Author: Momo Chan

The day he cut off my father’s hand was my birthday. Sebastian Croft did it right in front of me. When my father’s men retaliated, taking his leg, Sebastian just looked up, his smile stained crimson in the moonlight. “Kill me,” he dared them, his voice a rasp. “Because if you leave me breathing, the next time he lays a hand on her, I’ll take his other goddamn leg myself. Try me.” From that day on, my stepfather never touched me again. Sebastian said gardenias shouldn’t be stained with blood. He took the knife from my hand and, with one clean stroke, severed my father’s illegitimate sons from their inheritance. Everyone says Sebastian Croft is drenched in blood. But he never let a single drop touch his wife. Only I knew the truth. Only I had seen the thousand-plus pages of his private journals, where one name was written over and over, an obsessive prayer. The name of a woman as pure and flawless as a gardenia. The day I threw my wedding ring at his feet, he looked as if he’d been woken from a long dream. He lit the journals on fire, his laughter laced with a sorrow so deep it was terrifying. “Don’t worry,” he said, the pages curling into black ash. “She and I… that ship sailed a long time ago.” I slid the divorce papers across the table. “It can sail back.” He laughed and tore them to shreds. “For you and me, Audrina? It’s one bed for life, one coffin for eternity.” 1 The divorce papers burned, too. So that was it. For me and Sebastian Croft, it was one bed for life, one coffin for eternity. Even in death, our caskets would be pried open just enough to face each other, the first and last thing we’d ever see. The only thing we’d ever see. It was the vow we’d made at our wedding. He walked away, grinding the ashes of my petition under his heel without a backward glance. The next time I saw him was on the evening news. It was a night dark as ink, pouring rain, and against the gloom, a girl on a flight of steps was the only spot of white in the entire world. White dress, pale skin. A natural blush dusting the corners of her eyes. The moment the camera flash went off, Sebastian yanked her into his arms, pulling her under the umbrella so forcefully that only his own jawline was visible. That, and the girl’s bare legs as he swept her up onto his hip. He never allowed his face to be photographed by the press. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them get a picture of his girl. Because he knew I’d be looking. Even from that fleeting glimpse, I got the screenshot. I sent it to my people. But there was nothing. Not a single face in any global database matched the girl. The best they could find was a potential student ID photo from an Ivy League university, but her face was obscured by a thick black redaction bar. Sebastian was protecting her. When I went back to find a replay of the news segment, it was gone. Scrubbed from the internet. All I had left was that one screenshot. The image of a girl with fear shimmering in her eyes, staring at the camera like a fawn caught in headlights as she burrowed into Sebastian’s chest. The veins on the back of Sebastian’s hand were bulging. I’d only ever seen him hold a woman that tightly twice. The first time was after our rivals murdered my mother and my uncles, dumping their bodies in the river. I was the one who dragged them out, one by one, from the bloody water. As the sun set, turning the sky to gore, the boy standing on the bank had held me just like that. He’d pressed his body against mine again and again, trying to warm my frozen limbs, his tears streaming as he begged me not to close my eyes. The second time was now, in front of a camera, terrified that the girl in his arms would be exposed. That she would fall into my hands. When he finally came home, I slid the photo across the marble tabletop. It stopped right in front of him. I sat opposite, staring out the window, and blew a slow, deliberate ring of smoke. “It’s never going to happen between her and me,” he said, his voice flat. He palmed the photograph, hiding it from view. I asked only one question. “The journal. A thousand pages. Who was she, and when?” “You don’t want to know.” His tone was devoid of any emotion. Moonlight spilled across the marble, but it couldn’t illuminate the expressions on our faces. The only sounds were the soft rustle of new divorce papers being pushed toward him, followed by the sharp, metallic click of a round being chambered. I lit another cigarette, the brief flare of the lighter catching my face. “Sign it.” A gust of wind billowed the curtains, scattering the papers. In the next instant, he was on me, his hand tearing at the silk of my dress. The fabric ripped away, revealing the gleam of moonlight on my polished steel prosthesis. “Audrina.” He plucked the cigarette from my lips. The silver of our two artificial limbs reflected the same cold light. “There is no one else on this earth,” he murmured, his voice low and intense, “who is a better match for you and me.” Sebastian didn’t sign the papers. For the next week, there wasn’t a single new lead on the girl. Only a name, gleaned from the charred remnants of his journal. Stella. But the girl herself couldn’t wait. She showed up at my door. Same white dress, same pale skin as the photograph. But this time, the natural blush at her eyes was overshadowed by the angry red love bites scattered across her neck and chest. “I’m pregnant,” she announced, her delicate hand resting on a barely-there swell. “It’s his.” My pen stopped moving across the financial report. She sat down in the visitor’s chair opposite my desk as if she owned the place. “You’ve probably seen the news. And you must know my name was in his journals long before he ever met you. He loves me, not you. If you can’t accept that, I’ll just have my private medical team move in here. With me being pregnant, who do you think Sebastian will kick out, Audrina? You, or me?” The heavy chair hit the floor with a muffled thud. The only sounds that followed were the girl’s gasp and the sharp, clean crack of my palm against her cheek. “You hit me!” Her eyes, already pink-tinged, went crimson with shock and disbelief. I smiled. Sebastian had kept her so well protected. This fall, this slap… it was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her. “No wonder you had the guts to show up here alone,” I said, advancing on her. She scrambled backward on the floor, terror finally dawning in her eyes. “No… stay away!” Her whimper struck a nerve. I loomed over her, watching the tears well up, and suddenly, the overwhelming sense of familiarity I’d felt since she walked in clicked into place. She was me. She was the eighteen-year-old me, the girl in the blood-soaked white dress, stumbling to the ground, begging them to stay away on the day my family was slaughtered. “Ah!” I grabbed a fistful of her hair, and her scream was a perfect echo of my own from all those years ago. The motion pulled her head back, exposing the delicate skin of her neck. And the butterfly-shaped birthmark, clear as day. Sebastian… he’d found another me.

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I was in the middle of a livestream, matched with some kid who sounded like he’d just started kindergarten, when I decided to run my mouth. “Alright, kiddo,” I said, my voice dripping with gamer-girl sass, “call me Mom.” My brand-new son promptly lost his mind. “Dad! Dad, I found her! I found my mom!” 1. A dozen question marks exploded in my head. Hello? We’re live here, little dude. Eight hundred thousand people are watching. I’m a streamer who built her brand on skill, not on drama and gossip, okay? “Whoa there, little guy,” I said, trying to backtrack. “It was just a joke. You don’t have to call your dad into this.” But my sweet summer child was completely ignoring me. On screen, his little mage character, a bubbly thing called Sparkle, was just running circles around my hero. “Dad, you have to come see! My mom is right here!” I was speechless. A glance at the chat confirmed they were losing it. A waterfall of laughing emojis scrolled by, someone asking if I was hiding a secret love child. Just as I was frantically trying to deny everything, the Silas on our team—the one who’d been all flashy moves and cocky swagger since the match started—inexplicably joined the weird little ritual. He started circling my character right alongside Sparkle. Then, a message popped up in the public chat from him. A simple, quiet sentence. Yeah, she’s beautiful. 2 Excuse me? If I remembered correctly, the hero I was playing was Grizz, a mountain of a man with a beard that could hide a family of squirrels. The chat absolutely erupted. My temples started to throb. This had to be a setup. I was convinced these two were hired by a rival streamer to mess with me. I made my Grizz stomp his feet and leap out of their little circle of crazy. But just as I landed, the enemy team’s vanguard, a real heavy-hitter, seized the opportunity and slammed me, tearing through my health bar. My ultimate ability was still on cooldown. It was life or death, and in that split second, Sparkle somehow found a way to get right back next to me, spinning again. Silas stood beside us both, his character looking infuriatingly calm. He typed again. Son, does your mother need help? Then my “son’s” voice came through my headset, full of childlike earnestness. “Mom, Dad’s asking if you need help.” “…” I’m not blind! 3 I felt like they were humiliating me. Fueled by a surge of pure spite, I made Grizz jump directly into the enemy’s finishing move, basically committing glorious suicide. With its target gone, the little Sparkle character stood there for a dazed moment before the enemy vanguard sent him back to the spawn point, too. Silas, however, got away. He ran, of all places, straight under an enemy tower. Our team had given up three kills in the opening minutes of the match. Our other two teammates were, justifiably, starting to rage. ThirtyEightAndSingle: Are you three putting on a family drama for us? Is that it? BunnyWithAFang: Grizz, do you even know how to play? Did you buy this high-ranked account? I wanted to cry. I was desperate to prove that I deserved my 800,000 followers. I had to win this game. But the moment I respawned, before I’d even taken two steps out of our base, my dear son was on me again. “Mom, we have a parent-child activity day at my kindergarten tomorrow. Are you coming?” 4 I ignored him. He was persistent. “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” A vein in my forehead pulsed. “No,” I snapped. After I said it, his little character stopped moving completely. I didn’t think much of it, just relieved that the noise had finally stopped. Until a new sound trickled through my headset. It was the sound of a small child trying very hard to cry without making any noise. It was a tiny, muffled sound, like a kitten whimpering, but it struck a chord deep inside me, sharp and painful. For a flash, I was a little girl again, my small hands clutching the cold wood of a coffin, begging my own mother to please, please wake up. “Hey,” I said, my voice suddenly soft. “I… I can’t tomorrow. I’m busy. But maybe next time, okay?” I figured he was just a kid. He’d forget about it in a few days. The crying stopped instantly. About two minutes later, my son, with his character’s two enormous pigtails swinging, came bouncing back to my side. “Mom, there’s a parent-child sports festival next week. I already signed you up.” “…” Does your kindergarten have a mandatory family event every single week? 5 It was ridiculous, right? And where was this kid’s dad in all of this? Too busy farming minions in the jungle to parent his own child? “Uh, listen,” I started, trying to come up with a good excuse. “I’m in L.A. That’s probably too far. I don’t think I can make it in a week.” My son immediately piped up, “What a coincidence! I live in L.A., too!” I wanted to bang my head against my desk. Of all the cities in the country, really? “Right, but I’m in Culver City,” I pushed on, committed to the lie. “That’s probably really far from you, not convenient at all.” He got even more excited. “What a coincidence! I’m in Culver City, too!” I should have just said I lived on the moon. “Well, it still wouldn’t be right,” I said, pinning my last hope on Silas, the dad who had been silently massacring jungle monsters this whole time. He seemed like he had to be the sane one. “Your dad wouldn’t agree to it.” But then Silas typed his reply. Where do you live? I’ll pick you up next Friday. 6 My brain short-circuited. Was that something a normal human being would say? I pretended I was blind, deaf, and dumb. I couldn’t see the chat, couldn’t hear the kid. I just focused on playing my big, burly Grizz. But Silas wouldn’t let it go. He materialized beside me as if out of thin air. Address. “…” I think I have a pretty good temper. I didn’t curse him out. But my rage had to go somewhere, so I unleashed every single one of Grizz’s abilities on him. After the onslaught, Silas just stood there, completely still. For a second, I thought his game had crashed. Then he typed. I’ve slain dragons with a single glance, yet I am undone by a look from you. My Grizz, not to be outdone, automatically triggered one of his own ridiculous voice lines: “Hahahaha! A real man’s battle is right here, right now!” Silas: I have poetry and strong wine. Come with me. Grizz: “Heheheh, boss, I’ve got a thousand ways to cut your salary!” The fans in my stream chat immediately started shipping them. “…” 7 I was frozen, my character locked in a bizarre staredown with Silas. I knew some heroes had special dialogue triggers with each other, but Grizz and Silas? Seriously? What kind of twisted game design was this? I quickly made Grizz jump backward, terrified that if I stayed any longer, a shower of pink hearts would spontaneously erupt over our heads. Silas went back to the jungle, and I thought, with a sigh of relief, that he’d finally returned to normal. Just then, my stream exploded. Someone had gifted me ten “Titan Tributes” in a row, the highest-tier gift on the platform. The sudden influx of cash and hype shot my stream up to the number three spot on the entire site. I was floored, gushing with gratitude as I thanked the generous donor. “Thank you so much to… ‘MyHusband’… for the ten Titan Tributes!” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. I squinted at the screen name. This guy was messing with me. But he’d just dropped a serious amount of cash on my channel; I couldn’t exactly call him out. While I was torn between defending my honor and keeping the money, Silas drifted back over to my side. You’re welcome. I didn’t get it, but a second later, he made me understand. Another thirty Titan Tributes flooded my stream, all from the same user: “MyHusband.” A cold, dawning horror began to creep up my spine. Sure enough, Silas typed again. What’s mine is yours. 8 Then I heard my son’s voice, laced with disdain. “That’s it? You’ll never win my mom over being that cheap.” “…” So it really was the flashy Silas player who sent the gifts? Just as my brain was about to melt from the sheer absurdity of it all, my stream was hit with another tidal wave. One hundred Titan Tributes. My son’s voice returned, filled with pride. “For you, Mommy. Go buy yourself something nice.” I just sat there, numb. I didn’t know if I was stunned by the father-son duo’s performance or blinded by the fifty thousand dollars that had just been dropped on my stream. Had I stumbled into a match with billionaires? My fans were going even crazier than I was. The chat was a battlefield of theories. Some thought it was the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. Others were convinced the two were shady and had bad intentions. The most ridiculous theory? That I had orchestrated the whole thing myself as a publicity stunt to gain followers. All hell broke loose. Fans started fighting with each other—some defending me, some accusing me, and some just insulting everyone in sight. My chat looked less like a gaming stream and more like a riot. Eventually, a consensus formed. They all demanded that I go to the sports festival to prove my innocence. And at that exact moment, as if on cue, Silas delivered the killing blow. Your son got you a present. He’ll be really sad if you don’t go. Mommy, please come. I haven’t seen you in six years. 9 That father-son tag team took the raging dumpster fire that was my livestream and poured gasoline all over it. I was completely and utterly speechless. There was nothing I could say. Any denial would just make me look guiltier. At this point, the only way out was through. I had to go to this stupid sports day to clear my name. “What’s the name of the kindergarten?” I asked, my voice tight with frustration. I needed to see for myself what kind of institution was raising a child this… talented. DM’d you. See you Friday. I wanted to reach through the screen and shatter his stupid, poetic sword. But the worst was yet to come. The moment I agreed, Silas and Sparkle—that shameless father-son duo—disconnected from the game. They just left. What? What the actual— They left me to face the wrath of my hysterical fans and our two, now apocalyptic, teammates. All by myself. I don’t know what came over me, but for the remaining ten minutes of that doomed match, I found myself apologizing profusely to our other two teammates. None of it was even my fault. What had I ever done to deserve this? To make matters worse, before I could even end the stream, my assistant, clearly afraid I’d back out, posted an official announcement on all my social media. “THIS FRIDAY: TUNE IN FOR A SPECIAL LIVE BROADCAST! DINO-MITE ELLIE AND THE MYSTERY FATHER-SON DUO AT THE KINDERGARTEN SPORTS FESTIVAL!” 10 I stayed completely offline after the stream ended. That night, my parents called me. They said they wanted to see their grandson. Apparently, a gaming streamer making headlines for a secret family was big news. The embarrassment was galactic. After days of agonizing and trying to think of a way out, Friday finally arrived. For the occasion, I’d chosen an outfit consisting of a fluffy, full-body brown bear suit and a giant panda ski mask. To be blunt, I looked like a grizzly bear who had mugged a panda for its face. My agent, however, was ecstatic. He started the livestream the moment we got in the car. It was my first-ever “face reveal,” and after a week of hype, my fans were greeted with the sight of a genetic monstrosity. The chat was not kind. I didn’t care. I was clutching the “treasures” in my bag, my knuckles white, gritting my teeth in anticipation of meeting my so-called son and his father. I was going to give them a welcome they would never, ever forget. 11 The drive was short. The kindergarten was only ten minutes from my apartment. So close, in fact, that I was half-convinced they’d moved there overnight just to mess with me. It’s worth mentioning that the kindergarten had a ridiculous name: The Bumblebee Patch. I’d been sure Silas was punking me, but no, The Bumblebee Patch was a real place. As we pulled up, a man in a full tuxedo approached the car and opened my door. “Miss Ellie, I presume?” he asked politely. “The young master is waiting for you inside.” “…” So, this is how rich people play their games, huh? “How did you recognize me in… this?” I asked, genuinely confused. The butler smiled. “The master said that if someone arrived in a bizarre costume, it would certainly be you.” My agent leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “He knows you that well? Are you sure you haven’t been hiding a man—and a son—from me this whole time?” “…” Honestly? If I weren’t still a card-carrying member of the virgin club, I’d be starting to wonder if maybe I had given birth at some point and, in a fit of madness, abandoned the child. 12 The tuxedoed butler led me, the panda-bear hybrid, into the kindergarten. As soon as we stepped onto the playground, I was mobbed by a swarm of ecstatic children. “Riley, your mommy really came!” “Riley, you’re so cute! Is it because you were born from a panda?” “Riley, where’s your daddy?” “Riley, if your mom is a panda, is your dad a tiger?” “If they have a baby brother or sister, will it be a squirrel?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at their innocent questions. But what I really wanted to know was which one of them was my “son.” The sea of children parted, and a little boy in a tiny, formal suit was pushed forward. He was adorable, but also seriously overweight. A perfect little sphere of a child. Maybe he was trying to match the kindergarten’s name? His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he seemed incredibly nervous. He stammered for a moment before managing a tiny voice. “Mommy, I’m your son. My name is Riley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 13 My heart did a complicated little flip. Looking at this impossibly cute, round child, I had the strangest feeling that maybe I really was his mom. I have zero experience with kids. I racked my brain for something to say. “Do you like lions, tigers, or elephants?” My son thought for a moment. “Elephants.” “Got it.” I nodded, then dug around in my bag. I pulled out a plush, elephant-butt-shaped cushion and plopped it on his head like a hat. “Mommy?” Riley squeaked, confused. “Stand still,” I ordered in my sternest voice. The little guy immediately stood up straight, like a soldier at attention. I was very satisfied. Then, with a twisted grin, I pulled out a giant, inflatable squeaky hammer with “1000 TONS” written on the side and started whacking the elephant butt on his head. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! I chanted as I hammered away. “This one’s for the emotional distress of you calling me ‘Mom’ out of nowhere!” Squeak! “This one’s for all the trouble you caused me!” Squeak! “This one’s for the massive emotional distress of you wasting so much money on gifts for me!” Squeak! “And this one—this is for getting me reported by my own teammates after you rage-quit!” SQUEAK! When I felt I’d gotten most of it out of my system, I saw the poor kid was completely shell-shocked. I quickly took the cushion off his head, patted him gently, and put on my sweetest, kindest smile. “Now, where’s your father?” The boy, ever so honest, pointed towards a large tree in the distance. Only then did I notice a man standing there. Gripping my hammer, I stormed toward him. 14 I swear, my only intention at that moment was to either hospitalize him or, preferably, end him. But as I got closer and his face came into focus—that stupidly, unfairly handsome face—I froze. All the air left my lungs. I spun around and tried to run. I didn’t get far. A hand clamped down on the collar of my bear suit, yanking me to a halt. “And where do you think you’re going?” a voice behind me drawled, thick with amusement. “I-I-I… I have the wrong person.” I struggled, but my collar felt like it was fused to his hand. “No, you don’t,” he said. “I’m Riley’s dad. The ‘Number One Fan’ who you called ‘husband’ on your stream.” I wanted to scream, but I bit it back and forced a strained laugh. “A misunderstanding! It was all a misunderstanding! I’ll give you the money back, right now.” My hands trembling, I fumbled in my bag for the bank card I’d brought just in case and tossed it over my shoulder. A cold chuckle came from behind me. “Trying to pay me off again?” My mind stalled. Again? I wasn’t the one who started this. Before I could figure out what to say, my agent, that beautiful idiot, came charging over with his camera held high. A jolt of panic shot through me. “STAY BACK!” I yelled. But it was too late. He skidded to a stop a few feet away, and the expression on his face morphed from confusion to pure, unadulterated shock. “Holy crap, Ellie!” my agent screamed, his voice cracking. “Your husband is Leo Sterling?!”

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“In the aftermath, we all got our Talents. Some could conjure fire, others could command the tides. My Talent? I can take away the power of anyone named John Smith. That’s it. That’s the whole damn thing. Only people with that exact first and last name. Three years went by. Not only had I never met a single John Smith, but my useless Talent had made me a target. A punching bag. A Blank. Then, one day, while I was scavenging in the filth of the Warren, I found my best friend again. She was begging for scraps. We held each other and just sobbed. Through her tears, she wailed, “”Why did everyone else get something so damn cool? Why is my only Talent… renaming people John Smith?”” I froze. “”What did you say?”” 1. After the world ended, I made a living picking through the garbage heaps of the Warren. My days were a blur of wind, rain, and a gnawing hunger that came and went like a stray dog. Getting robbed was just part of the routine. I watched the rat-faced man snatch the stale protein bar I’d just unearthed. My feet felt like they were encased in concrete, immovable. That was his Talent. He kicked me over with a laugh. “”Can’t believe there are still Blanks out there. How the hell are you still alive?”” A retort died on my lips. It wasn’t worth the beating. I scrambled to my feet, forcing a grin that felt like cracking plaster. “”That’s an amazing Talent, man. Seriously. What do they call you? I find anything good from now on, I’ll save it for you.”” “”Smart girl,”” he sneered. “”If you find anything, bring it to the alley behind the old pharmacy. And the name’s John… Strong.”” My eyes shot wide. “”…Strong.”” After the son of a bitch swaggered off, the tears finally came. When the Change happened, the world went crazy. Animals mutated, plants turned predatory, and every surviving human woke up with a Talent. Society recalibrated itself overnight, with the powerful at the top and everyone else at the bottom. Some Talents were god-tier, like pyrokinesis or weather control. Others were mundane, like duplicating paper clips or moving small objects with your mind. And then there was mine. The power to strip any man named John Smith of his Talent. Three years. I hadn’t met a single one. That was the closest I’d ever come, but of course his name had to be John Strong. What good was a Talent like that in this eat-or-be-eaten world? Before the Change, I was a graphic designer in a high-rise. Now, I was less than nothing. I didn’t know how much longer I could last. Cursing under my breath, I started back toward my shelter—a collapsed corner of a bus station, open to the elements. As I left the alley, I saw a bag someone was carrying tear open. A box of Pop-Tarts tumbled out. My eyes lit up. I dove for it, my fingers just brushing the cardboard when someone else lunged from the other side, grabbing the other end. Neither of us let go. Suddenly, the other person let out a desperate howl. “”Please, just let me have it! I haven’t eaten in five days, I’m going to die!”” That voice… I looked closer. The person in front of me—hair matted, face gaunt and smudged with dirt, reeking of stale sweat—was my long-lost best friend. “”Anna?”” Her eyes widened. “”Chloe?”” We fell into each other’s arms, the stupid box of Pop-Tarts forgotten as we cried. “”Where have you been? I looked everywhere for you!”” I sobbed into her shoulder. “”Some group grabbed me,”” she gasped. “”For research. They let me go when they decided my Talent was useless.”” Anna explained her ordeal while demolishing the stale pastries. Shortly after the Change, some shadow organization started kidnapping people to study their Talents. But Anna’s was so pathetic, they deemed it worthless and threw her out. I had a hard time believing that. More pathetic than mine? “”Don’t say that,”” I said, trying to comfort her. “”No matter how useless your Talent is, it can’t be worse than mine.”” She shook her head emphatically. “”Impossible.”” “”Trust me,”” I insisted. “”No, you don’t get it. Mine is the bottom of the barrel.”” We were still arguing about who was the bigger loser when a little kid floated past us down the street. Actually floated. Flight. That’s when Anna completely broke down, snot and tears and pastry crumbs flying from her mouth. “”Why?! Why does everyone else get to be a goddamn superhero, and all I can do is rename people John Smith?!”” The hand patting her back stopped dead. My whole world tilted on its axis. “”What did you say?”””

