Author: Momo Chan

I am the top engineer at the National Oceanic Institute. The only person on Earth with a successful deep-sea rescue at ten thousand meters to my name. So when my brother’s submarine went down, trapping him at the bottom of the ocean, I hung up his distress call. Then I calmly walked into a police station and confessed to leaking state secrets. Minutes later, my father’s furious call came through. “Your brother’s life is on the line, and you’ve vanished! Where the hell are you?” “I’m ordering you to the incident site to lead the rescue, now! If you don’t, you won’t see a single cent of the Grant family fortune!” I pulled a coarse blanket over myself and spoke into the phone. “I’m busy. Don’t interrupt my nap.” 1 I was sound asleep when Captain Miller of the Rescue Center shook me awake. “Dr. Grant! We have an emergency!” “It’s your brother, Ethan. His submersible, the Challenger, has gone dark at 10,900 meters in the Mariana Trench!” “An unidentified underwater tremor… all communications are down. The chances of survival are… slim.” I blinked my eyes open, my gaze settling on him. “So?” I asked, my voice flat. Miller stared, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction. “We need you!” he pressed. “You’re the only person in the world with a successful rescue at this depth. You’re their only hope!” I simply lay back down, turned over, and prepared to go back to sleep. “Sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help.” “What?” “I said, I can’t help,” I repeated, my tone as calm as if the men trapped at the bottom of the sea were my mortal enemies. “Adrian, are you insane? Your brother is down there! Along with twenty researchers! Their oxygen will last seventy-two hours, max!” “My wife, Dr. Evelyn Reed,” I interrupted him, “was the Mission Commander on my last rescue. In terms of experience, she’s more qualified than I am. You should be talking to her.” Miller grabbed my shoulders and hauled me upright, his voice a furious roar. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course we tried to contact Commander Reed! She’s not even in the country!” A small, cold smile touched my lips. “I know.” With that, I pulled the blanket over my head, shutting him out. He stomped his foot in frustration and stormed out of the detention cell, muttering curses under his breath. Finally, silence. A few minutes later, a specific ringtone cut through the quiet. It was my father, Robert Grant. I answered. “Adrian! Why are you refusing the rescue? Your brother is down there!” His voice was a barrage of accusations, thick with suppressed rage. “Dad, I already told them. Get Evelyn. She’s the expert.” “I can’t reach her! Her satellite phone is off!” Robert’s voice was frayed with desperation. I chuckled softly. “Oh, that’s to be expected.” “Because right now,” I said, my voice light, “she’s on board the Challenger.” On the other end of the line, Robert’s breathing hitched. It was followed by a thunderous explosion of fury. “What damn nonsense are you spouting? I personally arranged for Evelyn to join Project Borealis at the North Pole! She’s not due back for another month! How could she possibly be on the Challenger?” “Is that so?” I feigned surprise. “Then I must have misremembered.” “You—” I hung up before he could finish. The phone immediately rang again. This time, it was my stepmother, Linda Quinn. Her voice was a fragile, broken thing, choked with sobs. “Adrian… I’m begging you… please, save your brother…” I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, listening to her performance. “Besides,” she continued, her voice gaining a sharp, manipulative edge, “more than half of the twenty researchers on that sub are your own students! Are you just going to sit back and watch them die at the bottom of the ocean?” “Can you live with that?” 2 I smiled. Of course I could. An hour later, my father and stepmother arrived at the detention center. I watched them through the cold iron bars, my gaze fixed on the television mounted on the wall, which was broadcasting live coverage of the Challenger emergency rescue mission. The news anchor was somberly reading the names of the missing crew, painting them as national heroes making the ultimate sacrifice. The atmosphere was perfectly crafted. I raised my cuffed hands and gave them a helpless shrug. “As you can see, I’m in a bit of a jam myself.” “I’ve been detained on suspicion of leaking the Challenger’s core technical secrets.” In the span of a few seconds, Linda’s expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and then to pure, venomous hatred. Her perfectly maintained face twisted in fury. “It was you!” she shrieked. “Adrian! You did this on purpose!” “You’re jealous of your brother! Jealous that he was named the chief designer of the Challenger at such a young age!” “If you can’t have it, you destroy it! You have a black, evil heart!” Every accusation she hurled was a perfect echo of the press releases from my past life. It seemed they had this script prepared long ago. My father, Robert, was far more composed. He was frantic, but he still wore the mask of the dignified Director. He stared at me, his eyes burning. “What is going on?” “Not sure,” I said, leaning lazily against the wall. “The disciplinary committee burst into my workshop late last night. Said they had an anonymous tip that I sold the Challenger’s structural blueprints and sonar codes to a foreign agency.” Robert’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. He knew it was a frame-up. Half of the submersible’s core technology came from my own research. I would never betray my life’s work. “Damn it!” he growled, pulling out his phone. “I’ll make some calls. I’ll pull every string I have. I’ll have you bailed out before the end of the day!” “Don’t waste your breath,” I said flatly. “What do you mean?” “Until the official investigation is concluded, leaving this cell would be an admission of guilt.” I looked at him, my gaze calm and sharp. “Dad, you and I both know that if this charge sticks, my life is over.” Robert froze. He understood perfectly. I asked him a simple question. “Dad, if today, only one of us—Ethan or me—could live…” “Who would you choose?” His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just then, his phone rang. He snatched it up like a lifeline. It was the Arctic Research Center. “Director Grant, we’ve just made contact with Commander Evelyn Reed!” Robert’s eyes lit up. “Thank God! What did she say? Does she have a plan?” “Commander Reed has suspended her mission at the North Pole. She’s using a backup channel to attempt a remote connection with the Challenger’s operating system! But…” “But what?” “But the sub’s physical port is locked down. The remote signal can’t get full access! Someone has to pilot a rescue craft to the site and perform a physical interface to reboot the system!” “And the only person who can perform that interface is Dr. Adrian Grant!” 3 The call was on speakerphone. Every word echoed clearly in the small room. Robert hung up, his eyes red-rimmed as he stared at me. “Adrian, did you hear that?” he said, his voice raw. “This isn’t just about saving your brother anymore. It’s about executing Evelyn’s rescue plan! This is an order!” I let out a lazy yawn and ignored him completely. Just then, a commotion erupted outside the detention center. The parents of the missing students, having somehow gotten wind of my location, had arrived. The moment they saw me, they fell to their knees in unison. “Dr. Grant! We’re begging you! Please, save our children!” “Please, Dr. Grant, he’s our only son! He can’t die!” A chorus of sobs and pleas filled the air. I looked down at them, my expression as cold and hard as ice. “What do their lives have to do with me?” My words sliced through the crying, silencing it instantly. They stared at me in disbelief, as if I were a monster. One of the fathers scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his phone. He pulled up a screenshot of a bank transfer and held it up to the bars. “What do you mean, it has nothing to do with you? This is the record of the ‘research fund’ my son paid you!” “He said you required every student to deposit fifty thousand dollars into this account every month, or you wouldn’t let them work on your project, wouldn’t let them graduate!” “Our children’s futures are in your hands! How can you just let them die?” Others followed suit, holding up their phones. The screen after screen of transfer records were like hammers, pounding away at my name. “Yes! We paid too!” “We all paid! For two whole years!” Robert saw the records and began to tremble with rage. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you disgraceful son!” “Not only are you heartless, but you’re also a common criminal, extorting your own students! You have shamed the Grant family name!” He roared with righteous fury, as if he truly believed I had committed these sins. But we both knew the truth. The owner of that bank account wasn’t me. It was his precious, favored son, Ethan. No matter how much they begged, cursed, or even threatened to harm themselves, I remained unmoved, a silent spectator to the unfolding farce. Time was running out. The golden window for the Challenger rescue was closing fast. Online, the public opinion had turned into a firestorm. #LeadEngineerAdrianGrantRefusesRescue #AdrianGrantDetainedForLeakingSecrets #AdrianGrantExtortsStudents The hashtags trended, searing and ugly. In a matter of hours, my name became synonymous with greed, cruelty, and corruption. Then, a faint, static-laced voice crackled through the live rescue broadcast. It was Ethan. “Adrian… brother… can you hear me…” His voice was weak, filled with a primal fear of death and a desperate will to live. “Brother… I believe in you… I know you can save me…” “You’ve always been the brother I looked up to… you wouldn’t abandon me… would you?” 4 His heartfelt, brotherly last words, broadcast live to the world, were a masterstroke. Millions of viewers were instantly moved to tears. 【My God! What a tragedy! His brother is waiting for him, and he’s just sitting in a cell!】 【Adrian Grant isn’t human! He’s an animal! That’s your brother!】 【I’m sick. How did someone like him become a lead engineer? This needs a full investigation!】 【Go save them! There’s no time left!】 The tsunami of outrage and condemnation washed over me. My stepmother, Linda, seized the moment perfectly. She dropped to her knees again, not before me this time, but before the cameras of the news crews that had gathered outside. Her sobs were gut-wrenching. “I’m begging you… Adrian… if you just go and save Ethan…” “I… I’ll have him sign over all his inheritance rights to you! We won’t take a thing!” As she spoke, she actually pulled a pre-prepared “Renunciation of Inheritance” document from her purse. Ethan’s signature was already on it. All she needed was my consent. It was a brilliant performance. She was the great, self-sacrificing mother, willing to give up everything for her son. I looked at her and smiled. As everyone stared in stunned silence, I spoke two simple words. “Alright.”

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1 At his bachelor party, the notorious germaphobe sipped from his protégée’s glass. That’s when I knew he had feelings for her. I watched them, lost in their own world, talking effortlessly from projects to ambitions. I didn’t make a scene. That night, alone, I gave him an ultimatum: “Call off the wedding, or I’ll have her honors revoked.” He disappeared all night. The next day, he returned, looking haunted. “The wedding is still on,” he said. But at the ceremony, seeing me walk down the aisle, he froze. His mic’d voice echoed: “You’re not the bride I wanted. I regret this. I should never have let her go.” He posted our divorce papers online, making me a laughingstock. Meanwhile, a photo of him kissing his protégée at the airport—still in his tux—went viral. Every choice has consequences. Ten minutes later, Bridget Corp’s stock dropped ten points. If he chose betrayal, he couldn’t blame me for pushing him to the brink. … My phone screen was still frozen on Fred Bridget’s social media post. The caption was a single, defiant line. 【This time, I choose love.】 The picture showed him in the suit I had hand-picked for him, passionately kissing Amy Lin at the airport. Below it, a flood of comments from our mutual friends poured in. 【Fred Bridget has some serious nerve. How is Zara Caldwell supposed to show her face now?】 【He dumps his bride at the altar and flies off to kiss his protégée at the airport? My girl Zara deserved so much better.】 【Has Fred lost his mind? Sacrificing the reputation of two powerful families for some girl.】 I finally looked away from the screen, my gaze falling on the wedding rings sitting on the table. The inside of each band was engraved with the initials of our names. Fred had designed them himself. He’d embedded powerful magnets within the bands, so that whenever the two rings came close, they would snap together. He had explained that because of his severe mysophobia, he might not always be able to show physical affection. The rings were meant to be proof of his love—a symbol that his heart would never resist my touch, and that he was determined to overcome his condition for me. I never pushed him. I was willing to respect his boundaries. But then, at his bachelor party, I saw him pick up Amy’s glass and drink from it without a second thought, without the slightest hesitation. When she noticed me staring, Amy turned to me with a saccharine smile. “Zara, please don’t get the wrong idea. We spend hours in meetings together, so we’re just used to sharing drinks. You won’t mind, will you?” Before I could answer, someone else linked their arm with mine. “Oh, Zara would never get upset over something so trivial. Don’t underestimate her generosity.” They called me by my first name, but their tone was a subtle poison, gracefully excluding me from their inner circle while putting me on a pedestal. If I showed any sign of displeasure, I would be the one who was insecure, the one who didn’t trust Fred. But how could I not mind? When I brought it up with Fred that night, he was the picture of embarrassment, apologizing profusely and promising to be more careful next time. Looking back now, it was all a lie. He wanted the power and backing of the Caldwell family, but he also wanted to be with the woman he truly loved. He was trying to have it all. He was dreaming. My assistant knocked and entered. “Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Bridget Senior is on your private line. Should I put him through?” I glanced down at the blinking light on the console. “What’s the damage?” “Down seven points. Nearly forty million in market value.” Not enough. Not nearly enough to pay for the humiliation I’d endured. “I see,” I said, my voice betraying no emotion. “Tell Mr. Bridget that if he can’t control his own son, someone else will do it for him.” “Understood. And should I have the PR department handle the online chatter?” “No need.” I looked at the photo again, at the lovesick expression on Fred’s face. “He chose love. Let’s let everyone see if it was worth it.” My assistant quietly left the room. I rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights were just beginning to flicker on, painting a glittering, cold silhouette against the darkening sky. My assistant must have relayed the message, because Fred’s father didn’t call back. But I hadn’t anticipated how forceful he would be with his son. A few moments later, my phone vibrated again. This time, it was Fred. The name that had once been pinned to the top of my contacts list flashed on the screen. I let it ring, a persistent, desperate sound that eventually died into silence. A second later, a text message appeared: 【Zara, you are shameless. Just because I chose Amy, you’re going to destroy me? Are you really that jealous and vicious?】 Another one followed immediately. 【I know I hurt you, but you can’t force feelings. If you really loved me, shouldn’t you be willing to let me go for the sake of love? Why resort to such dirty tactics to force my hand? You’ve disappointed me more than I can say.】 I paused, a faint, cold smile touching my lips. He could have been honest with me weeks ago. But he didn’t, not with the benefits of our union so close at hand. Who was it that was so germaphobic he had to wash his hands a dozen times if I so much as touched him, yet didn’t mind Amy’s saliva? Who was it that had looked me in the eye and promised, with gentle resolve, that our wedding would proceed as planned, only to publicly abandon me and make me a laughingstock? He thought he was playing a brilliant game, manipulating two women at once. He had nailed me to a pillar of shame in the most public, humiliating way possible. And now he had the audacity to accuse me of not being able to “let go for love”? I sent a quick text to my assistant. 【Faster. I want it down ten points by the end of the night.】 After receiving her confirmation, I swiped away from the airport photo and watched the market value of the Bridget Corporation evaporate, bit by bit. I had faith that Fred’s father would not disappoint me. My phone lit up again. It was him. This time, his tone was considerably softer. 【Zara, can we please talk? This isn’t good for anyone. My parents are going crazy. Just give me one more chance, please?】 【I know I embarrassed you today. I’ll make it up to you. Punish me however you want, just please, leave my father out of this. He has nothing to do with it.】 My fingertips tapped against the screen. I replied. 【If you want to negotiate, you need to prove you’re serious.】 A message came back almost instantly. 【Okay. I know what I have to do.】 I read the words, a flicker of unease stirring within me, but I quickly dismissed it. After finishing up at the office, I started the drive back to my villa. On the way, my best friend called, her voice frantic. “Where are you?” “Just left the office, heading home—” She cut me off. “Turn around! Go back to your office, now! Fred is on the roof of your building! He’s telling everyone you’re trying to drive him to suicide! He just posted about it, the reporters are probably already there. You need to do something, the entire narrative has turned against you!” My brow furrowed. So that’s what he meant. He wasn’t repentant at all. He was just plotting his next move against me. I forced myself to remain calm and opened his social media feed. The latest post was a screenshot of our text exchange. The caption read: 【It’s all my fault. If my life can appease her anger and she’ll stop tormenting my parents, then perhaps this is the best ending.】 I read it over and over, a cold laugh escaping my lips. Fred Bridget had truly abandoned all shame. I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and sped back to the office. As expected, the street below was already swarming with police cars and emergency vehicles, a large inflatable cushion being set up on the pavement. I took the elevator straight to the top floor. Fred was standing on the very edge of the roof. His mother had fainted from the stress. His father was pleading with him, his voice strained. Amy was sobbing hysterically, repeating over and over that it was all her fault, that she should be the one to die. What a performance. And I, the villain, had just arrived. Standing at the edge of the crowd, I immediately spotted the people Fred had planted, live-streaming the entire spectacle to the world. A torrent of vitriol from online commenters flooded my phone. 【So if a man doesn’t love you, you destroy his entire family? Is that all you know how to do, bully people with your power?】 【This is textbook sociopathic behavior. Anyone who doesn’t worship you deserves to die?】 【Who do you think you are, some princess? If you can’t have it, you destroy it? The world doesn’t revolve around you!】 【Being rich and powerful gives you the right to do whatever you want? Just drop dead already!】 