rocco had destroyed me. What kind of look would cross his face if I killed his precious little Clara? A cruel smile spread across my face. It seemed a new prey had just walked into my trap. I beckoned to her with a single finger. “Come here. I have something for you.” That evening, after having his shoulder patched up, Rocco finally graced me with his presence. “Nora, since you’ve heard the truth, I won’t hide it anymore,” he said, his voice flat. “Be a good girl, have this baby, and I’ll have your legs properly set. I’ll even let you go.” He sneered, tossing a check onto the bed. It was for fifty million dollars. “Consider it payment for your services.” His gaze raked over me, cold and devoid of any emotion. “For a slut like you, that’s enough to keep you in boy toys for a lifetime.” I laughed from my wheelchair. “And if I say no? Rocco, why should I accept your terms? Don’t forget, I’m the one carrying what you want. You should be begging me.” My voice hardened. “I’ll be the one making the demands. You’ll be the one deciding whether to accept.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, turning to leave. But then, I smiled softly. “Rocco, you call yourself a mob boss? You’ve already lost one eye. How can you still be so naive?” He froze, turning back to me with a flicker of confusion. “What do you mean?” I clapped my hands lightly and pointed toward a massive construction crane in the distance. “You hid that little girl so well, didn’t you? Terrified one of your enemies would find her.” My smile turned sharp as a razor’s edge. “Rocco, now it’s my turn to offer you a deal.” I held up two fingers. “You have a choice. The baby in my womb…” My gaze flickered toward the crane. “…or your precious little sister.” The color drained from Rocco’s face. He whipped his head around, his eyes following my gesture. Suspended high in the air, dangling from the crane’s hook, was a small figure in a white dress. Her hands and feet were bound, and muffled sobs echoed from the gag in her mouth. “Rocco, help me!” Clara’s terrified cry was faint but clear. “She’s a monster!” A thick vein pulsed on Rocco’s forehead. His eyes, burning with a murderous fury, locked onto mine. “Let her go.” “And if I don’t?” I shot back, a crazed light dancing in my eyes. “Rocco, don’t make me repeat myself. Her, or the baby. Choose.” He just stared at me, his face a mask of conflict. I knew what he was weighing. The child, his heir, the key to the Ashworth empire… against the girl he’d sworn to protect. I knew six months ago that a mob boss’s bed wasn’t an easy place to climb out of. The night I got drunk and tore off his clothes, he was so receptive because he’d already done his homework on me. He wanted the Ashworth fortune, and he wanted an heir to secure it. He laid the trap, and I walked right in. But there was one thing he never knew. I would have a child with any man in the world, but not him. Never him. “Have you made up your mind?” I asked, my voice dripping with impatience. He gritted his teeth, his voice a raw, broken whisper. “Nora… do you really want to get rid of my child that badly?” “I do,” I replied, my eyes lazily lifting to meet his. “You have fifteen seconds to decide. Save Clara, or let me walk away from this.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you hesitate… that rope on the crane is going to be cut…” I made a sharp, downward motion with my hand, my smile widening into a cruel grin. “And then… splat.” “You’ll be scraping your little sister off the pavement.” “I choose… Clara!” Rocco’s eyes squeezed shut in despair as he finally made his choice. A satisfied smile spread across my face. “I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “It’s been eighteen seconds.” “What are you doing?!” His eye flew open, widening in horror just as a sickening snap echoed from the direction of the crane. Clara’s scream tore through the air, cut short by a heavy thud. “What a shame. You were just a second too slow,” I murmured, admiring my fingernails as if nothing had happened. Rocco stumbled, his body swaying. When he finally regained his senses, he sprinted toward the crumpled figure on the ground. Clara lay in a heap, her head bleeding profusely, the pristine white of her dress stained a brilliant, horrifying red. “Doctor! Get the private doctor, now!” Rocco roared, gathering her limp body into his arms with a desperate tenderness. “NORA!” He spun to face me, his gaze pure, undiluted hatred. “You bitch! I made my choice! Why did you still have to hurt her?!” He held Clara tighter. “You leave family out of this! If you hate me, come after me!” Seeing the raw anguish in his eye, the utter devastation, brought a savage pleasure to my heart. “Oh?” I said softly. “Is that what you were thinking three years ago… when you murdered Leo Kane?” The words hung in the air. The blood drained from Rocco’s face, leaving it a waxy, pale canvas. “How… how do you know that name? What are you to my brother?” “If you hadn’t killed him,” I said, my voice cold as the grave, “I’d be your sister-in-law by now.” I lifted my gaze, meeting his shattered one. “Rocco. He died the night before he was going to propose to me.” I’d known for a long time. Rocco had murdered his own twin brother. Leo was supposed to join my family, to leave the criminal world behind. I was so close to wearing his ring. But Rocco took him from me, leaving a void that could never be filled. So I crafted a new persona for myself—the reckless, wild party girl—all to get close to the man who killed my love. Rocco’s eye was bloodshot, his arms still cradling the unconscious Clara. He let out a harsh, grating laugh. “So that’s what it was. I always thought the timing of you falling into my bed was suspicious. This was all for revenge?” He sneered. “Nora, you’re so naive. A failure like Leo could never have run the Kane family. He was weak.” He took a step closer, a twisted smile on his lips. “Besides, we have the same face. And now you’re carrying my child. Why not just marry me? It’s perfect, isn’t it?” The sharp crack of my hand across his face echoed in the silence. He turned his head slowly, a bloody hand coming up to touch his cheek. “No woman has ever hit me before,” he said, his voice like shattering ice. “You’re the first.” He looked up, his good eye burning with cold fire. “Since your hands can’t behave… I’ll have them broken.” He stood, holding Clara, and started to walk away. He paused by the bodyguards who had betrayed him. “These traitors… break them, too.” But the bodyguards didn’t move an inch. They stood like statues, their eyes fixed on me, waiting for my command. Rocco was careless. So utterly arrogant. He assumed these men were his. He assumed this whole world was his to command. “Miss Sinclair,” a man I knew as Mr. Sterling said, stepping forward respectfully. “That boy has caused you enough trouble. Shall we show him a fraction of our power, so he understands his place?” I was calmly trimming a bonsai tree. “Not yet.” I smiled to myself. “Rocco… the show is just getting started.” Everything he took from Leo three years ago… I would make him give it all back, piece by painful piece. “The child,” I said, my voice flat. “Get rid of it.” Just before they wheeled me into the operating room, Mr. Sterling hesitated. “Miss Sinclair, are you certain? If he finds out the child is gone, he might do something… drastic.” My smile deepened. “Are you afraid of him?” I looked at him, my voice steady. “Mr. Sterling, with the power of the Sinclair family, ten men like Rocco Kane would be nothing.” My gaze drifted to a photograph of Leo on the nightstand. “If he didn’t have Leo’s face,” I whispered, “he wouldn’t still be breathing.” “Yes, miss.” Mr. Sterling said no more and signaled for the surgery to begin. When I opened my eyes again, a heart-wrenching roar echoed from outside my room. “Nora! How could you?” “Without my permission, how dare you get rid of my child?!” Rocco’s screams were a grating annoyance. The procedure had left me feeling lighter, my face pale and drawn, but I still managed a weak smile for him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be at your precious Clara’s bedside?” I taunted. “I guess her injuries weren’t that serious if you still have time to stand here and shriek at me.” Rocco looked like he was about to explode. He had believed I was helpless here, a lamb for the slaughter. “Nora, why are these men listening to you?” he demanded, his eyes darting between me and the guards. “Who the hell are you?” I idly twisted the simple band on my ring finger. “You’ll find out soon enough.” His gaze fell to the ring, and he stiffened. “Is that… the ring Leo was going to give you?” “No. And yes.” Leo had died before he could place the real ring on my finger. So I had an exact replica made. A symbol of a promise I had accepted in my heart. “What do you have against Clara?” he pressed, his voice strained. “Even if you hate me, you should have come after me. She’s just my sister! It wouldn’t have stopped me from marrying you!” He took a shaky breath. “And… you agreed to marry me, didn’t you? I have the same face as Leo. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?” I reached out, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, a face I had once loved more than life itself. “Yes,” I whispered. “It’s identical.” My voice was soft, almost longing. “If it weren’t for your harsh voice, I could almost believe you were him.” But I knew. My Leo would never have treated me this way. He was pure, he would never have become a monster. He would never have kept a fragile white flower like Clara locked away. And he would never have left my bed in the middle of the night, only to sneak into Clara’s room, his breath catching as he watched her sleep, his desire a palpable thing in the dark. He would never have a cold, dead void where one of his eyes should be.

