Author: Momo Chan

My eyes fluttered open to a new world and an old notification. [Dead yet? If not, get over here and apologize. If Spencer forgives you, I’ll consider not dumping you.] I mentally grabbed the System by its digital collar and demanded an explanation. …Right. So, the original owner of this body completed the 100 tasks for the female lead and has returned to his own world to save his lover. Then I brought you in. I clutched my head, a silent scream echoing in my mind. “I asked you to find me a world with women, not a world with a toxic nightmare!” Calm down. I never said you had to stay with her. This place is full of beautiful women. Besides, the last guy left behind an eight-figure bank account, completely untouched. I brought you here to live a little. Or a lot. Tens of millions? Suddenly, I was feeling much better. My phone buzzed again. A new text from the same number. [You have thirty minutes. Get to this suite. And you’d better mean the apology. Don’t be stubborn.] My fingers flew across the screen. [Previous owner of this number is deceased. This is his ghost. You’ve been blocked. Boo.] 1 [?] [You’re dead? So a ghost is texting me back?] [Don’t play these childish games, Leo. You know my patience is thin.] Tsk. Technically, if the System hadn’t pulled me in the second the original soul left, this body would be dead. I wasn’t even lying. But whatever. I’d seen this script a thousand times. The “100 tasks” she’d set were undoubtedly a parade of humiliations. At best, it was kneeling in the rain at midnight. At worst, it was donating a kidney on a whim. Classic martyr-complex fiction. The System’s taste was truly depraved. The thought of dealing with a woman like that turned my stomach. And why should I? I was rich now! Tens of millions! “System, buddy, pal. Check my accounts. What are we talking, exactly?” One sec… Eighty million… What’s with that look? You’re going to spend it right now? I nearly launched the pillow into the ceiling. “Spend it? Of course, I’m gonna spend it! Money you don’t spend is just paper! Find me the biggest, most decadent, over-the-top luxury club in this city. I want the one with the highest-quality models!” “I’m ordering eight at once!” I’d been poor my entire last life. It was finally my turn to be the guy who buys the bar. 2 I showered and styled myself into a vision of cool intensity, choosing a wickedly handsome dark red silk shirt. I did a few turns in front of the full-length mirror. The body was fantastic—broad shoulders, long legs. Just like my original. Satisfied. As I was about to head out, my phone rang. An unsaved number. I answered it. “Leo, it’s been half an hour. Where are you?” “Don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you’re my boyfriend. When you do something wrong, you apologize. Have you forgotten how to be a decent human being?” The disdain and impatience in her voice were so thick you could cut them with a knife. Ah, so this was the toxic ex. What a drag. But my mood was too good to be ruined. I could afford to be generous with an explanation. “Listen, lady, your boyfriend checked out. Permanently. I’m just the ghost possessing his body, so no, I won’t be coming.” “As of this moment, you and this body have zero connection. Lose my number. Bye!” I hung up, blocked the number, and ran a hand through my hair. I slipped on my leather shoes. “Let’s roll! To The Platinum Club!” 3 When I told the manager I wanted his most extravagant VIP suite and his most expensive hostesses, the man’s smile nearly split his face. He personally escorted me, promising to bring his top talent over shortly. I was grinning just as wide. I’d never experienced this kind of luxury before. But before we even reached the suite, a voice cut through the plush hallway. “Well, well, look who it is. Leo.” A man I didn’t recognize swaggered toward me. “I thought you had some backbone. All that talk about not coming, and here you are, crawling back with your tail between your legs.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled towards a nearby suite. “Meredith! Your man’s here!” I gave the guy a once-over. Dressed well enough, but he had the forgettable face of a background character. A moment later, a whole entourage spilled out of the adjacent suite. One of them started clapping. “I won! See, I told you! He’s trained like Meredith’s little puppy. He might throw a little tantrum, but in the end, he always comes when he’s called.” He held out his hand to another man. “Ten grand. Pay up.” The other guy sighed, pulling out his phone to make the transfer with a sour look. A man and a woman emerged from the center of the group. Judging by their looks and the way the others parted for them, they were the main event. The woman’s face was a mask of derision. “So you decided to show up? I was actually starting to believe you were dead.” I took in the scene and pinged the System. “System, who are these clowns? Is that the female lead?” …Yes. I had no idea she was here. So that was Meredith. Which meant the guy standing a little too close to her must be the Spencer she’d mentioned. But— What did that have to do with me? I gave her a cheerful smile and an “OK” sign with my hand. “You got it. You should absolutely consider me dead.” “From now on, when you see me, you’re seeing a ghost. Just pretend you can’t see me, okay?” I turned to enter my suite, but a hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Meredith’s face was stony. “You’re not going to apologize?” “Why would I apologize?” “You knew Spencer was allergic to mangoes, yet you ordered a fruit platter with mango on it. He almost went into anaphylactic shock. You don’t think you should apologize for that?” I almost laughed. “He knew he was allergic to mangoes, yet he ate from a fruit platter with mango on it. Is he an idiot?” A strange, awkward silence fell over the hallway. It was broken by a cloyingly sweet voice. Spencer’s. “Meredith, don’t be too hard on Leo. I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose. It was dark in the suite, and I just… I ate it by mistake. Let’s just drop it.” I immediately jumped on it. “You hear that? The professional victim himself said he ate it by mistake. Are you insane for trying to pin this on me?” “Let go. Let. Go.” I shook my arm hard, dislodging her grip. When I looked up, the expressions on everyone’s faces were priceless. Spencer pointed at himself, his face a picture of disbelief. “…Did you just call me a professional victim?” “Oh, sorry, I have no filter. Besides, you look a little green around the gills. Is there a problem?” “Leo, that’s enough!” Meredith’s voice was sharp. “If you didn’t want to apologize, why did you even come here?” “To beg me not to break up with you?” “Is this how you beg?” I crossed my arms, relaxed, and narrowed my eyes. “Beg for what? Lady, this is The Platinum Club. It’s the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the city. What do you think I’m here for?” As if on cue, the manager returned, followed by a line of stunningly beautiful women, each one a different type. The manager bowed obsequiously. “Mr. Pierce, I’ve brought the ladies. Are they to your satisfaction?” The hallway went dead silent. I let my gaze sweep over the lineup, and my eyes lit up. “Perfect! Absolutely perfect! Bring them all inside!” I told the manager to take them to the suite and to open a few bottles of his best champagne. When I turned back, Meredith and her entire crew were frozen in place, staring as if they’d seen a ghost. For real, this time. 4 Just as I was about to step into paradise, my arm was grabbed for a second time. Again? Meredith’s voice was a low growl through gritted teeth. “Leo, did you come here to hire escorts?!” I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “None of your damn business. I already told you, I’m not your boyfriend. Go hang out with your little lapdog Spencer and leave me alone.” I tried to pull away, but her grip was tight. So I lifted my leather shoe and brought the heel down hard on her foot. I didn’t hold back. Meredith’s face went white, and she instantly let go. She looked like she wanted to scream but choked it down, her expression twisting in pain, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. “Fine, Leo. Just… fine.” “Don’t you dare come crawling back to me, begging for forgiveness. Let’s go!” Meredith waved a hand dismissively, turning on her heel and storming back to her suite, her crew trailing behind her like confused ducklings. A few of them cast lingering, curious glances back, clearly wanting to see how the rest of the drama would unfold. I gave them a very impolite middle finger and strode majestically into my suite. Damn, this place really was the city’s temple of indulgence. The quality of the women was unreal. Sexy, sweet, all of them with killer figures. They cooed “Leo” and “honey” until my heart melted. I popped six bottles of champagne, my hands finding their way around plenty of slender waists. I grabbed the microphone and launched into a passionate, off-key karaoke session. The women were incredibly supportive, listening