I was still reeling from the online abuse when Amy spotted me. She rushed over and dropped to her knees with a loud thud. “Zara, it’s all my fault, every last bit of it! Fred just fell in love with me. You can’t actually want him to die for it, can you?” My phone screen was still lit up. The online mob grew even more frenzied. “We’re truly in love,” she cried, “and there’s nothing wrong with being in love! But if you’re so unhappy that you’d drive him to his death, then let me be the one to pay the price!” Her words were chosen with surgical precision, painting a picture of me as a monster who would demand a man’s life simply because my feelings were hurt. After her dramatic declaration, she leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “Do you know what your greatest failure is, Zara?” I raised an eyebrow. So, she had another face after all. “You thought your love was so righteous, so noble. But the truth is, Fred never felt a thing for you. You try to use his family to control him, you think you hate him, but you can’t let him go. In that, you’ve already lost. The Bridget stock will recover. You, on the other hand, will end up with a much uglier fate.” With that, she suddenly threw herself backward, crying out in feigned shock. “Zara, are you trying to push me off? Is that it? If I die, will you finally leave Fred alone?” I looked at the two figures on the rooftop, the ones claiming I was driving them to their deaths. I walked toward them, step by step. “Fred Bridget,” I said, my voice cutting through the drama. “You say I’m forcing you to die?” Fred looked at me, his eyes filled with a theatrical sorrow and disappointment. “Aren’t you? You use your investments to control me, threatening my family’s company whenever you’re the slightest bit upset. My father is a respected man in this city, but he has to live every day bowing to your whims. You may be powerful, Zara, but we are human beings, not dogs on your leash!” Dogs on my leash? A good dog would never bite the hand that feeds it. The news of Fred’s attempted suicide exploded. Countless netizens organized a boycott of all Caldwell Industries products. Our stock took a nosedive. Several A-list celebrities who endorsed our brands moved to terminate their contracts. I managed to quash their attempts, but then they banded together with Amy, releasing online statements about my tyrannical and predatory business practices. Our PR department issued a rebuttal, but our account was hacked and shut down within five minutes. Amy then launched a public petition demanding my removal as CEO, claiming that a person like me, holding so much power, was like wielding a deadly weapon. The petition went viral, shared millions of times, even by some of my own employees. It was then that Fred and Amy arrived at my office. The smug satisfaction on his face was unmistakable. “Really, Zara, was all this necessary? Things have gotten so ugly. I doubt you’ll be able to hold your position on the board much longer. Why don’t you beg me? For old times’ sake, I might even help you out.” I leaned back in my executive chair, my voice calm. “Oh? And how would you do that?” He raised an eyebrow playfully. “I could produce a diagnosis of severe depression, proving my recent actions were the result of immense pressure, something beyond my control. We could say I’ve been in treatment this whole time. Amy, not having seen me, would have assumed you had me locked away, which would explain her ‘over-the-top’ online statements. Just like that, the problem is solved. No one gets hurt. Everyone’s happy.” Listening to his flawless, self-serving plan, I felt nothing but contempt. My eyes settled on Amy for a long moment before I spoke. “And what would this cost me?” Fred chuckled and clapped his hands together. “I knew you were a smart woman. This is so much easier. I want the ten points of stock that originally belonged to my family, liquidated and transferred to my account. And those two pieces you won at the auction last month—the jadeite heirloom and the Victorian-era royal tiara. Amy is quite fond of them.” My blood ran cold. The jadeite was a family heirloom. The tiara was meant to be worn with my wedding dress. The sheer audacity of his demand was breathtaking. “Fred, you have an insatiable appetite. Six hundred million. Aren’t you afraid you’ll choke on it?” Amy shot me a startled look before quickly averting her gaze. Fred just shrugged. “That’s my bottom line. Take it or leave it.” As soon as he left my building, Fred started a live stream. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression one of forced stoicism—a stark contrast to the cool arrogance he’d displayed in my office just moments before. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice hoarse and cracking. “I was too weak. I couldn’t protect the woman I love, or my family.” He took a shaky breath. “For all these years by her side, I’ve lived like a puppet. She used investments and our families’ alliance to threaten me, until even the most basic freedom became a luxury. Who I saw, what I said—everything required her approval. She saw Amy as a threat and used all her power to crush her, nearly destroying her career. She thought that would be enough to break me.” He paused, his knuckles white from clenching his fists. “Today, I gathered my courage and begged her. I begged her to let me go, to let Amy go, to let my family go. All I wanted was to keep one last shred of dignity. But as you all saw, she wouldn’t even grant me that. She is using my family’s future and Amy’s career to punish me for daring to defy her. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants.” The live chat erupted. 【This is terrifying. I had no idea the glamorous world of the elite was this dark! Stay strong, Fred!】 【Now I get why he left her at the altar. Who could live like that?】 【This is chilling. I actually thought Zara was the victim at first, but wow…】 【I support Fred! Coercion is a crime! Zara Caldwell owes everyone an explanation!】 The image of Fred fighting back tears was the perfect catalyst. Public opinion swung entirely to his side. The storm was reaching its peak. And I had all the evidence I needed. I had been waiting for this exact moment. The moment when the public opinion reached its zenith, so I could utterly demolish Fred Bridget’s carefully constructed façade and ensure he could never recover. In the boardroom, the faces of my top executives were grim. I laid out everything on the table: a list of every gift I’d ever bought him, our complete chat logs, and meticulously printed records of every investment and financial transaction between myself and the Bridget Corporation. “One man is not going to bring down Caldwell Industries,” I said, surveying the room. “Why the long faces?” A senior board member, a man who had worked with my father, suddenly threw his pen on the table. “Zara, I’ve been with this company since your father’s time. With all due respect, now is not the time for action. You need to take a temporary leave of absence. Wait for this to blow over, and then you can come back. We will appoint an interim replacement.” Beneath the table, my hands clenched into fists. I looked around at the faces staring back at me. “Is that the consensus?” The head of Public Relations cleared her throat. “Ms. Caldwell, the evidence you’ve presented only proves you were in a relationship. It doesn’t refute the claim that you used your power to coerce Mr. Bridget…” I cut her off with a short, sharp laugh. “How to refute it, how to spin it—isn’t that your job?” He took a deep breath and removed the ID badge from around his neck. “Ms. Caldwell, if that’s your attitude, then there’s nothing more I can do. I’m a publicist, not a miracle worker. I can’t clean up a mess this big.” Several other department heads stood up. The head of Commerce, who was also Fred’s cousin, looked at me with a heavy heart. “Ms. Caldwell, please, stop fighting a losing battle. You used to call me ‘cousin.’ After what you’ve done to my family, you can’t possibly expect to walk away from this unscathed, can you? You’re putting us all in an impossible position.” I looked at him, the absurdity of it all hitting me. I was the one who had pushed for his promotion, against everyone’s advice, all because of Fred. He, more than anyone, knew how I had treated Fred. And now, he was turning on me, slandering me without a shred of evidence. Looking at the faces before me, I understood. The Bridgets had sunk their claws deep into my company. “My dear niece,” the old board member said softly, “don’t be stubborn. With your father gone, it’s my duty to look after you. Go home, rest for a while. The company will be fine in our hands.” I said nothing. The silence in the room was so thick you could hear every breath. They were all waiting for me to announce my leave. Then, my desk phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and put it on speaker. Fred’s voice filled the room. “So? Have you made up your mind, Ms. Caldwell? You’re besieged from within and without. Zara, you have no other choice. Just accept it.” Accept it? Fred, after all our years together, you still don’t know me at all. When I decide to destroy someone, they don’t get a second chance. And that includes you.

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At the 70th birthday gala for Mr. Sterling, the wealthiest man in Crestwood, I casually lit a cigarette. My wife’s assistant slapped it from my hand with a furious crack. “Nina, for God’s sake!” he cried, turning to my wife. “This is Mr. Sterling’s gala! How could Julian do something so classless?” His voice was a stage whisper, loud enough to turn heads. “If you don’t take a drag for five minutes, you won’t die. But if people find out this crude nobody who crashed the party is your husband, how will you ever show your face again?” My wife, Nina Bouquet, shot me a look of pure disgust. “Go ahead, smoke yourself to death for all I care,” she hissed. “When will you ever be as considerate as Caleb? If you cost me this investment tonight, I swear, we’re done!” I let out a cold laugh and turned my gaze to the man of the hour. “Grandfather,” I said, my voice dripping with irony, “since when is smoking at your birthday party a capital offense?” 1 It was the 60th birthday of Crestwood’s most powerful man, yet my wife, who had claimed to be on a business trip, was currently gliding through the crowd with her assistant, Caleb Hale. They were arm in arm, looking for all the world like a devoted couple. I felt a knot of irritation tighten in my gut and retreated to a quiet corner, pulling out a cigarette. I lit it, but before it could even touch my lips, Caleb’s hand shot out and knocked it to the floor. “Julian! How can you smoke at an event this important? Have you no respect?” He raised his voice, a deliberate act that drew a constellation of curious eyes to our secluded corner. He even shifted his body slightly, ensuring everyone got a clear view of my face. “This is exactly why Nina never wants to take you anywhere,” he continued, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re an embarrassment. You’re lucky you even got in here, but for God’s sake, don’t let anyone know you’re her husband.” For someone who supposedly didn’t want my identity known, he was making a hell of a scene. Caleb, in his desperate attempt to cause trouble, was the real clown here. Surely Nina, a veteran of these events, could see that. But when I looked at her, her eyes were filled with nothing but contempt. “Did you really have to light that cigarette?” she demanded. “Puffing away at home is one thing, but do you have to be so self-absorbed here, making a spectacle of us? Are you deliberately trying to make people look down on me? To ruin my chances of securing an investment?” You’d think I’d committed some unforgivable crime, not just tried to have a smoke. Emboldened by Nina’s support, Caleb’s smirk grew wider. “You should get out of here before you really piss off Mr. Sterling and get thrown out. That would be even more humiliating. If you have no shame for yourself, at least think of Nina.” I calmly took out another cigarette, lit it, and looked him straight in the eye. “Is there a rule against smoking here? The host hasn’t said a word. Who are you to tell me to leave?” My direct challenge wiped the smirk off his face, leaving him flushed with embarrassment. Nina, seeing her precious assistant wounded, shot me a venomous glare. “Put that out. Now.” I not only refused, I took a long, slow drag and signaled a passing waiter for an ashtray. Nina was incandescent with rage. “Julian! Pick your battles! This is not the time or place to defy me!” A bitter laugh escaped me. “I’m defying you? Your ‘good’ assistant is the one picking a fight over nothing, putting on a show for everyone.” Her ability to twist reality was truly something to behold. Her face hardened. “Fine. Smoke. I hope you choke on it.” But Caleb, not content with the scene he’d already made, wasn’t finished. He strode toward Mr. Sterling, who stood at the center of the room, carrying a gift and an air of self-righteous indignation. “Mr. Sterling, my deepest apologies,” he began, his voice ringing with false sincerity. “Nina’s husband… well, he doesn’t seem to understand basic etiquette. Please don’t let his behavior reflect on her.” He offered the gift. “This is a small token from Nina and me. Many happy returns!” He was trying to use me as a stepping stone. I couldn’t help but scoff. “An assistant like you can only get attention with cheap tricks like this.” 2 Caleb’s expression froze for a second before melting into a look of profound hurt. “Julian, Nina came here tonight hoping to make connections. Why must you be so determined to sabotage her?” He turned to Nina, his voice soft with pity. “Nina, you deserve so much better than this.” Then back to me, “Look, Julian, you can treat me however you want in private, but please, for Nina’s sake, show some class.” I had to laugh. The performance was almost convincing. Nina, completely taken in, looked at me with renewed fury. “Julian, Caleb is humbling himself for you. What more do you want? Mr. Sterling already looks displeased. Are you going to keep smoking until my chances for investment are completely ruined?” I glanced at Mr. Sterling. He did look displeased, but I knew for a fact it had nothing to do with my cigarette. Ignoring Nina and Caleb, I walked over to the old man and offered him a smoke from my pack. “This is a pretty good brand. Care to try one, sir?” Mr. Sterling’s stern expression softened, his eyes twinkling with affection. “I’m more of a cigar man, but you go right ahead, son. Smoke if you want to.” I grinned. “You smoke cigars every day. Why not switch it up for a change?” Before he could answer, a splash of cold liquid hit my face. Nina had thrown her wine at me. “Julian! When are you going to stop embarrassing yourself?” she shrieked. “You’re an unemployed nobody who probably only got in here by using my name! Who do you think you are? Mr. Sterling is a gentleman, that’s the only reason he’s tolerating you. And now you’re trying to force your cheap cigarettes on him? Apologize! Apologize to him right now!” The red wine dripped down my face, leaving a dark crimson stain on my shirt. A stain that would never wash out. Just like the one now permanently etched onto our marriage. Caleb seized the opportunity to shove me, kicking the back of my knee and nearly forcing me to the ground. “Everyone’s watching, Julian! Just apologize!” I shoved him back, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t touch me.” He lunged again, aiming another kick at my legs, this one harder. That was the last straw. I grabbed the front of his collar and my fist connected with his jaw. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. All I could hear was Nina’s voice in my head—you’re embarrassing me, you’re costing me my investment. She seemed to have forgotten that the only reason her company was still afloat was because of the investments I had secured. Even the invitation that got her into this very gala had come from me. I had wanted us to come together. Instead, she’d lied about a business trip, brought her assistant, and let him provoke me. Caleb’s cheek swelled instantly, and a tooth clattered to the floor. Nina screamed. She launched herself at me, kicking and clawing at my hands, prying them off Caleb. Caleb clutched his face, a venomous glint in his eyes. “It’s okay, Nina,” he mumbled through his swelling lips. “If this is what it takes for him to blow off steam and not ruin your deal, then it’s fine.” Tears of pity streamed down Nina’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous! As if I’d let you get hurt for some investment!” She whirled on me, her voice a raw scream. “Get out, Julian! Get out, or I’m divorcing you!” 3 I stared at her, stunned. That she would throw our marriage away for Caleb, here, in front of everyone. The disappointment must have been written all over my face. Nina sneered. “For years, you’ve lorded those initial investments over me, acting like you’re king of the world! But let’s be honest, they invested because of my potential, my talent. What does it have to do with you? You don’t even set foot in the company!” Her words were like shards of ice in my heart. When I first brought her that funding, she had been so moved she’d sworn she would never let me down. Now, ever since Caleb became her assistant, that promise had become a bitter joke. A sour taste filled my mouth. “Fine,” I said, each word heavy. “Let’s get a divorce.” She seemed taken aback that I’d agreed so readily, but she doubled down. “Don’t think I’m bluffing, Julian! Caleb works his heart out for the company. And you? You act like a lunatic, starting fights and attacking him! I am so disappointed in you.” Caleb, looking deeply moved, spoke up as if reluctant. “Nina, working for you is an honor. There’s something… something I have to say. The real reason Julian is making this scene is to sabotage you. He’s trying to impress his little mistress from your rival’s company!” Nina’s face twisted in shock, then rage. “Julian! You’re cheating on me?” She grabbed a plate from a nearby table and hurled it at me. “How dare you! I work myself to the bone for our family, and you’re siding with your slut against me? Are you even human?” Caleb fanned the flames. “I knew it! How else would he get into this party? His little girlfriend must have given him an invitation just to spite you.” And just like that, based on a few baseless accusations, she believed him. The look in her eyes was murderous. Mr. Sterling’s face had grown dark. He struck the floor with his cane, his voice booming. “That’s enough! Don’t just parrot whatever you hear. Julian would never do such a thing, and I—” Caleb cut him off, pulling out his phone. “Mr. Sterling, you’ve been deceived! Julian’s little mistress is your own kept woman!” He shoved the phone forward. On the screen were several photos. One set showed a vibrant young woman laughing on Mr. Sterling’s arm. In another set, the same girl was hugging my neck, a playful grin on her face while I looked on with exasperated affection. Nina snatched the phone and slammed it against my chest. “And I actually believed you when you said she was your sister! Your ‘little sister,’ was it?” The room buzzed with scandalized whispers. Mr. Sterling, keeping a mistress young enough to be his granddaughter? And being cheated on? I looked at Nina, and the last shred of feeling I had for her withered and died. My voice came out hoarse. “Nina, I have never done anything to wrong you. And you won’t even grant me a sliver of trust.” Just then, the waiter I’d spoken to earlier returned with an ashtray, stopping short at the chaotic scene. “Mr. Miles, uh… do you still need this?” Nina’s eyes, red with fury, locked onto the ashtray. She snatched it from his hands and brought it down on my head. “I told you to stop smoking!” At the last second, Mr. Sterling stepped forward. The heavy glass ashtray crashed against his forehead with a sickening thud. Blood began to well up instantly. 4 Nina froze, her hand dropping to her side. Then, without missing a beat, she started pointing her finger at me. “Julian! You slept with Mr. Sterling’s woman, and now you deliberately hide behind him so he’d get hurt? Are you and your mistress trying to scheme your way into his fortune?” She frantically tried to dab at the blood on Mr. Sterling’s forehead. “Mr. Sterling, please, don’t be angry. I’ve already decided to divorce him. I had no idea he was capable of something so depraved. He was probably smoking in here just to provoke you.” I had never known Nina was so adept at twisting the truth, all to distance herself from me. Fearing Mr. Sterling’s wrath would cost her access to this elite circle, she shouted at me, “How dare you challenge Mr. Sterling? You’re finished in this city! You’ll never work in Crestwood again!” Caleb chimed in, feigning concern. “Julian, you’ve hurt Mr. Sterling badly. Get on your knees and apologize to him. Now!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Shouldn’t you two be the ones apologizing to him?” Caleb’s face was a mask of innocence. “But you’re the one who was fooling around with his mistress, smoking at his party to insult him, and getting him injured. If it weren’t for me, Mr. Sterling would still be in the dark, thinking it was all an accident. Do you have any idea who he is? Or who you are? By dragging his name through the mud, you’re going to ruin Nina’s company!” Nina’s face was grim as she nodded in agreement. “Even though you’re still my husband, I will not let my entire company go down with you. You will explain to Mr. Sterling that this was all your doing, that my company had nothing to do with it. Then, we get a divorce, and I’ll drop the whole cheating issue. But if my business suffers because of you, I’ll make you pay!” Mr. Sterling clutched his bleeding forehead, his face pale and strained. Caleb, however, mistook his pained expression for anger directed at me. “Julian, hurry up and kneel! Any later and it won’t matter if you lick his shoes clean, it’ll be too late!” he hissed, giving me a shove. He leaned in close, his voice a triumphant whisper. “Pretending to be so close to Mr. Sterling… now that you’ve offended him, let’s see how you get out of this.” I took a long, hard look at Nina. If she hadn’t made this disastrous scene, she could have walked out of here tonight with any investment she wanted. I turned to Mr. Sterling. “Grandfather, when did you make a rule against smoking at your parties?” “And since when is my sister your ‘kept woman’?” “Someone else smashed your head open, Grandfather. Do I really need to lick your shoes and apologize for it?” I had only wanted to introduce Nina to my grandfather tonight. The guests, already shocked by the “kept woman” scandal, now stared with their eyes wide in disbelief. Nina’s gaze darted between me and Mr. Sterling, her expression flickering from confusion to dawning, horrified realization. “Why didn’t you ever tell me,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, “that Mr. Sterling is your grandfather?”