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My buddy asked me once, after you cheat, do you still have feelings for your wife? I had to really think about it. How do you explain it? It’s not like there’s nothing there. After all, for the longest time, we were family. But if you ask if I’m still deeply in love with her… then no, that’s gone. I thought I’d finally figured out the true nature of marriage. Until one day, on a crowded street, I saw her laughing with another man. 1 I was on the balcony, slowly letting a smoke ring dissolve into the cold air, just about to answer Cole’s question when my phone buzzed. It was my wife, Yara. “What’s up, honey?” I kept my voice warm and gentle. She giggled before she even spoke. “Haha, Sean, when are you coming home? Gizmo learned how to do a backflip! You have to see it!” I smiled back into the phone. “Alright, I’ll be home soon. You in the mood for some of those caramel-glazed chestnuts from downtown? I can swing by and grab some.” “Yes, please!” “So, what’s the vibe for tonight? Starfall Dynasty or Midnight Bloom?” We hung up in a fit of cheerful laughter. When I turned back, Cole was staring at me, a blank, dazed look on his face. I just smirked. I wasn’t surprised. He’d just clawed his way through a brutal divorce battle with his wife over his mistress. The whole ordeal had skinned him alive, and now they were mortal enemies. And then there was me and Yara. The picture of a perfect couple, sickeningly sweet. Four years of marriage hadn’t led to the usual boredom; if anything, we seemed stronger, more deeply connected than ever. The truth is, I’d always been good to her. But after I started cheating, I became even better. By anyone’s standards, she was an enviably happy woman, living a charmed life. Cole nudged me with his chin. “Hey, you still haven’t answered my question.” I shook my head with a sigh, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “Let me put it this way,” I said. “When you touch your own hand, do you feel anything?” “Feel what? It’s just my hand.” I took a long drag, my eyes narrowing at the snow-dusted skyline in the distance. “That’s how it is with Yara now,” I said slowly. “Touching her is like touching my own hand. But if that hand got hurt… I’d feel the pain just as sharply.” Cole blinked. “And that’s your excuse for being with Celeste?” I shot him a serious, warning look. “Celeste is a proud woman. Don’t you ever, ever say something like that in front of her.” 2 I don’t think of myself as some kind of monster. Even though I slept with Celeste while I was married. Some things in this world… they just don’t go the way you plan. A year ago, at our high school reunion, I ran into Celeste—the girl I’d secretly worshipped from afar all those years ago. The moment I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Celeste I remembered was radiant, untouchable. From a wealthy family, top of her class. For a guy like me, still wrestling with the awkward, insecure shadows of adolescence, she was a goddess, an impossible dream. But the woman I saw that day had been completely reshaped by life. She looked worn-down, gaunt, and haunted. The lines around her eyes and mouth were drawn tight, a permanent defense etched by years of hardship and struggle. An ache bloomed in my chest. It was like watching the moon you once prayed to fall from the heavens, crashing into the dirty, mundane world. Its light was gone, its surface covered in dust. As the reunion wound down, everyone was gathered around my new car. Celeste murmured, “That must’ve cost, what, sixty, seventy thousand?” Someone next to her scoffed. “Are you kidding? That’s a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car. Sean’s a regional director now, he’s made it. This isn’t high school anymore.” A flush crept up her neck, and she pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. “It’s not that much, don’t listen to them,” I said quickly. She glanced at me, her face a rigid mask, then turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye. As the crowd buzzed with chatter, I pieced together the story of her lost years. Her family’s business went bankrupt while she was in college, their fortune vanishing overnight. After graduation, she married the wrong man—a violent drunk. During one of their fights, he ended up dead. She sold everything she had to cover legal fees and restitution, but still ended up in prison. Now divorced, she was raising their four-year-old son, Leo, alone in a cramped rental, scraping by selling insurance policies. “She never used to come to these things,” someone commented. “Guess she was hoping to drum up some business. Nothing wrong with trying to make a living, but with that attitude, who’s going to bother?” Two weeks later, Celeste called me out of the blue, asking if I needed a commercial insurance plan. Yara, who works in the bancassurance division at her bank, had already set me up with full coverage years ago. I could hear the disappointment in Celeste’s voice, so I passed along a few of my friends’ numbers. To thank me, she invited me to dinner. I accepted. Not long after, her son came down with a high fever during a blizzard. She couldn’t get a cab and called me in a panic. Naturally, I dropped everything to help. After that, it became a casual thing. She’d cook something nice and have me over. Her son, Leo, started calling me “Uncle Sean,” clinging to my leg whenever I was about to leave. One night, a heavy snowstorm rolled in, and I was stuck at her place. We’d both had a couple of glasses of wine. After Leo was asleep, she got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later, she called my name. I walked in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a sheer, revealing nightgown, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked up at me. She bit her lip. “Sean,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t have any other way to thank you. If you don’t mind… this is all I have to offer.” I was so flustered I turned to leave, stammering, “Celeste, I… I never expected you to… repay me. We’re old friends. It’s what friends do.” A low, melancholic sigh came from behind me. “I remember in class,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow, “you used to pretend you were sleeping, but you were always watching me. I know. I know I’m not what I used to be.” “If you’re worried about anything,” she continued, her voice gaining a desperate edge, “don’t be. I’m never getting married again. I would never, ever destroy your family. I just want… this. Right now.” The snow swirled furiously outside the window, a world away from the charged silence of the room. Suddenly, I turned around and lunged for her. 3 I got home late that night. As I pulled up to our building, I saw a small, bundled-up figure standing in the snow, peering down the street. It was Yara. When she saw my car, she let out a visible sigh of relief and came jogging towards me, her steps clumsy in the deep snow, a huge grin on her face. “Sean! Any later and you would’ve come home to a wife-sicle!” I had a lot of work events, so she never questioned where I’d been. She just unwound her own scarf, wrapped it snugly around my neck, and beamed. “Considering you made it home in one piece through this blizzard, I, your magnanimous ruler, will forgive you for not answering your phone.” That night, the bitter cold masked the stiffness of my body and the frozen expression on my face. … I adapted quickly to this new rhythm in my life. Celeste had a flexible schedule, and I often spent my afternoons visiting our various branch locations, so my absence from the office wasn’t unusual. We had plenty of time and places to meet. Even with her changed circumstances, Celeste carried herself with an air of pride, at least around me. Or maybe she just knew that was the version of her I was obsessed with. It reminded me of how she used to be. Cole, my best friend and old classmate, didn’t get it. “Look, Celeste was a knockout back in the day, I get it,” he’d said. “But now? She can’t hold a candle to Yara.” He didn’t understand. They say you spend your whole life chasing the one thing you couldn’t have as a kid. Celeste was that impossible thing. And now, she was beneath me. The thought filled me with an intoxicating, almost primal satisfaction every time we were together. She refused to take my money, saying it made her feel cheap. So, I found other ways to help. I referred friends and colleagues who needed insurance. I used her phone number to prepay for services at various stores. I’d pass on expensive gifts I received from clients. No matter how you looked at it, Celeste’s presence in my life felt like the ultimate testament to my success. I was a man who had it all. I never considered divorce. Yara and I were a perfect match. Our home was my sanctuary—a happy, stable life that I cherished. Being with her was easy; she was cheerful and easily contented. Around her, I felt relaxed, confident, alive. Besides, I’d made a promise at her mother’s deathbed. I swore I would always love her, always be good to her. And for years, I had been. As for the pain my affair could cause her? I’d thought it all through. She would only suffer if she knew. If she never found out, then there was no actual harm done, was there? If anything, life would be better for her. I was already providing for her every material and emotional need. Now, weighed down by a sliver of guilt, I was doubling my efforts, treating her better than ever before. And it was working. Our relationship was stronger now than it had ever been. 4 Every year on my birthday, Yara took the day off. She’d start her preparations in the morning, driving ten miles to the city’s best seafood market for the freshest ingredients. She’d spend the entire day washing, chopping, simmering, and frying, all in anticipation of the lavish feast that would be waiting for me when I got home from work. And I’d do my part, clearing my schedule to get home early. We’d finish the last bits of cooking together, laughing and talking before settling in for our celebratory dinner. But this year, Celeste called. “Can I be the one to celebrate your birthday with you?” she asked. I hesitated for two seconds, then said yes. For the past six months, Celeste had been true to her word. She hadn’t made a single unreasonable demand. In fact, after each of our trysts, she would meticulously check my clothes, my skin, making sure there were no stray hairs, no lingering scent of her perfume. I figured she must be feeling sidelined. It was understandable. Yara and I had every day together. A lifetime of days. We could celebrate countless birthdays. Missing one wouldn’t matter. I called Yara, telling her I had a last-minute dinner with some city officials and would be home late. Over the sound of sizzling oil, she asked, “Okay, what time do you think you’ll be back?” I thought for a moment. “Around seven.” “Got it!” Seven seemed reasonable. But that day, the moment I stepped into Celeste’s apartment, she was on me, kissing me with a fierce, desperate hunger. She’d sent Leo to a friend’s house and was wearing a provocative, see-through dress. She was bolder, wilder than I’d ever seen her. In bed, it was like she was trying to devour me whole. She used every trick she knew, pushing us both to the limit, again and again. When I finally drifted back to consciousness from a heavy, sated sleep, I glanced at my phone. It was already 11 PM. A jolt of panic shot through me, and I scrambled to get dressed. Celeste suddenly wrapped herself around me from behind, nipping my shoulder gently. Her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you this long today.” Her vulnerability made me feel guilty all over again. I finished dressing and soothed her. “In a little while, I’ll take you away for a few days. Just us. We’ll be like a real husband and wife. You can call me your husband, and I’ll do anything you want.” She laughed through her tears. “You and your silver tongue.” On the drive home, I assumed Yara would already be in bed. She was a creature of habit: asleep by eleven, up by seven, every single day. But when I walked in, I found her slumped over the dining table, fast asleep. The table was a feast, covered with elaborate dishes, fresh flowers, and a birthday cake. I checked my reflection in the entryway mirror to make sure there were no tell-tale signs, then walked over and gently shook her awake. Yara looked up at me, her eyes bleary with sleep. It took her a second to register who I was, and then her face split into a wide grin. “Honey, happy birthday!” My lips thinned. “Why were you sleeping out here?” She yawned. “Well, you said you’d be home at seven, and it’s your birthday, so of course I was going to wait for you. But I didn’t want to bother you while you were with city officials… I guess I just dozed off.” “You haven’t eaten?” The question came out sharper than I intended. “I tasted so much while I was cooking, I’m not even hungry,” she said with a cheerful wave of her hand. Looking at her, a strange, baseless anger surged inside me. “Are you crazy?” I snapped. “If I’m not home by this time, it obviously means I’ve already eaten out! Why wouldn’t you just eat by yourself?” Yara froze, her smile faltering. After a few seconds, she asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” I instantly realized how I sounded. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m just… tired today. I’m going to bed.” I fled to the bedroom like a coward. As I lay in bed, trying to make sense of my own bizarre emotions, I heard a rustle behind me. A warm body pressed against my back. “Honey, I’m sorry,” Yara whispered. “I know you were just worried about me going hungry. I promise next time, I’ll eat when I’m supposed to. Did something bad happen at your dinner tonight? Do you want to do something… fun… to take your mind off it?” This was our little ritual. If one of us was down, stressed out from work, or just in a bad mood, the other would initiate. It was a small, tender comfort we offered each other. I knew my anger was completely out of line, and her gentle gesture was the olive branch I needed. I started to turn towards her. But maybe it was exhaustion from my time with Celeste, or maybe it was something else entirely. I just… couldn’t perform. Nothing was happening. The more I tried, the more anxious I got, and the worse it became. “Let’s just sleep,” I muttered, my voice tight with frustration. Yara, thinking I was still sulking, started playfully tickling me. Something in me snapped. I let out a low growl. “Stop it! For God’s sake, have some dignity!” Yara’s hand froze mid-air. In the dim light of the bedroom, her eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me. 5 Yara was angry. The next morning, she left for work without a word. In all the years I’d known her, I could barely remember a time she’d been truly angry. We met six years ago at a charity event. I was captivated by the easy grace and confidence she projected while speaking on stage. I pursued her relentlessly. The more I got to know her, the more I discovered. She and her mother had faced incredible hardship, but Yara had cultivated a spirit of pure sunshine. Optimistic, generous, forgiving, and content with the simple things. She was almost always happy. To her, life’s obstacles were just “mini-bosses you have to beat before you can level up.” Sprained her ankle? “Guess the universe is telling me to take a break. Better listen!” Purse got stolen? “Awesome! Now I have an excuse to buy a new one!” I grew up in a tense, stifling household. Even after achieving some professional success, I was wound tight, always on edge. Being with her taught me how to finally unwind. How to appreciate a flower, how to watch the clouds drift by. How to accept myself. I bought a massive bouquet and went to pick her up from the bank, much to the amusement of her colleagues. When she saw me, she walked over, her lips pressed together, saying nothing. I theatrically slapped my own face. “It’s this stupid mouth’s fault! It deserves a beating! Honey, you want to take a swing?” She didn’t move. I made a grand gesture of getting down on one knee, which finally made her rush forward to stop me. A snort of laughter escaped her. “Fine. I’ll add it to your tab.” “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me!” I grinned. She was quiet for a second, then looked at me, her expression serious. “Sean. This is a one-time thing. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded like a bobblehead, and finally, her smile returned. The incident was quickly forgotten. Life went back to normal. A few days later, a massive blizzard hit the city, and the temperature plummeted. My chronic pharyngitis flared up. Yara announced she’d managed to get an appointment with a renowned traditional medicine specialist, famous for treating persistent throat issues. She was going to pick up my prescription the next day. The clinic was far, she said, and asked if I could drive her. I hesitated. Celeste’s son, Leo, had slipped on the ice and twisted his ankle. With the snow making travel impossible, I’d been driving them to and from his school and appointments. “If you’re busy, it’s fine. I can just get a cab,” Yara said breezily. I seized the opening. “That’s probably for the best. I have an important meeting tomorrow that’s going to take up the whole day.” The next day, I picked up Celeste and Leo. She mentioned he had a physical therapy session at a specialist’s clinic. The snow had started falling again, thick and heavy. When I pulled up to the clinic, a small, unassuming building, I was surprised to see a long line of people snaking out the door. I parked the car and was about to get out when I saw her. Near the back of the line stood Yara. She was bundled up in her thickest coat, her neck buried in her scarf, blowing on her hands to keep them warm. A fine layer of snow dusted her hair and shoulders. She’d clearly been standing out there for a long time. Celeste froze. “What is she doing here?” she whispered. My brow furrowed. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The alley was too narrow to turn around easily. “Don’t get out yet,” I said, thinking fast. “The sound of the door will make her look over, and she might recognize the car. Let’s wait until she’s inside.” Celeste bit her lip, silent. After a moment, she murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, “I’m just taking my son to the doctor. Why do I feel like I’m sneaking around?” I didn’t answer. I just sat there in the heated car, watching Yara shiver in the biting wind. She always hated the cold. At this rate, it would be another forty minutes before she got inside. Half an hour later, Celeste’s patience wore out. “If we wait any longer, we’re going to miss his appointment.” And then, she opened the car door and got out, holding Leo. Thump. The sound of the door closing echoed in the quiet alley. Instinctively, Yara turned her head, her gaze sweeping towards the sound. Her eyes landed first on Celeste, then slowly drifted to the car. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, which was red with cold. The next second, our eyes met. Hers and mine. A silent, staring match through the windshield of my car. And in that frozen moment, everything shattered.

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Benjamin Cohen, the billionaire scion, posts a late-night pic from a private jet tarmac. Caption: [Operation Win-Her-Back is a go.] Half an hour later, the newly-crowned heiress, Melody Nolan, posts a pic of a matching rose and a massive diamond ring. Caption: [He found me!] The internet exploded. As fans went into a frenzy, Benjamin himself crashed a live stream and went on the attack: “Win who back? You? Are you allergic to shame or something?” “It’s bad enough I can’t get her back, but now you’re trying to ruin my reputation!” “Do you have any idea how important a man’s reputation is?!” He finished his rant, then whipped his head around, his voice dropping to a pathetic whimper as he looked at me. “Babe, you gotta say something!!!” 1 The day the real heiress returned was the day I was kicked out of the Nolan family home. While the entire internet was laughing at me, a reality TV show offered me a contract. They wanted me to be Melody’s on-air punching bag, her ‘control group.’ To utterly humiliate me, during the ‘borrow money’ challenge, Melody conspired with the producers. We were both forced to call the same person: the infamous Benjamin Cohen. “Let’s just see, sis,” Melody whispered to me, covering her mic when the cameras weren’t looking, her smile dripping with venom. “Will Mr. Cohen lend money to a disgraced fake like you, or to the real, beloved heiress?” “We’ll see,” I said, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure Benjamin would lend me the money, but I was damn sure he wouldn’t lend it to her. For dramatic effect, the host had me call first. As the phone rang, a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. What if he didn’t pick up? The last time we spoke, when we broke up, he swore that if he ever spoke to me again, he was a dog. Thirty seconds ticked by. Nothing. Melody could barely contain her smug grin, though she feigned concern. “Oh no, it looks like Mr. Cohen isn’t picking up for my sister…” Her comment sent the live chat into a frenzy of mockery. LMAO, who does this fake think she is, calling a Cohen for a million bucks?! She couldn’t even borrow a hundred! If she gets a single cent, I will eat my own shoe on a live stream! Careful what you wish for, buddy. You never know. ^^^ Is that a Thea fan? People actually stan the fake heiress? LOL. Yeah, I said what I said! The chat was a warzone, and the tension on set was thick enough to cut with a knife. Melody’s triumphant smile grew wider. Just as everyone expected the call to go to voicemail, it connected. Melody’s smile froze on her face. For a split second, she looked stunned, before schooling her features back into a mask of disdainful confidence. She was certain he wouldn’t lend me the money. The line was dead silent. Benjamin didn’t say a word. I had to be the one to speak first. “It’s me, Thea.” Still nothing. The silence stretched. “Look, um… can I borrow a million dollars?” I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. It was a sound of pure disbelief, quickly morphing into fury. “Thea,” Benjamin’s voice, usually a deep, magnetic rumble, was now tight with rage. “You call me for the first time in months just to ask for money?!” “Mhm,” I mumbled, steeling myself. “No money! But you can have me!” he snarled, and then—click. He hung up. He’d spat the words out with such fury that the last part was garbled. Everyone on set, including Melody, only heard one thing clearly: “No money!” “Oh, what a shame. It seems Mr. Cohen isn’t willing to help you out, sis,” Melody said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy while her eyes danced with glee. The moment she finished, Vivian, an influencer who’d been kissing Melody’s ass since the show began, rolled her eyes at me. “Some people need to learn their place. She’s lucky a man like Mr. Cohen even answered her call.” Then, her face morphed into a fawning smile as she turned to Melody. “Melody, you should call him! He wouldn’t just lend you a million, he’d give you fifty!” Melody preened under the praise, but then she noticed I was staring down at my phone, completely silent. She subtly motioned for a cameraman to zoom in on my screen. The live feed was suddenly filled with the contents of my phone: [NOTICE: A wire transfer of $50,000,000.00 from an account belonging to BENJAMIN COHEN has been initiated to your account ending in 0553 on 07-29-2025. Please verify…] “Fifty million?!” Vivian shrieked, sucking in a sharp breath. 