with rapt attention as if I were a rock god, even though I sounded like a dying animal. My soaring high notes occasionally drew curious onlookers to the door of my suite. Whatever. A true artist always draws a crowd. I had my arm around the sexiest, spiciest woman in the room, completely lost in the song. Just as I was about to hit the crescendo, the door was kicked open with a thunderous crash. At that exact moment, the seven women surrounding me pulled the strings on confetti cannons they’d been holding. A shower of glittering streamers and flower petals exploded across the room, covering the intruder from head to toe. The group of people standing in the doorway gasped. Meredith stood there, trembling with rage. “Leo, get over here right now!” Her again? This woman was like a dog with a bone. I patted the woman next to me on the shoulder, signaling her to release me. “Lady, you’re seriously a ghost I can’t shake. What is it now?” 5 Without a word, Meredith strode forward and tried to pull me toward the door. “You’re coming with me!” “Hey! Hey! What are you doing? Don’t touch me! To me, my darlings! Protect your king!” The eight women immediately swarmed, pulling me back and forming a protective human wall in front of me. With enough money, even models could become my personal army. Behind Meredith, her sycophantic friends were whispering. “Has he completely lost his mind?” “How dare he push her like this? Meredith is going to explode.” “This is a new tactic, I guess. The nice guy act wasn’t working, so now he’s playing hard to get?” Meredith’s face was a shade of livid green. “If your goal today was to piss me off, then congratulations, you’ve succeeded.” “Get out here!” I was speechless. This was absurd. “Are you crazy? I’m paying for this. Why would I leave?” “Is your face prettier than theirs? Is your waist smaller? No? Then could you please get lost? You’re ruining the mood.” Meredith slammed her palm against the doorframe. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll actually break up with you?” Huh? So we weren’t broken up yet? “Oh my god, please! Yes! Let’s break up! Do it! From now on, just pretend I don’t exist, okay?” Spencer stepped forward, placing a hand on Meredith’s arm. “Meredith, don’t be angry. He’s just throwing a tantrum. He’s your boyfriend, after all. He feels like he can act out with you. It’s normal for him to be a little childish~” Nice one, Mr. Passive-Aggressive. Fan those flames. Meredith’s cheeks puffed out with rage. “Have I been too easy on you? If you don’t come out of there right now, you can forget about ever being with me again!” God, I wished she would believe me. I really, truly was not her submissive “boyfriend.” I was a ghost. A squatter. But honestly, in a situation like this, who would believe that? I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “ARE YOU DEAF? I SAID LET’S BREAK UP!” “LEO! DON’T YOU REGRET THIS!” “WHOEVER REGRETS IT IS A DOG!” Meredith’s face cycled through shades of green and purple, as if she’d been poisoned. After a long, tense standoff, she stomped her foot so hard that her friends behind her flinched. She shot me one last, fiery glare, then turned and stormed away, grinding her teeth. What a waste of my time. Ten whole minutes. 6 I ignored the drama and went back to drinking with the lovely ladies in my suite. By the time we were done, it was midnight. I staggered out of the room, fumbling for my phone to order a car. I hadn’t even gotten a firm grip on it when I stumbled headfirst into a woman’s shoulder. The phone clattered to the floor, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. Shit. I was about to look up and give her a piece of my mind when I was blinded by a divine light. Oh, my god. I’d run into an angel. My vocabulary failed me. I had no words to describe how beautiful this woman was. In one glance, I had already planned out which college our future children would attend. The manager had been holding out on me. How dare he not bring this goddess to my suite? I made a decision. I would buy her freedom. Then I’d build her a golden palace and we’d make love day and night. I leaned against her, feigning helplessness, and poked her shoulder with my finger. “You little devil. You broke my phone. Now I can’t even call a car to get home.” “As punishment, you’ll have to drive me.” I waited for a moment, but she didn’t move. I glanced up again. Our eyes met. Her face was backlit, making it impossible to read her expression. Playing hard to get. She must be new here. I raised my hand to tilt her chin up, but she caught my wrist mid-air. “Are you harassing me?” “Tsk. This isn’t harassment, darling. This is flirting.” Quick as a flash, I snatched the brooch from her uniform and gave her my most charmingly fake smile. “Baby, you take me home, and I’ll give this back to you. How about it?” The woman stared at me for a long moment, then a very faint, very small smile touched her lips. A musical voice slipped from her throat. “Fine.” 7 I had seriously overestimated myself. I imagined that when we got home, the beauty and I would get up to all sorts of things, exploring every position, a battle of passion lasting three hundred rounds. Instead, my useless body passed out cold in the car. Pathetic. The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache to find the woman sitting perfectly composed in an armchair across from my bed, her legs crossed, watching me with a curious gaze. She was fully dressed. I peeked under the covers. My clothes were still on. Damn. Missed my chance. …But it was fine. There would be other opportunities. I gave her a reassuring smile. “Morning, beautiful. Where are we?” Her expression was unreadable. She ignored my question. “Do you know who I am?” “Hey, don’t be shy. Working at a club is nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve got money. I can buy out your contract. All you have to do is promise to be my little kitten.” “By the way, what’s your name?” The woman arched an eyebrow. “Sloane.” Wow. Even her name was sweet. I liked it. “Excellent. From now on, you’re my one and only.” Sloane’s lips curved into a smile that completely captivated me. She leaned back leisurely into the armchair. “As I recall, Mr. Pierce, you already have a girlfriend, don’t you?” “What? No! That’s slander! Not true!” I delivered the three denials with conviction. “Don’t you worry. I’m single now. You are absolutely not the other woman. No one’s going to call you a homewrecker.” The words were barely out of my mouth when someone started knocking on the front door. The knocking grew more and more frantic. Who the hell delivers packages this early? I got out of bed to answer it, playfully patting Sloane’s thigh as I passed. “You just wait here for me, kitten.” The moment I opened the door, my good mood evaporated. Meredith was leaning against the wall, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Are you over it yet?” “If you are, you can unblock me now.” 8 I was dumbfounded. “Wait, why are you here? Didn’t we agree that whoever came crawling back was a dog?” She pushed herself off the wall, her expression a mix of exasperation and something that looked disturbingly like affection. “Woof. Happy now?” “I know you just did all that yesterday to make me angry. I’ll let the thing with Spencer go. We’ll just forget about it. But I don’t want it to happen again.” “And I take back what I said about breaking up. You love me too much. Breaking up with you would kill you. I could never do that to you.” “Now, unblock me. Be good.” She moved to hug me. I shoved her away and ran my hands through my hair in frustration, a torrent of curses flowing through my mind. “Look, lady, you’re a narcissist. You’re not exactly short on guys. Why are you so obsessed with me?” “To you, the old Leo was just a toy you could pick up and put down whenever you wanted. Do us both a favor and just pretend you don’t know me, okay? I seriously want nothing to do with you.” “You’re exhausting.” Meredith’s expression tightened for a second, but then she relaxed, letting out a low chuckle. “Still this angry?” “I guess I really have spoiled you. I used to make you stand in the rain for half an hour to go buy a cake for Spencer, and you wouldn’t say a word. Now I just ask for an apology, and you throw a fit like this.” “Alright, stop sulking. We can—” Her words died in her throat. Her face darkened instantly. “Leo, who is she?!” I turned to see Sloane standing behind me, one hand in her pocket, her expression cool and detached. “Hey, I told you to wait in the room. Why’d you come out?” She tilted her chin toward Meredith. “You said you were single. Who’s this?” I chuckled, trying to push Sloane back into the bedroom. “Nobody. Don’t know her. Not important. You go wait for me, I’ll be right—” My arm was seized in a vise-like grip. Meredith’s face was as black as thunder. “Don’t know me?” “Leo, I casually mentioned I wanted a good luck charm from that ridiculously hard-to-reach monastery on Mount Astor, and you climbed thousands of steps to get it for me. I said I was craving a pastry from Le Renard, and you got up at four in the morning to drive to the other side of the city and beg the owner to open early for you. I even made you get on your knees and polish Spencer’s shoes, and you agreed without a second thought. You said you would die for me, that you’d do anything I asked.” “You love me that much, and now you’re standing here, telling some random woman you don’t know me?” 9 A moment ago, she was just an annoying insect I wanted to swat away. But hearing her say those things—using another man’s devotion as a weapon in an argument—disgusted me to my core. She had no right. My playful demeanor vanished. I looked at Sloane and spoke seriously. “Go back inside.” Then I turned and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door partially shut behind me. “Let’s talk.” Perhaps startled by the sudden coldness in my voice, Meredith released my arm, though her eyes were still sharp with anger. “Who is she? Why is she in your apartment? Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” “Fine. I’ll explain.” I leaned against the door, my eyes locked on hers. “Have you ever heard of transmigration? Body-snatching? Demonic possession?” I paused, giving her a moment to process before continuing. “I am not your boyfriend. I’m a soul from another world, occupying this body. The body’s original owner is no longer in this world. This place was never his home to begin with; he’s returned to where he belongs. As far as you’re concerned, he’s dead. His soul is gone. You will never find him again.” “Understand?” Meredith stared at me, blankly at first. Then a short, sharp laugh escaped her lips. “Leo, you’ll really make up any excuse to cheat on me, won’t you? Do you hear yourself? Does any of that sound remotely believable?” “No. But it’s the truth.” Once you’ve crossed universes, the concept of ‘believable’ kind of goes out the window. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it a good one! Do you think this is some kind of fantasy novel?!” Her voice rose, echoing in the quiet hallway. I rubbed my ear, my expression flat. “Don’t get hysterical. I’m just stating the facts.” “Don’t you think I’ve changed? You said it yourself: the old Leo did whatever you said. But look at me. Since last night, have I been anything but disgusted by you? Can’t you tell the difference between a lover’s pout and genuine, deep-seated revulsion?” Meredith’s face slowly went rigid. “And another thing. Leo—the original owner of this body—was never in love with you. You thought he was hopelessly devoted, that he’d move heaven and earth for you. That was never about you. He was just completing tasks.” “He felt nothing for you. What you saw as undying love was, to him, a series of cold, impersonal objectives on a checklist.” “No matter how humiliating, how degrading, as long as he could do it, none of it mattered. To him, those hardships were a gift from God.” “Because once he completed your 100 tasks, the woman he loved in his own world would wake from her coma. He could go back to her, and they could live out the rest of their lives together.” “And you? You were just a supporting character in a dream he was having. And who remembers every face they see in a dream?” Meredith was silent. She searched my face, desperately looking for any flicker of deceit, any sign that I was lying. But slowly, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t believe you.” “You’re just saying this because of that woman. What did she do to you? What kind of poison did she feed you to make you say these things?” She was still questioning me, but the conviction in her voice was gone. Every word I spoke was a hammer blow against the walls she’d built around herself. “Fine. You don’t believe me.” “Let me ask you this. You claim he loved you. Did he ever once, voluntarily, show you any affection? Did you ever hear him say the words ‘I love you’?” Meredith’s pupils contracted sharply. 10 The System told me the original Leo was one of life’s unlucky ones. His parents died when he was young. Relatives kept their distance; no one wanted to take him in. He grew up in an orphanage, where he had one friend, a girl he’d known his whole life. They scraped by together, sharing leftover food, and against all odds, they fell in love and planned a future. Then a car accident took her from him. The System said that when its colleague found Leo, he was standing on a bridge, his face devoid of all expression, about to jump. When he learned he could go to another world and bring his love back to life, he was ecstatic. He would have done anything. It wasn’t just about completing tasks; he would have traded his life for hers in a heartbeat. So for him, Meredith’s demands—things that would be soul-crushing for any normal person—were barely an inconvenience. Buying her pastries at 4 a.m.? He’d been forced to stand outside all night in the cold at the orphanage as punishment. Kneeling to polish Spencer’s shoes? He’d knelt on the floor and eaten scraps others had thrown away. Even being mocked as Meredith’s pathetic lapdog, being bullied and slandered by her friends—he endured it all with a genuine, heartfelt joy. Because every insult, every humiliation, brought him one step closer to the day his love would wake up. Meredith stood before me, stunned and speechless. “Finished reminiscing? Does any of that ring a bell?” Meredith stammered, “He was just… shy. He wasn’t good at expressing himself…” “Okay, let’s say he was shy. I’ll ask you another question. Did he ever let you touch him?” More silence. “Physical attraction, real desire, is an urge. It’s an uncontrollable need to be close, to touch, to share every little moment of your day, every meal you eat.” “Think back. Did Leo ever once initiate holding your hand? A hug? A kiss? Any kind of intimacy?” “Now, scroll through your text history. Besides responding to your demands, did he ever once reach out to you to share anything about his life?” I’d seen the chat logs. The original Leo had never even sent Meredith a “good morning” or “good night” text. Meredith’s face was ashen. She pulled out her phone, her thumb swiping frantically across the screen. The more she scrolled, the more panicked her expression became. “Impossible… I don’t believe it. You have to be lying.” “If he didn’t love me, why would he agree to be my boyfriend?!” I scoffed. “All he did was agree. He nodded his head and completed another task. Why wouldn’t he?” “You keep saying you don’t believe me, but haven’t you noticed? You’re already referring to him as ‘he,’ not as me.” “Your subconscious already accepts it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.” “So, I hope you won’t come looking for me again. Instead of wasting your time harassing me, maybe you should use it to mourn the man who never loved you in the first place.” Meredith’s carefully constructed composure finally cracked. Her eyes lost focus, a flicker of terror in their depths. I’d said my piece. I turned, went back inside, and closed the door, shutting out her lost and bewildered gaze. 11 I leaned against the back of the door and took a deep breath. Don’t get angry. Don’t get angry. Wasting my energy on a toxic narcissist wasn’t worth it. Besides, there was a goddess in my bedroom. I slapped my cheeks a few times, plastered a brilliant smile on my face, and walked back into the room. Sloane was still sitting in the armchair, her legs crossed, her head propped on one hand. Her eyes, filled with an amused curiosity, followed me as I entered. “All done?” “Done. So done. She’s a nobody, a piece of static. Don’t even give her a second thought. You’re the one who matters to me.” “Now, let’s get back to our previous conversation. Will you be my little kitten? You’ll never have to work at The Platinum Club again. I’ll give you this much a month.” I held up ten fingers. “A hundred thousand. Is that enough?” Sloane narrowed her eyes, a soft, almost imperceptible laugh humming in her throat. What was that? Not enough? I’d never been a sugar daddy before; I had no idea what the going rate was. “Um… if that’s too low, the price is negotiable.” As long as it wasn’t completely insane, I could probably swing it. Sloane uncrossed her legs, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, bringing her closer to me. “I’d heard that the notoriously difficult heiress of the Vance family had a hopelessly devoted suitor, a man willing to die for her. A true romantic legend. But seeing you today, it seems the rumors were a bit off, wouldn’t you say?” What? Now it was my turn to be stunned. Sloane’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Mr. Pierce, a word of advice. The next time you bring a woman home, you might want to do a little research first. You never know if you’re bringing home a kitten… or a tiger that eats men for breakfast.” After dropping that cryptic bombshell, she stood, straightened the collar of her jacket, and with a polite, “Excuse me,” she walked out of my apartment with the posture of a queen. It wasn’t until the front door clicked shut that I snapped out of my daze. My gut told me there was much more to her than met the eye.