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Seeing the scar on my husband’s secretary’s wrist as she served me tea shattered her world. That night, her depression returned; she tried to kill herself again. My husband’s eyes were bloodshot, his hands around my throat. “Evelyn was finally hoping again,” he snarled. “Why trigger her?” On the rooftop edge, Evelyn whispered, “It’s not Annie’s fault… I remembered the pain. I can’t bear it.” As she swayed, my husband lunged—not for her, but at me. He forced a device onto my head. My mind broke. Countless leering faces swarmed me, hands tearing at my clothes, crawling on my skin. I knew it was just Evelyn’s memory, but the terror was real. I screamed, begging him to stop. But he walked away, holding Evelyn like a princess, never looking back. With that memory transplanted, Evelyn improved. Thrilled, he transferred all her trauma into me. He held the renewed, smiling Evelyn, never noticing the light fading from my eyes. He’d forgotten the device’s final cost: Exchange too many memories, and you lose yourself completely. 1 I was on the floor like a broken animal, clawing at Nathaniel’s pants, pleading with him to remove the Memory Exchange Device. But the man who once cherished me, who once worshipped the ground I walked on, kicked my hand away. The polished leather of his shoe ground into my fingertips, a deliberate, cruel pressure. “Cut the act, Annie. You know none of it is real.” This was the same man who had whispered love songs in my ear just last night. Now, his voice was laced with bitter disappointment. “You can’t even handle watching the images. Can you imagine how helpless Evelyn must have felt, living through it?” he demanded. “She was finally crawling out of that hole, and you… you pushed her right back in.” “A spoiled princess like you, who’s had everything handed to her, will never understand. It’s time you learned some empathy.” He knew. He knew the device didn’t just transmit sights and sounds. It replicated the five senses of the memory’s owner, including pain. Evelyn had relived this particular memory countless times, amplifying the agony with each recollection. The pain hit me in waves, so intense I started convulsing, tears and saliva streaming down my face. My suffering earned a tender kiss, which Nathaniel placed on Evelyn’s forehead. The same Nathaniel who hadn’t shed a single tear when I miscarried our child now buried his face in Evelyn’s chest, his shoulders shaking with repressed sobs. “Evelyn, my poor Evelyn. You’ve suffered so much.” “From the moment I learned about your past, I swore I would invent something to take your pain away,” he whispered. “But seeing it for myself… only now do I truly understand the hell you went through.” As they walked away, my fingernails scraped bloody tracks into the concrete floor. So this was it. This was the project that had consumed him, the reason he’d worked day and night, the reason he couldn’t even spare an hour to take my mother to the hospital when she had a heart attack. It was all for another woman. The first rays of dawn touched my face before the nightmare finally released its grip. A sticky warmth spread beneath me. I looked down. My white dress was soaked in blood. I stumbled to the hospital, a strange, hollow feeling in my chest. Evelyn’s most painful memory had been traded for one of my happiest. And I had no idea which one it was. I’d barely walked through the hospital doors when I saw them. Evelyn, her cheeks rosy, was being spoon-fed porridge by Nathaniel. The moment she saw me, she clutched her chest, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Price, thank you. Thank you for giving me Annie’s happiest memory when I was in such a dark place.” Her voice was a fragile, grateful whisper. “I… I can’t even remember what the nightmare was about anymore.” “But to experience what it’s like to marry you… even in a memory… I can die with no regrets. Even without a family, this beautiful memory gives me the strength to face anything.” She looked at me, her expression pleading. “Let’s give it back to Annie now.” Nathaniel pulled her into a fierce embrace, his voice trembling. “How could I ever let you relive that pain?” So that was it. The memory she’d stolen was my wedding day. I stood in the doorway, a ghost in my own life, watching my husband hold another woman with the delicate restraint one would use for fine porcelain. A doctor rushed over, his forehead beaded with sweat. “You miscarried nearly ten hours ago! Why are you only just getting here?” he demanded. “If we don’t clear the uterine lining now, you could get a fatal infection. We might have to perform a hysterectomy!” Nathaniel finally noticed me. His eyes widened in shock. He let go of Evelyn and strode towards me. For a foolish, fleeting second, I thought he was coming to comfort me. Then his hand cracked across my face in a vicious, stinging slap. 2 “Annie, are you insane?” he roared, his face a mask of fury. “I show you a glimpse of Evelyn’s pain, and you get rid of our child just to get back at me?” “No! It wasn’t like that! The pain from her memory, it was too much, I—” Before I could finish, he slammed the device onto my head again. “You grew up with a loving family, didn’t you? Is that why you don’t give a damn about our child’s life?” he spat. “Since you clearly don’t appreciate the importance of family, why don’t we give those memories to someone who will? Someone like Evelyn!” I was still reeling from the shock of a second miscarriage when I felt it—a massive, gaping void opening in my mind. Years of love, of warmth, of belonging, were being siphoned away in an instant. The terror of utter isolation consumed me. I collapsed, my legs giving out. The doctor tried to help me up, but I couldn’t stand. I was utterly alone. When I came to, I was on an operating table. A surgery had just ended. The doctor shook his head, his voice heavy with pity. “The infection was too severe. We had to remove your uterus. You should call your family; you’ll need a lot of care during your recovery.” I stared at him blankly. “I’m an orphan,” I replied, my voice flat. “I have no family. No husband.” I walked out of the operating room and straight to a window at the end of the hall. The wind whipped my hair around my face. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, ready for the fall. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, yanking me back. I slammed onto the hard floor. Before I could even process what had happened, the person who had saved me—Nathaniel’s assistant—was scrambling to his feet and bowing to someone behind me. “Mr. Price, she’s showing genuine suicidal tendencies. It’s a good thing I got here in time.” The man called Mr. Price grabbed my chin, his grip painfully tight. “Are you putting on a show, Annie? Is this some pathetic, low-life attempt to get my attention just because I’ve been looking after Evelyn for a few days?” I squinted, my head throbbing. I had no idea who this furious man was. “Sir,” the assistant interjected nervously. “Mrs. Price has undergone two memory transfers in quick succession, both involving traumatic input. Psychological instability and cognitive dissonance are to be expected. It’s clear she doesn’t recognize you. A failed suicide attempt will likely be followed by another. We should restore her memories before it’s too late.” The man’s brow furrowed deeply. “Evelyn is finally smiling again. If we send her back to that dark place, she won’t survive it.” He scoffed. “Annie studied for her psychology license to help me through my own kidnapping trauma. She’s mentally tough. This is just a stunt to win back my affection.” “We’re not swapping the memories back. Once Evelyn is stable, I’ll… I’ll arrange another wedding for Annie. That should compensate her for the lost memory.” The assistant hesitated. “But sir… her father died saving you during that kidnapping. Her mother passed away from a heart condition, broken by grief. How do you compensate for the memory of her family?” The man’s voice rose, sharp with irritation. “Who’s your boss, Evans, her or me? You seem to be taking her side on everything.” “Letting her be Mrs. Price is reward enough for her father’s sacrifice,” he snapped. “As for the memories, we can look at photo albums, watch videos. I’ll help her remember.” Just then, his phone rang. The anger on his face melted away when he saw the caller ID. He answered, his voice turning gentle as he gave his assistant an order. “Take Annie back to the villa. Keep a close eye on her. Don’t let her try anything stupid again. Evelyn would feel terrible if she found out.” He started to walk away, then turned back, covering the phone’s mouthpiece. “That scrape on her elbow,” he muttered to the assistant. “Clean it up. And no adhesive bandages. She’s allergic to the glue.” Even after he left, I couldn’t make sense of their conversation. My brain felt like mush. Trying to think sent daggers of pain through my skull. It wasn’t until the assistant, Mr. Evans, handed me a tissue that I realized I was crying, tears streaming silently down my face for a reason I couldn’t comprehend. 3 Mr. Evans took me back to what he called “Mr. Price’s home.” Standing at the entrance, I couldn’t bring myself to step inside. Everything was decorated in purple, a color I instinctively loathed. The walls were covered in photos of Mr. Price with a strange woman, their smiles sickeningly sweet. The air was thick with the scent of white florals, a fragrance that gave me an instant headache. Every detail of the house screamed that I didn’t belong. “…Is this really my home?” I whispered. “I don’t have a family. I don’t have a husband. Am I… am I this Mr. Price’s mistress?” I backed away, bumping into a solid chest. Mr. Price leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. “After the memory exchange, Evelyn thinks she’s the lady of the house. So I redecorated everything to her taste.” “Just bear with it for a little while. Once she’s stable, I’ll explain the truth to her.” Before I could even process his words, a force shoved me hard, sending me sprawling to the floor. “There you are, you little tramp! Seducing my husband in my own house!” The woman from the photos was on me, her slaps raining down on my face. I tried to scramble away, but she grabbed a fistful of my hair. “You shameless homewrecker! I’m going to ruin that pretty face of yours!” Mr. Price jumped between us. “Evelyn, Evelyn, it’s a misunderstanding!” “She’s a patient I met during my recovery,” he explained frantically. “She has nowhere to go, so I’m letting her stay here for a while.” “A patient? Looks more like a predator to me!” A stinging slap bypassed his defense and caught me square on the jaw. My left ear rang, and the world spun. Mr. Price scooped Evelyn into his arms and carried her inside. The heavens opened up, and rain began to pour. The villa door slammed shut. The iron gate to the garden was locked. I was trapped outside with nowhere to shelter, huddling miserably under the thin eaves of the roof. By the time the door opened again, I was soaked to the bone, my body burning with a fever hot enough to fry an egg. Mr. Price frowned deeply. “Annie, you’re not a child anymore. Why do you always resort to hurting yourself to manipulate me?” His voice sounded distant. I had to turn my good ear toward him to hear properly. When he saw my bruised face, he sighed. “Did Evelyn do that? Come inside. I’ll clean you up.” He led me to a small, cramped room. The dust was so thick it made me cough. “Shh,” he hissed, covering my mouth. “Evelyn just fell asleep.” Once I was quiet, he brought out antiseptic and cotton swabs, kneeling to gently tend to my wounds. I looked at his face, and inexplicably, the tears started again. A sharp pain lanced through my heart, for a reason I couldn’t name. Seeing his frown deepen, I reached out and pressed a finger to his lips. “…Mr. Price,” I began, my voice hoarse. “I feel like I’ve forgotten so much. It hurts to even try to remember.” “Did we meet at the hospital? During therapy? Did you feel sorry for me and hire me as your secretary after I was discharged?” “My last clear memory is from this morning. At the hospital. The… the abortion.” I wiped my tears away, my resolve hardening. “I must have been confused, getting involved with you and your wife. I see my mistake now. Thank you for your kindness, but I should leave.” He grabbed my arm, forcing me to sit back down. “It’s not what you think. This is all because of Evelyn’s… never mind. I’ll explain everything later.” He brought me a bowl of steaming porridge, carefully blowing on each spoonful before offering it to me. “Don’t worry about anything. Evelyn has a big heart. She’s already accepted you. She even made this porridge herself to help you warm up.” I hesitated, then took a mouthful. The next second, I was vomiting violently all over the floor. The porridge was full of crushed glass.