2 Her scream snapped me out of my shock. Before I could even process it, a text from Benjamin came through. [Is that enough? If not I can send more… actually just give me your address, I’ll have a black card sent over. Don’t get the wrong idea, it’s just less hassle. You know how busy I am, I don’t have time to keep sending you transfers…] The text was broadcast live, and a fresh wave of gasps rippled through the studio. I stared at the message, clearly sent before he’d finished typing. I knew Benjamin. That dog was about to say something utterly filthy. Without a second thought, I blocked his number. I’d deal with returning the money after the show. After blocking him, I calmly slid my phone into my pocket and looked straight at the camera. “It’s a scam text. Phishing for my address.” But the live chat had already detonated. FIFTY MILLION?! I wouldn’t even burn that much fake money for my ancestors! Is this what life is like for the 1%? Just casually wiring fifty mil?! Hey, where’s that guy who promised to eat his shoe? Don’t be a coward! Who’s a coward? That text is obviously fake! I’ll double down. If Princess Melody gets a single dollar from him, you’re the one eating a shoe! Deal. And if your princess gets nothing, you eat two? …Fine! The entire internet is our witness! The back-to-back bombshells had wiped the smile off Melody’s face. Vivian, ever the loyal lackey, tried to salvage the situation. “Melody, it’s your turn! I bet that text was fake. After all, Mr. Cohen hung up on her.” She shot me a contemptuous look. “If I got rejected like that on national television, I’d quit showbiz forever. The humiliation!” Vivian’s words seemed to soothe Melody’s frayed nerves. She pasted on her signature sweet, innocent smile. “Okay, here I go!” She dialed Benjamin’s number with an air of absolute certainty. The call was immediately rejected. A look of disbelief and mortification flashed across Melody’s face. “He probably just got spammed and rejected the call without looking,” Vivian said quickly, shooting me a pointed glare. “Try again, Melody.” Melody’s expression softened. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and dialed again with a bright, sugary smile. Rejected again. Now she was starting to look desperate. The other guests were watching her with a new, speculative glint in their eyes. She ignored them and tried again. Rejected. She tried one more time, her thumb jabbing at the screen. This time, it connected. A visible wave of relief washed over Melody. She shot me a look of pure triumph. But before she could even say hello, Benjamin’s impatient voice barked through the speaker. [I told you, I’m not buying insurance! Stop calling me, are you crazy?] Click. He hung up. The entire studio fell silent. For a moment, even the live chat froze. All the color drained from Melody’s face. Her eyes were wide with shock as her trembling fingers dialed one last time. A cold, robotic voice answered: [The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…] 3 He’d blocked her. Somewhere in the studio, someone let out an audible snort of laughter. The chat was a waterfall of LMAO MELODY GOT REKT and Where’s shoe-eating guy? Show yourself! But a flood of PRINCESS MELODY IS THE PRETTIEST bots quickly washed them away. Melody’s face was thunderous. Vivian rushed to comfort her. “It’s okay, Mel! So he blocked you? You can just ask him to unblock you later! And you didn’t borrow any money, but neither did Thea, so…” The more Vivian talked, the more flustered she became, each word a clumsy step on a minefield of Melody’s insecurities. Melody’s face turned stony. She shot a dark look toward the production crew, and her manager, standing off-camera, gave a slight nod. Three seconds later, Melody’s body began to sway. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed. The set was thrown into chaos. Paramedics rushed in and, after a brief examination, announced that Melody had fainted from exhaustion due to her “frail constitution.” Predictably, the chat filled with a new narrative: Melody’s health was poor because she’d spent her childhood suffering in poverty. The live broadcast was abruptly cut short. It was rescheduled for ten o’clock the next morning. 4 Because it was an emergency, the production hadn’t arranged for our accommodations. I found a hotel nearby. After a quick shower, I collapsed into bed. I’d been up all night writing music, and my eyelids felt like they were lined with lead. I slept like the dead, completely oblivious to the drama that had unfolded online overnight. When I finally woke up and checked my phone, I saw that Benjamin and Melody were trending. [BREAKING] #BenjaminCohenAndMelodyNolanSpotted [VIRAL] #OperationWinHerBack MelodyNolan SaysYes [HOT] #CohenNolanMerger WeddingBells The trending page was a wall of their names. Just as I was about to click on a link, the topics vanished. Moments later, Cohen Industries’ official corporate account released a statement. It clarified that the rumors of a relationship between Benjamin Cohen and Melody Nolan were entirely false, and any talk of a merger or marriage was pure fabrication. The statement concluded with a promise to pursue legal action against anyone spreading misinformation. The gossip sites immediately fell in line, deleting their posts and issuing apologies. But Melody’s fans only got louder. They flooded the corporate account’s comments, insisting Benjamin was just playing hard to get and that this was no way to win a girl’s heart. They created a fan page for the “couple,” deepfaking Benjamin’s business interviews and Melody’s reality show clips into romantic montages. As the fans were shipping them to death, they got served. Cohen Industries sued them. Every single fan who had participated in spreading the rumor was named in the lawsuit. Unsurprisingly, this also went viral. The sheer scale of it—suing thousands of people at once—was a jaw-dropping display of wealth and power. The scandal was so huge that even when it was time for the show to resume, Melody was still sulking in her trailer, refusing to come out. The director was pacing frantically. I, on the other hand, was leisurely scrolling through my phone, enjoying the drama. I was watching one of the AI-generated videos of Benjamin and Melody, marveling at how insane fan edits could be, when the director announced we were live in fifteen minutes. I nodded and was about to put my phone away when I realized my thumb had slipped. I’d just liked the video. I LIKED THE VIDEO!!! I frantically unliked it, breathing a sigh of relief at my quick reflexes. But it was too late. A flood of DMs from a “special contact” poured in. Benjamin Cohen: [? You have time to watch garbage edits of me with someone else, but you don’t have time to answer my texts?!] [Thea, you have no heart! I hate you! You seductress who stole my body and my feelings, you evil woman…] [Damn it, why won’t these stupid videos delete?!] [Cry emoji…] [You’re filming a show? Fine. I’m coming to find you.] My eyes widened in horror at the last message. What the hell was that lunatic coming here for?! My fingers flew across the screen. [Respectfully declined.] [Don’t forget what you said when we broke up. If you ever spoke to me again, you were a dog!!] [You don’t want to be a dog, do you?] I hit send, shut down my phone, and prepared to go live. 5 Just then, Melody emerged from her trailer. Her manager must have said something to her, because she looked much calmer. When she saw me, a smug, triumphant look crossed her face. She mouthed two words at me: You’re finished. I just stared back, bewildered. What was her problem? The show resumed. The topic shifted to our love lives. This time, the host started with Melody. “So, Melody, are you seeing someone?” “Mhm!” She nodded shyly, casually tucking her hair behind her ear to flash the enormous diamond ring on her finger. Her cheeks were flushed. “We were, but we broke up. But… we got back together yesterday.” “Wow!” The host’s eyes widened, zeroing in on the ring. “Isn’t that the same ring Mr. Cohen posted on his socials late last night?! So the rumors were true! Are we going to be hearing wedding bells soon?” Melody didn’t answer directly, but she adopted the bashful, glowing expression of a woman deeply in love, which was an answer in itself. The other guests immediately started congratulating her. Vivian, in particular, shot me a look before gushing in an outrageously loud voice. “Oh my god, Mr. Cohen must be so in love with you! A ring that big must have cost hundreds of millions! It’s true what they say, diamonds and flowers for a true beauty!” She then looked at me, adding pointedly, “Unlike some people, who just make things up.” The live chat was now a stream of Congratulations Benjamin & Melody Being Together Forever! Melody basked in the flattery, her smugness growing by the second. She glanced at me and, as if to show off, waved her hand right in front of my face. I couldn’t help it. “You can stop waving it. The diamond is fake.” It was probably a lab-grown diamond. To the naked eye, it looked real enough, but under the studio lights, the fire was just… off. If you looked closely, you could tell. My words were a bomb. The live chat instantly exploded. FAKE?! How dare that bitch Thea slander our princess!! Sour grapes! Melody would never wear a fake! That was a gift from Benjamin Cohen! Exactly! As if a Cohen would give someone a fake ring! She’s just jealous and trashy! You Melody fans are still at it? Benjamin’s company literally issued a statement and is suing people for this. Wake up. Not a fan of either, but as a professional jeweler, I can tell you that ring is 100% fake. ^^^ You’re just a hater! Get lost! Talk trash again and I’ll dig up your ancestors’ graves, I swear! It wasn’t just the chat. The entire studio fell silent. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to Melody’s ring. She instinctively covered her hand, a flicker of panic in her eyes. But Vivian didn’t see it. She leaped to Melody’s defense. “Thea! What are you talking about?! Just because you don’t have one, you’re making up lies! Why would a gift from Mr. Cohen be fake?!” “And you’re so sure it was a gift from Benjamin Cohen?” I shot back. Vivian was momentarily stunned, then puffed up her chest. “Well, who else would it be from? You think Melody would buy a fake ring herself and pretend it was from him? How pathetic would that be!” At that, Melody’s face turned a sickly shade of green. Seeing her reaction, I figured I’d hit the nail on the head. I just shrugged and said nothing more. A strange, awkward silence descended on the set. The host, sensing disaster, quickly tried to change the subject. “So, Melody, can you tell us how Mr. Cohen pursued you?” Melody’s expression relaxed slightly. But just as she was about to speak, the screech of tires from a sports car pulling up outside cut her off. Everyone instinctively turned to look. Stepping out of the car was none other than Benjamin Cohen himself. The set buzzed with excitement. Everyone was thrilled, except for me and Melody. She looked terrified. I was completely dumbfounded. He actually came?! Benjamin strode towards us, his impossibly handsome face a thunderous mask of suppressed rage. Despite the unscheduled arrival, the host was a pro. He hurried forward to greet Benjamin with a warm, respectful welcome before turning the chaos into content. “Mr. Cohen, you really are so devoted to Melody! Following her all the way to the set! We were just asking her how you won her over, but now we can ask the man himself…” The live chat started shipping them again. But at the host’s words, Benjamin, who was usually the picture of cool composure, finally snapped. He whipped his head around to face the terrified Melody and let loose. “Are you insane? Who said I was chasing you? Do I even know you? Who the hell are you? Spreading lies about me all over the internet, is there something wrong with your brain?” “It’s bad enough I can’t win my wife back, but now you have to go and ruin my reputation!” “Do you have any idea how important a man’s reputation is?!” His words hung in the stunned silence. Everyone was now looking at Melody in a completely different light. After eviscerating Melody, Benjamin spun around, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. He looked at me, his expression crumpled and pathetic. “Babe, you gotta say something!!!” Me: ??? The entire on-set audience, mid-gossip: !!! The live chat: ?!?!?! “Mr… Mr. Cohen,” the host stammered. “When you said ‘Operation Win-Her-Back,’ you didn’t mean… you meant Thea?” “Who else?!” Benjamin snapped. He then pulled a small jewelry box from his pocket, opened it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring, and slid it onto my finger as I stood there, completely frozen. While he did it, he threw one last verbal jab at Melody. “Mine’s real, by the way, babe. Not like some people who wear fakes and go around looking for attention. Honestly, she might as well have worn a sugar cube. It would’ve saved her the money, and she could lick it when she gets hungry.” I’d always admired Benjamin’s vicious tongue. After that last comment, Melody let out a choked gasp, her eyes rolled back, and she fainted for real this time. The set descended into chaos, and for the second time, the live broadcast was cut short.