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I woke up with a five-year-old son I didn’t know. And a husband of six years, who, just yesterday, had been trembling as he told me he loved me for the first time. Before I could even begin to process what was happening, my phone rang. It was him. Caleb. His voice was cold, a stranger’s voice. “I’m with Stella for her birthday. Don’t call again. I don’t care if you beat Noah bloody, I’m not coming home.” He hung up. “Get your pathetic little tricks under control,” he’d said, just before the line went dead. “Behave.” A moment later, the boy—my son, Noah—shuffled into the room, his small body a canvas of faint bruises. He was trembling as he held out a thin, leather riding crop. “Mommy,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. “You can hit me now. I won’t cry.” A slow, cold smile spread across my face. I took the crop from his shaking hand. “Noah,” I said, my voice smooth as glass. “Do you know where those two are?” 1 “Well, Caleb. You look like you’re having the time of your life.” The riding crop was coiled in my hand. The heels of my stilettos clicked against the gleaming white marble, each sharp tap a countdown to the end of his good fortune. There he was. The boyish blush I remembered was gone, replaced by the hard, confident lines of a man in a bespoke suit. He was a universe away from the young man who had nervously confessed his love to me only yesterday. Caleb’s face tightened when he saw me. A flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Ava. What the hell are you doing here? Get out.” Beside him, a woman in a perfect cocktail dress looped her arm through his. It was a gesture of pure provocation, draped in a costume of grace. “Ava, honey,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “Since you’re already here, why don’t you stay for my party?” She turned her wide, innocent eyes to Caleb. “Don’t be rude to our guest, Cal. Even if she wasn’t invited.” Her tone was all sugar, but her eyes, when they met mine, were glittering with triumph. Caleb’s expression softened as he looked at her, pinching her cheek playfully. “Alright, Stella. It’s your birthday. Whatever you say goes.” His gaze snapped back to me, hard and cold. “Stella’s a good person. She’s willing to forgive you. That doesn’t mean I am.” He took a step forward, lowering his voice to a menacing growl. “If you’re going to stay, you’d better stay quiet. You make a scene, Ava, and I swear you’ll regret it.” The whispers started around us, a venomous little tide. “God, that psycho’s here. Is she going to drag the poor boy out again to beg Caleb to come home?” “Having a mother like that has to be the worst luck in the world. If I were Caleb, I’d have divorced her ages ago, just to give the kid a shot at a normal life.” “Did you hear what happened last time? Caleb had a late dinner with a client, and she accused him of cheating. Beat the kid half to death just to force him to come back. I wonder if the poor thing is even okay.” “She’s a menace. A complete disaster. I just hope she doesn’t fly off the handle tonight.” Hearing the whispers, Stella seemed to grow taller, her spine straightening with self-satisfaction. She addressed the crowd with performative sympathy. “Please, everyone, don’t say that. Ava is Noah’s mother, after all. She wouldn’t really hurt her own child… ah!” Her sentence ended in a sharp scream. The riding crop had sliced through the air, the crack echoing like a gunshot. In an instant, Stella was clutching her face, a fiery red welt blooming on her cheek. She howled in pain. The smile on my lips only widened. “You little tramp,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to keep your mouth shut?” Rage erupted on Caleb’s face. He lunged toward me. “Ava, how dare you touch her! I’ll—!” CRACK. The crop swung again. Caleb’s thin, gold-rimmed glasses flew from his face, skittering across the marble. A bloody line appeared on his handsome cheek. “Caleb,” I purred, stepping closer. “Did I ever tell you what happens when you cross me?” When he’d confessed his love, I’d told him. I’d warned him. If you ever, ever cross a line with me, I will destroy you. He had simply smiled, his eyes full of devotion. “Ava,” he’d said, his voice thick with emotion. “If I ever do anything to deserve it, you can punish me however you want. I won’t say a word. I swear.” For me, waking up in this nightmare, that promise was made yesterday. But for this Caleb, six years had passed. And promises, I was learning, could fade to nothing. “You’re insane,” he hissed, his face contorted. “Completely insane! Security! Get this crazy woman out of here!” I let out a soft laugh. “Caleb,” I whispered. “Do you want to see what a real crazy woman looks like?” 2 “It’s not going to work, Ava! You can’t use the boy to threaten him anymore, so now you’re trying this?” Stella shrieked, the initial shock giving way to her usual arrogance. “You’re wasting your time! Caleb is sick of you! He loves me!” “Is that so?” I smiled, grabbing a fistful of her perfectly styled hair and shoving her face-first into the enormous birthday cake. Her screams became muffled, gurgling sounds as her head disappeared into layers of cream and sponge. “Ava, let her go!” Caleb roared, his voice trembling with fury. “Let her go, or I swear to God I will end you!” He reached for me, trying to pull me away, to save his precious Stella. I met his furious eyes with a look of pure scorn. In one smooth motion, I pulled a small, wicked-looking paring knife from my purse and drove it straight through the back of his outstretched hand. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat. I watched the color drain from his face, his expression a mask of agony and disbelief. I twisted the knife slightly, just to be sure. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. “What’s wrong, Caleb? I thought you were so happy. Where’s that beautiful smile you save just for her?” Just moments ago, when I walked in, he’d been standing by her side as she blew out her candles, his dark eyes filled with the same adoration he once reserved for me. His eyes had been full of love. A genuine love. “You’re a psycho,” he gasped, his voice shaking. “Let… go…” His eyes burned with a hatred so pure it was almost beautiful. “Mommy…” A tiny, trembling voice cut through the chaos. Noah. He was standing near the entrance, frozen. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. With a sharp tug, I yanked the knife from Caleb’s hand. Then, as if discarding a piece of trash, I flung the sputtering, cake-covered Stella to the floor. She landed in a heap, her eyes, nose, and mouth clogged with sticky frosting, gasping for air like a dying fish. Caleb clutched his bleeding hand, his body wracked with pain and shock. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, the veins in his neck standing out. He wanted to help her, but he was useless. I ignored the murderous look he was giving me and arched an eyebrow at my son. “Noah. How did you enjoy the show? I expect a five-hundred-word report when we get home.” “Ava! He’s five years old!” Caleb bellowed, trying to stand on the moral high ground while his hand dripped blood onto the marble. “You drag him here to watch this… this madness? Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what this will do to him?” I scoffed. In front of everyone, I announced coolly, “Only the strong get to be my son.” My eyes narrowed. “The weak… they’re just your son, Caleb.” Noah’s small frame trembled. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a new confusion, but the raw fear he’d shown me earlier was gone. “This is absurd!” Caleb spat, his voice laced with venom. “Someone like you… you don’t deserve to be a mother! A psycho like you belongs in a goddamn asylum!” I started to laugh, a genuine, delighted sound that echoed in the silent room. “If that’s the case,” I said, my smile widening. “Then let’s go to hell together.” After all, neither of us is an angel. 3 On the drive over, memories had flooded my scrambled brain—a highlight reel from a life I hadn’t lived. I learned that Caleb’s first betrayal happened when I was pregnant. Stella had shown up at our door, the faint bruises of passion on her neck, to inform me that Caleb was in love with her. She told me to step aside gracefully. Blinded by rage, I lunged at her. In the scuffle, I fell down the stairs. The fall induced premature labor. And just like that, Caleb’s affair was public knowledge. He stopped hiding it. He started taking Stella everywhere, to galas, to dinners, to board meetings. I screamed. I cried. I begged. He just looked at me with the detached pity one might reserve for a deranged animal. “Ava, look at yourself,” he’d said, his voice flat. “Just look in a mirror. Ever since you got pregnant, you’ve let yourself go completely. What man would want… this?” He started staying out all night. He let Stella send me pictures of them together, taunting me. The baby—Noah—cried constantly. Between the betrayal and the exhaustion, I felt my mind begin to fray. The pressure cracked me open and I became the psycho he’d accused me of being. Eventually, I learned the only way to get Caleb to even look at me was to hurt our son. Only by threatening Noah could I trigger the tiny, dusty scrap of fatherly love buried deep inside him. Now, as Caleb’s face cycled through shades of white and purple, a cheerful waltz began to play over the event hall’s sound system. It felt like an ovation for my performance. “Watch closely, Noah,” I announced, my voice ringing with manic energy. “Lesson number one. This is how you drag the people who betray you down to hell!” I laughed, a wild, liberating sound, and seized a chair. With all my strength, I hurled it into a long table laden with exquisite food and crystal glasses. Glass shattered everywhere. The guests shrieked, their screams a discordant harmony with the soaring waltz. Anything that could be smashed, I smashed. Anything that could be thrown, I threw. A beautiful, elegant birthday party was reduced to a war zone in minutes. “Enough!” Caleb finally roared, his composure completely shattered. “You’re fucking insane! If this is what you want, then fine! Fine! I want a divorce!” He still didn’t get it. He was still trying to command me from a position of power. I saw the resolve in his eyes, the finality of his decision. And I heard myself laugh again, a low, bubbling chuckle. “A divorce?” I purred. “Caleb, darling. Do you really think you have that right?” When I first met Caleb, he was the charity case my parents had taken under their wing. A scholarship kid from some forgotten rural town. When my father’s driver brought him to our estate, he was all sharp angles and jutting bones, swimming in clothes that didn’t fit. The slightest sound made him flinch. Back then, he called me Miss Ava. “He has every right!” Stella, her face now a grotesque mask of frosting and rage, slowly pushed herself up. Her hand went to her flat stomach. “Caleb isn’t the boy you picked up off the street anymore. He doesn’t need your family’s charity.” She smiled, a truly vicious sight. “And besides, you’re not the only one who can give him a child. I’m pregnant. Caleb and I are going to have a new family.” The pure, unadulterated bliss in her eyes told me one thing. My previous lesson had been far too gentle. A delighted laugh escaped my lips. I lunged, grabbing her by the hair again. The knife in my hand was a silver blur. I plunged it deep into her lower abdomen. “Lesson number two, sweetie,” I whispered, my voice a sing-song. “How to eliminate a threat before it takes root.”

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I found my birth parents ten years too late. All they left me was a house filled with my own baby pictures and mountains of missing-child flyers bearing my face. The grief and injustice I had swallowed for twenty years erupted in that single moment. I spun around and slapped my husband, Caleb, so hard the sound echoed in the empty room. “This is your fault! All of it!” “If you hadn’t pushed for Lila to take my adoption spot, I never would have been left to rot in that place for five more years!” “For her, you let our son die. For her, you let my parents die searching for me. I will never, ever forgive you. I’ll haunt you from my grave.” That was the day we finally shattered for good. I targeted his every weakness, and he went for my jugular. It was only at the very end, as his own life faded, that he showed a flicker of remorse. He left a note, promising to make it all up to me in the next life. But when I opened my eyes again, I was a child, staring at that same, coveted adoption slot. And this time, I gave it to Lila myself. 1 “Mom, Dad, if you’re going to get me a sister, pick her! She’s a hard worker, I can tell. That way, you’ll finally have a worthy heir.” The moment I heard those words, I knew. Caleb was back, too. I thought of the suicide note he’d left behind and let out a soft, humorless laugh. He was a man of his word, I’ll give him that. In my last life, I was consumed by ambition. I was sick of being poor, helpless, of screaming into a void that never answered back. All I wanted was to be adopted by a wealthy family. I schemed and fought and clawed my way into the Graysons’ line of sight, and it worked. They were impressed with me. I was one day away from escaping that hellhole when Caleb showed up, holding Lila’s hand. He believed every lie she spun. That I bullied her. That I was a promiscuous child who seduced the staff. That I was a master manipulator, an actress… My dream shattered that day. As Caleb led Lila away, he turned to the rest of the orphanage and announced, “Clara is a curse. She’ll bring you nothing but bad luck. I’d stay away from her if I were you.” In that instant, I fell from one hell into another, where I suffered for five more years. Lila, meanwhile, became the cherished daughter of the Grayson family, cradled in the palm of their hands. Now, standing before Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, I heard this new, regretful Caleb say to me, “This time, you’ll be my sister. I’ll be good to you, I promise. You won’t have to be jealous of anyone ever again… At the very least, I won’t let you suffer here for another five years.” I understood. He was trying to soothe the ghost of my past self. He had eventually learned the truth about Lila’s lies, and the guilt had eaten him alive for decades. My five lost years were a wound he could never close. Mr. and Mrs. Grayson nodded, just like before. They liked me instantly. But this time, I wanted nothing to do with Caleb Grayson. I certainly didn’t want his charity. I was about to refuse when the door burst open. A younger Lila stumbled in, crying, her dress torn. A cut on her arm was bleeding. “Lila! What happened? Are you okay?” Lila’s eyes darted toward me, full of suspicion, before she fell to her knees before the Graysons. “Sir, Ma’am, are you here to save me? Please, I don’t want to die! I really, really don’t want to die!” She was copying me. The orphanage director was a monster. I had used that exact performance to save myself once. Lila had always been lucky, one of fate’s favorites. She’d never truly suffered, so she’d never been one of his targets. In my past life, seeing her performance made my composure crack. I had grabbed her, demanding to know what she was doing, and in doing so, earned the Graysons’ disgust. This time, the reborn Caleb knew she was lying. He knew it was an act. And yet, I saw the flicker of pity in his eyes. He couldn’t help it. “Who did this to you? I’ll make them pay.” Lila wouldn’t risk it. She was afraid that if she wasn’t chosen, she’d be left to face the director’s wrath. I blinked, then stepped forward, my voice calm. “It was the director. He likes the pretty ones. Lila is the prettiest one here.” “What? That animal!” Mr. Grayson’s hand clenched into a fist. “Oh, you poor dear. Come here, dry your tears.” Mrs. Grayson’s heart went out to her. Caleb stood beside them, his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze lowered. I knew him too well. He had changed his mind. “Mom, Dad, let’s adopt Lila.” “Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, you should adopt Lila.” Caleb and I spoke at the exact same time. 2 “Clara, you…” Caleb stared at me, dumbfounded. He knew how desperately I had wanted to be saved, to escape this nightmare. But now… I ignored the complex guilt in his eyes and put on a mask of cool rationality. “Sir, Ma’am, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an only child. I’m not sure I’d want to share my new family. So, thank you, but no.” The Graysons looked startled, then disappointed. As they were leaving, Lila made a point to walk over to me. She tilted her chin up, a smug, triumphant smile on her face. “I told you, Clara. You can’t compete with me. I’m going to be a rich man’s daughter now. And you? You can stay here and rot. If you have to blame someone, blame yourself for being too stupid to call out my bluff.” Lila walked away, laughing. After she was gone, a figure emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. A pale, handsome boy looking completely lost. Caleb looked like his entire reality had been shaken. He never imagined that his pure, innocent little victim could be so… shameless. He looked at me, his expression a tangled mess of confusion and a silent plea for help. I knew that look. He was relying on me, wanting me to come over and explain it all, to make it make sense. I turned my back on him and walked away. “Clara.” I paused for a half-second. “You’re back, too, aren’t you?” I didn’t answer. “Clara, I’m sorry. You know how it is. Lila’s just a kid. She’ll learn. She’ll change.” “Oh. Okay.” I smiled. What did that have to do with me? I had no intention of ever being involved with them again. “Clara!” A note of panic entered his voice. He grabbed my arm, frantically digging through his pockets and pulling out a handful of crumpled bills. “Here, take this. I’m sorry about this. I owe you. Within half a month… no, five days. Three days, I swear, I’ll find a way to get you out of here.” “I don’t need it.” “Clara, I will save you! Just wait for me!” Caleb rushed off, not to deny me the chance to refuse, but because Lila had tripped and