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Twenty years ago, when she was seven, Mia Thorne supposedly saved my father from a blizzard. From that day forward, she became the patron saint of our family. She was fragile, so the entire household orbited her. The richest milk, the organic chicken broth my mother simmered for hours, even the rare hugs from my father—they were all hers. And me? As the biological daughter, all I ever got was the same tired line: “Claire, be good to your sister.” I thought I would just have to endure it for the rest of my life. Until my twenty-second birthday. My brother, Cole, drove in all the way from his army base, dust still on his boots. He wasn’t here to celebrate with me. He was here to corner me in the doorway of my own apartment. His jaw was set, his eyes as hard as granite. He looked at me like I was a suspect in an interrogation room. “Mia’s kidneys are failing. End-stage. We ran the tests. Out of the whole family, you’re the only match.” He slid a folded document out of his jacket. A surgical consent form. “Claire, don’t make this hard on Mom and Dad. And don’t force my hand.” 1 My hand, wrapped around a mug of tea, went rigid. Hot water sloshed over my knuckles, raising a patch of red skin. “So?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Cole pulled a platinum credit card from his wallet and placed it on the small kitchen table, sliding it toward me. “That’s a hundred thousand dollars. I know you’re scraping by. This is enough for a down payment on a decent condo.” He paused, and his voice dropped another degree, becoming even colder. “Mom and Dad feel this is your duty as a daughter of this family. Mia’s health problems all started because she saved Dad.” I stared at the card, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. So that’s what one of my kidneys was worth. A hundred grand and a lecture on ‘duty.’ I lifted my gaze to his face, which looked like it had been carved from stone. “Cole… what if I say no?” His eyes narrowed into slits. He leaned in close, his shadow falling over me. “Claire,” he said, biting off each word. “This isn’t a discussion. It’s a command.” In his eyes, I couldn’t find a single flicker of brotherly affection. There was only the cold, unyielding authority of a commanding officer dealing with an insubordinate soldier. A tool. In that instant, my heart froze solid. I remembered when I was six. Cole took us hiking in the state park. I slipped on a patch of wet leaves and tumbled down an embankment, my leg sliced open by a broken branch. Blood was everywhere. I screamed for my brother, but he was already halfway down the trail, carrying Mia, who was dizzy from low blood sugar. He never once looked back. He sent a park ranger to find me later. By the time the ranger got to me, the mosquitoes had feasted on me for hours and the gash on my leg was hot with infection. Lying in bed with a raging fever, I overheard Cole talking to our mother outside my door. “Mom, I never should have taken them out. You know Mia isn’t strong enough for a hike.” No one, not once, asked if my leg hurt. So I learned. I learned to be quiet, to endure, to shrink myself down into the smallest possible space so I wouldn’t be a problem for anyone. I thought if I was just good enough, just understanding enough, one day they would finally see me. Today was my birthday. I’d waited all day for a call, a text, anything. Instead, I got this. In the end, I found myself on the operating table. It wasn’t because of Cole’s command, and it wasn’t for the money. It was because my mother stood on the sidewalk outside my walk-up apartment building all night long. The early autumn wind was sharp and cold. She was wearing nothing but a thin cashmere sweater, and in the space of one night, she seemed to have aged ten years. She held my hand, tears streaming down her face like a broken string of pearls. “Claire, I’m begging you. Please, do this for me. Save Mia. If she dies… your father won’t survive it.” I looked at the silver strands in her hair, and the sentence I’m your daughter, too, got caught in my throat, a hard, painful lump I couldn’t swallow. My entire life has been a lesson in yielding. This time was no different. I agreed. The day before the surgery, I checked into the hospital. Mia was in a VIP suite on the top floor, with private nurses and a constant stream of visitors. I was in a standard triple room on a lower floor, my bed shoved against a drafty window. The wind whistled through the cracks, chilling me to the bone. No one came to see me. That night, the ache in my side was too intense to sleep. I shuffled down the hall, hugging the wall, to ask the nurse for a painkiller. As I passed the VIP wing, some strange impulse made me stop outside Mia’s room. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear my mother’s gentle, soothing voice. “Don’t you worry, my sweet girl. It’s a small procedure. You’ll just take a little nap and it’ll all be over.” “Claire is young and strong,” she continued. “She’ll bounce back in no time. It won’t affect her at all.” Then I heard Mia’s voice, thick with tears. “But… don’t I owe Claire too much?” My father’s deep, authoritative voice cut in. “Nonsense. What our family owes you is something she can never repay. As our daughter, it’s her duty to pay back a small part of that debt on our behalf. It’s only right.” Cole spoke up, his tone firm. “Don’t think about anything but getting better. Afterwards, I’ll make sure she keeps her distance. I won’t let her bother you about this ever again.” Every single word was a perfectly aimed dart, sinking deep into a heart already riddled with holes. 2 So that was it. In their eyes, my sacrifice was simply what was owed, and my very existence was a potential annoyance to Mia. I leaned against the cold wall, the linoleum chilling my bare feet as I made my way back to my room. I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. I was wheeled into the OR. The surgical lights were blinding. Through the glare, I watched the surgeon pull on his mask, his scalpel glinting. The anesthesia entered my IV. As the world dissolved into blackness, my last thought was, Maybe this is for the best. Once I’m asleep, I won’t feel a thing. When I woke, the sky outside was dark. A tearing pain ripped through my side with every breath. I couldn’t move, and my throat was so dry it felt like it might crack. The woman in the next bed, a kind-faced lady in her fifties, saw I was awake. She poured me a glass of water and helped me sit up enough to drink it. “Honey, where’s your family?” she asked, her voice full of sympathy. “Going through a major surgery like this, you shouldn’t be all alone.” She sighed softly. I managed a weak smile and said nothing. Cole didn’t show up until the evening of the third day. He was carrying a thermos, a look of impatience etched on his face. He set it down on the bedside table with a thud. “Mom sent soup.” I turned my head to face the grimy window. “Not hungry.” His brow furrowed, clearly irritated by my lack of cooperation. “Claire, don’t be childish. Mia’s surgery was a complete success. The whole family is thrilled.” He paused, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “Once you’re recovered, Mom and Dad will find a better job for you. You’ll be taken care of.” He sounded like he was making a charitable donation, or placating an unreasonable subordinate. I looked at him, and the absurdity of it all struck me. It was almost funny. Slowly, enunciating every word, I said, “Cole, did you know? I never wanted to compete with her for anything. I just… I just wanted you to look back at me, just once.” Cole froze for a second, then a flicker of derision crossed his face. “Look at you? Look at what? The bottomless well of resentment you carry around, acting like the whole world has wronged you?” “Claire, can’t you just grow up? Mia is ten times more mature than you are.” “Mature?” I repeated the word. My chest heaved, pulling at the stitches in my side. The pain was so sharp it made my vision swim. “If I had been the one to pull Dad out of that snowdrift, would you think I was… mature?” Cole’s face darkened instantly. “What are you talking about?” he snapped. “Are you trying to dredge that up again?” His voice was a low growl. “You’d really stoop to making up lies like that just for attention?” I stared at his furious expression, and the last, tiny ember of hope inside me finally went out. Of course. They never believed me. On the day I was discharged, the family’s driver came to pick me up. No family, no welcome home. I was dropped off at my small rental apartment. Before leaving, the driver handed me an envelope from Cole. Inside was the credit card for the hundred thousand dollars, and a note written in Cole’s sharp, aggressive script: Take care of yourself. Don’t cause any more trouble. So, even me coming home to recover was considered ‘trouble.’ I lay in bed. My wound ached, but my heart ached more. The doctor had told me that with only one kidney, my body would be significantly weaker than a normal person’s. I couldn’t overexert myself, couldn’t pull all-nighters, and my life expectancy would likely be affected. I was only twenty-two, and my future had already been sold at a discount. I spent two weeks recovering in my apartment. Not a single person from the family came to visit. My mother called occasionally, brief, hurried conversations. “How’s the recovery going?” she’d ask, before the topic inevitably shifted to Mia. “Mia is doing wonderfully, she has so much more energy now! She said she wants to pick out a gift for you.” “Your father hired the best nutritionist for her. Three gourmet meals a day, all sorts of supplements to build up her strength.” I would listen in silence, saying nothing. Every phone call felt like salt being poured directly into my wound. Once I could move around a little better, I went back to the family house to pick up the last of my things. The house was on the base, a two-story colonial with a neat yard. As I walked in, the sound of cheerful laughter filled the air. 3 Mia was on the sofa, dressed in a pink cashmere lounge set, her cheeks rosy with health. She was reading the newspaper aloud to my father. My mother was next to her, peeling an apple in one long, continuous spiral. Cole was kneeling in front of Mia, helping her change into a pair of plush slippers. The scene was so perfectly cozy, like a painting. And I was the intruder who had just smeared dirt all over the canvas. When they saw me, the laughter died. My mother stood up, a flicker of awkwardness in her eyes. “Claire, you’re back. Is your side feeling better?” Mia stood up too, a timid look on her face as she shrank behind Cole. “Claire…” she whispered. I ignored them and walked straight upstairs to my room—the smallest one, the one that faced north and never got any sun. A thin layer of dust covered everything. It was obvious no one had been in here since I’d left. My belongings were piled in a corner, covered by a drop cloth. I quietly began to pack my old books, photos, and my childhood diaries. Halfway through, I found a small wooden box I’d forgotten about, shoved under the bed. I opened it. Inside were the rocks and pebbles I’d collected on that hike when I was six, and a single, neatly folded piece of paper. I unfolded the letter. The paper was yellowed with age, but the handwriting was clear. It was from Mr. Henderson, our old next-door neighbor. His son had been on the search and rescue team that day. “Little Claire,” it read. “I need to tell you I’m sorry. I was on the mountain that day, and I saw it with my own eyes. You were the first one to find your dad. You were so tiny, digging at the snow with your bare hands until they were raw. But afterward, everyone started saying it was the other little girl, Mia, who saved him. I wanted to speak up for you, but your father is the General, and we’re just regular folks… I hope you don’t hold it against me. You’re a brave, good kid.” I held the letter, my whole body shaking. I hadn’t misremembered. Someone else had seen it. I stormed downstairs, letter in hand. In the living room, they were trying to coax Mia into eating some fruit. I slammed the letter down on the coffee table, my voice trembling with a rage that had been buried for twenty years. “Look at this! All of you, read it! The one who saved Dad that day was me! It was me, not her!” Everyone froze. The color drained from Mia’s face. Tears welled up in her eyes instantly, and she looked like she might faint. My father snatched the letter. He glanced at it for a single second before throwing it to the floor, his face turning a dark, furious shade of red. “This is ridiculous! Some letter from God knows where proves nothing!” he roared. “Claire, have you sunk so low? You’ll resort to anything to get attention, won’t you?” My mother started to cry. “Claire, how can you say that about Mia? She ruined her health for your father, and you want to stab her in the heart like this?” I looked at Cole. My only brother. I clung to one last, desperate shred of hope. He strode over, snatched the letter from my hand, and tore it into tiny pieces. “Enough.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with a chilling, profound disappointment. “Claire, you disgust me.”

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My blood can cheat death, but it cannot read a human heart. I once gave my immortal life to the woman I thought had saved me, only for her to destroy me. But time rewound. And in the eyes of another dying girl, I saw the locket I had lost as a child. My grand sacrifice was a lie. A stolen identity. This time, I will awaken the one I truly owe my life to. And as for the imposter? She will repay every ounce of the suffering she caused… a hundred times over. 1 As one of the Blood Kindred, I was born with an eternal curse. A life force pulses in my blood, potent enough to turn back the tide of death itself. In my last withered lifetime, I used that power to heal Seraphina de Valois, the most dazzling jewel of Parisian society. My reward was her family’s cold vow: the healer would be bound to the healed, his fortune and his miracle absorbed into the Valois legacy. The forced engagement shattered Seraphina. Her true love, a man named Julien Reed, was in the Alps at the time, searching for some mythical herb to cure her. When the news of our betrothal reached him, he fell from a glacier. They never found a body. A year later, she did. She found him perfectly preserved in a crevasse of ice. She made me slice open my wrist. On that frigid night, I could hear the frantic, unhinged rhythm of her heart. I could smell the sharp, metallic scent of obsession clinging to her like a bitter perfume. She forced me to feed my life into his frozen corpse. “If you hadn’t interfered, Julien would have brought back the divine medicine and saved me! You killed him!” she shrieked, her voice like shattering crystal. “If your blood is such a miracle, then bring him back to me!” “Seraphina, he’s been dead for a year,” I pleaded. “My blood can mend living flesh. It cannot resurrect the dead.” But she just watched me with cold, flat eyes as my life drained away, drop by drop, along with the ancient, inhuman power that flowed within it. When I opened my eyes again, time had rewound. I was standing in the de Valois mansion on the very day they first summoned me. The stale air, a cloying mix of expensive perfume and old dust, assaulted my senses. I glanced at the pale figure in the wheelchair. Beneath her meticulously applied makeup, I could smell it—that faint, sickly-sweet odor of decay. It was the signature of a life force slowly extinguishing itself. “Mademoiselle de Valois, your legs… they have withered. No power on this earth can restore what is already dead.” At my words, Seraphina’s head snapped up. A furious blush stained her delicate features. “You charlatan! Get out of my house!” The ghost of a smile touched my lips. I turned to her mother. “Madame de Valois, if my family—the von Valerius line—declares a decay irreversible, then it is final. You are still young. Perhaps you should consider conceiving a new heir.” Before the words had fully settled, Seraphina’s teacup came flying at my head. To a mortal eye, it would have been a blur. To me, it moved with the lazy grace of a floating feather. Without shifting my feet, I simply tilted my head and plucked the porcelain from the air. The rose-gold rim was steady in my hand, not a single drop of the warm tea spilled. I placed it back on the table without a sound. Madame de Valois, thoroughly shaken, rushed forward. “Monsieur von Valerius, please, forgive her. Seraphina’s condition has made her…” I waved a hand, a gesture of deep, unutterable weariness. “I understand. I don’t deign to bicker with a cripple whose life is so fleeting.” As I turned to leave the gilded cage of a mansion, I could feel Seraphina’s entire body trembling with rage. Her frantic heartbeat was a drum against my ears. Madame de Valois hurried after me, her voice a desperate whisper. “Monsieur, is there truly nothing that can be done? If you could cure Seraphina, the Valois family would give you anything you desire.” The problem wasn’t that I couldn’t. It was that I wouldn’t. The memory of my last life was a brand on my immortal soul, every breath a reminder of the terrifying depths of mortal greed. “I’m afraid I can do nothing for Mademoiselle de Valois’s legs.” Seraphina had wheeled herself to the doorway, just in time to hear me. Her sweet voice was laced with venom. “Mother, Julien is already on his way back to Paris. He’s bringing the Starflower of the High Mountains. My legs will be healed.” She glared at me. “This has nothing to do with you. I don’t need a stranger’s pity.” Madame de Valois sighed, the sound heavy and tired. “My child, the Starflower may help you recover, but it won’t be enough to let you stand again…” Seraphina remained defiant. “I told you, Julien will heal me.” I gave her one last, long look before taking my leave of her mother. As I stepped out of the mansion’s grand entrance, a horseless carriage roared to a stop before me. A woman emerged, despair carved into the lines of her face, and fell to her knees at my feet. “Monsieur von Valerius, I’m begging you… please, save my daughter.” 