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On the eve of our wedding, my fiancée’s childhood sweetheart—a mercenary who’d been off the grid for five years—was brought to her doorstep, clinging to life, the victim of a volatile bio-toxin administered during a mission. He was covered in blood, barely breathing. My fiancée, Seraphina, who was always the picture of calm composure, saw him and her eyes went red. Ignoring my protests, she locked herself in the bedroom with him. She was in there all night. And I stood outside that door all night, listening. The next morning, when I confronted her, my voice raw with a sleepless fury, she stood protectively in front of her mercenary. Her walls came down, and the defiance was ugly. “I wasn’t going to just watch Rhys die,” she spat. “So what if it was my first time? What’s the big deal about one wild night before the wedding?” In that single, chilling moment, every ounce of love I ever had for her vanished. 1 The sounds of their night-long entanglement finally faded. Seraphina emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in a tattered nightgown. Her legs trembled, forcing her to brace herself against the wall as she walked. The angry purple bruises blooming across her exposed skin were a brutal, glaring testament to what had happened. She walked straight past me, poured herself a glass of water at the dining table, and then spoke, her voice laced with irritation. “Brad, your little tantrum has gone on long enough. I’m exhausted, and I don’t have time to deal with your moods.” “It was just my virginity. It saved Rhys’s life, so at least it was good for something. Can you stop being so damn old-fashioned?” “Old-fashioned?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You were the one so enlightened, throwing yourself at him!” Sera slammed the glass down on the floor, shattering it. “Shut up!” she hissed. “Rhys isn’t stable. Don’t you dare say a word of this in front of him, or you can forget about this wedding!” As if on cue, a private medical team I had on standby entered the bedroom to begin emergency treatment. Sera rushed to their side, not even sparing me a glance. Rhys was lying on our marriage bed. He weakly grasped Sera’s hand. “Sera, I’m so sorry to be a burden… I just wanted to see you one last time before I died…” The air was thick with the cloying, musky scent of their night together. The overflowing trash can beside the bed told its own story. “To have you before I die… I can die happy,” he whispered dramatically. “At the wedding… can I be the one to give you away?” “Don’t be ridiculous!” Sera choked back a sob, clinging to his hand. She turned and screamed at the doctors. “Save him! Do something!” Then she looked back at Rhys, tears streaming down her face. “You’re going to be fine, Rhys. I’m still waiting for you to unbutton my wedding dress, remember?” They kissed, a desperate, feverish embrace, like two lovers in a disaster movie savoring their final moments. I watched this saccharine, melodramatic scene unfold in my own home and felt a wave of nausea roll through my stomach. Everyone knew Seraphina Ross was my one weakness. For her, I, Brad Rinker—a man who’d never had to lift a finger in his life—had clumsily learned to cook. I gave her everything she ever asked for. I had even knelt outside my family’s estate for three days and three nights, enduring a broken leg at my grandfather’s hand, just for the right to marry her. I had given her my entire heart. And this was my reward. “Brad, are you blind? Standing there like a statue.” Sera’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts. Her eyes were filled with impatience. “Get the Rinker family’s top medical unit over here now! Do you want his death on your conscience?” When I didn’t move, her face darkened. It was the first time I had ever defied her in front of others. “The wedding is tomorrow, Brad! Are you really going to start a fight with me now?” “You still remember you’re getting married tomorrow?” I sneered, my eyes fixed on her barely-there nightgown. “Funny, that must have slipped your mind while you were rolling around in our bed with Rhys.” “I was saving his life!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Right. Saving his life. You had the antidote, but you chose to offer yourself instead. How noble!” Her face paled, then flushed with anger. Before she could retort, the wedding planners and her bridesmaids bustled into the apartment. Her maid of honor, Maya, saw the scene and her brow furrowed. She quickly wrapped a robe around Sera, then shot me a disapproving look. “Brad, I know it’s the big day, but could you have toned it down a bit? She can’t be seen like this…” “This has nothing to do with him!” Sera snapped, pulling the robe tighter and glaring at me. “Rhys was poisoned last night. I was just helping him out, and a certain someone is being incredibly petty about it.” 2 The air in the room froze. Maya’s teasing smile stiffened on her face, but she tried to smooth things over. “Don’t joke like that! We’re all so happy for you two. Come on, let’s get you dressed.” “Who’s joking?” Sera’s voice rose, sharp and defiant. She walked to the bed, took Rhys’s hand, and announced proudly, “Rhys is right here. I saved him. Last night, we…” “Sera, stop!” Maya hissed, digging her nails into Sera’s arm. “I did nothing wrong! Maya, you know I’ve loved Rhys since we were kids! And saving a life is a good deed!” “Enough.” The fight drained out of me. I turned to leave, the exhaustion hitting me like a physical weight. “Brad, have you not caused enough trouble?” Sera blocked my path. “The bridesmaids are here! You can’t leave!” Her friends stood by the door, trying to reason with me. “Mr. Rinker, please, don’t do this. You’re about to get married! Five years together, that’s not easy to throw away.” “She did it to save someone, it’s not like she was just cheating for fun! You can’t hold it against her.” “Exactly! Rhys and Sera are childhood sweethearts, they’ll be like family. Be the bigger person, don’t let people look down on you.” I laughed coldly. “The only thing people will look down on is the man wearing horns this big.” Just as I was about to say more, Rhys’s condition suddenly worsened. The medical team rushed him out to the hospital. Sera’s eyes were glued to his retreating form, filled with a raw panic. Only when he was gone did she turn back to me, her voice a venomous snarl. “Are you happy now, Brad? All your accusations, and you’ve undone everything I did last night! If anything happens to Rhys, you’re a murderer!” She had the audacity to talk about her “efforts.” I looked at the hatred in her eyes, and a bitter ache settled in my chest. Five years of my unwavering devotion, erased by one appearance from him. Sera, not even bothering to put on shoes, started to run after the ambulance. “Postpone the wedding,” she threw over her shoulder. “Rhys can’t be left alone.” “What are you doing?” Her bridesmaids blocked her way. “Sera, you’re getting married! Don’t ruin everything over a moment of panic!” “They have nurses for that, Sera! You need to stay here and get ready!” She didn’t listen, struggling against them. I watched the pathetic drama unfold, my voice like ice when I spoke. “Let her go. The engagement is off.” Sera froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “Brad… are you threatening me?” Threatening her? No. I was just tired. Five years ago, Seraphina had claimed it was love at first sight, launching a relentless pursuit. For three months, I remained unmoved. Then, during a hurricane on a business trip, she drove through the storm, risking her own life, just to see for herself that I was safe. She had stood there, drenched and disheveled, but her eyes were shining. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she’d said with a radiant smile. In that moment, my heart had betrayed me, and I fell headfirst into love. After we got together, I leveraged my family’s connections to land her family a multi-billion dollar project. I funded their overseas expansion, clearing every obstacle in their path. In just a few years, the Ross family business went from a small, local company to an international brand, all thanks to the resources of the Rinker family. I gave her everything. Sometimes I felt it still wasn’t enough. And with one appearance, Rhys Morgan had made me the loser in a game I never even knew I was playing. “Fine! Call it off!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Rhys is back now anyway! I can finally have the happiness I deserve! You did this to yourself, Brad!” 3 The threat in her eyes was almost laughable. Did she really think, after all this, that I would still be her obedient lapdog? Just as she turned to leave, her phone rang. “Yes, this is his partner. What’s his condition?” Whatever the person on the other end said made the color drain from her face. She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth. “Treat him. Use the best medicine you have! I’ll authorize it!” After hanging up, she looked at me, a flicker of guilt in her eyes before it was replaced by determination. “Rhys’s condition is critical. He needs an immuno-activator serum. The one you’ve been waiting on just arrived. Give it to him.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Does. He. Deserve it?” That serum was worth millions, a custom bio-engineered treatment that money alone couldn’t buy. I had commissioned it for my grandfather five years ago, calling in favors I could never repay. And she thought she could just demand it? The audacity was breathtaking. Sera’s face went white. Then a cold smile touched her lips. “Brad, all of this is just a game to force me to marry you, isn’t it?” “Fine. You win. I’ll marry you after Rhys recovers. Now give up the serum.” Her tone was impatient, as if she were granting me some great favor. When I didn’t respond, she added venomously, “Or you can stand at the altar alone tomorrow. When the bride is a no-show, the Rinker family will be a laughingstock!” The desperate madness in her eyes was pathetic. Make the Rinker family a laughingstock? She wasn’t nearly important enough for that. I turned to leave, but a text from my assistant stopped me. Seraphina Ross has requisitioned the serum for Rhys Morgan under your name. It’s in transit. Requires your final authorization signature. Sera rushed over, grabbing my arm. “Sign it, Brad! Rhys doesn’t have time! Please, I’m begging you!” Her voice dropped to a hateful whisper. “Besides, the serum is already on its way. Rhys will be grateful. Your grandfather is an old fossil anyway, he’s lived long enough. The serum would be wasted on him…” CRACK! The sound of my hand connecting with her cheek echoed in the room. She crumpled to the floor, staring up at me in stunned disbelief. “You hit me!” she shrieked. “BRAD!” I ignored her curses, got in my car, and sped toward the hospital. My phone was ringing off the hook. I was about to turn it off when a new call came in. A name I hadn’t expected. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be calm. Sloane Ricci’s amused voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Rinker. About this wedding tomorrow. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” I sighed. “I don’t make a habit of backing out of commitments of this magnitude.” “Really?” I could practically hear her smirk. “You’ve backed out of quite a few things for that woman over the years.” I pinched the bridge of my nose at a red light. “Never when it truly mattered. My family needs your family’s medical technology division, and Ricci Industries needs access to our markets. This alliance is mutually beneficial.” There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice was serious. “I have no interest in being your wife. The moment that woman cries, you’ll go running back to her, and untangling our two corporations will be a nightmare.” I glanced at the GPS. Ten minutes to the hospital. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice cold and final. “As of this moment, I’m single.” “See you at the altar tomorrow.” I hung up, a sense of calm settling over me for the first time all day. As I made a turn, a familiar car slammed into me from behind. The impact was violent, sending my car flipping onto its side. A searing pain shot through my legs, and my vision swam with red. Through the shattered windshield, I saw Seraphina get out of her car. Her expression was pure poison. “You forced my hand, Brad,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “Rhys can’t die.” She ignored my broken, bleeding body and pulled my phone from the wreckage. I tried to move, to stop her, but I didn’t even have the strength to crawl out of the car. “Stop…” I croaked. “Stop?” She didn’t even look up from the screen. “I can’t believe you’d let him die. I’m doing you a favor, Brad. Helping you earn some good karma.” I glared at her, my teeth grinding. “That serum… was for my grandfather. He’s been waiting five years.” Sera rolled her eyes. “It’s just a stupid serum, you can order another one. Don’t be so stingy. Besides, your grandfather has lived long enough. He should be dead already! All that money you waste on him… you think it’s going to increase our inheritance?” I started to laugh, a broken, pained sound. My love, my grandfather’s life… none of it mattered more than Rhys Morgan. She had forgotten that the only reason she had any power at all was because of me. “‘Wedding to proceed as planned’?” She saw the message I’d sent my assistant and scoffed, tossing the phone onto my chest. “So you really do want to marry me. Fine. Now that I have the serum, I suppose marrying you isn’t the worst thing in the world.” Before I could speak, she started listing her terms. “First, when Rhys is discharged, he’s living with us. I need to be there to take care of him.” “Second, transfer all your personal assets to his name. He needs financial security. You can keep the company.” “Third, I’m having his child first, to carry on the Morgan name. Then we can talk about having one for you.” She looked at me, utterly confident, as if my agreement was a foregone conclusion. “They’re just small things, right? I can’t give Rhys marriage, so I have to compensate him in other ways.” She turned and ran toward the hospital, leaving me for dead. I struggled to call for help, my world going black as I heard the distant wail of sirens.

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I collapsed on the sidewalk from low blood sugar. A man with a stroller saved me. But when I got home, he was there—in my apartment—calling me his wife. I stared, bewildered, as my mother handed me a baby. “The accident was six months ago, Cobie. Don’t you remember your son… and your husband?” I went to the hospital and pulled my records: detailed charts of a pregnancy I didn’t recall. Even the doctor shook his head, saying such memory loss wasn’t unheard of. So I accepted it. I became a wife to a stranger and a mother to a child I didn’t know, working tirelessly to support them. The stress and overwork broke me. Before forty, I was diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer. Then the son I raised emptied my accounts, leaving a venomous note: “If you weren’t rich, I never would’ve called you Mom.” I died alone on a cold street, coughing blood. When I opened my eyes—I was back on that sidewalk. And the man with the stroller was walking toward me. … A wave of dizziness washed over me. I knew what was coming—the telltale crash of low blood sugar. I glanced across the street and saw him. Leo. Pushing that same baby stroller, just as before. Our eyes met, and for a terrifying second, my past life flooded back in a nauseating rush. I saw the ghost of his dirty socks and shoes, scattered across the floor of my home, never once making it into the hamper. I saw myself, working from eight in the morning to past ten at night just to provide for him and that child, while he lay passed out on the designer sofa I’d picked out, reeking of stale beer. He’d vomit, and the mess would sit there, waiting for me to come home and clean it up. I remembered the endless fights, my desperate pleas for a divorce. And my mother, always there, covering the child’s ears, chiding me. “That’s just how men are, Cobie. Can’t you be a little more forgiving?” Until the day I died, freezing on a city street, I never understood how I could have married a man like him. More importantly, I never knew if my amnesia was real or a lie. The world was spinning. I grabbed a lamppost and slid to the ground. Across the street, Leo let go of the stroller. How had I missed it the first time? That one detail was so glaringly wrong. There were at least four or five people between us, blocking his view. How could he possibly know, with such certainty, that I was about to collapse? And what kind of parent, out with an infant, would be paying such close attention to a random woman on the street? You watch your child. You don’t just abandon a stroller to rush to the aid of a stranger unless… Unless you were waiting for it. Waiting for me to fall so you could be the one to pick me up, to make that first, critical point of contact. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I dug my nails into my thigh, the sharp pain jolting me back to my feet. A woman next to me, her brow furrowed with concern, leaned in. “Honey, are you alright? You look awfully pale.” I couldn’t let him touch me. Not this time. The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. I grabbed the woman’s arm, my voice trembling. “I… I skipped breakfast. I’m just a little faint. Ma’am, could you help me? Just… help me cross the street.” My eyes were locked on Leo. He was already striding toward me, his pace quick and purposeful. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden silence of my mind. In a horrifying flash, I saw the face of that boy, now a man, his eyes filled with contempt. “You can’t even come up with a hundred grand? What have you been doing for the last twenty years?” “Give us the money, or you can forget about us ever taking care of you.” My knees buckled. The woman’s voice grew louder, more urgent. “That’s it, dear, I’m calling an ambulance. You don’t look good at all!” She fumbled for her phone, but a hand suddenly covered it, stopping her. Leo’s voice, smooth and practiced, sounded right beside me. “Ma’am, there’s no need for an ambulance. It’s just her blood sugar. She’ll be fine with a little something to eat.” He gently guided her away. “The light’s green. You go on ahead. I’ll help her sit down for a minute.” His voice was a bucket of ice water, snapping me back to reality. I took a shaky breath and slapped myself. Hard. Twice. The sharp crack of the slaps echoed in the street noise, turning heads. Everyone stared. Leo’s eyes widened in surprise, positioning himself between me and the older woman. “Hey, silly girl, what are you doing? It’s just low blood sugar, nothing to be scared of. I’m here.” His words had their intended effect. The woman relaxed, assuming we knew each other. “Oh, well, I suppose an old woman like me wouldn’t be much help anyway.” Another man chimed in. “Look how thoughtful he is, he even brought you something to eat. You young people need to take care of yourselves, no matter how busy you are. Go on, sit down and have a bite.” A smug look flickered in Leo’s eyes. His hand started moving toward my shoulder. Warning bells shrieked in my head. The ugly memory of him coaxing my bank passwords out of me in my past life flashed before my eyes. I will not let him touch me. I lurched backward, trying to put space between us. But Leo anticipated the move, closing the distance instantly, his voice dripping with faux concern. “The man’s right. Work can wait a few minutes.” The crosswalk light changed, and the small crowd around us melted away, leaving just the two of us on the sidewalk. My teeth were clenched so tight my jaw ached. I sank to the pavement and let out a blood-curdling scream. “HELP! HE’S TRYING TO KIDNAP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!” The people halfway across the street stopped dead in their tracks. Two young men sprinted back, shoving Leo away and shielding me. “We saw you, creep! You kept trying to get closer to her! What the hell do you want?” “There are cameras everywhere, man. I’m calling the cops right now!” Leo held up his hands, his mouth agape, ready to spin another lie. But the mention of the police made him change his mind. He bolted for the stroller. “Fine! No good deed goes unpunished! I’m out of here!” The second he was gone, I scrambled up and ran straight for my office. On the way, I pulled up my hospital’s patient portal on my phone. I scrolled through a year’s worth of appointments. Not a single entry for prenatal care. Avoiding his touch… it had worked. A sliver of relief pierced through the panic. But then I remembered the boy’s last words. If you weren’t rich… Money was the key. My apartment was fully paid off. It was time to cut the anchor. I found a real estate agent’s number and called, giving him the code to my apartment. He went over immediately, sending me a video walkthrough. It was exactly as I’d left it that morning. Clean, quiet, and mine alone. I sighed in