cried out in pain a short distance away. I smiled to myself. Of course. Thank God I hadn’t placed a single shred of hope in Caleb Grayson. After Lila left, I don’t know what she said to the director. But his cruelty escalated. His methods grew viler, his threats more immediate, and I almost buckled under the pressure. Three days passed. Then five. Half a month… then a whole month… Caleb never came. But I did it. At the cost of a broken arm, I managed to record a video of the director’s crimes and got it to the police and a local news reporter. As the police led the director away in handcuffs, the boys who had always been his favorites surrounded me. “It was you, wasn’t it, Clara? You little snitch.” “I’m gonna kill you. The director’s gone. What are we supposed to do now? Starve?” “Get her! Kill that loud-mouthed bitch!” “Get her!” I curled into a ball, trying to protect my injured arm and my head, the pain overwhelming. I had expected this. The five boys beating me were his sons. Of course, they would defend their father. Suddenly, the lead boy picked up a rock, raising it to bring down on my head. In a flash, someone was standing over me. The rock came down. “Ah!” A cry of pain. Caleb was hurt, shielding me. 3 My eyes widened. “Caleb! Are you okay?” Blood streamed down from his forehead, blurring his vision. He wiped the blood from his face with one hand. He looked weak, but he was smiling, a look of pure joy on his face. “This time… I finally saved you. Clara, I was on time. I finally saved you!” At his words, the flicker of concern and guilt in my heart vanished. In our last life, our son, so small, so full of love for us. Because of Lila’s lies, Caleb had abandoned me and our child in the freezing wilderness. I watched our son die in my arms and then wandered like a ghost through the mountains for three days. When the rescue team found me, I had lost my mind. I dedicated my life to destroying Lila, and Caleb, naturally, protected her. We became true enemies. I knew his deepest pains, and he knew my fatal flaws. Our lives were a tangled mess of revenge and resentment for decades, until the day he lost both his legs saving me. The proud, arrogant man was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Overwhelmed with guilt, I had decided to let go of the past and truly be with him. But he used his sacrifice as a weapon. Pale and weak in his hospital bed, he had looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and begged, “Clara, for the sake of my legs… let Lila go.” In that moment, my soul evaporated. I remember the silent tears streaming down my face as I whispered, “Okay. I promise.” Now, in the orphanage yard, Caleb was ecstatic. Even with his head bleeding, he wouldn’t let go of my hand. “Clara, I told you I’d protect you.” The next second, I was shoved to the ground. Smack— Lila slapped me hard across the face, again and again. “You’re a curse! Stay away from my brother! He’s my brother!” She gently helped Caleb to his feet. “Lila, don’t do this. Apologize to Clara. Now.” At that, Lila burst into tears. Caleb could never stand to see her cry. He immediately started cooing, comforting her. I ignored the triumphant smirk on Lila’s face, dusted myself off, and turned to leave. “Stop! Who said you could go, you curse?” Lila’s spoiled nature was on full display. “Stay away from my brother. I won’t let you hurt him.” “Lila!” As I turned back, Caleb instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. He always thought I would hurt Lila. He always forgot that I was the one in the more precarious position. I rattled off a few names and a string of numbers. Lila was clueless. It meant nothing to her. Her glare only intensified. But Caleb understood. It was the beginning of his parents’ financial decline. In our past life, I was the one who managed the Grayson family business. It took me years of work, connections, and money to uncover that information. “Clara, you…” “Thank you for saving me today. But don’t do it again. Caleb, I don’t owe you anything. I hope you’ll keep your distance from me from now on.” “…” Caleb was speechless, as if his soul had been ripped out. He couldn’t process it. He probably never imagined that the woman who had loved him so deeply in one life would want nothing more than to be rid of him in this one. 4 Soon, the state took over the orphanage. They improved the facilities, hired new, professional staff. The old director was sentenced to five years, which meant all of us kids were spared five years of his abuse. The other children, the ones who had both bullied and protected me in our past life, now saw the benefits I had brought them. They started to flock around me, trying to win my favor. And the director’s five sons? They became the new targets of the bullying. I watched, satisfied. I’ve always been one to repay my debts. The next month, Caleb came to find me in a hurry. He said Lila had been sick, and he’d been too busy taking care of her to see me. He looked down, apologizing. He was always like this. Choosing Lila, abandoning me, and then offering a crumb of warmth… like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. “Clara, I found a school for you. And a family that’s willing to adopt you.” “That’s not necessary. Thank you,” I said, my tone polite but distant. The state had already arranged for all of us to attend a local public school. And as luck would have it, Lila and I were in the same class. Within three days, the entire grade knew the rumor that I had “seduced the 40-year-old orphanage director.” Boys would tug on my bra strap in the hallway; girls would shoot me looks of disgust and ostracize me. Soon, they had a nickname for me: “The Group Home Slut.” The insults were constant. This was all Lila’s doing. I checked the time. My birth parents, whom I had painstakingly managed to contact, should be arriving in the country to get me any day now. Feeling emboldened, during a break between classes, Lila threw her pencil case at the back of my head. “Hey, Slut,” she yelled. “Nice new shirt. Which old man did you have to screw to get that?” The class erupted in laughter. “Yeah, what a whore.” “So trashy…” I stood up and walked directly to her desk. Under her smug, defiant gaze, I grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her towards the janitor’s closet. “Ah! Ahhh! Let go of me! Let me go!” I gave her a vicious smile. “Your mouth is so filthy. Always making up names for me. Lila, you and I both came from that orphanage. The Graysons wanted to adopt me first. I’m the one who gave you my spot! The director was after you first. I’m the one who protected you. And this is how you repay me? With rumors and bullying? You ungrateful little snake.” “No! Ah! No—” The moment she opened her mouth, I shoved her head into the dirty mop bucket. I started talking faster, listing all of her two-faced deeds—how she’d turned friends against each other, spread rumors that forced our last teacher to quit… As I spoke, the other students stopped trying to intervene. Some even cheered. Others started whispering, confirming my stories among themselves. It was all true. “Clara, don’t you dare hurt Lila!” Someone charged at me from behind. I lost my balance and fell. My left arm, the one that had just healed, hit the ground hard. My face went white. I thought I heard the bone snap again. Caleb helped Lila up, then saw me on the floor, his face a mask of shock and regret. Lila clung to him, sobbing. “Brother, get her expelled! Clara bullied me! Make them expel her!” “Okay, brother promises.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Of course. You’re as predictable as ever, Caleb.” Caleb looked down. “Clara, you were in the wrong first. Besides, I’ll make it up to you.” “You won’t have to. Because I…” Our teacher burst into the room, beaming, oblivious to the tension. “Clara!” she announced loudly. “Your birth parents are here to see you! They said they’re taking you abroad to live with them!”

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“I took Raine in when she had nothing. I taught her how to play the long game in a negotiation, how to be a shark in the boardroom. And then, I watched her star rise until it eclipsed my own. They say the first thing a blind man does when he regains his sight is throw away his cane. So, I wasn’t surprised when I overheard her telling a friend: “Finn? He’s… rigid. A little dull. And let’s be honest, he’s not exactly young anymore.” 1 I stood outside the door to the VIP lounge, a dry itch scratching at the back of my throat. I could picture it perfectly: the way her eyes, the color of stormy skies, would narrow just slightly, the careless, dismissive tilt of her head as she said the words. I was the one pushing for something that was never meant to last. Asking a soul that young, that bright, to pause its flight for me. Perhaps because I’d been bracing for this exact moment for years, the feeling wasn’t sharp agony. It was a dull, quiet ache, overshadowed by the strange relief of a weight finally settling. The other shoe had dropped. The only question left was how to extricate myself from this… arrangement. This sponsorship that had curdled into something I no longer recognized. It had to be clean. And it had to be final. Unable to formulate a plan, I walked down the hall to the men’s room and lit a cigarette, my reflection a stranger under the harsh fluorescent lights. The man in the mirror wore a well-tailored coat, but two strands of hair, meticulously styled with pomade that morning, had fallen across his forehead in my rush to get here. I saw the fine lines at the corners of my eyes that no amount of expensive moisturizer could erase. The longer I was with Raine, the more I felt it. The seven years between us weren’t just a number; they were a chasm. She was a bonfire, burning with the brilliant, fierce light of youth. And I had already crossed the threshold into my thirty-fifth year, a place of quiet embers and carefully managed energy. My stamina, my drive… they just couldn’t keep up. A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. After a moment, I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray by the door, waving the smoke away from my coat. Then I walked back to the lounge and pushed open the door. 2 The cacophony of laughter and shouting died in an instant. Only the music, a throbbing bassline with a tragically soaring vocal, continued to bleed from the speakers. My eyes found her immediately. She was lounging on a plush velvet couch, one arm draped casually over the back. A handsome kid was tucked into her side, nestled close. He had positioned himself like a young predator, his arm forming a possessive circle, marking his territory. I recognized him from the file I’d run. Leo. In person, he was leaner than in his photos, radiating a golden, sun-kissed confidence. He blinked, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity as the vibe in the room shifted. “Finn? Mr. Cole? What are you doing here?” someone I vaguely knew stammered out. Someone else scrambled to turn off the music, fumbling with the controls and accidentally cranking the volume higher. The soulful, remixed pop song now echoed through the room, making the scene feel even more absurd. Finally, one of the drunker guys just yanked the plug from the wall. Total silence. The air crackled with awkwardness. My presence, as always, was an intrusion on their world, a stark reminder of a life they hadn’t yet begun to imagine. I offered a practiced, easy smile, lifting my wrist to check my watch. “It’s getting late. I finished up at the office early and figured I’d come pick Raine up.” My gaze flickered to her. She seemed frozen for a second, a small frown creasing her brow. The hand she had resting on the kid’s shoulder moved, covering his eyes as he stared at me. Leo just pouted, leaning his head against her shoulder in a gesture of playful defiance. An intimacy that felt utterly natural, completely oblivious to my presence. Her silence was the only answer I needed. She was young. She was allowed to be thoughtless. And I… in a few days, I would be thirty-five. The dignity of adulthood kept my smile in place. “Actually,” I added, “something just came up at the office, and I have to head back. I ordered some food for you all. It should be here soon. Don’t drink too much on an empty stomach.” “Thanks, Mr. Cole…” Leo, hearing the respectful tone from the others, chirped in brightly, “Thanks, Mr. Cole! Hey… that name sounds familiar. Are you the old guy Raine was talking about?” He slapped his hands over his mouth in a caricature of shock, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Oh, my God, sorry. You’re not as old as she made you sound. Definitely got that whole… distinguished vibe. Actually, maybe ‘Mr. Cole’ is better, you know? Has that silver fox ring to it.” The boy was so young that even his malice had a certain clumsy charm. Still, the casual, toothless attack found a chink in my armor, and a tiny splinter of pain lodged itself there. It was bearable. Nothing like what it could have been. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I lowered my eyes, lighting another cigarette, the small ritual a familiar comfort. After a long drag, I met Raine’s gaze. “Raine,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Clear the room. We need to talk.” 3 Her hand fell away from Leo’s face. Her gaze, dark and unreadable, swept over me. She knew that tone. It was my final offer. Perhaps she was genuinely afraid I might do something to her new boy toy. She was silent for a beat, then rose to her feet. “Everyone, out.” “Raine, come on…” Leo whined, not ready to give up. Raine shot him a look, her voice dropping to ice. “Get out.” The boy shot me a venomous glare before trailing out of the room with the others. The moment the door clicked shut, a heavy sigh escaped my lips. I watched her through the haze of smoke, a silhouette just three steps away. Not too close, not too far. A perfect, calculated distance. The same distance that had been between us when we first met. She would never know how far I had traveled to reach her that day. She’d been wearing clothes that were clean but faded from a hundred washes, her head bowed over a sink full of dirty dishes. Her hands were raw and swollen from the hot water, the kind of cold-weather damage that cracks and bleeds. I walked up to her. The girl looked up, her eyes wary, like a cornered animal. “Do you want to come with me?” I’d asked. Back then, I was just starting out, my own finances stretched thin. But I put on an air of wealth, terrified she’d see the desperation peeking through the seams of my ill-fitting suit. Raine’s pupils dilated, her chapped lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll pay for your tuition,” I’d said. “You can focus on school.” I was young and arrogant, believing, like my own father, that love and money were two sides of the same coin. I’d placed our entire relationship on that transactional scale, only realizing years later that it had tainted everything, reducing a genuine impulse to a sordid cliché. My inexperience blinded me to the painful struggle in her eyes. When she finally smiled at me, I was just ecstatic that I could help someone I was… drawn to. She signed the contract. A sponsorship agreement. But we both knew what it really was. Only with time, as I navigated the brutal landscape of the corporate world, did I begin to understand the bitterness and humiliation that must have been coiled beneath that smile. Pain, I learned, can have a delayed reaction. And the chasm between us grew wider with every passing year. I still instinctively transferred half of every bonus I ever made into her account. But I knew she never touched it. She was earning more than I was now. A rising star in her field, a titan in the making. I saw her name in the headlines all the time. 4 “Raine.” I heard my own voice, distant and strained. She didn’t react, her dark eyes fixed on me. “This Saturday, our contract expires,” I said, my tone gentle, controlled. “Until then, I don’t want to see a repeat of tonight.” Still, she said nothing. Over the years, she had grown quieter and quieter with me. The space between us filled with unspoken things. We were like courteous strangers sharing a home. Finally, she spoke. “Smoking is bad for you. You promised me you’d quit.” I nodded, extinguishing the cigarette. She bent down, pulled a tissue from her purse, dampened it with a bit of water from a glass on the table, and took my hand. She held my wrist, carefully and methodically wiping the ash from my fingertips. “The contract is ending,” Raine said, her voice low. “Are you going to renew it this time?” I pulled my hand back. “No. It’s time for you to be free.” “Your birthday is this Saturday.” I shook my head, managing a small laugh. “I’m too old for birthdays.” She watched me with those dark, impenetrable eyes. I could no longer read what was happening behind them. After a silence that felt heavy enough to suffocate, she asked, “You’ve been counting down the days, haven’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact. A fact she already knew. I nodded. Once the contract was over, we could finally escape this twisted, unhealthy dynamic. We could go our separate ways. Whether her path was smooth or rocky, it would no longer have anything to do with me. “Okay.” Just as I expected. She agreed without a fight. The truth was, when I first started counting down the days, it was with a different plan in mind. I’d imagined that once the contract was dissolved, I would finally confess everything. I would lay my wretched, sincere heart bare before her. But now… now I knew her happiness was more important. As she’d said, I wasn’t young anymore. I couldn’t hold a free soul captive for my own selfish desires. Raine stepped forward and adjusted the collar of my coat. “Are you coming home now?” I gestured to my phone. “No, something came up at work. I have to go back.” She gave a flat, emotionless “hmm.” “I can give you a ride,” she offered. “No, you’ve been drinking. Besides, I drove.” “Okay,” she said. She let her eyes fall. “I thought you were coming to get me.” I turned back to her. “What?” Raine repeated herself, her voice perfectly even. “I thought you were coming to take me home, Finn.””