2 It was only then that I learned there had been another victim in the accident a year ago. Seraphina’s rival, as it turned out: Elara d’Amboise. Since the crash, Elara had been lost in an endless sleep, her life signs as faint as a candle flame in a gale. But after the hell of my past life, I would not bleed for anyone so easily again. My blood is the very essence of my being, not a commodity to be squandered. I politely declined Madame d’Amboise’s request. She didn’t press me. She simply wiped her tears and departed, a portrait of quiet grief. A week later, an invitation from the de Valois family arrived. A grand nocturnal salon was to be held. Julien had returned. Madame de Valois implored me to attend, to verify his “miracle cure.” Inside the salon, the light from the crystal chandeliers was a painful glare to my eyes. The entire space thrummed with the cacophony of life—hundreds of hearts beating in their cages of bone, warm blood rushing through veins. The smell of champagne, cigars, and raw desire mingled into a torrent that grated on my nerves. I stood like a stone island in a chattering sea of mortals. Julien stood beside Seraphina’s wheelchair like a loyal knight. Madame de Valois approached me, her brow furrowed with worry. “It’s not that I fear his medicine won’t work,” she confessed in a low voice. “I’m terrified of seeing the hope in Seraphina’s eyes die again.” Before I could respond, Julien was wheeling Seraphina toward us. “You needn’t worry, Madame,” he said, his smile radiating confidence. “I will have Seraphina walking again.” Seraphina squeezed his hand, her eyes shining with adoration. “Julien, the moment I can stand, I will marry you in the latest gown from the House of Worth.” Then, Julien turned to me, his smile sharpening into a sneer. “Unlike certain old-world aristocrats who cling to their reputations, I actually deliver on my promises.” Several of the renowned physicians who had previously treated Seraphina frowned. “Such arrogance, Monsieur Reed,” one of them scoffed. Seraphina, however, just smiled proudly. “I have faith in Julien. He is going to heal me!” A short, cold laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. It was a sound devoid of warmth, like the wind on a winter night. Julien’s jaw tightened. “Monsieur von Valerius, I’ve heard you’re the most gifted healer of your generation. Yet you do nothing but stand by and watch. It makes one wonder if you truly possess the power of your legends.” I raised my glass, the crimson liquid within catching the light like fresh blood. “In that case, I eagerly await the day Monsieur Reed has Mademoiselle de Valois on her feet again.” My placid demeanor enraged him. “I know you want to marry Seraphina, but she loves me. And I’m the only one who can cure her.” From her chair, Seraphina’s voice dripped with acid. “Damian, even if you could heal me, I would never, ever marry you.” The entire performance was beginning to bore me. Mortals wasted so much of their fleeting existence on such tedious dramas. I turned to leave, but Julien blocked my path. “Damian, I challenge you. A wager. The loser will kneel and admit defeat, and be banished from Paris forever!” I stopped. A slow smile spread across my face. This might, after all, provide a flicker of amusement in my endless night. I turned back to him, and as I smiled, my lips parted just enough to reveal the tips of my canines. “I accept your wager. But I will not be healing Seraphina de Valois. I am going to awaken Elara d’Amboise.” 3 “Ten days,” I announced, my voice cutting through the silence of the room. “We have ten days. Let’s see whether you can make Seraphina de Valois stand, or I can awaken the sleeping Elara d’Amboise.” “So, Julien Reed,” I asked, my eyes locked with his. “Do you dare?” A wave of whispers erupted through the hall. A flash of triumph lit Julien’s eyes. “I accept!” I let my smile widen. “I will not lose.” From her wheelchair, Seraphina laughed with contempt. “Elara is a living corpse. You couldn’t even fix my legs, and you think you can wake her?” My gaze drifted down to her legs, my sight feeling as though it could pierce the skin and see the slow rot taking place within. “Be careful, Seraphina. All medicines come with a price. With Monsieur Reed’s ‘miraculous’ arts, you might just find that in addition to your legs remaining useless, you’ve acquired some other… interesting afflictions.” With that, I turned and walked away. The next morning, Madame d’Amboise escorted me to the hospital. Sunlight cast dappled patterns on the floor, and I instinctively avoided the patches of light, keeping to the shadows. I walked to Elara’s bedside. She lay perfectly still, her breath so shallow it was nearly imperceptible. I reached out, my cold fingertips brushing against her cheek, feeling the last lingering trace of mortal warmth. Then, I held out my own wrist and, using a fingernail sharpened to a point, drew a fine, precise line across the skin. There was no mark of a mortal blade. The skin simply parted, and a few drops of blood, so dark they were almost black, welled up. They carried a strange fragrance, a mix of ancient dust and night-blooming flowers. This was not a simple gift; it was the sharing of my very eternity. I let the drops fall between her lips, watching them disappear against her pale mouth. Seven days, at most. My blood, my essence, would call her sleeping soul back to her veins. “Monsieur von Valerius, thank you,” Madame d’Amboise whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “Madame, I am not doing this for payment. I am doing this to win,” I said, meeting her tear-filled eyes. “And rest assured, I will wake your daughter.” Before she could respond, Julien appeared, pushing Seraphina’s wheelchair. “So this was your game all along,” he sneered. “You’re just after the d’Amboise family’s money.” Madame d’Amboise’s expression turned to ice. “I have absolute faith in Monsieur von Valerius.” Seraphina was quick to her defense. “Madame d’Amboise, you can’t let him touch Elara!” I raised a hand, silencing Madame d’Amboise’s retort, my gaze settling on Seraphina’s legs. “Seraphina,” I said calmly. “Haven’t you noticed? Your legs… they’re atrophying even further.” 4 Seraphina instinctively pulled the blanket higher over her lap. “What are you talking about, Damian?” A flicker of panic crossed Julien’s face before he stepped in front of her wheelchair. “You don’t know anything, von Valerius. Shut your mouth.” I just smiled and said nothing. That night, after administering Elara’s daily dose of my blood, I received a note from a courier sent by Madame de Valois, describing the mysterious liquid Julien was using. Just then, a soft sigh came from the hospital bed. I moved to her side as silently as a wraith. “Elara? Are you awake?” Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. She blinked, her gaze focusing on my face. “Damian?” she murmured, breathing my name. I stared at her, a jolt running through me. My blood had forged a link within her; she could sense my presence. “You… know me?” Before she could answer, the door flew open and Madame d’Amboise rushed in. I retreated silently into the shadows of the room, leaving them to their reunion. For the next few days, Elara threw herself into physical therapy. By the end of the week, she was walking on her own. Soon, the tenth day of the wager arrived. The Valois mansion was filled to capacity. When Elara and I walked into the grand ballroom together, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. My very presence seemed to drop the temperature in the room, and every eye was drawn to us. The murmurs of the crowd drained the color from Julien’s face. “You… you actually did it?” I offered him a cold smile. “You’ve lost, Julien. Time to honor our agreement.” Just as he was about to buckle, a clear voice rang out from above. “Who says we’ve lost?” Seraphina de Valois. Standing at the top of the grand staircase. A triumphant grin spread across Julien’s face. “You see, von Valerius? Seraphina can stand!” Seraphina looked down at me, her face a mask of contempt. “You said I was a lost cause, Damian. But here I am.” I just shook my head. My hearing could pick up the faint, agonizing protests of sinew and bone beneath her skin. I could smell the accelerating corruption of the ‘Corpse-Flower Tincture.’ “Your legs might have been salvageable before, Seraphina. But now… now they truly are hopeless.” Fire ignited in her eyes. “Let’s see how long that arrogant look on your face lasts!” With that, she lifted her foot to take the first step down.