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Ten years. Ten years of living in a different city—a different world—from my husband, and we still couldn’t have the one thing we wanted most: a child. To finally make my husband’s long-held dream of being a father come true, I did the unthinkable. At the absolute peak of my career, I quit. I walked away from it all to come home, to him. But the moment I pushed open the door to our house, a seven-year-old boy, a miniature version of my husband, came laughing and barreling out into the hall. My heart stopped. I grabbed the arm of the cleaning lady who was passing by, my voice tight. “Excuse me, is this the Walker residence? Eric Walker’s house?” “It is,” she said, her eyes flicking to the gifts in my hands. “I hear his wife bought him the house. Everyone on the block knows it.” She smiled warmly. “Are you here for the party? They’re celebrating some good news.” 1. My eyes drifted past her to the backyard, where I saw a woman with a swollen, pregnant belly. The little boy who looked so much like Eric ran laughing toward her. In a flash, Eric’s face tightened with alarm and he lunged forward. Just as the boy was about to collide with the woman, Eric threw out his arms, catching his reckless son. “Leo, you’re about to be a big brother, and you’re still acting like this? What if you’d hurt your mom and the baby?” The boy made a face, grinning. “But I want a little sister.” Eric ruffled his son’s hair, the affection in his eyes so thick it practically spilled over. Eric’s parents hurried over, gently scolding the boy. “You can’t be so rough from now on, sweetie. You could have caused a terrible accident.” I stood frozen, watching this perfect picture of a happy family, and the cold truth finally dawned on me. They all knew. They all knew about this little family, and I was the only one left in the dark. But… every time I came home, he was always so passionate, as if we were newlyweds. He’d hold me until dawn, whispering how much he’d missed me. Because of that, even after eight years without a child, I never questioned us. I never once doubted his love. Before I boarded my flight, I’d texted him that I had a surprise. He’d replied, “Can’t wait.” That was only a few hours ago. How could everything have changed so completely? My gaze found Eric. His eyes scanned my face for a long moment before landing on the gift box still clutched in my hand. His voice was a raw, barely audible rasp. “What are you doing back?” He saw me staring at the pregnant woman beside him and quickly dropped the hand that had been resting on her waist. Suddenly, all the small, ignored details from our eight-year marriage exploded in my mind. The way he’d always cut our video calls short, blaming a bad connection. The gifts I’d sent home, always returned with the excuse that “the storage closets are full.” The way he’d shot down my idea to take a vacation last month, insisting that “work is just too crazy right now.” “A surprise,” I said, my lips pulling into a grim parody of a smile. My throat felt like sandpaper. “Weren’t you the one who said you couldn’t wait?” The woman took half a step forward, subtly positioning herself in front of him. “Excuse me, do we know each other?” I ignored her, my eyes glued to Eric’s face. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Eric snapped out of his trance, forcing a brittle smile. “This is Claire,” he said. “The mother of my children.” He then gestured toward me, and for a split second, he hesitated. I didn’t give him the chance to lie. I held out my hand. “I’m Mia. Eric’s wife.” Claire didn’t move. My hand hung there, stiff and awkward in the cold air between us. The color drained from Eric’s face. He tugged at Claire’s sleeve. “Mom, Dad, why don’t you take Leo inside?” Claire gave me a long, meaningful look as Eric’s parents quickly ushered the boy away, their coaxing voices fading into the house. Once they were gone, Eric’s entire demeanor shifted. His eyes reddened, and his face crumpled with a look of profound betrayal. “Why would you just show up like this? Are you checking up on me?” I held myself together, my voice miraculously steady. “I quit my job.” Eric’s head snapped up. “What?” I knew exactly what that “what” meant. My salary, earned from years of grinding away overseas, was more than enough to support his entire family in luxury. My quitting meant that lavish lifestyle was over. It meant the gravy train had come to a screeching halt. I had given up years of progress, my entire network, to come back and start from scratch. For years, he’d grown accustomed to a life of ease funded by my hard work. Now, facing a sudden fall from that paradise, he couldn’t handle it. “You always said I didn’t spend enough time with you,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “So I quit. I gave up everything over there because I thought we could finally start our life together, for real.” “I wanted to tell you the good news in person, so I came straight from the airport with your gifts.” It was as if he was only just now noticing the pile of shopping bags at my feet. I had rushed here, not even stopping for a sip of water, and my clothes were damp with sweat. He beckoned to a housekeeper I didn’t recognize, a flicker of guilt in his voice. “Could you help take these gifts inside? And show… show this lady to a guest room.” He turned back to me, avoiding my eyes. “I’m taking Claire for a check-up. Just tell the housekeeper what you want for dinner.” And with that, he guided Claire out the door, as if this whole catastrophic reveal had never happened. As if he owed me, his actual wife, no explanation at all. I watched them go, a lump forming in my throat. This was my house. He was my husband. Those were my in-laws. But here I was, being sent to a guest room. An intruder in my own home. I couldn’t help but wonder… if our baby had survived all those years ago, would our family have been this happy, this whole? 2. Getting married to Eric had been a dream. Everything was so easy, so perfect. From meeting his parents to the engagement party, they had always looked at me with such genuine approval, telling everyone how lucky their son was to have found such a hardworking, dedicated woman. I still remember my first time at their house. Eric’s father, after three glasses of whiskey, had clapped me on the shoulder and boomed, “Mia, you marrying our Eric means you’re our daughter now. We’ll treat you like our own.” Back then, Eric was always by my side, his eyes filled with a nervous energy as he’d try to block me from drinking too much, secretly squeezing my hand under the table and mouthing, “Take it easy.” He told me he loved quiet, peaceful places, so I took all my savings and bought this sprawling house, a place worth millions. Eric was ecstatic. He insisted on decorating it exactly how I liked. I didn’t really care about the details, so I let him have free rein. But he involved me in everything. He ran around tirelessly, picking out deep blue curtains because he knew it was my favorite color, insisting on a durable gray couch, and even choosing the wedding photo for the main wall—the one where he said I had the goofiest, most beautiful smile. “This is our home now,” he’d said, his fingers tracing the edge of the picture frame, his eyes shining. “Once you’re settled in your job overseas, I’ll come join you.” But when I finally secured a permanent contract with the company, he changed his tune. “My parents are getting older, Mia. If I leave, there’ll be no one to look after them,” he’d said over a crackling phone line. “Besides, I just got promoted to department head. It’s a terrible time to quit. Just wait a little longer. I’ll come over as soon as I finish this big project.” And I believed him. I used to think that distance was no match for love, that as long as our hearts were connected, we could overcome anything. I threw myself into my work, sending him the majority of my paycheck so he could buy supplements for his parents and nice clothes for himself. Every time he received the money, he’d laugh and say, “It’s more than enough,” but then a package would arrive at my apartment with cured sausages from our hometown. “Don’t you dare neglect yourself out there,” the note would read. Thinking back on it now, maybe he wasn’t the one who made them. Just like his “bad connection” during our video calls was probably just an excuse to hide the sound of a crying baby. And the gifts I sent, returned because the “storage closets are full,” weren’t full at all—he just didn’t want another woman’s belongings in his house. Even every rushed “I miss you” might not have been born from longing, but from a desperate need to cover something up. I stood in the living room of my own house, staring at the large family portrait hanging on the wall. Eric was leaning against Claire, and their son, Leo, sat between them. All three were smiling, their happiness a blinding glare. The frame holding the picture was the birthday gift I had sent him last year. He’d told me it was “too expensive, too precious to use.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to use it. He just didn’t want a gift from me hanging in their home. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Eric’s mother came down carrying a platter of fruit, her smile strained. “Mia, dear, have some fruit. It’s all your old favorites.” I didn’t move. I looked her straight in the eye. “Leo… is he Eric’s son?” I wasn’t blind. I knew the answer. But a weak, cowardly part of me still wanted to believe that all those beautiful memories weren’t just a carefully constructed lie, a performance put on by his entire family just for me. Her hand trembled, and a grape rolled off the plate, tumbling onto the floor. She scrambled to pick it up, her voice muffled. “The children… they’re both very well-behaved…” I closed my eyes. “He’s seven.” The pain was like a fist squeezing my heart. “That means he was born the year after I went abroad.” She froze, her head snapping up. The panic in her eyes was impossible to hide. “Mia, let me explain…” “Explain what?” I laughed, a tight, strangled sound. “Explain how your entire family lied to me for eight years while I worked myself to the bone, sending my money back like an idiot to support another woman’s husband and child? Or explain who he was thinking of every time I came home and he held me, telling me he loved me?” Eric’s father emerged from his study and pulled his wife behind him, his face stern. “Mia, it’s too late for all that now. Eric can’t live like this anymore. You two… you should just get a divorce.” “A divorce?” I repeated the word, a bitter taste in my mouth. I suddenly remembered my wedding day, eight years ago, when this same man had stood before me, smiling, and said, “You take good care of my boy.” How could a heart change so much in just eight years? “Claire was Eric’s high school sweetheart,” his father said with a sigh, his tone laced with a bizarre sort of sympathy. “After you went abroad, Eric was all alone, and he went through a lot. Claire was the one who was there for him. They… they couldn’t help it.” Couldn’t help it? And what about me? All my struggles abroad, all the sleepless nights, all the days and years I spent counting down until I could come home—what was all that for? I snatched a fruit knife from the table, not to hurt anyone, but just to have something solid to grip. The cold steel bit into my palm, but it did nothing to quell the fire raging inside me. Just then, the sound of a car engine cut through the silence from the garden. Eric and Claire were back. 3. They walked into the living room, and Claire’s face went white when she saw the knife in my hand. “Mia, what are you doing?” Eric immediately stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed. “Let’s just talk, okay? Don’t scare Claire.” “Scare her?” I looked at her swollen belly, and the whole scene felt like a twisted, surreal nightmare. “Don’t you think I’m the one who should be scared?” I turned my glare back to him. “Eric, tell me, in all these eight years, was there ever a single second you felt even a shred of guilt?” He bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry…” “And that’s it? ‘Sorry’ makes it all go away?” I slammed the knife down on the coffee table. The sharp clang echoed in the tense silence. “I quit my job, threw away my future, and came back to build a home with you, only to find out you’ve been playing house with someone else for eight years! What did you take me for, Eric?” Leo came running down the stairs, saw the knife, and burst into tears, throwing himself into Eric’s arms and crying for his mom. Eric hugged the boy, his back to me, his shoulders shaking as he gently patted his son’s back. Claire walked over and slid a document in front of me. “There’s a saying, Mia. The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel. This is a divorce agreement. Let’s just end this gracefully.” I didn’t even glance at the papers. My eyes were fixed on Eric’s back. He never turned around. So those nights that felt like a second honeymoon were just an act. That “can’t wait” text was probably meant for Claire, sent to me by mistake. I was a clown, performing in his twisted play for eight years, only realizing I’d been written out of the script when I finally pushed open the door myself. The gift box I’d been holding had fallen to the floor at some point. The necklace inside had spilled out, its diamonds catching the light with a cold, indifferent sparkle. I had gone to three different jewelers to find it, a piece that was supposed to bring good luck. I heard the sound of paper being ripped, followed by what sounded like a slap. Then came Eric’s broken, desperate cry. “Who said anything about a divorce? Since when do you get to make decisions in this house?!” He screamed my name, his voice thick with tears. I felt dazed, turning and walking toward the door, leaving the wreckage behind me. Some debts can’t be settled with a simple “I’m sorry.” And some homes, once shattered, can never be put back together. 4. I went to my mom’s house. I’d been away for so long that my rare visits home were mostly spent with Eric. My parents, always so understanding, would tell me, “You have so little time. Of course you should be with your husband.” Looking at the gray that now peppered their hair, I was struck by the sudden, painful realization that I had been a terrible daughter. I had poured all my money, my love, and my energy into Eric and my career, rarely sparing a thought for them. I tried to pull myself together, to act like nothing was wrong. But my mom saw through it instantly. “Did you and Eric have a fight? You haven’t been home in so long, honey. Why would you argue now?” she murmured, her brow furrowed with worry. “Men have their pride. Don’t be too hard on him. It hasn’t been easy for him either, waiting all these years.” My dad came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Alright, let her be. The girl just got home. Let’s have a nice meal, get some rest. Whatever it is, it can wait.” He looked at me, his eyes soft. “She’s tired and hungry. Don’t pester her.” Their gentle words were the final straw. The dam inside me broke. As I served myself rice, tears began to fall, one after another, splashing onto the table. Dinner was silent after that. Neither of them asked another question. They just kept quietly placing more food on my plate. That night, lying in my old bed, I could hear them talking through the thin walls of the old house. “Go buy her favorite snacks tomorrow,” my dad said. “Good food and a full stomach can solve half of life’s problems.” “I’ll talk to Eric,” my mom replied. “Married couples fight. It’s never as serious as it seems. They’ll make up.” I curled up under the covers, a fresh wave of tears soaking my pillow. If Eric had just told me he didn’t love me anymore, I would have let go. I wasn’t the type to cling. But he hadn’t. He and his entire family had conspired to build a separate life in the house I paid for, right under my nose. I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me until the early hours of the morning. I was jolted awake by the sound of cheerful laughter from the living room. It sounded like… Eric. Dazed, I scrambled out of bed and threw open my door. And there he was. Eric, sitting on my parents’ couch with Claire and their son. How dare he? How dare he bring his mistress and his illegitimate child into my parents’ home? My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe. Before I could say a word, Eric spoke, his voice breezy and casual. “You’re awake! We were just saying, with Claire due any day now, maybe we should work on giving you two a playmate. It would be nice for them to be in-laws, right? We all know each other so well.” He even had the audacity to wink at me. My mouth opened, but no words came out. What could I say? Could I call him a liar in front of my parents? Tell them that Leo wasn’t just Claire’s son, but my husband’s too? Tell them that my perfect husband had cheated on me the year after we were married? How could I possibly… I had to admit, Eric knew me perfectly. He had me completely trapped. I looked around the room. Everyone was smiling, laughing, a perfect portrait of familial bliss. Everyone except me. I was an outsider, separated from their happiness by an invisible wall. Claire smiled sweetly at my parents. “Mia has always been so busy with her career, flying everywhere. I already told Eric, when Mia has her own baby, I’ll be there to help take care of everything. You two won’t have to worry about a thing.” She looked at me, her eyes glinting with a hidden, mocking light, and I suddenly felt exhausted. If the rest of my life was going to be this charade, then I wanted out. Now. I took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t think we’ll be in-laws, seeing as the two children are—” Before I could finish, Eric shot up from the couch and grabbed my arm. “Mia, didn’t you say you were taking Claire to her appointment? We’re going to be late. Mom, Dad, we’ll be back soon. You guys chat.”