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“With only $250.41 left in my bank account, I took a screenshot and posted it to my socials as a joke. “Giving up on adulting. Slightly used, great personality. Best offer.” A minute later, a message from Carter Hayes popped up in my chat window: “”Please accept payment of $20,000.00.”” Me??? “”Marriage.”” “”$20,000 a month.”” Hah, am I the kind of person who can be bought with money? My immediate reaction was to… Confirm payment. 1 My checking account balance was $250.41. I took a screenshot and posted it to my Instagram story with a caption born of desperation and dark humor. “Giving up on adulting. Slightly used, great personality. Best offer.” A minute later, a Venmo notification popped up on my screen: Carter Hayes sent you $20,000.00. I blinked. Then blinked again. A text message from him followed immediately. “For our wedding.” “And $20,000 a month.” “This is to satisfy our parents. We will live separate lives after.” What the hell? A laugh bubbled up from my chest, sharp and incredulous. Had my life suddenly turned into one of the ridiculous romance novels I secretly devoured? Was I the kind of woman who could be bought with a Venmo transfer? My thumb hovered over the “”Accept”” button for a fraction of a second. Turns out, yes. Yes, I am. With a trembling heart and shaking hands, I typed back the first thing that came to mind. “Okay, hubby.” There was no refusing this. Absolutely no way. Let someone else climb the corporate ladder. I was done. This dead-end job, this soul-crushing routine—I was so profoundly over it. They say a person without dreams is no different from a salted fish. But what if your dream is to be carefree? No one was going to stand in the way of my new career as a professional layabout. 2 Carter Hayes. A rising star in the business world, a man who had it all: wealth, looks, and a Midas touch. His net worth was in the nine figures. And me? Chloe Pierce. A corporate drone whose entire net worth was, as we’ve established, embarrassing. While I was personable, he was personally worth a fortune. The only reason I even knew a man like him existed was because my former boss had been desperate to land a deal with his company. To be more accurate, my ex-boss engaged in a level of sycophantic groveling that was painful to watch, but which, to my surprise, actually worked. For Carter to propose marriage to me, there were only two possibilities: either he was having a psychotic break, or this was his bizarre, one-man charity initiative. Whatever his reason for plucking me from the sea of anonymous faces, I couldn’t help but feel moved to tears by his generosity. I, Chloe Pierce, was about to become a kept woman. Twenty thousand a month. That was one hundred and twenty thousand in six months. Two hundred and forty thousand a year. In just one year, I could bank enough for a down payment on a life of blissful early retirement. I’d be skipping forty years of the rat race. I could already picture it: his mother, or perhaps a long-lost love—the one that got away—showing up at my door with a check, telling me I wasn’t good enough for him and demanding I leave. I could make a whole second bonus on the exit package. This was a win-win. Marry him? I’d do it yesterday. Forget just dealing with his parents; for that kind of money, I’d scrub his ancestral tombstones with a toothbrush until they gleamed. 3 That very afternoon, Carter and I went to City Hall and got the marriage license. I was the one rushing. An opportunity this good had a shelf life, and I didn’t want to waste a second. What if he came to his senses and changed his mind? I couldn’t bear the thought of losing out on millions. There was no emotion between us. We signed the papers, collected the certificate, and walked straight out, bypassing the cheesy photo-op station completely. Clutching the official document, a wave of relief washed over me. I felt revitalized, buzzing with a newfound sense of purpose. It’s amazing what a six-figure annual salary can do for your motivation. “Mr. Hayes,” I said, my voice bright. “Your wish is my command. I am at your service.” A frown creased his handsome face. “What did you call me?” “…Hubby?” I tried. The frown softened, replaced by a flicker of satisfaction. He nodded. “Good. We’ll stick with that.” “You got it. Whatever makes you happy.” I knew I was laying it on thick, but this man was my patron, my golden goose. I’d call him Grandpa if he paid me enough. “So,” I asked, “what’s our next move?” “We move you in.” Of course. The plot demanded we cohabitate. It was a shame I’d just paid three months’ rent on my apartment that morning. Non-refundable. I felt a painful twinge in my wallet. I packed a single suitcase, traveling light, and moved directly into Carter’s sleek, modern townhouse. Most of my belongings stayed behind in my rental. My reasoning was twofold: first, I’d already paid for the place, so I might as well use it; second, if Carter ever decided to bring home his real girlfriend for a romantic evening, I’d have a place to discreetly disappear to. See? I was already a thoughtful, considerate wife. Mostly, I was just terrified he’d wake up one day, realize what he’d done, and kick me out. I needed an escape hatch. 4 Carter left on a business trip the night we got our license. For a solid week, the sprawling townhouse was mine alone, save for the housekeeper who came for a few hours each day. And every single night, I woke up. From laughing in my sleep. This was the life. It was glorious. Husband away, direct deposit hits on time, no in-laws, no kids, no drama. I couldn’t stop grinning. This was the best damn job I’d ever had. My days were a blissful cycle of binge-watching shows, scrolling through TikTok, and playing online poker with my best friend. During that week, a viral TikTok trend was making the rounds, based on some old folk tale about a woman who waited eighteen years for her husband while living in poverty. I shook my head, screenshotted it, and sent it to my group chat. “A cautionary tale, ladies. Don’t end up waiting eighteen years for a man who’s out chasing his dreams.” Carter liked the post. It was the only contact we had since we’d gotten married. It seemed we were both on the same page, two pragmatic people in a business arrangement. That settled my nerves. Though I looked like a slacker, I maintained a strict daily regimen of self-reflection. My three essential questions were: When will Carter’s mom show up to pay me off? How much will she offer? How much should I counter with? I even bookmarked articles on negotiation tactics for just such an occasion. I waited and waited. Finally, a few days later, my phone rang. It was Carter. He told me his mother was coming to visit that evening. I shot up from the couch, my heart pounding. It was happening! The mother-in-law was making her move! Before I could say anything, his voice came through the phone again. “I’ll be home tonight to meet her with you.” I immediately shut that down. “No, no, that’s not necessary! I can handle it. You’re busy with work, don’t trouble yourself.” What was he thinking? If he was there, how was I supposed to gracefully accept his mother’s buyout offer? This was my golden opportunity, and he was about to ruin it. “It’s the first time you’re meeting,” he insisted. “It’s better if I’m there.” I refused. He insisted again. I refused again. After a few rounds of this, his tone shifted, laced with a new, sharp sarcasm. “What’s the matter? Is my being there going to get in the way of you taking her money and running?” Damn it. Was he a mind reader? How did he know exactly what I was planning? “My mother isn’t going to pay you to leave me,” he said, his voice flat. “Chloe, give it up.” I wanted to scream and punch a pillow. Instead, I forced a sweet, accommodating tone. “Of course not! I was just worried about your work schedule. But if you insist, then I’ll wait for you to come home.” 5 He’d said she was coming in the evening, but Carter’s mother arrived at three in the afternoon. She caught me completely off guard. I was deep in a nap when the housekeeper woke me. I barely had time to splash water on my face and run a comb through my hair before heading downstairs. I didn’t even get a chance to text Carter. She was seated on the sofa, the picture of elegance in a chic cream-colored pantsuit. Her smile was warm. “I’ve heard so much about you from Carter. You must be the daughter-in-law I’ve yet to meet.” I perched on the edge of the cushion opposite her, my hands folded neatly in my lap. “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.” “Oh, none of that ‘ma’am’ business. You’re married to my son now. You should call me Mom.” I… so that’s where Carter got his thing about titles. When she learned that Carter hadn’t been home once since the wedding, her warm expression clouded with concern. “You poor thing,” she said, her voice laced with sympathy. “You must feel so neglected.” I managed an awkward laugh and told her the honest truth. “Not at all. I’m fine, really.” Honestly, I was better than fine. I was getting paid for this. How could I possibly feel neglected? But she seemed to think I was just being brave, that I was suffering in silence. She became instantly indignant on my behalf. “I’ll have him home tonight to spend more time with you!” My eyes widened in panic. “Mom, really, there’s no need.” She wasn’t listening. She was on a roll. “What’s the point of working so hard if he leaves his new bride all alone at home? It’s disgraceful!” She stood up abruptly. “Come on! Let’s go.” I was bewildered. “Go? Go where?” “To do some damage.” 6 I thought she meant we were marching down to Carter’s office to give him a piece of her mind. Instead, she took me to Saks Fifth Avenue. “Buy whatever you want,” she declared, sweeping her arm out in a grand gesture. “My son and his father are exactly the same—married to their work. So, we’ll just have to make them pay for it. Don’t hold back.” With that, she had a sales associate pulling the latest designer collections. So this was the joy of the truly wealthy. But I hesitated at the entrance. A single t-shirt in this store cost more than my entire bank account pre-Carter. My fun money wasn’t built for this. Eleanor—I mean, Mom—saw me lingering. “Come on, Chloe! Don’t you dare try to save Carter any money!” Ma’am… Mom… the thing is, it’s not that I’m trying to save your son money. It’s that I don’t have any of your son’s money. Or his credit card. I made an excuse about needing the restroom and ducked into an alcove to frantically call Carter. “Carter, code red! SOS!” “What’s wrong?” His voice was low and calm. “Your mom dragged me to Saks.” I was practically vibrating with anxiety, but he just gave a quiet, “Mm.” Mm? Mm?! That’s all I get? An “mm”?! Just as I was about to lose it, he finally spoke again, his voice smooth and unbothered. “Buy whatever you want. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you both up for dinner.” “Right, but, uh… is this a reimbursable business expense?” I asked cautiously, terrified he’d say no. “I mean, it’s not for me, it’s for… corporate morale. You know?” A low chuckle came from his end of the line. “Yes, Chloe. It’s all reimbursable.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief. As long as it wasn’t my money, I was good. A moment after we hung up, a notification popped onto my screen. Carter Hayes sent you $50,000.00. My hand shook so badly I almost dropped my phone. A text followed. “If that’s not enough, let me know. Have to get back to my meeting.” “More than enough, thank you!” For rich people, sending fifty grand was apparently like sending fifty bucks. My God. The resentment was real. 7 Eleanor had the time of her life. The world of the wealthy is, it turns out, beautifully simple. Still, holding that much of Carter’s money made me feel a little guilty. So while I was picking out a few things for myself, I made sure to buy him a couple of nice dress shirts. Just when I thought our shopping spree was over, Eleanor made a sharp turn and strode into a high-end men’s lingerie store. I froze at the entrance. She beckoned to me. “Come on in. You can pick out a few pairs for Carter.” I… what? “Oh, I don’t think so,” I stammered, my face heating up. “We’re… not that close.” “You’re husband and wife, dear. No need to be shy.” She came over and gave me a gentle, motherly nudge. “We’ll each pick our own things. I won’t look, I promise.” With that, she propelled me into the store. Save me. This was a nightmare. Forget for a second that our relationship was purely transactional and we were nowhere near the “picking out underwear” stage. The real problem was… I had no idea what size he wore. I couldn’t possibly text him and ask, could I? ‘Hey hubby, what size underwear do you wear? Asking for a friend.’ Mortifying. But Eleanor was watching me, a determined look on her face that said I wasn’t leaving until I’d made a purchase. Left with no choice, I gritted my teeth and pretended to browse. Whatever, I thought. It doesn’t matter what size I get. I’ll just hide them when I get home so he never sees them. The second her attention was elsewhere, I snatched two boxes off a rack, threw them on the counter, and hissed at the cashier, “Just ring these up, please. Quickly.” 