relief and signed the listing agreement electronically, urging him to sell it within three days. The only strange thing was my mother. I called her seven or eight times, but she never picked up. It wasn’t until I was standing outside my apartment that night, key in hand, that my phone finally rang. “Cobie, your son misses you. You need to come home right after work.” At that exact moment, my front door swung open from the inside. Leo stood there, wearing my apron and holding a spatula. “Honey, you’re home. Go wash up, dinner’s almost ready.” The words were identical to my past life. A chilling cold spread from my toes all the way up my spine. I clutched my bag and sprinted for the elevator, just as its doors opened and my mother stepped out. “Cobie, where are you running?” “The accident was six months ago. Don’t you remember your son… and your husband?” The nightmare was real. My legs gave out from under me. I had avoided his touch. I had changed the script. Why was this still happening? When I refused to take the baby, my mother physically pushed me back into the apartment. Three hours. The real estate agent had been here just three hours ago. But in that short time, the space had been transformed, littered with the traces of a man and a child who didn’t belong. With trembling hands, I opened the hospital app again and searched my records. And there they were. A full history of prenatal appointments, appearing out of thin air. Leo took off the apron and grabbed my hand, his face a mask of sincerity. “Honey, don’t be scared. We’ll get through this memory loss together. I’m here for you, okay? Don’t be afraid.” My mother, expertly changing the baby’s diaper, spoke without looking at me. “Look how happy you are now. A loving husband who stays home to take care of you, a beautiful son. And to think you used to argue with me, going on about being a ‘career woman’ who’d never get married. In the end, you settled down just like everyone else.” Her words triggered a memory. A year ago, she had been relentless, setting me up on what felt like a hundred different dates. I had no interest in marriage and turned them all down. Then, she went on a long vacation, and when she came back, she never mentioned it again. I thought she’d given up. Now, looking at the man and child in my home, I realized she hadn’t given up. She’d just found a different way. A way that didn’t require my consent. No wonder the paternity test I’d secretly done in my past life had come back positive. Even if she wanted me married, how could she resort to this? The realization that this was her doing sent a surge of fury through me. I shot to my feet. “Even if you were desperate for me to get married, you can’t do it like this!” I screamed at her. “I don’t love him! I don’t want this child! You’ve ruined my life!” I ran to my bedroom, slammed the door, and dialed 911. My mother pounded on the door. “Cobie, what are you talking about? You’re the one who found him! You brought him home to meet me before you agreed to marry him!” “Don’t lie to me!” I shoved my desk against the door. “I’ve already called the police! We’ll let them sort it out! I’m not giving in this time!” When the police arrived, I explained everything through the crack in the door. The officer listened, then scrolled through something on his phone. After a moment, he showed me the screen. “Ms. Evans? According to our records, we’ve responded to this exact situation five times already.” “He is, in fact, your husband, and the child is yours. I even have the results of a paternity test you requested during a previous incident.” I stared in disbelief. This was the first time I had ever called them. How could this be possible? In the living room, Leo was apologizing to the other officer, his head bowed to hide the triumphant glint in his eyes. “She has amnesia. She often forgets us. I’m so sorry to have troubled you.” The officer clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically. “She’s ill. Please, be patient with her.” They were about to leave. I burst out of the room and grabbed one of the officer’s sleeves. “I don’t have amnesia! This is a video my real estate agent took this afternoon! My apartment didn’t look like this!” My hands were slick with sweat. I fumbled with my phone, finally pulling up the chat history. The agent had sent the video with a timestamp and location stamp, just as I’d asked. The officer watched the video, his brow furrowed. He turned to Leo. “What’s going on here?” Leo’s lips thinned, but before he could speak, my mother pushed him aside. “I shouldn’t be the one to say this, but if I don’t, my son-in-law will be wrongly accused.” She squeezed out two dramatic tears. “It’s all my fault. After she became an adult, I pushed her to go on dates, and she started to rebel. The accident and the memory loss made it worse. She’s blocked out the entire memory of her marriage. It’s my fault! I didn’t take good care of her!” She raised a hand to slap herself, but the officer stopped her. “What does that have to do with the video?” he asked. “For her condition,” my mother continued, her voice choked with fake emotion, “I’ve spoken to many psychologists. They all say we have to respect her reality. When the agent showed up this afternoon, I knew my daughter was having another episode. So, my son-in-law and I quickly put everything back the way it was before she was married. We thought we could humor her, ease her back into it… but we never imagined she would become so convinced she was single.” “Here, I recorded my conversation with the agent, just in case.” She played an audio file. Her voice, clear as day. “My daughter has amnesia. Thank you for recording the video as she requested… Yes, I’ll take full responsibility for any consequences. Thank you.” Faced with this irrefutable proof, the two officers exchanged a look. One of them pulled me aside. “Ms. Evans, we understand the situation now. Our recommendation is that you see a doctor…” “Impossible!” I shrieked. “They’re lying! This is a conspiracy!” My voice cracked. “Please, I’m begging you. Talk to my colleagues. My friends. Please, just investigate a little further! I am not married! I did not have that child! I don’t even like Leo!” My desperate sobs seemed to move the officer. He nodded. “Okay. We’ll look into it. But for now, all of you need to come down to the station to give detailed statements.” I clung to his sleeve like a lifeline, refusing to stay in that house with them for another second.

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My husband, Neil Williams, was a no-show for the bell-ringing of our company’s IPO. Instead, that night, he was spotted at a private party hosted by Chloe Preston, the so-called “Goddess of Venture Capital.” Shortly after, a photo of them locked in an intimate embrace sent shockwaves through the tech world. “Aria, the tech headlines, the investment forums… they’re all blowing up!” my assistant’s voice trembled on the other end of the line. I swirled the crimson liquid in my wine glass, unperturbed. “What’s the panic?” “Leak the high-res original of that photo to the city’s top three media outlets. Anonymously.” “And listen carefully,” I added, my voice cold. “Blur their faces.” “But the IPO commemorative bracelet on Neil’s wrist, the one engraved with ‘001’… make sure it’s crystal clear.” That bracelet was supposed to be a symbol of our shared success. Now, it was a testament to his betrayal. … I was still in my gown from the IPO celebration when the office door burst open. Neil stormed in, reeking of another woman’s perfume, a scent mingling with the palpable heat of his anger. He had skipped our moment of shared glory for another woman’s party. And now, a photo of them clinging to each other in a quiet corner had been meticulously sent to every major player in our circle. His eyes were bloodshot. He slammed his phone down on my desk, the screen shattering on impact. “Aria! Are you fucking insane? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” His voice was distorted with rage. “Why would you do this? Chloe is innocent!” “She was just stressed, feeling down! I went to comfort her, that’s all! Nothing happened!” I slowly lifted my gaze, my eyes pinning him in place. “Nothing happened? Does ‘nothing’ usually involve her practically draped all over you?” “And what kind of power does she have over you, Neil, that you’d completely forget the most important moment of our lives? That you’d miss ringing the bell for the company we built from nothing?” His chest heaved, but he was speechless. He never in a million years imagined that a high-definition photo of their embrace would be on my phone within five minutes of it happening. He squared his jaw, forcing out a defense. “For something this petty, you’re willing to ruin the company? Ruin me? Ruin Chloe? Are you serious?” “I never knew you could be so vicious!” “Vicious?” I stood up, closing the distance between us until only a foot of air separated us. The cloying mix of perfume, liquor, and his own guilt churned in my stomach. “Neil, you destroyed my trust. You destroyed yourself. And you dragged your ‘innocent’ Miss Preston down with you.” “It’s just one photo. Think of it as me taking out the trash.” That last line sent him over the edge. Neil’s face turned a shade of mottled purple. He raised his hand, the motion sharp and sudden, aimed straight for my face. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even blink. I just stared at him, my gaze like ice. “Go on. Hit me.” “The second that slap lands, tomorrow’s headline won’t be about the Blue Ocean Tech CEO’s little scandal. It’ll be ‘Neil Williams Assaults Co-Founder Wife.’” “And I imagine that story will do about ten times more damage than your sordid affair with Chloe Preston, don’t you think?” His hand froze mid-air, trembling, before he finally let it fall, defeated. Ten minutes later… The media outlets were shockingly fast. The phone lines at Blue Ocean’s PR department lit up like a Christmas tree. 【Blue Ocean CEO Skips IPO Celebration for Private Tryst with VC Goddess. Where Does His Tech Genius Wife Stand?】 【Blockbuster Scoop! Neil Williams and Chloe Preston: A Capital Alliance or a Rekindled Flame?】 … The headlines were a garish stain across the internet. My assistant rushed in, her face pale. “Aria, the Chairman is on the line, and several of our Series A investors… They’re all demanding you issue a statement immediately! They want you to say it was a standard business meeting, a trick of the camera angle.” A sardonic smile touched my lips. “A clarification? Why on earth would I clarify anything for them?” “I’m Aria Durant. I’m not just his wife. I’m the partner who built Blue Ocean with him from a ten-by-ten garage all the way to NASDAQ.” “He threw away seven years of our blood, sweat, and tears for another woman. And I, the wronged wife, am supposed to play nice and protect the Williams family fortune?” I shot a look at my assistant, then let my gaze drift back to Neil, my voice low and deliberate. “You’ve all worked with me for years. When have you ever known me to be some saint who swallows her pain and pretends everything is fine?” The intercom on my desk buzzed, a shrill, insistent sound. It was Neil’s father, Walter Williams, the Chairman of Blue Ocean Tech. His arrogant voice boomed through the office. “Aria, I’m ordering you to delete everything and hold a press conference. Apologize. Say it was all a misunderstanding!” “The reputation of Blue Ocean, our stock price—they will not be destroyed by your feminine jealousy!” I laughed. “Mr. Chairman, you seem to have one thing wrong. The person destroying your stock price is your own clueless, darling son.” “He’s the one who broadcast to the world that he’s a CEO led by his libido.” The line went silent for a few seconds. He clearly hadn’t expected me to talk back. Then, his voice returned, laced with fury as he laid his cards on the table. “What do you want? Equity? A payout? Name your price, Aria. Just shut your mouth, and we can make this go away.” Trying to buy my silence now? Too late. “I don’t want a thing.” “Except for one… justice.” “Justice?” Walter’s voice on the other end was a harsh, grating laugh. “In the world of capital, justice belongs to whoever has the most shares, the most money!” “Don’t you forget, Aria, everything you have, you have because of the Williams family! Without Blue Ocean, you’re worthless!” “Enough talk. You have thirty minutes. If I don’t see your apology statement in thirty minutes, you’ll face the consequences.” Click. He hung up. “Aria, the Chairman… he’s serious. The Williams have a controlling stake on the board,” my assistant whispered, her face etched with worry. My expression was a placid lake. “It’s fine. I’m not afraid of bugs. When you write code for long enough, you learn to spot the malicious ones. And you crush them.” The next day, a new storm broke online. During a keynote speech at a major industry summit, Chloe Preston suddenly clutched her chest, her body swaying before collapsing to the ground amidst a chorus of gasps. Her PR team was lightning-fast. Less than five minutes later, a photo of her on a stretcher was everywhere. The accompanying caption was a masterpiece of manipulation: 【Overwhelmed by days of baseless accusations, Chloe’s body has finally given out under the immense pressure. Thank you all for your concern. Please, don’t blame anyone. It’s all my fault!】 In the photo, her eyes were shut, her lips pale. She looked like she was at death’s door, and the internet’s protective instincts flared. The narrative flipped on a dime. The hashtag #ChloePrestonCollapses became the number one trending topic on every platform. My name became synonymous with “vengeful bitch” and “psycho ex.” The comments section on my social media was flooded with hundreds of thousands of hateful messages. 【Holy shit! Is she trying to kill her? This Aria woman is pure poison!】 【Neil needs to divorce her ASAP! A wife like that will sink the company!】 【My heart breaks for Chloe! She’s a breath of fresh air in the capital world, why does she have to be bullied like this!?】 Then, Neil’s call came through, his voice blazing with accusation. “Aria, Chloe collapsed! She’s being rushed to the hospital! If anything happens to her, I swear to God, I will destroy you!” “Are you happy now? Does seeing her fall apart bring you joy?” I listened silently as he roared down the phone line. When he finally ran out of steam, I spoke, my tone unhurried and precise. “Tell me, Neil, in your world, is everyone supposed to just step aside for you two tragic lovers?” “She faints, and it’s my fault. What about me? The wife and partner you both conspired to betray. Am I just supposed to take it?” “You should get to the hospital. And while you’re there, give her a tip. Next time she stages a drama, she should pick a better venue.” “Maybe not one with a 360-degree high-definition livestream. Her pained expression was a little too fake. The internet’s armchair detectives will see right through it.” My counterattack ignited the full fury of the Williams family. The next day, an emergency board meeting was called. I didn’t attend. I claimed I was feeling unwell. After the meeting, an all-staff memo was sent out from the executive office: 【Effective immediately, Aria Durant has been suspended from all duties for ‘personal misconduct causing severe damage to the company’s reputation and shareholder interests.’】 Overnight, I went from the company’s Chief Technology Officer to a disgraced pariah under investigation. Neil sent me a text, each word dripping with vengeful satisfaction. 【This is what you wanted? I gave you a chance, Aria.】 【Now get out of my company. The lawyers will be in touch about the equity transfer and the divorce papers.】 I looked at the message and smiled. We’ll see who’s getting out. A few days later, Neil, a freshly “discharged” Chloe Preston, and two security guards barged into my office. “Don’t push your luck, Aria! This is Blue Ocean Tech. You’re suspended. You have no right to be here!” he snarled, pointing a finger at me, his face a mask of triumph. I swiveled slowly in my chair, looking up at him. “Why don’t you take a closer look, Neil? At the name on the deed for the ‘Blue Ocean Tech Headquarters’ building?” I paused, savoring the way his expression froze. “Oh, did I forget to tell you? This is my prenuptial property. A gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday.” “If anyone’s getting out, it’s the Williams.” Neil was completely stunned; he clearly had no idea. Behind him, Chloe’s face shifted through shades of white and green. She tugged awkwardly at his sleeve. “Neil, let’s just go! It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have come if she didn’t want to see me!” Her damsel-in-distress act was truly something to behold. Neil looked at her, his eyes softening with an almost tangible pity. He turned back to me, his glare venomous. “You’ll pay for this, Aria. You just wait.” “I’ll make sure you can never work in this industry again!” I rose from my chair, meeting his hostile gaze without fear. “I’ll be right here… waiting.” My eyes shifted past Neil, landing on Chloe. “Miss Preston, you have a talent for theatrics, but you didn’t do your homework. Next time you play the fainting game, try looking up some medical terms.” “Otherwise, your laughably fake fainting spells won’t just fool the internet—they’ll make your investors question your credibility.” Chloe’s body went rigid, her eyes darting away as her face grew even paler. Neil threw an arm around her, shielding her. “Shut up, Aria! Stop hurting her!” Looking at his pathetic display, I could only laugh. “Hurting her?” I scoffed. “The person truly hurting her is you. You gave her false hope, made her believe she could climb over me to get to the top.” Neil was a fool, the true architect of this entire mess. But the Williams family’s retribution was faster and more brutal than I’d anticipated. My internal access at the company was revoked instantly. The team I had personally built was forcibly disbanded. Only my assistant remained, secretly feeding me information. Soon, whispers started circulating through the industry, painting me as a “tech zealot,” a “tyrant who stole credit from her team.” Meanwhile, Neil and Chloe bounced back, more visible than ever. At a high-profile financial forum, Neil stood under the spotlight, his words carefully chosen. “A truly robust company cannot be held hostage by one person or one technology. I will be handling our internal issues swiftly to provide clarity for all our stakeholders.” He stopped just short of saying my name, but everyone knew who the “internal issue” was. Walter Williams called again, his tone dripping with condescension. “Regretting it now, Aria? I told you, you’re no match for me.” “But if you get on your knees and beg, then issue a public statement admitting you slandered them out of jealousy for Chloe, I might consider giving you a meaningless position at the company. Just to save you from complete humiliation.” I listened to his delusional rant, finding it absurd. “Mr. Chairman, did you forget? My last name isn’t Williams. It’s Durant.” My father, Victor Durant. Though he’d been retired for years, he was still a titan in the national tech scene, a legend. I had deliberately avoided using my family’s influence, not wanting to turn what I thought was our company into an ugly family feud. I had naively believed this was my venture with Neil, something we should resolve ourselves. It was clear now they didn’t deserve that decency. Walter’s voice turned to ice. “So you’ve chosen the hard way. Don’t blame me for being ruthless. I’m going to show you, Aria, that without Blue Ocean, you are absolutely nothing.” The line went dead. Moments later, my phone rang again. It was my brother. His voice was calm and steady. “Hey, sis. I saw the news. I’m sorry you’re going through this.” He didn’t ask why. He didn’t scold me for being rash. “Dad says to do whatever you need to do. He wants you to know that the family will support you unconditionally, just like always. You have nothing to fear.” A lump formed in my throat. The weeks of betrayal and anger almost broke through the dam I’d built. “I’m okay, brother,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. After hanging up, I wiped a single tear from my eye. My gaze sharpened, my resolve hardening into steel. I was going to leave Neil Williams with no way out. Then, I dialed a number I had saved long ago but had never called. When the call connected, I got straight to the point. “Mr. Ryder, I have a very interesting game I’d like to play, and I’m looking for a partner. I guarantee it’ll be worth your while.” There was a brief pause, followed by a low chuckle. “Ms. Durant, if you’re in the mood for a game, I’d be delighted to join.” “You name the place. I’m on my way.” The man on the other end was Neil’s biggest rival in business: Jax Ryder, the founder of the nation’s AI behemoth, Torchlight Tech. Standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, I watched the city lights blur as my expression turned to ice. “I want at least half of Blue Ocean’s market share.”

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