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The Instagram post hit my feed with the quiet violence of a car crash. A picture, and a caption. Best boss ever! Thanks for the amazing birthday surprise, E! #workperks #bestbossever The author was Maya, my husband’s assistant. The photo was of her and Ethan, my husband, beaming at a small, candlelit table. Today was Maya’s birthday. It was also mine. I had asked Ethan, begged him, to clear his schedule. Just for one night. To celebrate with me. He told me he was busy. Swamped. I stared at the post, timestamped 1 minute ago, and dialed his number. “Where are you?” The acid was already in my voice. “Are you still mad?” Ethan’s voice was slick with that practiced, patient tone he used when he thought I was being hysterical. “Sloane, it’s just a birthday. You know how crazy things are with the company. I’m in Boston, closing the Sterling deal. I can’t get away.” “Right. You do that,” I said. I hung up, my thumb immediately zooming in on the photo. I knew that place. The grain of the wood table, the specific pewter candle holders. And I knew I had to go there. I wanted to see the look on Ethan Cole’s face when his carefully constructed worlds collided. 1 There’s a discreet door in a West Village mews, unmarked and unassuming. Behind it lies The Reserve, a tiny, private dining room run by a chef named Arthur. It’s not a restaurant; it’s a sanctuary. Our sanctuary. When we were happy, Ethan and I would come here to celebrate. When life felt overwhelming, we’d come here to hide. Arthur’s cooking was more than just food; it was a way of drawing a line between us and the world. This place was our Eden. I never brought friends here. Ethan never brought clients. It was our one, unspoken rule. Tonight, he hadn’t just broken the rule. He’d shattered it. Maya’s Instagram post was a digital postcard from our sacred ground. She was sitting in my chair. I drove downtown, the city lights blurring into streaks of angry color. I saw his Mercedes S-Class parked just outside the alley. So this is Boston, I thought. I sat in my car for a long time, the engine humming quietly. A sharp, cold thing twisted in my gut—part pain, part fury. It was clear now. As the Cole family’s star had risen over the past few years, fueled by my family’s money and connections, Ethan had started to see me less as a partner and more as a stepping stone he’d already used. Fine. Let’s see how he likes the woman he built his empire on when she decides to burn it down. I got out of the car and walked into the alley. “Oh, this is delicious. And this one, too,” Maya’s voice chirped. I paused in the doorway, unseen. She was pointing at dishes scattered across the table. Then, she gestured dismissively at Arthur, who stood by the wall, his arms crossed. “Hey, Arthur? Can you make another round of everything for me to go?” I saw the flicker of annoyance in Arthur’s eyes. Even I, who had known him for years, always addressed him with respect. I would never dream of ordering him around. To Arthur, cooking was an art form, dictated by mood and inspiration. He never made the same dish twice, not exactly. It was his creative process. Arthur looked at Ethan, his face a polite mask. He was holding his tongue for Ethan’s sake. “Maya likes it. Just do it,” Ethan said, his tone flat. “Do what, exactly?” I asked, stepping into the room. Ethan’s head snapped up. The color drained from his face. “Sloane.” “Mrs. Cole,” Maya said, scrambling to her feet. “I was just hoping Arthur could pack some dishes for my mom to try.” I let my eyes drift over her, cold and slow. “And who the hell is your mother that she deserves to taste Arthur’s food?” The air went still. Maya’s face flushed a blotchy red. She shot a desperate, pleading look at Ethan, begging him to intervene. Even Ethan seemed stunned by my tone. He hesitated, then looked at Maya. “Why don’t you wait outside.” Maya nodded, grabbing her purse. “Of course, Mrs. Cole. I’ll… I’ll see you at the office.” I didn’t even look at her. As she scurried out, Arthur met my gaze. “I was just perfecting a new recipe for your birthday dessert. Let me go prepare it.” “I’ll eat in your office, Arthur,” I said quietly. He nodded, understanding. As he left, he pulled the heavy wooden door closed behind him, leaving us in silence. Ethan finally spoke. “Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” I sat down in the chair opposite him, the one Maya had just vacated. “Harsh?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You lie about a business trip to celebrate your assistant’s birthday, and you want to talk about what’s harsh? Or do you think harsh is me merely insulting the little tramp you brought into our place?” I leaned forward. “You want to see harsh, Ethan?” “Don’t,” he said, his voice dropping. “It’s not what you think. There’s nothing going on between us.” He launched into a well-rehearsed speech. “Maya… she grew up without a father. Single mother. She has this deep-seated need for male approval, a sort of… absence of a father figure.” He was actually trying to sell me this. “She told me I remind her of the father she never had. That she’s never had anyone make a big deal about her birthday. As her boss, I thought it was a harmless gesture of support. A mentorship thing.” My voice was ice. “So, when you two are fucking, does she call you ‘Daddy’?” “Sloane! That’s a disgusting thing to say.” “You do disgusting things and expect me to use pretty words?” I took a breath, forcing the tremor out of my voice. “Forget it. We’re past words. If this is the kind of thrill you’re looking for, let’s just get a divorce.” The word ‘divorce’ hit him like a physical blow. The anger flared in his eyes. “For God’s sake, I had a meal with an employee! You don’t have to go nuclear.” “It’s my birthday, too, Ethan. You made a choice.” He deflated, his shoulders slumping. He was switching tactics. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” “Fire her.” “What? No. Maya is a dedicated, hardworking employee. You’re the one who’s always telling me to give young talent a chance. I can’t fire her over one dinner. That’s not fair.” “I will handle her performance review personally,” I said. He shook his head, pleading now. “I promise, there will be no more contact outside of work. Strictly professional.” “‘Maya’?” I scoffed. “You two are on a first-name basis now? Does she call you Ethan? Or just E, like in her post?” I stood up, looking down at him. “Tomorrow. Nine a.m. The courthouse.” I knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just about a dinner. When he chose to be here with her, on this day of all days, he had made his decision. He chose her over me. And now, he was defending her. A marriage can’t survive that. “I’m just trying to cultivate a promising employee,” he insisted, standing to block my path. “I’ll transfer her to a subsidiary. But I can’t fire her. If I do, what will people say? It will just confirm that there was something inappropriate going on. Think of the optics.” He reached for my hand. “You’re overthinking this. I swear. I just… I felt sorry for her. We don’t have kids yet. I guess my paternal instincts are kicking in.” He tried a weak, pathetic smile. “Maybe… maybe we could go home and make a baby tonight?” “I’m not in the mood.” “What do you want from me, Sloane? You’re really going to end our marriage over one dinner? Is that all the trust you have in me?” “Trust?” My voice was dangerously low. “Do you know what this place is? No one has ever set foot in here but us. This was our world. Our escape hatch. A place where nothing and no one could touch us. And you brought her here. You didn’t just cross a line, Ethan. You desecrated something.” “I’m sorry,” he whispered, finally sounding genuine. “I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t be angry. Arthur is making your dessert. Let’s just… go try it. I promise. I will never bring anyone here again. I swear it.” Arthur’s saffron pear tart was, as always, exquisite. But it couldn’t soothe the rage burning in my chest. I felt like a predator whose territory had been invaded, restless and violent. I sent Ethan away; the sight of him made me sick. Arthur sat with me, and we shared a glass of whiskey in silence. “If you’ll forgive me for overstepping,” Arthur said finally, his voice gentle. “The rumors about your family’s company… they’re getting louder. You should be careful right now. If Bishop Industries is really in trouble, you’ll need the Coles to help pull you through.” I took a long swallow of whiskey. “Arthur, why do you think he feels brave enough to do this now?” Arthur didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. We both knew. The whispers on the street were that the Bishop empire was crumbling. Ethan was showing his teeth. “If those rumors were confirmed tomorrow,” I said, looking into my glass, “he wouldn’t have apologized tonight. And I wouldn’t be the one asking for a divorce.” Arthur just refilled my glass. He knew I was right. “The world’s gone rotten,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for your family dragging the Coles out of the gutter, they’d be nothing.” I managed a thin smile. “The family I pulled up, I can just as easily push back down.” He gave me a sad look, the kind you give someone clinging to a fantasy. The entire world was waiting for the Bishops to fall. I didn’t bother explaining. A decision was solidifying in my mind, cold and hard. Let Ethan be the catalyst. Let the world watch and see if the House of Bishop truly falls. … When I got home, Ethan was waiting. He was wearing a pair of silk pajama pants I’d bought him years ago. He’d always refused to wear them, claiming they were undignified for a man. Tonight, he wore them like an offering. I felt nothing. In the first year or two of our marriage, he was endlessly inventive in his efforts to please me. Back then, his family was desperate, and they needed the backing of my father’s corporation. But in the last two years, as the Cole name clawed its way out of the mud and began to climb, he’d stopped trying. He was always too busy, too tired. I had thrown myself at him, only to be met with a cold, passive body. I had started to hate myself for it. It’s easy to forgive yourself, but so much harder to forgive someone else. The resentment had been building for years. Tonight was just the final crack in the dam. I walked right past him. I went upstairs to the master bedroom and locked the door. Lying in bed, I realized with a jolt that we’d been sleeping in separate rooms for nearly two years. The memory of the last time we’d been intimate was a hazy, six-month-old ghost. It used to be his door that was locked. Tonight, it was mine. In the morning, he’d made breakfast. Another first. He sat at the table, waiting for me, a hopeful look on his face. I ate two bites of toast in silence and left for work. Around noon, his mother called. It had been too long, she chirped, and we absolutely had to come for dinner tonight. My parents would be there, too. An invitation I couldn’t refuse. I knew Ethan had arranged it, a pathetic attempt to use our families as a bandage. But this was more than a cut. The rot went down to the bone. The dinner with Maya was just the spark. The kindling had been drying for years. Still, I’d been awake all night. Was one dinner, however symbolic, really grounds for divorce? It felt… impulsive. I decided to wait. To watch. That evening, at the dinner table, Ethan slid a binder across the table to my father. “Dad, this is the proposal for the Southport project.” My father put on his glasses and began to read. “Impressive,” he murmured after a few minutes. “Very ambitious. If you follow this plan, the profit margins could be enormous. I’ll take this home, give it a closer look.” Ethan smiled, a picture of filial devotion. “More than a look, I hope. We can’t get this project off the ground without Bishop’s full support.” And there it was. My family still had value. There was one last thing he could squeeze from us. That’s why he couldn’t let me go. Not yet. I said nothing for the rest of the meal, playing the part of the dutiful wife. The dinner was loud, the atmosphere warm. Only Ethan and I knew we were strangers sitting side by side. I had a little too much wine. He drove us home. “That proposal,” he began, his eyes on the road. “Maya wrote it. Your father himself said it was brilliant. She’s a real talent, Sloane. A genuine asset. That’s all my dinner with her was about. Securing that talent for the company. There was nothing else to it.” “I thought tonight was about us,” I said, my voice flat. “About fixing things. But it was about saving your assistant, wasn’t it?” “You’re twisting things! I’m trying to keep a valuable employee from getting poached by our competitors. She may be fresh out of college, but every firm in the city is trying to get her. You have to offer special treatment for talent like that.” “And if she told you the only way she’d stay is if I gave you to her, would you expect me to do that, too?” “You’re being irrational,” he snapped, his face hardening. “If I fire her, we can’t use her proposal. I don’t know how I’d explain that to your father. So you can be the one to tell him.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. So that was his move. Talent? What a joke. A new crop of brilliant graduates floods the market every year. This city isn’t short on talent. It’s short on opportunity. If Ethan wanted to play games, it was time I reminded him just who he was playing with. It was time to see how much power I still held in the face of the mighty Cole family he thought he’d built. The next morning, I went to the office. If he wouldn’t fire Maya, I would. At 9:30 a.m., I was sipping tea in my office, enjoying the panoramic view of the river, when my door was thrown open. Ethan stormed in and slammed a termination contract on my desk. “What the hell is this, Sloane? I told you, she’s a talent! I already showed her proposal to your father. Why would you fire her?” “Ethan, do you really think I’m that stupid?” I pushed a different document across the desk toward him. “You showed my father that proposal, but you never mentioned Maya’s name, did you? You let him think it was yours. And let me tell you something. Because you are the Bishop family’s son-in-law, my father would have praised that proposal if it were written in crayon. You actually thought it was good?” He picked up the document. It was the Southport proposal, the one he’d given my father. It was covered in red ink. “The red lines are for revision,” I said calmly. “The parts circled in red are, to put it bluntly, complete bullshit. They run contrary to the entire strategic goal of the Southport development. You were proud to show that to my father? Every proposal you’ve ever shown him has come back to you revised, hasn’t it? That was me, Ethan. I was the one fixing your work. My father gave this to me to fix for you, too. So maybe Maya’s a talent, maybe not. But your competence as CEO? That’s definitely up for debate.” He stood his ground. “Even if it’s not perfect, her ideas are innovative! The company needs that fresh perspective. Sloane, I want you to hire her back. And don’t forget, you may be a Bishop, but this is the Cole Corporation. I am the CEO. You are the Vice-Chair. You do not have the authority to fire my personal assistant.” “And what if I don’t hire her back?” I asked, my voice soft, my eyes locked on his. The new money and influence had clearly gone to his head. He was testing the limits. I waited to see if he would say the word again. Divorce. He didn’t. He just turned and stormed out. Just as I thought. My family still had use. He wasn’t ready to give that up. But he wasn’t going to let me win, either. Instead, he escalated. He found a way to hurt me that was more deliberate, more cruel, than anything before. Another Instagram post from Maya appeared. It’s official! A real vote of confidence from the boss. #fulltime #careergoals The picture was of her newly signed, official employment contract. The location tag was unmistakable. The Reserve. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had taken her back there. To our place. This time, I didn’t call him. You only make that mistake once. The first time, I had a sliver of hope. Now, there was none. I didn’t have to call. My phone rang. It was Arthur. “Sloane,” he said, his voice heavy. “I wasn’t going to call. But I have to tell you. I’m leaving.” “Leaving? Arthur, what do you mean?” “I’m tired, kid. I want to see the world. Someone else will be taking over The Reserve.” “Arthur, I understand,” I said, my voice tight. “What they did to you… I’ll make it right.” “It’s not what you think,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. “I’m just tired. Don’t let this affect your relationship with Mr. Cole.” After we hung up, I drove straight to The Reserve. I found Maya there alone. She jumped up when I walked in. “Mrs. Cole! Mr. Cole said my proposal was excellent. He insisted on making me a permanent employee. It wasn’t my idea, I swear. There’s nothing going on between us.” Her posture was submissive, but her eyes held a glint of victory. I ignored her. “Where is he?” “Arthur was… unhappy. He said he wouldn’t cook for me and left. Mr. Cole said he would cook for me himself. I tried to stop him.” Ethan, cooking for her. The pretense was well and truly over. Just as I was about to go to the kitchen, I heard the sound of leather shoes on the hardwood floor approaching from behind. “Mrs. Cole, I’m sorry! I know I was wrong! Please don’t hit me!” Maya suddenly cried out. She snatched a wine bottle from the table and smashed it against her own forehead. Blood trickled down her temple. She’s committed, I’ll give her that. “Sloane, that’s enough!” Ethan yelled, emerging from the kitchen holding a plate. He saw the blood and his face contorted with rage. “Apologize to Maya. Right now.” “‘Maya’,” I repeated softly. He knew how I hated it. He was doing it on purpose. Did he really think I was that easy to break? I walked over, picked the unbroken part of the wine bottle off the floor. CRACK. I brought it down hard on her other temple. “Now you can scream.” “Sloane, have you lost your mind? You’ve gone too far!” Ethan shouted, rushing to Maya’s side. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cole, I’m so sorry,” Maya whimpered, leaning into Ethan and playing the part of the terrified victim. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ethan cooed, helping her up. “I’m taking you to the hospital. And trust me,” he said, glaring at me, “this is not over.” I sat alone in the desecrated sanctuary and dialed my father’s private number. “Dad,” I said, my voice shaking with contained fury. “I’m a little choked up.” My father said nothing, he just listened. “For the past two years, as the Cole business has grown, my marriage has withered. A few days ago, on my birthday, he spent the evening celebrating with a female subordinate who shares my birthday. I made a scene. Today, he cooked for her in my place. I think the Coles’ wings have gotten a little too strong.” “What do you want me to do?” My father’s voice was calm, steady, and lethal. A real smile touched my lips for the first time in days. “Break their wings. Let them fall.” It wasn’t long after I hung up with my father that Ethan called. He told me to meet him at the courthouse. Half an hour later, we stood on the steps. He’d changed into a sharp Italian suit. I hated him, but I had to admit he looked impeccable. Polished. Powerful. Maya was there beside him, a crisp white bandage on her head. Her eyes, however, were full of undisguised triumph. In the battle for Ethan’s affection, she believed she had won. But a man like Ethan is never truly driven by affection. He looked down at me, his expression one of magnanimous condescension. “Sloane, you don’t seem to grasp the situation. The Bishop family is finished. I’m going to give you one last chance. Kneel down, right here, and apologize to Maya. Do that, and I’ll reconsider this divorce.”