8 It was six o’clock by the time we left the mall. Eleanor had her driver drop me off in front of Carter’s office building. “I won’t intrude on your evening together,” she said with a wink, and then she was gone. I stood in the massive, marble-floored lobby, laden with shopping bags, unsure whether to stay or go. She had, very thoughtfully, arranged for someone to come down and escort me up to Carter. Before my escort could arrive, however, an unwelcome guest appeared. “Chloe.” That familiar voice. I turned. Oh, great. It was my ex-boyfriend, Mark. What a turd. We’d had an office romance. My pervy ex-boss had tried to use his position to get handsy with me. When I told Mark about it, his first reaction was to tell me to just let it go and pretend it never happened. “I’m up for a promotion this month,” he’d said, his face a mask of anxiety for his own career. “If you make a scene, it could look bad for both of us.” There wasn’t a shred of anger on my behalf. Only concern for his future. I just smiled, said nothing, and ate the piece of steak I’d been about to offer him. Go to hell, I thought. I broke up with him on the drive home and quit my job the next day. He was probably here trying to land a deal with Carter’s company. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “None of your business.” I had no interest in talking to him. I turned to leave. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “I got the promotion.” “So? And you are…?” I started, then switched back to English. “What does that have to do with me?” “I know you were hurt by what happened,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “But I’m a manager now. I can support you even if you don’t work. We should get back together.” The earnest look on his face just made me feel sick. “Mark, I’m expensive. That thousand-dollar raise you got isn’t going to cut it.” “Chloe, you never used to be so materialistic,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist. His eyes fell to the designer shopping bags. “Where did you get the money for all this?” This was absurdity on a whole new level. He was lecturing me about materialism over a thousand-dollar raise. “Let go of me,” I said, trying to pull away. Just as I was wondering how to get out of this, my savior arrived. 9 “Chloe. Over here.” Carter was standing a few feet away. I didn’t know how long he’d been there. His gaze was fixed on Mark’s hand, and his expression was thunderous. I yanked my arm free and practically ran to Carter’s side, a brilliant smile plastered on my face. “Carter! There you are!” “Mm,” was all he said, his face an unreadable mask. “Well, shall we go?” Carter reached for the bags, but I swatted his hand away. “No, no, I’ve got them!” I knew my place. The moneybags doesn’t carry the bags. But my refusal only seemed to make him angrier. His face darkened, and he started walking toward the exit at a brisk pace. I had to half-jog to keep up with him. It wasn’t until we were in the car that he finally spoke. “Who was that?” “My ex,” I said, clicking my seatbelt into place. “It’s completely over. We just ran into each other by chance.” At that, the tension in his jaw seemed to ease slightly. If I didn’t know our marriage was a contract, I would have thought he was jealous. But I have a mischievous streak. His reaction was too good not to poke at. “Mr. Hayes, are you jealous?” I teased. “I thought we agreed on ‘separate lives.’” “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just asking.” I knew it. He started the car, changing the subject. “What do you want to eat?” “Whatever’s fine.” Half an hour later, Carter pulled up in front of a tiny, unassuming restaurant. “So, what are we having?” Without even looking at me, he said, “Dumplings.” I… okay. 10 The car rolled to a stop in the driveway of the townhouse. I wrestled the mountain of shopping bags out of the back seat, ready to say my goodbyes. “Thanks for the ride home.” As the words left my mouth, Carter opened his door and got out. “Chloe,” he said, his tone flat. “This is my home, too.” I was a little surprised. “You’re staying here tonight?” He shoved a hand in his pocket and stared at me. “You seem disappointed.” He saw right through me. I forced a laugh. “What? No! Of course I want you to come home more often.” “Good. Because starting today, I’ll be staying here every night.” In other words: your freewheeling, solo vacation is over. I could have kicked myself. Why did I have to open my big mouth? But Carter was the owner of this house and, technically, my husband. I had no grounds to object. Defeated, I handed him the bag with the shirts I’d bought for him. “You bought these for me?” “Yeah. See if they fit.” He sat down on the sofa and started looking through the bag. He pulled out one of the small boxes and examined it. “Ahem,” I coughed. “Too small.” I was still sulking about my lost freedom and wasn’t really paying attention. I retorted automatically, “How would you know? you haven’t even tried it on!” I glanced over. In his hands was one of the boxes of underwear I’d grabbed in a panic. Oh, crap. Because I never intended for him to wear them, I hadn’t even looked at the size. In my haste at the store, I’d just tossed the boxes into the same bag as the shirts, thinking I’d hide them later. His sudden announcement about moving in had completely thrown me off my game. My face burned. I snatched the box from his hand and hid it behind my back, trying to salvage the situation. “That’s not for you.” “Not for me? Then who is it for?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “Your ex-boyfriend?” He glanced at the box behind my back, a single eyebrow raised in mocking amusement. “He’s… that small?” “You—you—!” I was so flustered I could barely speak. “You’re shameless!” A slow smile spread across his face. “Size XXL,” he said, his voice a low drawl. “Remember that for next time.” He was provoking me! And I was not about to lose. If he wanted to play games, fine. “Why?” I shot back. “You need a two-bedroom apartment for that thing?” Carter leaned in close, his lips curving into a smirk, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Not convinced? You could always check for yourself.””

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“My wife, the movie star, got caught by the paparazzi in a hotel room with her high school sweetheart. She called me to fix it. So I put on the same Tom Ford suit to create a diversion, and in the process, I was cornered in an alley by her most extreme fans and beaten to death. When my mother finally found me, I was slick with blood, my heart a dead, silent thing in my chest. She collapsed, sobbing, her knees hitting the grimy pavement as she frantically called my wife, dozens of times, begging for help. All she got in return was a voice crackling with rage. “You couldn’t even handle the paparazzi? You’re pathetic! Why don’t you just go die?” But… I already had. 1. My soul didn’t scatter after I died. It lingered, a ghost tethered to the world of the living. I watched my mom, her body stooped with a fatigue that went bone-deep, handle the arrangements for my funeral. It was well past midnight by the time she was done. She sat slumped in her wheelchair, her fingers tracing the smooth, cold ceramic of my urn. The tears she’d held back finally broke free, a string of pearls snapping, scattering grief across her worn face. “Oh, Ethan, my sweet boy.” “Why did you have to go before me? A mother isn’t supposed to live without her son.” Her voice was a raw, shredded thing. Her eyes were swollen and bruised from crying. There is no pain in this world like a parent burying their child. Seeing the silver in her hair bloom overnight, conquering the last of the black, it broke what was left of my heart. I regretted it all. I knelt beside her, my ghostly form a useless comfort, whispering her name over and over. “Mom.” But I was dead. She couldn’t hear a thing. Tears of regret I could no longer physically shed burned in my soul, dissolving into a faint white mist that vanished as quickly as it formed. I pressed my forehead to the floorboards before her. Mom, I’m so sorry. Your son failed you. “Ethan!” It was as if she felt me, a sudden chill in the room. She started to turn her head, but at that exact moment— BANG! The front door slammed open, kicked in with such force that my mother flinched violently. Framed in the doorway were two unwelcome guests: my wife, Ava Sterling, and her first love, Caleb. Ava’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows were knotted in fury, her voice a low burn of unrestrained anger. “Ethan! I told you to lead the press away, and you couldn’t even manage that! I could’ve hired a trained monkey and gotten better results!” Her eyes scanned the small apartment, finding it empty of me. The frustration morphed into something uglier, more volatile. “Because of your incompetence, Caleb’s face is plastered all over TMZ!” With a guttural scream of rage, she kicked over a box of my belongings—things my mother had painstakingly gathered and organized. Then, she strode toward my mom. “You, old woman! Where is he? Tell him to get his ass out here right now!” I balled my fists, a pointless gesture. There was no strength, no substance, just a cold, impotent rage. “My Ethan…” Mom’s voice was a whisper, her hand caressing my urn as if it were my cheek. She didn’t look up, her whole being seemed to have been hollowed out. “…he’s gone.” She had been crying for a day and a night straight. Her voice was sandpaper, each word a struggle. But when she spoke my name, it was still so gentle. Just like when I was a kid, coming home from school, and she’d be standing on the porch, waving, calling out to me. “Gone?” Caleb blinked, then shot a look at Ava, a small, exasperated smile playing on his lips. “Come on, Ava. Let’s just go. If Ethan doesn’t want to come out and fix this, I’ll handle the PR myself.” Seeing Caleb’s look of magnanimous resignation sent Ava’s fury into overdrive. “No!” Her gaze fell on my mother, cold and sharp. “You listen to me, you old hag,” she snarled. “I don’t care where Ethan is. You get him on the phone and tell him to get back here right now. He is going to get on his knees and apologize to Caleb.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “You clearly failed at raising a decent son, so I’ll teach him a lesson myself.” “Or else, I’ll make sure your whole family pays the price!” That’s enough, Ava! I’d been your workhorse, your secret, your shadow, all to support your career, to make sure you shone on screen. I swallowed the hidden marriage, the constant humiliations. But I’m dead. I just died. How can you come here and threaten my mother? How can you unleash this poison on her? I clenched my fists so hard I thought my spectral form might tear apart, but it did nothing to stop Ava’s tirade. “Well? Speak up! Where is he?” Ava grabbed the front of my mother’s worn blouse, her face a mask of savage rage, her eyes boring into my mom’s. My mother, my strong, unbreakable mother, trembled. Her fingers clutched at the fabric over her heart. But the pain of losing a child had forged a new kind of strength in her. Her gentle eyes hardened, and she stared right back at Ava, each word landing like a stone. “I said… my son is dead.” Ava froze, her face a canvas of shock. For a single, suspended moment, even her breathing stopped. But then Caleb’s smooth voice sliced through the silence, pulling her back. “Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but you can’t just curse your own son to death to avoid taking responsibility.” He shook his head, a performance of profound disappointment. “Ava is Ethan’s wife. Couples fight. For you to get in the middle of it at your age, to stir up trouble… it’s no wonder Ava has had to carry this family on her back.” My teeth ground together at his sanctimonious act. And, like always, Ava bought it completely. Her expression hardened. Her eyes swept over my mother, from her white hair down to the wheels of her chair. A cold dread washed over me. Ava, no! I screamed. She didn’t hear me. She took a step forward and slapped my mother across the face. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room. Before I could even process it, she drew her leg back and kicked the wheelchair with all her might. “Mom!” I screamed, a silent, agonizing roar, as I watched my mother tumble from the chair, her head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. “Ava! Stop it! She’s not lying! I’m really dead! You killed me!” I roared at her, my voice lost to the space between worlds. This monster couldn’t hear me. “Mom! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” I knelt on the floor, watching the woman who had once seemed so strong, so capable of carrying the world—the woman who had carried me—now lying broken on the floor, so easily toppled. “Ava! What more do you want?” As I tried again and again, in vain, to help my mother up, I saw Ava stalking toward her. Ignoring my desperate, unheard screams, she bent down, wrapped her hands around my mother’s throat, and hauled her up. “AVA!” Blood trickled from the gash on my mother’s forehead, dripping onto Ava’s hands, onto the bulging veins of her knuckles as she squeezed. Her next words were delivered with chilling precision. “Call him. If he’s not here in three minutes…” She slammed my mother back against the floor. Ava’s eyes were blazing. “…I’ll let him see your ashes instead, you old bitch!””

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For five years, I lived a perfect life with my gentle, poetic husband. One bloody night shattered the illusion. A hidden file on his computer revealed the truth: Our love story was a lie. I wasn’t his wife. I was his mission—a promise he made to my dead sister. 1 I always joked that my husband, Sévérine, was the reincarnation of some gloomy poet from another century. For a software engineer, he was almost comically frail, his skin so pale it seemed to have never seen the sun. He’d get winded carrying in a case of sparkling water, and he had to physically look away from even the mildest gore in movies. Then came the night of the pile-up, a chain reaction of screeching tires and shattering glass in a downpour that left us stranded on the icy street. My blood had frozen in my veins, but it was like a switch had been flipped in Sévérine. He moved through the cacophony of car horns and human screams like a blur of motion. Beside an overturned sedan, he tore the warped metal of a door off its hinges with his bare hands, clearing the airway of a trapped victim whose blood was blooming across the rain-slicked asphalt. His movements were precise, clinical, and possessed an eerie, inhuman grace. Stunned, I raised my phone and snapped a picture of him—splattered in blood, his eyes as sharp and fierce as a hawk’s. I posted it with the caption: “My hopelessly delicate husband, playing the hero tonight. I think he might be a god.” The comment section immediately exploded. One anonymous comment was quickly voted to the top: “That’s not a normal rescue. The strength to rip off a car door, those ice-cold eyes in the middle of all that chaos… That’s not human. Your husband is one of the Blood Kindred. Run. Get away from him. You’re a mortal, you don’t belong in the company of the night.” “Girl, they’re messing with you. Why would something like that marry you? You two don’t even have the same vibe.” “I’d bet my last dollar he’s with you for a reason. You should look into your family. Any dark secrets?” Secrets? The only thing remotely unique about me was my sister, Liana. And she was gone, killed in a “hiking accident” years ago. Sévérine walked back to me, shrugging off his blood-soaked coat. Just like that, he was my pale, weak husband again, leaning on my shoulder, his body radiating an unnatural chill. “Sophie,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “My legs are giving out. Can we go home?” I wrapped my arm around his trembling frame, but inside my own chest, a tidal wave of terror was cresting. I supported Sévérine’s weight, the heavy, sweet scent of blood clinging to him like a shroud. It wasn’t the coppery smell of a normal wound; it was something else… cloying and dangerous, a scent that churned my stomach. It completely overpowered the clean, cool scent of cedarwood he always wore. Back home, I helped him onto the sofa and fled to the bathroom. In the mirror, my face was a ghostly white mask. I turned on the tap, scrubbing my hands under scalding water, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of sticky, warm blood that felt like it had seeped into my pores. Sévérine appeared behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin in the curve of my neck. His breath was cool against my skin, like a winter fog, lacking the warmth of a living person. “That must have scared you,” he said, his voice laced with its usual fatigue. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I pried his fingers from my waist, one by one. “I’m going to make dinner.” In the kitchen, I pulled out tomatoes and steak. The thud of the knife against the cutting board echoed my frayed nerves. I heard his soft footsteps behind me. “Let me, darling.” “You need to rest,” I said, my voice flat. He didn’t argue, just sat quietly at the dining table. His eyes never left me. I used to think his unwavering gaze was a sign of devotion. Now, it made the hairs on my arms stand up. I felt like prey being watched by a snake coiled in the shadows. After dinner, our daughter, Luna, begged for a bedtime story. Sévérine picked up a book of fairy tales, his voice its usual gentle murmur as he told her the story of Sleeping Beauty. Luna drifted off, and he tucked her in before coming back out. I was sitting on the sofa, the light from my tablet illuminating my face. I had a forum open, one dedicated to European folklore. A bolded headline read: “Identifying the Kindred: Strength, Speed, and an Unnatural Reaction to Blood.” His footsteps faltered. “What are you reading?” I looked up at him, gesturing to the screen. “Just… after what happened tonight, it made me think of all those urban legends.” He managed a weak smile and sat beside me. “It’s all just stories, you know. Creative writing to scare people.” He picked up the remote and switched the TV to a classical music station. “It’s easy to talk a big game online,” he said, tucking a throw pillow into my lap. “But when you’re really in it, not many people can keep their cool.” I hugged the pillow to my chest. “You did.” “I was… I was terrified. Running on pure, dumb adrenaline.” He rubbed his temples, putting on a show of exhaustion. “My heart is still pounding just thinking about it.” I switched off the tablet. The screen went dark, reflecting our two silent faces. “Luna,” I began, my voice barely a whisper. “You said you chose her name because she was born on a night with a beautiful moon.” He nodded, a soft smile in his eyes. “That’s right. A moon as bright and clear as she is.” “My sister’s name was Liana,” I said, watching his eyes, searching for the slightest flicker in his pupils. The smile on his face froze for a fraction of a second before melting into something even more tender. “Yes, it’s a beautiful coincidence.” He reached out, stroking my hair. “Maybe Liana is watching over us from heaven, and wanted Luna to carry a piece of her with her.” He had an explanation for everything. Flawless. Seamless. Later that night, I lay beside him, wide awake. His breathing was so even and quiet it was almost silent, as if he were in a deep, death-like slumber. I slipped out of bed and went to the study, booting up his laptop. The password was my birthday. I checked his browser history. It was nothing but coding websites and tech forums. It was too clean, too sterile for a normal man’s computer. Taking a deep breath, I found a hidden, encrypted drive. It required a second password. I tried my birthday. Access denied. I tried Luna’s. Access denied. My fingers, cold and trembling, hovered over the keyboard. Then, slowly, I typed in a new set of numbers. The date my sister, Liana, had died. The folder opened. 2 There was only one file inside the folder. A document titled, Log. My hand trembled over the mouse, the clicker feeling as cold as a tombstone. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. The file’s creation date was the day Sévérine and I had first met. It had last been modified yesterday. I opened it. There were no words. Just scanned photographs and sketches. The first photo was of me, on a street in Paris, taken decades ago. I was wearing a vintage sundress, beaming at something off-camera. In the corner of the shot, almost lost in the crowd, was a man in a black trench coat that seemed out of place among the tourists. It was Sévérine. But we had met five years ago, at a friend’s party. I kept scrolling. A photo of me asleep in a chair at my floral studio on its opening day, a man’s jacket draped over my shoulders. A photo of me on stage, babbling incoherently after winning my first design award. A photo of me in a hospital bed, a man’s hand in the foreground, meticulously peeling an apple. On and on they went, a secret history of my life’s most important moments. And in every single one, there he was. Sometimes in the light, sometimes a shadow in the darkness. He wasn’t my husband; he was my chronicler. At the very end of the log was a single, faded photograph. A young Liana, fierce and beautiful, leaned against a vintage motorcycle. Standing beside her was a young man, tall and sharp-featured. His energy was harder, colder than the man I knew, but there was no mistaking him. It was Sévérine. And in the photo, there was no trace of the frail man I knew. His eyes held the hard gleam of polished steel. I zoomed in. There was writing on the back. I used a photo editor to invert the colors, and a line of elegant, forceful script appeared. “Sévérine, if I can no longer see the sun, promise me you’ll keep Sophie safe. Let her live her whole life in the daylight.” It was dated the day before her “hiking accident.” My fairy-tale romance. My carefully built family. It was all a mission. The fulfillment of a dying wish, made by one woman to another. A promise being carried out by an ancient vampire, a five-year-long assignment. The next morning, I dressed Luna. “How about we go stay with Grandma for a few days?” Sévérine came out of the bedroom and froze, seeing us dressed and ready to go. “Sophie? It’s not the weekend, what’s…” “My mom misses Luna,” I cut him off. “Can you give us a ride?” He drove us to my mother’s apartment building. I got out, holding Luna in my arms. “I’ll come get you both tonight,” Sévérine said. “Don’t worry about it.” I shut the car door. “We’ll stay a couple of days. You should focus on work.” He studied my face, his own gaze searching. I forced a smile, then turned and walked away without looking back. In my old childhood room, I pulled a dusty box from under the bed. Liana’s things. I sifted through them until I found her last photo album. Tucked between the pages was the original photograph. The paper felt old, authentic. It was the same one from his computer. It was all real. That evening, Sévérine called. “Darling, when are you and Luna coming back? The house feels so cold without you.” He sounded exhausted. “Let’s just stay one more night. Luna doesn’t want to leave,” I said, my own voice sounding strangely calm and distant. After I hung up, my mother came in. “Sophie, did your sister… did she ever mention a friend named Sévérine?” I stiffened. “Why do you ask?” “I just remember… right before her accident, Liana called home one day. She sounded so sad. She said she’d met someone very special, someone like a knight from the darkness, but also like… an endless abyss. She told me that if anything ever happened to her, she hoped that ‘knight’ would protect us for her.” In that moment, my heart didn’t just break. It sank into a true abyss of its own. I took Luna home the next day. Sévérine had cooked a feast. The moment we walked in, he rushed over, scooping Luna into his arms. “My little moonbeam, Daddy missed you so much.” During dinner, I spoke as if the thought had just occurred to me. “Sévérine, I was going through Liana’s old things, and I found a photo of her with a friend.” The fork in his hand paused mid-air. “Oh?” “There was even writing on the back. Something about… asking him to do something for her.” I stared at him, watching for any crack in his perfect facade. His expression didn’t change. He just smiled. “Soldiers make promises like that to each other all the time. It’s normal to entrust your life to a brother-in-arms.” He was impenetrable. For the next few days, I acted as if nothing had changed. But I lay awake all night, every night, listening to the near-silent breathing of the man beside me, feeling like I was slowly drowning in an ocean of lies. Every detail I had once overlooked now felt like a needle in my heart. Friday was the anniversary of Liana’s death. Sévérine was dressed for the office early that morning. “Darling, we have an emergency project at work. I might have to work late tonight.” His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. I nodded. “Okay,” I said softly. After he left, I dressed Luna in a small black dress. “Sweetheart, today we’re going to go visit Aunt Liana.” I drove straight to the old cemetery on the outskirts of the city. 3 Among the silent stone angels, I hid with Luna behind a massive cypress tree that overlooked Liana’s grave. Before long, a familiar figure appeared. Sévérine. He wasn’t wearing his usual soft, comfortable clothes. He was in a perfectly tailored black suit, as if attending a solemn ceremony. He had shed the skin of my gentle, fragile husband, and in its place was a man who looked like an ancient, sheathed sword—sharp, silent, and deadly. He stopped before my sister’s headstone. The wind carried his voice to me, no longer the warm tone I knew, but a voice filled with ancient power and sorrow. “Liana. I’ve come to see you.” My heart plummeted with his first word. “It has been five years since I made the blood vow,” Sévérine said, his voice low but perfectly clear. “I’ve kept Sophie well. She’s naive, kind, a little foolish. Just as you wanted.” A little foolish. The words were a poisoned dagger in my ear. In his eyes, all my trust and devotion was just… foolishness. I wasn’t his lover; I was a project. A ward to be managed and protected. “Luna is healthy, too… but I can’t keep this up much longer.” His voice was raw with a pain he could no longer hide. “I think about it every day. What if I had been the one turned that night? What if, that morning, I had been the one to greet the sunrise for you? Would you be the one standing by her side now?” A roar filled my ears. The last string in my mind snapped. My marriage, my love—it was all a task, a performance by a vampire to honor a promise. All his kindness, all his tenderness, was born from his love and guilt for my sister. I wasn’t even a person to him. I was a substitute.