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My sister died, and then she moved in. Not into her old room, but into my body. At first, my parents didn’t believe me. Then, they got used to the switch. And then, they found a hypnotist to erase me. 1 I destroyed the living room. Anything I could lift, I threw. Anything I could break, I shattered. The floor glittered with a thousand pieces of my soul, each one a silent scream. Mom covered her mouth, tears tracking through her makeup. Dad’s face was a mask of fury, but he didn’t stop me. “Why?” I screamed at them, my voice raw. “It’s my body! Why do I have to give it up for her?” Dad pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, a gesture of someone who has finally made a terrible decision. “We saw a therapist, Chloe. This… arrangement. It isn’t working. Neither of you can live a full life this way. We have to choose.” He tried to soften his voice, but it was rough with false pity. “This is tearing us apart. You’re our daughter, too. We wouldn’t do this if there were any other way. You have to understand.” I snatched a water glass from the end table and hurled it at his feet. It exploded, and he flinched back. He opened his mouth to yell, then shut it, remembering he needed something from me. “I understand you,” I spat, the words tasting like poison. “But who understands me? You’re in pain? You have no other choice? So I’m the one who has to die? This was always my body. If anyone should disappear, it should be her. It should be Stella.” Rage and despair were a storm inside me. Just days ago, they had been my parents, the people who loved me. Now they were my executioners. My words made Mom sob harder. But Dad’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t be so dramatic. Stella will live on through you, using your body. And it doesn’t matter if you agree. The decision has been made.” He had no more patience for this. He took Mom’s arm and pulled her out of the house, leaving me in the wreckage. After another fit of destruction, I collapsed onto the floor, a single question echoing in the ruins of my mind. Why me? 2 I had a sister, Stella, three years older than me. I was six when she died. Mom and Dad came home late that night, their faces hollowed out by grief. Mom saw me, crumpled to the floor, and pulled me into a suffocating hug. “Stella’s gone, sweetie,” she choked out. “Chloe, you don’t have a sister anymore.” I didn’t understand, but her grief was contagious, and I started to cry, too. Through my tears, I pointed to a pile of dolls in the corner. “But she’s right there.” At first, they didn’t believe me. They scolded me for making things up, for being cruel. But then I started repeating conversations they’d had in private, whispered behind their bedroom door. They accused me of eavesdropping, but over time, they realized I couldn’t have heard. They finally accepted the truth. I wasn’t lying. Stella was always there, a shimmering outline only I could see. She slept in her old room, walked to school with me, and told me everything our parents said. She knew she was dead. But when I told other people, they looked at me like I was broken. “The Millers?” I heard a neighbor whisper once. “Such a shame. One daughter dead, the other one crazy.” Friends at school called me a liar, an attention-seeker. They’d play with me on the playground, then I’d hear them laughing about me behind the slide. Stella would fly at them in a rage, but she was only a ghost. The most she could do was make them sneeze. Eventually, I stopped talking about her to anyone but my parents. At home, life went on, a strange new normal. They got used to me speaking for her, a living telephone to the dead. They couldn’t see her, but they would buy two of everything—one for me, one for the ghost of their other daughter. No distance, not even death, could stop them from loving her. I was their bridge, the translator for their grief. Then, on my sixteenth birthday, she vanished. I couldn’t see her anymore. At the same time, I lost two days. One moment it was Tuesday, the next it was Thursday. Mom and Dad explained it to me later. Stella had woken up. Inside me. The two days I couldn’t remember were the days she had been living in my body. After that, it became a regular thing. I’d go to sleep and wake up days later, with no memory of what had happened. We shared a life, documented in a spiral-bound notebook, leaving notes for each other about where we’d been and who we’d seen. We lived like that for three years. I never imagined that in just three years, my parents would decide she was worth more than me. 3 Maybe it was the pure force of my resentment, but I could feel Stella deep inside me, sleeping soundly. It was a relief, but then I remembered my parents’ words, and the air I’d just inhaled caught in my throat. After yesterday’s explosion, my mind was unnervingly clear. I’m not explosive by nature; that’s Stella’s territory. The rage was an aberration, born of pure terror. I showered and dressed, knowing what I would see when I went downstairs. The disappointment. I steeled myself and opened my bedroom door. And there it was. In the instant they saw it was me, Chloe, the hope in their eyes died and was replaced by a flat, weary resignation. To be rejected by your own parents is a unique kind of pain, a blade that twists in your very core. The wreckage from yesterday was gone. The house was clean, broken things replaced with new, unfamiliar ones. I walked downstairs, trying to look calm. Dad snorted and turned away, staring pointedly out the window. Mom opened her mouth to speak, then just sighed. My nose stung. And beneath the smell of my own silent grief, another scent filled the air. Flowers. There was a vase of lilies on the dining table. Another on the coffee table. More in the bathroom, and even a small bouquet on the kitchen counter. Lilies everywhere. Stella’s favorite. It was a passive-aggressive welcome mat for a ghost, and a clear message for me: You are not the one we want. I could almost hear the sound of their love for me cracking, the sound of my own heart breaking right alongside it. The cloying, funereal scent and the suffocating silence were too much. I grabbed my bag and ran. It wasn’t until I was outside the neighborhood gates that I realized my face was wet with tears. I got on the bus for school automatically, my body moving while my mind was stuck. Sobs shook my shoulders as I watched the scenery blur past the window, a perfect metaphor for the last three years of my life. When I walked into my art history lecture, my classmates stared. “Chloe? What are you doing here? We heard you transferred.” In that moment, a fire I didn’t know I had burned away the last traces of love I felt for my sister. 4 My academic advisor said it was too late. My major, a specialized fine arts program, was impossible to transfer back into once you’d left. I walked to the Business School in a daze. I sat in a cavernous lecture hall, listening to jargon about market caps and shareholder equity that sounded like a foreign language. The room buzzed with the chatter of strangers. I felt like I was on another planet. I endured the class and then, with the sun still high in the sky and no desire to go home, I just walked. I wandered the campus aimlessly, my thoughts a tangled mess. But one thing was clear: Stella had been planning this. That’s why her journal entries had become so sparse. She didn’t want me to know what she was doing. My legs ached. I sank onto a bench, exhausted, with no idea what to do next. On one side was a major I knew nothing about. On the other, a family who wanted to steal my life. I leaned back, letting the sky fill my vision. And then I saw it. Three words carved above a stone archway: University Library. By the time I left, my arms loaded with books, the sun had set. When I got home, Mom was setting the table. She saw the stack of business textbooks and her expression flickered with guilt. She knew. Of course she knew. It was probably her and Dad’s idea. Dinner was silent and heavy. I picked at my food, only taking a few bites of the roasted fish, one of my favorite dishes. Mom forced a laugh, trying to break the tension. “Look at that, honey. Chloe’s just like us, loves fish. Stella never would touch anything from the water.” Her words made it worse. The silence that followed was even more profound. Dad put down his wine glass. “I hear you got some business books. So you know Stella switched your major. Just listen to me, Chloe. Stella’s brilliant. She has the mind for this, for helping me at the company. You, even if you started now, you’d be in over your head. You wouldn’t be any help. You understand what I’m saying.” I nodded, pushing a few grains of rice around my plate. Seeing my compliance, they brightened. “So you’ve come around?” Dad said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Good. I’ll call the hypnotist in a few days. Finally, you can have a normal life.” I looked up, my eyes meeting his directly. “Will I be normal, Dad? Or will Stella?” He frowned for a second, then his smile returned, slick and practiced. “She’s your sister. You share a body. Her being normal is you being normal.” I nodded again. Then, as they beamed at me, I spoke each word with cold, clear precision. “I would burn this body to the ground before I let her have it.” The sound of his wine glass shattering against the wall echoed my father’s rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me, sputtering, too furious to form words. Mom rushed to his side, stroking his arm and glaring at me. I couldn’t stay here. Living with two people who were actively plotting my demise would drive me insane. I packed a small bag and moved into the dorms that night. 5 Campus life became my sanctuary. I spent my days in lectures and my nights devouring knowledge in the library. Dad always thought Stella was the genius, but he never noticed my gift: a nearly photographic memory. If I wanted to learn something, I only needed to see it once or twice before it was permanently etched in my mind. Mom called repeatedly. At first, she pleaded. Then, she accused me of being ungrateful. I didn’t understand. All I wanted was to live. We were both their daughters, but because Stella had died once, their guilt demanded a sacrifice. My sacrifice. When pleading failed, they sent in someone I couldn’t refuse. Leo. My childhood friend. The boy I’d had a hopeless crush on for years. “Chloe, please,” he said, his voice strained. “Just give her back to me.” A chill shot up from the soles of my feet. My own voice was a trembling whisper. “What do you mean… your Stella?” He didn’t seem to notice my shock. “I’ve known for a while, Chloe. About you and her. And I knew you wouldn’t agree to this. That’s why I’m begging you. I can’t lose her again. You’ve had all these years to live, but Stella… she died so young. She’s only had three years in your body, and who knows when she might disappear again. The thought of it… I can’t breathe, Chloe. So please, just agree. Your body, her soul… you’ll be one. Why are you being so selfish?” I was too stunned to speak, the world tilting on its axis. He pressed on. “We grew up together, Chloe. I’ve never asked you for anything. I’m asking now. Do you need me to kneel?” And then he did. He dropped to one knee on the damp grass. My hand trembled as I reached for him, but he grabbed it, his grip surprisingly strong. His eyes were bloodshot. “Chloe, just say yes.” His ferocity scared me. I tried to pull away, but he held fast. Panic clawed at my throat, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “You’re trying to kill me, too! All of you! Well, you won’t. I won’t die. Stella’s the one who should be dead!” I regretted it instantly. The words were a stupid, brave mistake. Leo’s handsome face twisted into something ugly. He stared at me with pure venom. “Then you leave me no choice. I will not lose her.” The last thing I felt was his hand, hot and heavy, clamping over my mouth. We were in a secluded corner of campus. No one could hear my muffled screams. No one saw as my world faded to black. 6 Leo looked down at the unconscious girl in his arms, a flicker of remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’ll spend the next life making it up to you.” He carried her out of the school gates and into a waiting car. The room was dim, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood. The gentle hiss of a white noise machine seemed to smooth the deep furrow in the sleeping girl’s brow. Mr. and Mrs. Miller sat nearby, their anxiety a palpable force in the room. They didn’t dare make a sound. Leo stood frozen, his eyes glued to the figure on the recliner. Time crawled by. The hypnotist’s voice was a soft, continuous murmur. Outside, it began to rain. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and in the following clap of thunder, the girl’s eyes slowly opened. She sat up, her gaze clouded with confusion. The three of them surrounded her. Their hands were trembling, betraying a mix of hope and terror. They were afraid of being disappointed, terrified that the person they wanted was not the one who had woken up. The girl on the recliner looked at their tense faces, and the fog in her eyes cleared. A bright, infectious laugh filled the room, a sound like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Dad? Mom? Why so serious? What day is it? And where are we? Leo, you look terrible.” The words were a release. The three of them sagged with relief, a collective, shuddering exhale. Mrs. Miller burst into tears. “Oh, thank God. Stella, you’re back. Don’t you ever leave me again.” Leo’s face was a study in adoration. But Stella looked confused. “Mom, what are you talking about? Was I asleep for a long time? When… when was the last time I was awake? I can’t remember.” As she tried to think, a sharp pain shot through her head, and she cried out, clutching her temples. The sound made her mother jump back. Leo rushed forward, pulling Stella into his arms. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t try to remember. It’s okay.” Mr. Miller looked at the hypnotist, who offered a placating explanation. “We have effectively erased a personality. Given the long-term alternation, her own psyche was already unstable. This process can cause some memory fragmentation. It may come back over time, or it may not.” That was good enough for Mr. Miller. He could live with gaps in her memory. Stella was brilliant. She learned everything so quickly. He could reteach her whatever was lost. She was his daughter, after all. She would not disappoint him.

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I was Cole Anderson, heir to a New York real estate empire. Then, in the time it took for a champagne toast, I was nobody. It happened at my own engagement party. My fiancée, Ava Sterling, stood before our world and announced that the Anderson Group—my family’s legacy, my life’s work—would be gifted, in its entirety, to a man named Leo. “The Anderson Group,” I said, my voice dangerously low amidst the stunned silence, “is not yours to give.” Ava just smiled, a cool, placid expression she had perfected. From her clutch, she produced a single, yellowed sheet of paper. An IOU. “Twenty years ago, my grandmother saved your family from a fire that would have wiped you all out,” she said, her voice carrying across the ballroom. “Your father signed this in gratitude. It’s a life debt. He promised to honor any request, no questions asked. This is my request.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “As for us, nothing changes. I’ll still marry you, of course.” I knew the part she didn’t say aloud. If I wanted to be her husband, the price was my entire world, handed over to this stranger, Leo, as some sort of consolation prize. As a final flourish, Ava tossed a single quarter onto the table in front of me. Her idea of a dowry. “We grew up together, Cole. You know how I feel about you,” she said, her voice softening into a practiced caress. “A wedding is just a formality for everyone else. We can keep it simple.” She didn’t wait for my answer. She didn’t have to. Ava was certain that to become a part of the Sterling dynasty, I would swallow any price, any humiliation. And in a way, she was right. I did become a Sterling son-in-law. What she didn’t know was that she wasn’t the only Sterling daughter I could marry. 1 At the party, the press descended like vultures, shoving microphones in our faces, desperate for the bloody details. I put a hand on my father’s arm, stopping the furious words I knew were about to erupt, and managed a tight, respectable smile for the cameras. The moment we were home, the façade shattered. My mother wrapped her arms around me, her body trembling. “Forget us, Cole. That company… all the blood and sweat you poured into it. How could she? How dare she just give it away?” My mother’s voice was choked with tears. “We agreed to this arrangement because we trusted her grandmother. We thought she was a woman of honor, of integrity.” She pulled back, her eyes flashing with a pain that mirrored my own. “We never imagined her granddaughter would be a viper.” My father said nothing. He just stood by the window, his back to us, his fists clenching and unclenching. He looked smaller, older, as if twenty years had been piled onto his shoulders in a single evening. New York and Los Angeles might as well be different countries, but the distance had never mattered to our families. We were bicoastal, a unit. Our lives were a constant migration—winters building forts in the snow at their Aspen estate, summers chasing fireflies at our place in the Hamptons. We were debate partners in high school, and we launched our first startup from a dorm room at Stanford. The business world saw us as a package deal. The Anderson-Sterling merger wasn’t just a marriage; it was the dawn of a commercial dynasty that would dominate both coasts. Until tonight. When Ava, with a casual wave of her hand, signed it all away to a man I’d never even seen before. The rumors spread through the city like a contagion. “Cole Anderson? He always cared more about the money than the girl. Probably pushed her too far with the prenup.” “I heard he’s a total player. A friend of a friend saw multiple women leaving his penthouse in one night.” “Ugh, a gold-digging philanderer. If I were her, I wouldn’t even let him in the door.” Just last week, after a minor surgery, my father had been holding court in our living room, the entire house overflowing with flowers and well-wishers. You couldn’t take a step without bumping into a friend or a business partner. Now, days passed in suffocating silence. Not a single visitor. Not one call. Even my closest friends, the guys I’d grown up with, had quietly ghosted me. My fingers were still trembling when I pushed open the door to Ava’s office. The scene inside froze me in place. Leo was sprawled on the guest sofa, his eyes glued to the large projection screen on the wall. And Ava… Ava was sitting beside him, delicately lifting a single potato chip to his lips. The irony was a physical blow. Her voice echoed in my memory, from a time I’d tried to surprise her with lunch. “The office is for work, Cole. Let’s not bring our personal lives in here.” Eventually, she’d made an exception, allowing me snacks during late-night work sessions. I was so naive, I actually thought it was a privilege, a special rule bent just for me. When she saw me, Ava stood up, her movements fluid and unbothered. She even opened her arms, expecting an embrace. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she murmured, her voice laced with that familiar, patronizing warmth. “Leo is like a little brother to me.” She let her arms drop. “In my heart, you’ll always be the only one.” She continued, as if discussing the weather, “You’re an only child, Cole. So what if Leo plays with your family’s assets for a while? Once we’re married, the Sterling Corporation will be more than enough to keep you busy.” All those dreams I’d shared with her, the business plans we’d mapped out on napkins at 2 a.m., they all curdled into a bitter joke. I opened my mouth, but what was there to say? When someone can so casually dismiss the very core of who you are, words become meaningless. So I didn’t argue. I just delivered the verdict. “Ava, the engagement is off.” 2 Ava’s pupils contracted, a flicker of shock in her serene gray eyes. After a beat of stunned silence, a low laugh escaped her lips. “Cole, you have nothing,” she said, the amusement in her voice sharp as glass. “If you want to maintain the life you’re accustomed to, what other choice do you have besides marrying me?” She stepped closer, her tone softening into practiced condescension. “Stop being dramatic. I know you’re just spooked by all that anti-marriage talk online. I promise, I will make you the undisputed power in the Sterling family.” She could see the agony in my eyes, could read the tremor of betrayal in my hands. And yet, all she could offer was a dismissive, “Stop making a scene.” From my bag, I took out the small, polished mahogany box I had carried for years. “The Sterling emerald. It belongs to your family.” I held it out to her. “It should be returned. After all, I’m no longer your future husband.” For the first time, her composure cracked. “You’ve worn this for ten years, Cole. You don’t just give it back.” Her voice was tight. “Who else would be my husband, if not you?” I pulled my hand back from her grasp, my jaw set. In the clumsy push and pull, the emerald pendant slipped from my fingers. It hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, splintering into a dozen green shards. The sound of it breaking seemed to snap the last thread of her patience. She looked down at the shattered heirloom, then up at me, her gaze imperious and cold. “If you don’t like it, we can get another one. There’s no need to take your anger out on a thing.” A hollow laugh escaped me. “You see? Even your family’s legacy is broken. We’re done, Ava.” As I turned to leave, I saw it in my periphery—her hand instinctively reaching out for me, just like it always did after every fight we ever had. But then, Leo’s smooth voice cut in. “Ava, honey, the guy’s on edge. Chasing after him now will only make it worse.” He patted the seat next to him. “Give him some space. He’ll come around when he realizes nobody on earth will ever treat him better than you do.” Ava’s hand froze in mid-air. Then, slowly, it fell to her side. I walked out without looking back. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, the strength I’d been feigning crumbled. Hot tears streamed down my face, silent and searing. The girl from my memory, the one who would hold my face in her hands after the smallest disagreement and whisper, “I love you the most, don’t you dare upset yourself,” would never have let me leave in tears. Now, she couldn’t even be bothered to take a single step after me. My phone screen lit up, a series of texts from her, one after another. The transfer of the company shares to Leo is already in motion. But don’t worry, you can keep the townhouse. Stop being sad. It’s not good for you. I’ve had legal draw up the papers. Be here at 10 a.m. tomorrow to sign. I stared at the words, a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. How can you claim to love someone and stand by while they are stripped of everything? Not only did she humiliate me, but she had the audacity to frame it as an act of charity. The most laughable part? She was juggling a clandestine affair with Leo while discussing wedding dates with me, and never once did her mask of affection slip. Back at the townhouse, I was packing the last of my belongings into a box when the front door was kicked open with brutal force. Leo strolled in, flanked by two imposing men in dark suits. He gave me a theatrical shrug. “Don’t be mad, buddy. Ava insisted I come. She said she wanted her things back.” 3 My gaze swept over the uninvited guests, cold and hard. “There’s nothing of Ava’s here.” “Oh, I think there is,” Leo purred, pulling a folded list from his jacket pocket. “The antique jade statues, the emerald centerpiece, and oh, that Ming dynasty vase…” He let the list unroll. “Ava said these were all part of her dowry. She’d like them back now.” My eyes landed on the delicate porcelain vase. Ava had given it to me for my eighteenth birthday. She’d knelt on the floor of my parents’ living room and presented it to me with both hands. She’d written me a marriage promise that day, saying this was just a trinket, that she wished she could give me her own heart. I was so moved, I signed over fifteen percent of the Anderson Group’s preliminary shares to her as a betrothal gift. Now, those vows were just ash in my mouth. “Leo,” I said, my voice steady, “Ava and I are still technically engaged. Are you sure you want me as an enemy?” He feigned a look of innocent distress. “Don’t get me wrong, Cole. I didn’t want to do this. I know the old saying, ‘Never break up a happy home.’ I argued with her for three whole days. But she insisted. What could I do?” Even as he spoke, his greedy eyes were cataloging the art and antiques around the room. I saw it all. But the sharpest pain wasn’t his pathetic act. It was that Ava, the girl who once said, “A single tear from you would break my heart for months,” had sent her new lover to confiscate every memory, every token of our shared past. Love, I was learning, could be honed into a weapon for flaying a person alive. Leo flicked the list with his finger, a smug, triumphant smile playing on his lips. “Why don’t you just make this easy, man? The great Cole Anderson isn’t going to be petty about a few material possessions, is he?” I clenched my fists. “Stop the act. If Ava wants something, tell her to come get it herself.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper in my ear. “You still think you’re Cole Anderson?” Then, his voice shot up, loud enough for the gathering crowd of neighbors outside to hear. “I thought the Andersons were all about honor! A family of their stature, clinging to a few trinkets? How pathetic!” The murmurs from outside grew louder. “I heard they didn’t donate a cent to the flood relief fund this year.” “They probably pocketed the money!” “Look at him. He’s got guilty written all over his face.” A flicker of dark satisfaction crossed Leo’s face. In the split second I was distracted, he let out a theatrical gasp and stumbled backward. “Cole! What are you doing?” The two men in suits burst through the door. One of them grabbed me by the neck, slamming my face toward the floor. Boots crushed my back, and I heard the sickening crack of a rib. Someone yanked me up by my hair only to drive a knee into my stomach. Through a haze of pain, I saw that the front door had been shut. Leo knew I had no way to call for help. He was smiling. By the time Ava arrived, I was using the coffee table to haul myself to my feet. She rushed to my side, dropping to one knee to meet my gaze. “Cole…” Her eyes, the ones that had always looked at me with such adoration, were swimming with what looked like regret and pain. For a moment, she was the girl I remembered. I wiped a smear of blood from my lip with the back of my hand, forcing myself to stand straight despite the fire in my side. “There’s no audience here, Ava. Who are you putting this show on for?” She reached for me, her fingers just about to touch my bruised face, when a pained groan came from behind her. “What happened?” Ava spun around. Leo glanced at me, his eyes wide with feigned fear. “I think… I think Cole was just a little upset. When he pushed me, he didn’t realize his own strength. It’s okay. It was my fault for being clumsy.” Ava’s hand froze inches from my cheek. I saw the conflict warring in her eyes. She chose him. She turned her back on me and walked to Leo. “Cole, just because I love you doesn’t mean you can act like a monster.” Her voice was cold, laced with disappointment. “There is a limit to my patience. What did Leo ever do to you? Why do you have to humiliate him like this?” I laughed. A raw, broken sound. She was right. Leo had done nothing wrong. I was the fool. I was the one who believed twenty years of history was indestructible. Amidst the wreckage of my home, Leo draped an arm around Ava, his voice dripping with false magnanimity. “It’s fine, Ava. Let him keep this junk.” He looked at me, his eyes gleaming. “After all, it’s all he has left.” The wail of an ambulance grew closer. I stared at the half-packed boxes, at the life I was supposed to leave behind, and a strange, chilling clarity washed over me. The Anderson Group could be the payment for the life debt. So be it. Everything happening to me now, every cut, every bruise, every humiliation—I would use it all. It would be the fuel for my return. 4 My parents rushed to the hospital, my mother’s voice raw as she demanded Ava be brought there to answer for what she’d done. I forced a smile. “Mom, Dad, don’t. It’s a good thing. Seeing someone’s true colors, even if it’s late… it’s a gift.” The words felt like swallowing sand, and my fingernails dug into my palms until they drew blood. That night, I stared at the ceiling, sleepless. An apology? That was far too easy a price for Ava to pay. The next morning, the internet exploded. #AndersonHeirDumpsFiancee and #AvaSterlingCheatingScandal were trending worldwide. Lying in my hospital bed, I watched the Sterling Corporation’s stock price plummet in a sheer, vertical drop. For the first time in days, I felt a grim sliver of satisfaction. My phone buzzed incessantly. Ava. I turned it off. But someone else found me. When the door to my room opened, I assumed it was another one of Ava’s minions. I looked up and met a pair of calm, gentle eyes. It was Claire. We’d been inseparable for nine years, sharing a desk through middle and high school. We told each other everything. Then Ava’s jealousy became a suffocating presence, and to keep the peace, I let Claire go. She stood at the door, hesitating. “Can I come in?” she asked softly. I didn’t answer right away. She didn’t press, just waited patiently. After a long moment, I gave a slight nod. She walked in, but she didn’t mention the scandal, didn’t mention Ava. Her first words were simple, direct, and they shattered the dam I’d built inside myself. “You’ve been through hell.” That was it. Just those five words, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. Claire talked for an hour, distracting me with stories of her own failures. The venture capitalist who stood her up. The first big pitch where her presentation file was corrupted. The time she was so exhausted she fell asleep during a contract signing. Listening to her, I felt the knots in my shoulders begin to loosen for the first time in a week. Only at the very end did she mention it, almost as an afterthought. “I started a company. AI-driven medical tech. It’s still early days.” She paused, then looked me straight in the eye. “I’m short a partner with market experience. Are you interested?” It’s easy to find friends in triumph, but true allies appear in the trenches. Every resume I’d sent out had vanished into a black hole. Partners who had once clapped me on the back and called me a boy genius now averted their eyes. I was at the absolute bottom, and here was Claire, extending her hand. I didn’t have to think twice. On my last night in the townhouse, I watched the city lights glitter and the endless river of traffic flow below. Nothing out there had changed. But for me, everything had. A chapter of my life, a painful, all-consuming one, was finally over. I felt a hundred different emotions, but the strongest, surprisingly, was relief. I was finally free. The next morning, I dragged my suitcase to the front door and pulled it open.

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My husband gave our son’s spot at Northwood Preparatory Academy to his secretary’s kid. He said the application portal glitched when he was uploading the documents. That he’d accidentally submitted the file she had prepared for her own son. The secretary, a single mother, came to our home with her child to apologize. “Grace, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I never should have put our documents on the same flash drive.” “Carter was just trying to be helpful. It’s the kind of mistake any good person would make.” “I’ll go to the school first thing tomorrow and withdraw my son’s application.” I was peeling an apple for my son, my head down. “Don’t bother.” My voice was quiet. “The seventy-five-thousand-dollar donation was wired from our joint account. The memo on the transfer read, ‘For Noah’s happy school days.’ I already have the screenshot.” 1 Carter, my husband, stood across from me, his face a tight, angry mask. He was trying to project calm, but the slight tremor in his fingertips gave him away. Behind him, his secretary, a woman named Brooke, clutched her son, Noah, shrinking into Carter’s shadow. Noah was holding a Transformer—the limited-edition Optimus Prime, our son Leo’s absolute favorite. I finished slicing the apple, arranging the pieces on a small ceramic plate and pushing it toward Leo. Leo picked up a slice, the crunch of his bite echoing in the tense silence. “Grace, what is the meaning of this?” Carter’s voice was low, coiled with rage. “You took a screenshot. What are you planning to do with it?” I didn’t answer him. I just took a napkin and gently wiped a smudge of apple juice from the corner of Leo’s mouth. Brooke stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Mrs. Harrison, please, don’t misunderstand Carter. He was only trying to help me. It’s not easy, being a single mother.” Her eyes were wide and pleading. “I’ll find a way to pay you back the seventy-five thousand. I’ll withdraw Noah from the school right now.” I finally looked up, my gaze traveling past them to the large family portrait hanging on the living room wall. In the photo, Carter had his arms around me and Leo, his smile the picture of sophisticated charm. “Pay it back?” I asked softly. “How, Brooke? Does your monthly salary even cover the interest?” I shook my head. “And as for withdrawing… absolutely not. The donation was made in Noah’s name. The spot belongs to him now. The Harrison family’s reputation can’t be tarnished over something so trivial.” The color drained from Carter’s face. He understood my subtext perfectly. I wasn’t treating this as a family matter. I was treating this as business. 2 “Grace, do you have to blow this up into a crisis?” Carter took a step toward me. I picked up Leo’s plate of half-eaten apples and stood. “Carter, from this moment on, you and I will discuss rules, not feelings,” I said, my voice level. “First, I am unilaterally filing to have the joint account frozen, effective immediately. My legal team will conduct a forensic audit of every single transaction. Second, as the Executive Director of The Harrison Foundation, you used your position to misappropriate joint marital assets for the benefit of a third party. That constitutes a breach of your fiduciary duty. I have already notified every member of the foundation’s board via email. Including your father.” All the blood vanished from Brooke’s face. The hand holding her son’s shoulder was shaking. “Mrs. Harrison—no, Ms. Harrison… Carter had nothing to do with this. I begged him!” My gaze was cold. “Your begging is worthless against an audit report and bank statements.” The anger in Carter’s eyes curdled into panic. “You told my father?” he hissed. “You’re trying to ruin me!” I turned and walked toward the study, without looking back. “I’m not ruining you, Carter,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “I’m cleaning house. You and your secretary should leave now. Security will be up in ten minutes, and I’d prefer they not have to deal with an unpleasant scene.” The moment the study door clicked shut, I heard the sound of a vase shattering against the wall, followed by Carter’s raw, strangled roar. I sat calmly at my desk and picked up the phone, dialing an internal line. “Mr. Ames, in Legal? I need you to begin the process of launching a malfeasance investigation into Director Carter Harrison.” 3 An emergency family meeting was convened at the estate. The atmosphere in the grand library was thick with unspoken accusations. Carter’s father, the Chairman of The Harrison Group, sat at the head of the massive mahogany table, his expression grim. “Grace, Carter was foolish. He let this woman take advantage of him,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Is it worth destabilizing our own foundation, our own family, for an outsider?” Carter sat beside him, head bowed, the very image of contrition. “Dad, Grace, I know I was wrong. I’ll get the boy withdrawn from the school immediately. I’ll replace the money.” I placed a slim file on the polished wood and slid it across the table toward my father-in-law. “Dad, I’d like you to look at this first,” I said. “It’s a list of all the grants approved by Carter under the ‘Emerging Leaders’ program in the last fiscal year, along with a flowchart of the funds.” He picked up the file, his brow furrowing as he read. His frown deepened. On the list, several names were flagged with notes indicating a relationship to Brooke. A former classmate. A distant cousin. A friend from her hometown. The total amount of the grants involved exceeded half a million dollars. “What… is all this?” His voice was unsteady. “That,” I explained calmly, “is Brooke’s social network. Carter has been using the foundation’s resources to build a web of influence for her. The spot at Northwood was just the first thread to unravel. What I want to discuss today isn’t a domestic squabble. It’s a security failure. Carter’s position has become a back door for targeted exploitation. This has moved beyond foolishness. This is corruption.” Carter’s head snapped up, his eyes bloodshot. “Grace, that’s a baseless accusation!” I met his glare without flinching. “Then please explain why the funds from those specific grants were all routed, through a series of shell corporations, into a single offshore account. An account held by Brooke’s brother, who happens to be studying abroad.” 4 The silence in the room was absolute. My father-in-law’s fingers trembled where they rested on the file. He stared at his son, his expression a mixture of profound disappointment and disbelief. Carter opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The flowchart tracing the money was the product of an all-nighter by my finance team. The evidence was irrefutable. “Dad, members of the board,” I continued, my tone resolute. “If this becomes public, it will be a devastating blow to the foundation’s credibility. Our entire mission is built on transparency and fairness. Right now, our own Executive Director is embezzling from the inside.” The Chairman closed his eyes, exhaling a long, weary sigh. “What do you want?” I met his gaze, my words precise and clear. “I demand Carter’s immediate and unconditional removal from all his duties at the foundation. I want the board to form a special committee to conduct a full, independent investigation. Furthermore, I propose that Ava Landry, the current Director of Risk Management for the Harrison Group, be appointed as interim Executive Director.” The proposal landed like a grenade. Everyone in the room stiffened. Ava Landry was known throughout the company as a brilliant operator—ruthless, efficient, and incorruptible. But her blunt, politics-averse nature meant she’d been consistently sidelined by Carter, her career stalled. My father-in-law’s eyes shot open, sharp and calculating. He understood. This wasn’t an emotional outburst. This was a coup. “You can accept my proposal,” I said, laying down my final terms. “We handle this internally, minimizing the damage and the publicity. Or, I will file a lawsuit in my own name. And then this won’t be a family scandal. It will be front-page news.” It was my ultimatum. Protect Carter, or protect the Harrison legacy. He stared at me for a long time, the fight draining from his face. Finally, he sagged back in his chair. “Do as she says.” 5 The news of Carter’s suspension sent shockwaves through the company. He tried to contact me, but his calls and texts were already blocked. He stormed up to my office, only to be politely but firmly escorted out by the security I’d already posted on my floor. “Grace, you can’t do this to me! We’re married!” he roared through the glass door. I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the transition plan Ava had just emailed me, and didn’t look up. Ava moved fast. On her first day, she froze every project Carter had personally overseen and began a comprehensive risk assessment. Her face, usually a mask of stoic professionalism, now held a spark—the sharp edge of a brilliant mind finally given the room to cut loose. “Grace, I’ve found something,” she said during our video call that evening. “There’s a ‘Digital Archives Initiative’ Carter was spearheading. Budget of three million dollars. But actual progress is near zero. Most of the funds were paid out to a consulting firm that was incorporated less than six months ago.” A cold certainty settled in my stomach. “Check the name of the firm’s owner.” Ava’s fingers flew across her keyboard. A moment later, she looked up. “The registered agent is a Brenda Mayes. She’s Brooke’s older sister.” Of course. The depth of their greed was far greater than I had imagined. “If this project blows up, it could have serious repercussions for the Group and several of our public partners,” Ava stated, her tone grave. “Which is why we have to defuse the bomb before it goes off,” I replied calmly. “Ava, as of now, you have full authority over this initiative. Whatever resources you need, you get. I have only one requirement: in two weeks, I want a solution that plugs every hole. I want everyone to see that without Carter Harrison, the foundation doesn’t just survive. It thrives.” 6 Ava did not disappoint. She and her team spent a week dissecting the mess of the archives project. They brought in a team of genuine experts, redrafted the budget, and created a viable execution strategy. Simultaneously, she terminated the contract with the shell company and had our legal department issue a notice of intent to sue for contract fraud. The following week, at a press conference for key investors and partners, Ava made her public debut as the new interim director. With hard data, impeccable logic, and a powerfully persuasive new plan, she transformed a ticking time bomb of a project into an undervalued asset brimming with potential. The room erupted in applause. I sat in the front row, watching Ava in the spotlight. She was like a sword that had finally been unsheathed, sharp and brilliant. She was living proof that suppressed talent, given a single opportunity, could create miracles.