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For ten years, I was the girl who was one of the guys. Plain, dependable Faye, the sidekick in Leo Gunn’s world. In the eleventh year of my hopelessly one-sided love for him, I was handed a miracle: a chance to play the part of his girlfriend. “My parents are driving me insane about setting me up,” he’d said, all casual charm. “Just help me get them off my back for a while?” The night I said yes, we ended up in his bed. I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of his voice, low and triumphant, drifting from the bathroom. “I told you she was into me. All I had to do was hint at it, and she fell right into my lap. That new Porsche of yours is mine, buddy.” He’d seen through my act all along. He’d known exactly how I felt and had simply chosen to ignore it. A decade of friendship, my deepest secret, was nothing more than leverage for a bet. I pressed my hands over my ears, forcing back the tide of delusion. The next morning, I woke up tangled in his arms. He toyed with my fingers, a lazy smile on his face. “Well, you’ve officially had the honor of being my first. So, what’s the feedback? I can work on any notes for next time.” I wiped the faint, dried salt from the corner of my eye and shoved him with my foot, hard. “Get off. I do you a favor, and you help yourself to an all-you-can-eat buffet. And for the record? The technique was awful. As for yesterday, let’s just pretend it never happened. Find someone else to play your fake girlfriend.” 1 Leo’s face hardened into a mask of stone. He rose without a word, gathered the clothes from the floor, and threw them into the washing machine. A few minutes later, dressed in a clean t-shirt and sweats, he was gone. The front door slammed with a force that rattled the walls. The world revolved around Leo, or so he thought. One word he didn’t like, and the thunderclouds rolled in. I stared at my phone on the nightstand, my thumb hovering over his contact. I didn’t call. The last fragile barrier between us had been shattered. I had no idea how we were supposed to exist around each other now, and I needed time to figure it out. I thought back over the past year, over the string of dates I’d sabotaged under the guise of being his protective best friend. A bitter self-awareness washed over me. Humans really are insatiable creatures. At first, it was enough just to be near him, to have a front-row seat to his casual beauty. Then it was the easy comfort of his wealth, the way he was so easily swayed into indulging my whims. But somewhere along the way, my heart grew greedy. I started to dream of a world where Leo never dated, never married, where he was just… mine. I walked into the gaming room, fired up his high-end rig, and launched CS:GO. For the next hour, I channeled all my frustration into digital slaughter. Around noon, my phone rang. It was Ryan. “What the hell is Leo’s problem?” he asked. “He just posted an open call for a wife on his Instagram. Weren’t you two just…?” He cut himself off. I opened the app. It only took a few swipes. There it was: a picture of Leo, devastatingly handsome, with the caption: “Seeking a serious relationship, marriage-minded. Looks as pictured. Assets north of eight figures.” I had taken that photo last month. I’d just gotten back from a business trip, and as I walked out of the arrivals gate, I saw him waiting. He was wearing a crisp dress shirt, tailored trousers, and a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses he didn’t need. The whole look was devastatingly academic-hot-meets-asshole, and it hit every single one of my buttons. I’d snapped a few pictures before he caught me. The comment section was a frat house reunion. “Damn, Leo, saving the thirst traps for a special occasion?” “Dude, your vision is 20/20. You trying to look all intellectual with the glasses?” “Never seen you in that outfit before. Who are you trying to impress?” “Only eight figures? Slumming it, are we, Gunn?” Among the sea of comments, one stood out, sharp and painful. It was from Bianca Wells, one of his former setups. “I’ve been dying to go skiing in New Zealand. I heard you’re a certified instructor. Any chance you could teach me?” Leo had replied: “Absolutely. Next Friday work for you?” I remembered Bianca vividly. Even after I’d managed to ruin two of their dates, she’d relentlessly asked him out for a third. She only backed off when she saw Leo and me crammed onto his single-person armchair, controllers in hand, bodies pressed together as we played a game. And that was just the public declaration. How many others were sliding into his DMs? A familiar, acidic jealousy burned in my chest. Leo was never going to choose me. I had simply stolen a few years in his orbit under the false flag of friendship. Yesterday’s fleeting joy was just the punchline to a bet. Ryan’s voice came through the phone again. “I thought he asked you to be his girlfriend?” I forced a lightness I didn’t feel into my voice. “And just because he asks, I have to say yes? Hell, Ryan, I could ask you to be my boyfriend. You gonna take me up on it?” I heard a clatter on his end, like he’d dropped something. “Ha, Faye, you’re hilarious,” he stammered, then quickly hung up. The call killed my desire to play. I looked around the room. The dual monitors, the ergonomic chair, the custom keyboard—Leo had bought it all. He’d gotten me into CS:GO, bought me every rare skin he ever unboxed for himself. “We’re a team,” he’d said when I tried to protest. “What’s mine is yours.” I took a closer look at my in-game inventory. The total value had to be over a hundred thousand dollars. I tossed the mouse aside. A single thought, clean and sharp, cut through the haze. I should sell it all. 2 To combat the gnawing emptiness, I called my friend Chloe and dragged her shopping. We bought new clothes, new shoes, and then I saw it—the ski shop where Leo had taken me a few years ago. He’d insisted on outfitting me from head to toe himself. On a whim, I tried on a new helmet and a pair of mirrored goggles, checking my reflection. That’s when I heard her voice from the next aisle. “Leo, you can’t get mad at me if I’m terrible, okay? You have to promise you’ll be patient.” “And oh my god, I remember you have a jacket in this style. I want to get the matching one so we can be twins on the slopes.” I turned. It was Leo and Bianca. He looked vaguely annoyed, but he promised he’d be the epitome of patience. He even agreed to the matching jackets. Bianca then skipped over to the snowboards, her voice dripping with excitement. “Leo, I want to get the same board as you, too! Which one is yours?” I didn’t want to watch this saccharine performance. I pulled off the goggles and started for the exit, but Chloe’s voice rang out, betraying me. “Faye, you’re not getting the new goggles?” I froze. When I turned back, my eyes met Leo’s. Bianca was staring, too. “What a coincidence,” I managed. A smug smile played on Bianca’s lips. “Well, if it isn’t Leo’s little buddy.” She directed her next words at me, a purr of victory in her tone. “Leo’s taking me to New Zealand in a few days. So no matter what happens—whether you get a sudden fever or get into a fender bender—he won’t be coming back for you. I hope you’re strong enough to learn how to walk on your own.” I gave a careless nod. “Right. Thanks for the heads-up.” Leo didn’t say a word. He just picked up the goggles I’d put down. “You liked these? Let me get them for you. Anything else you want, just pick it out. It’s on me.” “Leo!” Bianca’s voice was a sharp whine. “You said you were buying me gear.” He offered me a small, tight smile. “Consider it my apology for yesterday. We’re still friends, right?” I stared at him, a wave of pure humiliation washing over me. What did he think I was? For hire? Someone he could pull into his bed when the mood struck, then discard for the next shiny thing, smoothing it all over with a few expensive trinkets? I grabbed Chloe’s arm and walked out of the store. I didn’t see the argument that flared up between him and Bianca, nor did I see him storm out moments later, leaving her standing there alone. 3 Chloe took me to a dark, loud bar and, in a grand gesture of solidarity, had the bartender line up a row of handsome men for my inspection. I made each of them say a single sentence. I kept the one whose voice sounded the most like Leo’s. Chloe pulled me aside, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, you actually picked one? What if Leo finds out?” I twisted the cap off a beer and poured myself a glass. “You’re the one who set this up. Now you’re getting cold feet?” She put her hand over mine. “Are you and Leo really over? Maybe he’s just doing all this to make you jealous. You said it was his first time, too.” I didn’t want to tell her about the bet. I just raised my glass and drank it down in one go. “Forget it. He and Bianca are perfect for each other—good families, good looks. Where does a joke like me fit into that picture? The stars of the show are finally getting together. If the villainous side character doesn’t exit gracefully, she’s bound to have a bad ending.” Drinking alone was too depressing, so I turned to the guy I’d chosen. “Can you sing? Find me a karaoke track. Something devastatingly sad.” Your forever doesn’t belong to me anymore… I can see now, he’s better for you than I ever was… With each line of the song, I downed another drink. Just pretend this is you, Leo, I thought. Pretend this is your apology. Through a drunken haze, I thought I saw him. A phantom Leo who carried me out of the bar, laid me gently on my bed, and pulled the covers over me. But when I woke up from the hangover from hell, I was sprawled on my bedroom floor next to Chloe. I propped myself up, my head pounding, and started typing my resignation letter. 4 On Monday, my boss, Sarah, rushed over to my desk, her face etched with worry. “Faye, did you and Mr. Gunn have a fight?” I was completely lost. “What? Why would you ask that?” “That contract we were supposed to sign last Friday,” she said, her voice frantic. “His procurement department just called. They’re saying any purchase over two hundred thousand has to go out for public tender now.” “But they were the ones rushing us! They said our companies have worked together for years, that the paperwork was just a formality, and that we should start production. We’ve already ordered the raw materials, the lines are already running! Now they’re pulling this? The partners and the legal team have been grilling me all morning about why I didn’t follow protocol.” I nodded, my stomach sinking. “Let me ask him about it. It might just be a change in their corporate policy. Sarah, can you call the suppliers and the factory floor? Stall them as much as you can.” I sent Leo a series of texts and called him twice. No reply. No answer. I had no choice but to go through his executive assistant. I told her I’d be stopping by his office at lunch to eat with him. At twelve-thirty, I walked into Leo’s office holding two bags of takeout from the Italian place I’m obsessed with. I almost collided with Bianca Wells, who was standing right inside the door. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you doing here? Is that… food from The Hearth? Don’t tell me you’re trying to ruin my date with Leo again.” I set the bags on his coffee table and sat down on the sofa. “Ruin your date? You might have the wrong idea. I’m just here to grab lunch with my best friend and talk about a little work thing.” A few minutes later, Leo walked in. He placed his laptop next to the food, then picked up a woman’s handbag from the armchair. He smiled at Bianca. “Sorry about that, the meeting ran long. Thanks for being so patient.” Bianca’s voice went up an octave. “It’s okay, I don’t mind waiting for you.” She pointed at me. “It looks like your friend brought you lunch. Didn’t you tell her we had plans?” Leo turned, feigning surprise. “Faye. What are you doing here?” He paused. “Didn’t my assistant tell you I had a lunch meeting today?” He tapped his forehead. “Ah, you know what, it’s my fault. I got so busy I forgot to mention it to her.” He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Here to talk about the procurement issue? Why don’t you wait in the conference room. Bianca and I will just grab a quick bite, and I’ll be in to chat after.” He buzzed his assistant. “And from now on, Faye doesn’t get buzzed straight into my office. She’s not an employee, after all. If there was ever a security leak, I wouldn’t want people pointing fingers at her.” I picked up my bags of cooling pasta and walked out of his office. It was really time to go. Just as soon as I fixed this mess. 5 I waited from noon until seven in the evening. Leo never came back. His assistant, a kind woman named Kate, knocked softly on the conference room door. “Maybe you should try sending Mr. Gunn a message? The office closed half an hour ago.” I gave her an apologetic smile. “It’s okay. I’ll just wait for him in the lobby.” Kate’s face was a study in awkwardness as she escorted me to the grand, empty lobby. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, “I have a family thing I have to get to…” I nodded, playing my part in the charade. This was the same woman who had once driven across town at 1 a.m. to bring me stomach medicine. I watched her leave. At nine o’clock, with the building nearly deserted, I finally saw him striding through the doors. “Faye, what are you… Oh, my god. I am so, so sorry. Taking Bianca shopping is an ordeal. The same dress in five different colors, trying on every single one, and I have to have an opinion on all of them. I’m completely wiped. I totally forgot you were waiting. Come on, I’ll drive you home.” He launched into a practiced explanation as we walked. “About that contract—procurement brought it to my attention this morning. But it’s a new company-wide policy, and I can’t be seen interfering. It would set a bad precedent. You’ll just have to go through the bidding process. I’m sure if the terms are similar, they’ll still prioritize you guys.” He kept talking, a flood of words that left no room for me to speak. I followed him silently to the underground parking garage and got into his car. The first thing I noticed was something new: a small, sleek car refrigerator installed in the center console. I reached for the handle. Leo’s hand covered mine, stopping me. “Bianca insisted on it. It’s just full of her coconut water, nothing to see.” A memory from last week surfaced, sharp and bitter. I’d been sitting in this same passenger seat, complaining. “It’s so hot, my sparkling water is practically boiling. You should get a car fridge.” What had he said then? “Warm is better for you. Cold drinks give you cramps, and then I have to go to all the trouble of making you ginger tea.” At the time, I’d allowed myself a sliver of hope. I thought he was worried about me, that he cared. A car fridge costs next to nothing for him. But now I understood. It wasn’t about my health. It was the trouble. Buying a fridge was trouble. Making tea was trouble. Dealing with me was trouble. I pulled at the chain around my neck until a small glass vial emerged from under my shirt. “Leo, can you do one thing for me?” A strange, knowing smile touched his lips. “Of course. Anything. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” I unclasped the necklace and placed the vial in his hand. “I’m asking you to sign that contract for my company. After that, we’re even. We go our separate ways.” 6 The small glass vial held the last remnants of melted snow. Five years ago, Leo and I, full of the arrogance of youth, went backcountry skiing alone. We were carving down the mountainside, blissfully unaware of a group of novices far above us. Led by an irresponsible guide, they cut across a dangerous pitch and triggered an avalanche. When I fought my way out of the snow, I used my transceiver and shovel to find him. His condition was critical. He was upside down in a tree well, his strength completely gone. I dug him out, performed first aid, and raced him down the mountain to the nearest hospital. When he woke up, he told me that after freeing himself from the initial snow pile, he’d taken two steps before tumbling headfirst into the hidden cavity. Once he recovered, he bought this tiny bottle and filled it with a pinch of snow from that mountain. “I owe you my life,” he’d said. “From now on, this bottle is your proof. Whatever you wish for, just ask.” I had just clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re best friends. Don’t be ridiculous. If it were me trapped in there, you’d have done the same thing.” Later, I found a silver chain and started wearing the bottle as a pendant, keeping it with me always. I’d replayed this moment in my dreams a thousand times. In them, I would present the bottle and ask, “What if I want to be with you? What if I want to be your girlfriend?” And the Leo in my dreams would always smile and say, “Faye. I’ve been in love with you for years. But you were always so platonic, I thought you didn’t feel the same. I had to hide it, to stay close to you as your friend.” But dreams are the opposite of reality. I was the one who had been secretly in love, the one with ulterior motives. If I asked now, Leo would probably just see me as pathetic, someone shamelessly leveraging a past debt. So today, I was giving it back. To solve the problem I had created for Sarah, and to finally set myself free. Leo’s face darkened. “This is what you want to use it for? My life… is worth one contract? And then we’re even?” I nodded, forcing a light tone. “Is that too small of an ask? I didn’t want to be greedy.” His hand opened. The glass vial fell. He pointed to the door. “You want to go your separate ways? Fine. Get out of my car.” The bottle landed on the soft floor mat, bounced once, and then lay still. Just like me. Given a fleeting moment of hope, only to be ruthlessly crushed. “Goodbye, Leo,” I said. I opened the door and walked away.

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