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My mother forgot me on my fifth birthday. It happened after the accident—the one that stole her memories and left her wandering, lost, until some drifter from the edge of town coaxed her into his shack and kept her. That’s how I came to be. The day it all fell apart, the police finally arrested him for what he’d done to the other women in town. In the chaos, they figured out who my mother was, and the whole story spilled out into the open. The grandparents I never knew existed pulled up in a gleaming black sedan. They rushed to my mother, and the three of them collapsed into a mess of tears and choked sobs. All the noise, all the emotion—it was like a key turning in a rusted lock. Something inside her clicked back into place. And the mother who, just that morning, would have fought a bear for me, shoved me away with a look of pure horror. “I… I don’t have a child.” My grandfather’s eyes swept over me, cold and dismissive, before he turned back to comfort her. “It’s okay, Anna. You don’t have to claim it,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Michael’s been waiting for you. You two can finally get married.” He stroked her hair. “The children you have with him… they’ll be our family’s real little princesses.” I stared at the woman I loved more than anything, my small world tilting off its axis. 1 My mother’s eyes were the eyes of a stranger. They terrified me. The whole town, it seemed, had gathered in a circle around us, their whispers like the rustling of dry leaves. “That’s her, the simple one he picked up…” “Lord, the things he did to her. The beatings…” “And that thing is the result… a little bastard…” A state trooper knelt down, his voice gentle. “Anna, you’re the victim here. We’re going to make sure he pays for what he did. But this little girl is your daughter. The law says you have to take care of her.” My mother flinched as if his words were hot pokers. She shook her head, frantically. “No… No! I don’t have a child! I don’t!” Her voice was a shrill, cracking violin string. I thought of the two hard-boiled eggs she’d pressed into my hands that morning. I knew she’d gone door-to-door, begging, just so I could have a birthday present. She’d peeled them with her chapped fingers and popped one into my mouth so fast I started to choke. She’d panicked then, her hands a clumsy flurry as she patted my back. She couldn’t mean it. All these people were just scaring her. I stumbled toward her on unsteady legs. “Mama,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s me. It’s your Wren.” I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead to the cold, hard-packed dirt, again and again. A desperate, silent prayer. She was the only thing I had. But she looked at me like I was a ghost. Her leg shot out, the heel of her boot connecting hard with my shoulder. The impact sent me sprawling backward, a sharp pain lancing through my shoulder blade. “Get away from me! Don’t you touch me!” she screamed, her face a pale mask of terror. “You’re not my daughter! You’re a nightmare! You’re my shame!” Her voice dropped to a horrifying whisper. “I look at you and I want to die.” My grandfather immediately wrapped his arms around her, shielding her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her back. “We’ll forget all about it. You and Michael will have other children.” He turned to a man standing nearby. “Take the child to a county home. An orphanage.” The trooper stepped forward. “Sir, that’s not legally possible. The mother is present. She has a legal obligation to provide care.” My grandfather’s jaw tightened. He said nothing more, just helped my mother to her feet and guided her toward the black car. Panic seized me. I didn’t know what an orphanage was, but I knew I couldn’t lose my mother. I scrambled up from the ground, my whole body aching, and ran after that big, shiny car. The road was rutted and uneven, forcing the car to move slowly. I pumped my little legs as hard as I could. When I fell, I clawed my way back up and kept running, tears and dirt streaking my face. My lungs burned. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto my knees but kept going, crawling, my hands scraping against the gravel. I could not be left behind. The car stopped. My grandfather got out, his face a thundercloud. “What do you think you’re doing? Get lost!” I just sobbed, unable to speak, and kept dragging myself forward. The trooper walked over, sighing. “Sir, look… legally, this child is your granddaughter. You have to take her with you for now. You have to figure out a proper arrangement. You can’t just leave a kid this small on the side of the road.” My grandfather glanced at the growing crowd of onlookers, then at my mother, who was curled up in the back seat, weeping. He shot me one last look of pure disgust, then turned and got back in the car without another word. The engine rumbled to life. The car started moving again, but slower this time. I wiped my muddy face with the back of my hand and used the last of my strength to follow the cloud of dust it kicked up. I had no idea where I was going. I only knew my mother was in that car. 2 Even moving slowly, the black sedan was too fast for me. It rounded a bend and disappeared from sight for a second. My heart seized in my chest, and I forced my legs to move faster. I tripped and fell again, skinning my knees and palms, but I scrambled up without a thought for the blood. People on the street stared, pointing, but I didn’t care. All I could see was the car. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of my heart. I don’t know how long I ran. It felt like something was about to explode in my chest, and the back of my throat tasted like salt and blood. Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of a big, beautiful, quiet house. It had clean white walls and a dark roof, surrounded by a tall iron gate. It was grander than anything I had ever imagined. I practically dragged myself to the entrance, my body trembling with exhaustion. Sweat and grime were glued to my skin. I gripped the cold iron bars of the gate, gasping for air. The world spun, and black spots danced in my vision. My grandfather got out of the car, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl of revulsion. “Damn leech,” he muttered. “Bad luck.” He strode over, not to help me, but to shove me away from the gate. I lost my balance and fell backward, the back of my head cracking against a hard, sharp stone. A sickening thud, a spike of blinding pain, and then the warm stickiness of blood trickling down my neck. Just then, the beautiful iron gate swung open from the inside. A man in a crisp, clean shirt rushed out. He looked kind, gentle. He ran right past me, lying crumpled on the ground, and straight to my mother as she stepped out of the car. “Anna. You’re back. You’re finally back.” He pulled her into a tight, desperate hug. My mother’s body was rigid. She kept her head down, trying to shrink away from his touch, her face a miserable canvas of shame and panic. “No, don’t…” she whispered. The man only held her tighter, his voice thick with emotion but firm. “Shhh, it’s over. It’s all over now. We’ll get married. I’ll protect you. We’ll have the most beautiful little girl in the world…” My grandfather added, his voice cold, “Michael, don’t you worry. Anna will be fine now. As for this…” he shot a glance at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, “I’ll take care of it. Get rid of it. She won’t be upsetting Anna anymore.” Get rid of it? Even though I didn’t fully understand, the words hurt like a physical blow. Watching my mother in that man’s arms, hearing them talk about their “beautiful little girl,” a new wave of panic washed over me. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my head and the dizziness, I used my hands and feet to scramble up from the ground and lunged toward my mother. “Mama, I’m your daughter too! Please don’t leave Wren, please…” Before I could get close, my grandfather’s face hardened. He reached out and, with a grunt of effort, slammed the heavy iron gate shut. My fingers were curled around the bars. The massive weight of the gate crashed down on them. A sickening, soft crunch echoed in the sudden silence, followed by a wave of agony so intense it stole my breath. I heard my own bones snap. I screamed and yanked my hand back. My fingers were bent at unnatural angles, already swelling into a grotesque, purplish mess. The pain was a living thing, pulsing and white-hot. I couldn’t breathe. The gate was locked. Through the cold iron bars, I watched the man named Michael wrap his arm around my mother, his back to me, and lead her toward the beautiful house. My grandfather followed them without a single glance in my direction. I was locked out. The sky began to darken. A cold wind whipped at my sweat-soaked clothes, and I started to shiver. The blood in my hair dried, pulling at my scalp with a dull, throbbing ache. My hand was a swollen club of agony. I was cold and hungry and hurt. I huddled in the corner by the iron gate, watching the warm lights flicker on inside. I cried softly, whispering “Mama” over and over again. But no one came. Eventually, the tears ran out. My strength was gone. Darkness swallowed me whole, and I fainted. 3 I don’t know how long I was out. When I woke up, the wound on my head had formed a crusty scab that pulled with a dull ache. I was cold and desperately hungry, curled into a tight ball at the foot of the gate, staring at the house. A whole day passed. No one came out. My stomach twisted with hunger pangs, and my throat was as dry as dust. I saw a stray dog digging in a nearby trash pile, pulling out a foul-smelling bone. I was so hungry I crawled over, wanting to snatch it away. The dog bared its teeth, a low, threatening growl rumbling in its chest as it shielded its prize. I was scared, but the hunger was worse. I reached out a trembling hand. The dog lunged. I recoiled, watching it run off with the bone. I could only sit there, silent tears tracking paths through the dirt on my face. Just then, the iron gate clicked behind me. I whipped my head around. An old woman was walking out. It was my grandmother. Her eyes took in my filthy, wretched state, and her brow tightened. There was no pity in her face, only a deep, profound disgust. “You’re still here? Like a stray dog with mange.” Her voice was as hard and cold as the stone I’d hit my head on. “If you’re going to die, do it somewhere else. Don’t dirty our property. And don’t you dare upset Anna again.” I looked at her face, so similar to my mother’s, and I suddenly remembered the mother I knew before. The one who wasn’t all there, who would eat tree bark herself just to give me the scraps she’d begged or stolen. The one who would hold me tight, humming tuneless songs in her hoarse voice, patting my back with her rough, clumsy hands. “Grandma,” I rasped, the tears stinging my chapped lips. “I’m hungry. I want to see Mama. Just for a second…” “See her? She goes crazy every time she sees you! Are you trying to push her into her grave?” I dropped to my knees. Ignoring the pain in my head and hand, I began knocking my forehead against the hard ground, again and again. The newly formed scab on my head split open, and warm blood trickled down my nose, blurring my vision. “Please, Grandma, please. Just one look. I’ll be good after, I’ll leave, I promise…” I begged between sobs, my blood staining the pavement. Maybe she was frightened, or maybe she just figured me dying on her doorstep would be even worse luck. “Fine! Stop it! Get up!” she snapped impatiently. “One look. Then you get the hell out of here.” She made me stand far back as she opened the gate. I stumbled after her into the bright, warm house. It smelled clean and sweet, nothing like the drafty, rotting shack I’d come from. In the living room, the man, Michael, was sitting beside my mother, speaking to her in a soft, gentle voice, trying to make her smile. But her eyes were empty, her whole body lifeless. I took a shaky breath and whispered, “Ma…” The moment she saw me, her eyes flew wide. She grabbed her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “AAAHHH! Get it away! Make it go away! Don’t let it touch me!” She trembled violently, her eyes wild and unfocused. Then, she lunged, aiming her head straight for the wall. “Anna!” Michael and my grandfather screamed in terror, scrambling to grab her and hold her back. She thrashed in their arms, her cries ripping through the house. “Let me die! Just let me die!” My grandfather, holding her tight, cried out to my grandmother, his voice breaking, “My God, what has been done to my daughter? What kind of hell did she endure?” My grandmother rushed to them, and the three of them clung to each other, a tangle of weeping family. I was frozen in horror. I took a step back and bumped into a small table, knocking over a vase. It shattered on the floor with a sharp crack. The crying stopped instantly. My grandfather’s head snapped around. His red-rimmed eyes, full of fury, locked onto me. “It’s you,” he hissed, pointing a trembling finger. “You’re the curse. Why did you have to show up? Why didn’t you die out there? Are you going to be happy when you’ve finally driven her to her grave?!” He was shaking with rage. “Do us a favor and let our family have some peace! Just go! And never, ever come back! I am begging you! Do you want me to get on my knees? Will you finally leave us alone if my entire family begs you?” He started to bend his knees, as if to kneel before me. My grandmother and Michael grabbed him, holding him up. My grandfather’s breakdown. My mother’s madness. The cold, desperate hatred in their eyes. The tears just fell, one after another. 4 I stumbled forward and, with my good hand, tried feebly to help him up. “Grandpa… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” It was all I could say. When I couldn’t lift him, I let go and backed away. Then, I knelt. I looked at my mother, my grandfather, my grandmother, and the kind man holding him up, and I bowed my head to each of them, knocking my forehead solidly against the floor. The sound was a dull thud, and my wound split open again, but I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry, Grandpa, Grandma. I’m sorry, sir.” I repeated it over and over in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll go now. I’ll go, and I’ll never come back.” I knew then, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that my mother was truly gone. I tried to stand, to walk out, but my legs were made of cotton and wouldn’t hold me. That’s when my grandmother’s voice came from behind me. It sounded exhausted, maybe even a little pitiful. “Forget it… It’s the middle of the night. Where would you go? Just… stay for now.” A tiny flicker of light sparked in the darkness. That night, they made me a small bed on the floor in a corner by the front door. The floor was hard, with only a thin blanket underneath me. The pain in my head and hand throbbed, and my stomach ached with hunger. No one brought me any food, and I was too afraid to ask. It was cold. I curled into a ball but couldn’t sleep. Late in the night, I heard hushed voices coming from one of the rooms. It was my grandfather and Michael. “…have to send her away. The sooner the better. I think Anna’s had a complete breakdown. She can’t take another shock.” “I know… but where? The county homes, the paperwork…” “I made some calls. I have a distant cousin back home, a Mrs. Gable. We’ll give her some money, have her raise the child…” “I guess that’s the only way… It’s tough on the kid, though…” “Tough?! Is anyone’s life tougher than my Anna’s?! My daughter… my baby girl that I held in my arms… what that bastard did to her… forced her to… to have… When I think about the life she was living all those years, it feels like a knife in my heart.” Michael’s voice was choked. “Dad, don’t… It’s over. I’ll take care of Anna now. We’ll have a new life. We’ll have our own children.” Their words faded into the sound of muffled, heartbroken sobs. Their grief was like a hammer, striking me with every sound. And then I remembered. Every night, the man who kept us would drag my mother from our mattress into the other room. She wouldn’t come back until morning, often bruised and bloody. I would hear her awful cries, mixed with the angry shouts of different men. I would beat my fists on the locked door, trying to save her, but I could never get it open. Then one time, the man lost all his money playing cards and said he was going to sell me. My mother held onto me, terrified. Finally, like she’d made some terrible decision, she started nodding frantically at him, pointing toward the door and making desperate, pleading sounds. After that night, my mother started going out on her own every evening. The man never had to drag her again. She always came back dirty, smelling bad, her eyes emptier than before. But she would secretly press a little treat into my hand—a piece of candy, half a cookie. Then she would hold me and shake uncontrollably. I didn’t understand then. I was just glad the beatings had lessened, and I had more treats. But now, hearing my grandfather’s words, the broken pieces of my memory clicked together. To keep me from being sold, my mother had forced herself to do something she hated. Something horrible. Every time she looked at me now, she was seeing that dark, suffocating nightmare all over again. I suddenly felt like my entire existence was a mistake. A monstrous grief swallowed me whole, a pain a thousand times worse than the throbbing in my head, the ache in my stomach, or the cold seeping into my bones. I couldn’t breathe. I got up, moving like a sleepwalker, and felt my way toward the kitchen. There was only one thought in my head: I am wrong. I shouldn’t be alive. If I disappear, Mama will get better. Grandpa and Grandma and Michael won’t have to be so sad anymore. The kitchen was dark. My hand brushed against something cold and hard on the counter. A knife. I gripped the handle, the chill of the steel making me shiver. In the darkness, I saw two images of my mother. The first, her eyes shining as she handed me a birthday egg. The second, her eyes wild with madness and despair as she looked at me today. Mama. I’m so sorry. I closed my eyes and pushed the knife against my body with all my strength.

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