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I bought a merman on the black market. He was captivating. And he was dangerous. But then came the nights I’d find him watching me through the glass, his eyes burning with a predatory stillness. And after that, the dreams began—dreams so vivid and strange they felt more like memories. 1 To get back in my good graces, my underlings brought me to The Onyx Room, the most notorious private auction house in Solace City. I’d spent the entire evening slouched in a plush velvet armchair, feeling the boredom settle deep in my bones. I was idly flipping a vintage stiletto dagger I’d recently acquired, letting the blade catch the amber light, and shot a lazy, half-smiling glance at the man who’d invited me. He flinched, his leg starting to jiggle under my gaze. Just as I was about to dismiss him entirely, the auctioneer on the stage below finally reached the last lot of the night. The Onyx Room was all dark wood, hidden alcoves, and the low glow of amber lamps—a speakeasy vibe for clientele with monstrously deep pockets and questionable morals. The auctioneer, a man with a flair for the dramatic, raised a finger to his lips, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, pulling the room into a shared secret. “And now, for our final piece. I guarantee this is something that will drive every last one of you to madness.” He paused for effect. “It originates from the Gamma Labs project. A ‘failed’ experiment, they called it. But I tell you, it is nothing less than a masterwork of creation itself…” As he spoke, two stagehands wheeled out an enormous container draped in a thick, crimson curtain. The thing was massive, tall enough that its top cleared the high ceiling by only a few feet. Every eye in the room was fixed on it. Even I felt a flicker of interest and straightened in my chair, a cynical smile playing on my lips. A failed experiment. Just another toy for the obscenely wealthy. The underground world had been flooded with them for years—horrific chimeras born from illicit gene-splicing. Half-human, half-serpent monstrosities; children with the faces of cats; men twisted into beastly wolf forms. Every one of them a “failure.” But this was different. The red curtain fell. Under the dim, theatrical lighting, the container was revealed to be a massive, cylindrical cultivation tank, filled with a pale, glowing blue liquid. A collective gasp swept through the crowd below. They were stunned into silence by the sight, and I felt my own breath catch in my throat. Because floating serenely inside was a merman. A merman with no visible signs of crude genetic fusion. He was a creature of intense, breathtaking beauty, possessing an androgynous allure that blurred the lines of gender. But the bare, sculpted lines of his torso made it clear he was male. His frame was long and elegant, yet the defined muscles of his chest and arms rippled with a power you couldn’t ignore. His lower body was a magnificent tail, at least six feet of shimmering, gunmetal-silver scales that caught the dim light like a thousand tiny mirrors. He appeared to be sleeping, his hair—a startling shade of cobalt blue—drifting around his head like a deep-sea halo. As the water gently eddied, I could just make out the translucent, fin-like membranes behind his ears. His face was a masterpiece of sharp, delicate lines and chiseled angles. His eyelashes were stark white, like a dusting of frost, casting faint shadows on skin so pale it seemed almost inorganic. He looked like a deity who had presided over the cosmos, only to fall to earth when his celestial throne crumbled. This wasn’t a product of a creator. This was the creator himself. “I wonder what he looks like with his eyes open,” I murmured, the words escaping before I could stop them. As if on cue, he opened them. And then, in the space of a blink, I met a pair of deep blue eyes. The gaze was placid, yet it hit me with the force of being dragged into the crushing depths of the ocean. It was the feeling of tearing a perfect rose from a thorny vine with your bare hands. Captivating. And dangerous. Across the sea of bidders on the floor below, through the one-way glass of my private booth, our eyes locked. I knew he shouldn’t be able to see me. But he did. I was sure of it. His stare held no discernible emotion, yet it pierced right through me, sending a chill down my spine that was equal parts warning and… exhilaration. My lips were suddenly dry. I ran my tongue over them. I loved this feeling—the thrill of a challenge, the promise of a conquest. I raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze without flinching. When the bidding below descended into a frantic, near-violent frenzy, I raised my hand. And I ended it. I stood and walked to the glass, tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. Leaning in, I smiled and mouthed the words, a silent declaration of ownership. You’re mine. As I turned to leave, I glanced back one last time. And I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth, which had been perfectly neutral, twist into a subtle, contemptuous smirk. 2 Merfolk. The legends painted them as enigmatic, powerful creatures of the deep. Wild, cunning, and brutally intelligent. They were said to possess eyes that could pierce the darkest abyss, a sense of smell that could track blood for miles, and voices that could weave hypnotic spells. Whispers and folklore. No one in the modern world had ever actually seen one. And now, I owned one. He might be a product of a lab, but his flawless form made that single imperfection utterly irrelevant. I had him moved to my estate and placed in the shark tank. “Tank” was a modest term. It was a massive, private aquarium built into the foundation of my villa, its main wall a sweeping curve of reinforced glass that formed one side of my subterranean lounge. It was where I liked to unwind. And occasionally, where I’d feed my sharks with people who had disappointed me. I wanted to see which was the more ferocious predator: the merman or the sharks. Based on the legends of their savagery, the outcome was anyone’s guess. But three days passed, and the bloody spectacle I’d anticipated never happened. In fact, the only violence was directed at my staff; two of the handlers who performed the daily feedings had been bitten by sharks that were suddenly, uncharacteristically aggressive. I stood before the vast glass wall for a long time, watching the blue light from the ceiling shimmer through the eerily quiet water. Not only were my sharks, usually restlessly patrolling, nowhere to be seen, but the merman was also missing. Puzzled, I pressed my face closer to the glass, trying to peer into the deeper, darker recesses of the tank. A sudden, prickling chill crept up the back of my neck. I snapped my head up. There he was. Floating directly above me in the water, near the surface, looking down at me from the other side of the glass ceiling. He was positioned like a sea god passing judgment on a mortal subject. His white eyelashes were lowered, obscuring his expression, but his presence filled me with a strange unease that made the blood hum in my veins. Still looking up, I gave him a lazy wave. I didn’t know if he could hear me, let alone understand, but I called out anyway. “Come down. I don’t like craning my neck to talk to… anyone.” He seemed to understand. With a single, powerful flick of his silver tail, he descended, slicing through the water until he was hovering directly in front of me, separated only by a few inches of glass. I stepped closer, my fingers tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. “You are devastatingly beautiful,” I said, my voice low. This time, I knew he heard me. And I knew he understood. Because his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, a look filled with an unreadable intent. He opened his mouth and said something, but no sound reached me through the glass. I asked him a few more questions, but he just watched me with that same unnerving gaze from the auction, offering nothing more. It was a letdown. I suppose I couldn’t expect much. He was a “failure,” after all. He could have been human once, or maybe just a fish. But if he was modeled on a human, then whoever possessed that face before the experiment must have been a walking cataclysm. 3 Over the next few days, I went to see him a few times. He either stared at me, motionless, or was nowhere to be found. The novelty began to wear off. I’d expected a wild hawk that needed breaking, but he seemed to have been tamed almost instantly. It was boring. My interest waned, and I stopped visiting the lounge. Until the night of the full moon. It hung high and heavy in the sky, a perfect silver disk. I was drinking alone on my terrace when one of my men rushed in, breathless, to report that the merman had vanished. Annoyed, and with a pleasant buzz from the scotch, I made my way down the winding staircase to the aquarium lounge. The moment I stepped onto the gallery, I saw him. He was there, hovering on the other side of the glass, watching me. A flare of anger cut through the alcohol haze. “Have I not been feeding the sharks enough lately? Are you all so bored you have to lie to my face?” I snapped, my voice echoing in the vast, quiet space. I jabbed a finger toward the merman. “And you. What are you looking at? Are you some kind of mute fish?” Fueled by liquor and irritation, I stalked toward the glass. I misjudged the small step down from the gallery to the main floor, my ankle turned, and I pitched forward. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. But it never came. After a long moment, I hesitantly opened them. A cold dread, sharp and sobering, washed over me, chasing away the last vestiges of my drunken stupor. I was floating. In the water. On the other side of the seamless, impenetrable glass wall was the very lounge I had just been standing in. And then, a pale, cold hand snaked around my waist from behind, locking me in an unbreakable grip. 4 Every nerve in my body went rigid. The primal, exhilarating fear of being trapped in a predator’s den flooded my senses. I’d been drinking in the comfort of my own home, dressed only in a silk nightgown with a light robe thrown over it. The thin fabric was now soaked, clinging to my skin. The robe had a low-cut back, and I could feel the distinct, icy touch of his skin against mine—a coldness that wasn’t human. I didn’t have time to wonder how I was able to breathe underwater, how I wasn’t drowning. The owner of the hand shifted, his head moving to rest beside my shoulder. I felt his breath, damp and cool, against the shell of my ear, the sensation impossibly clear through the water. It was a feeling so alien, so dangerous, it sent a tremor of pure adrenaline through me. I was terrified. I was thrilled. I didn’t dare turn around. This was a merman, a creature of legend known for its deadly siren song. Even as a lab creation, he was an unknown, and I had to treat him with the respect a predator deserved. I fought to control the trembling that threatened to take over my body, my eyes darting around, searching for a reflection. In the dim, blue light, the curved glass wall offered a distorted mirror. The image was surreal. I was floating like a marionette with its strings cut, my dark hair fanning out around me like seaweed, my white silk gown billowing softly against the current. Behind me, the merman was an imposing shadow, his form, including his tail, easily nine feet long. He dwarfed me, caging me completely. One of his arms was clamped around my waist. His cobalt hair mingled with mine, a swirl of blue and black that looked almost tender. In the reflection, his expression was one of lazy, sated satisfaction, his silver tail swaying gently with each breath. He lowered his head, nosing at the side of my neck. I felt the sharp points of his teeth graze the artery there, sending a wave of ice through my veins. What is he doing? Is he going to eat me? A thousand scenarios flashed through my mind, none of them fitting the slow, deliberate way he was acting. His other hand, fingers tipped with sharp nails connected by translucent webbing, had already slipped under my robe, tracing patterns over the bare skin of my back. My senses screamed at me to be on guard. I watched his reflection, ready to strike at the first sign of aggression. But he didn’t attack. Instead, he slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine in the warped glass. My heart hammered against my ribs. He knows I’m watching. His expression didn’t change, but I felt a subtle shift in the water around me, an invisible pressure building. My instincts screamed, the hair on my arms standing on end. “What do you want?” I tried to say, the words catching in my throat. I never got them out. I couldn’t even process why I could speak underwater. His free hand shot up, gripping my chin and tilting my head back, exposing the fragile line of my throat to his gaze. And then he kissed me. It was sudden, overwhelming. I raised my hands to fight him off, to push him away, but in that same instant, the world fell out from under me. The strange buoyancy, the ability to breathe—it all vanished. The crushing weight of the water slammed into me. The desperate, burning need for air filled my lungs. Panic set in. My thoughts fractured. Is this considered interspecies harassment? Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, I thought I heard it—the legendary song of the mermen. It was a deep, resonant hum, an ancient summons from the abyss. The language was alien, but I felt a flicker of recognition, a certainty in my gut. He was saying my name. Ava. The world was going dark. The pressure was unbearable. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard the faint, muffled shouts of my men from the other side of the glass. And then, everything went black. 5 When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor of the lounge gallery, right where I had tripped. Several of my men were gathered around me, their faces etched with concern. I pushed them away and scrambled to my feet, my eyes fixed on the empty aquarium. “When you came in,” I demanded, my voice raw, “where was I?” “Right… right here on the floor, Ms. Thorne,” one of them stammered, confused. “Did you see the merman?” I asked, my gaze sweeping the tank again. They exchanged uneasy glances. “No, ma’am.” I stared into the deceptively calm water for a long moment, my thumb brushing against my swollen lips. Without another word, I turned and strode out. I summoned a gene-splicing expert, a jumpy old man who paled when he saw the blood-stained dagger I was cleaning. He nervously launched into a long-winded explanation of the merman’s genetic makeup. “Spare me the lecture,” I cut in, impatient. “Just tell me how he pulled me into the tank. What kind of ability is that?” “I… I have no idea, Ms. Thorne,” the old man stammered, wringing his hands. “Are you certain… perhaps you’d had a bit too much to drink and it was… a dream?” I gave him a look that made him shrink. My men “politely” escorted him out. I sat on the sofa, stewing in my own thoughts, then rose to my feet. I summoned every person on the estate’s staff. “Everyone,” I announced, my voice dangerously calm. “We’re going fishing.” I stood before the glass wall and watched as a team of divers swept back and forth through the massive tank. Half an hour later, they’d found nothing but a few shark teeth, shed naturally during the season change. Not a single trace of him. A cold, humorless smile spread across my face. He was in there. I knew he was. He was deliberately letting them miss him. So, the silver-tailed merman wanted to play games. I’d tried to tame him, and now he was trying to tame me. If it weren’t for the fact that I was on dry land and he was in his element, I would have shown him a thing or two about the cruelty of humans. I ordered the food supply to the tank cut off. I had underwater cameras installed. And I forbade anyone from going near that part of the estate. For days, I watched the monitors. Nothing. The merman remained hidden. Just as I was about to lose interest again, he appeared. He materialized in the center of the main camera’s view, staring directly into the lens. It felt as if he could see me sitting on the other side. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was wild, aggressive, and charged with a wickedness that belonged to some forgotten, malevolent god. My breath hitched. And then I had to admit it. He was, without a doubt, provoking me. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to treat me, Ava Thorne, with such blatant disrespect in my own city. I immediately ordered the divers back in the water to capture him. But by the time they reached the tank, he was gone again. Staring at the empty, blue-lit water on the screen, I laughed softly. “Alright then,” I whispered to the empty room. “Let’s see who tames who.” 6 That night, for the first time in years, my sleep was not a dreamless void. It was filled with a strange, hauntingly vivid dream. In this dream, I was a woman of another time, a formidable privateer captain sailing the high seas. My mission was to chart a new trade route, but a violent storm had thrown my ship wildly off course somewhere in the Atlantic, near the Strait of Gibraltar. After the storm broke, the seas calmed. “Captain,” my first mate said, his voice hesitant as he approached me on deck. “We’ve… pulled something from the water. You should come see it.” His reluctance piqued my curiosity. I followed him below deck, where the crew, who had been huddled together, quickly parted to reveal their find. I stopped short, stunned. It was him. The merman from my tank. But this version of him was in a wretched state, his body covered in deep, gruesome wounds. The dream-version of me, however, was unfazed. She seemed to possess a worldly knowledge of such creatures. She strode forward and crouched beside the barely conscious merman, tilting his chin up with her fingers. She completely ignored the venomous glare he shot her, studying his face with a clinical interest before letting out an appreciative, low whistle. “A foreign merman, is it? Handsome devil. Just my type.” …I had to admit, despite the public setting, that sounded exactly like something I would say and do. This merman, unlike the one in my tank, seemed to have a strategic mind. He knew he was injured, weak, and powerless. So, he simply lay there, limp and unresponsive, allowing himself to be handled. My dream-self knew precisely how to deal with him. She ordered a set of shackles brought forth, forged from what my first mate called “cold iron and silver.” Instead of putting the merman back in the water, she had him chained by her bedside in her cabin. I had to give her credit. On land, it was her territory. How could she fail to break a beast on her own terms? And she was certainly relentless. The dream flashed forward. I saw myself sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a piece of specially prepared fish, trying to coax him. “Hungry? Tell me your name, and you can have it. I know your kind can speak.” The merman lay on the floor, his eyes like chips of ice, radiating a cold, murderous fury. I paid him no mind, even daring to run my hand over his bare torso, stroking the smooth skin as I mused aloud. “Fine, don’t talk. I’ll just name you myself. My name is Ava. You can share it. How about… Ava’s Isle? No, just Isle.” I paused, considering my own brilliance. “A woman of letters and poetry, that’s me. See how artistic that sounds?” The merman, shackled by his hands and tail, could only glare at me, the rage in his eyes so potent it was a physical force. He looked like he wanted to devour me whole. Having satisfied my curiosity for the moment, I offered him some mock comfort. “Don’t struggle. Being caught by me is the best thing that could have happened to you. In your condition, if I threw you back in the sea, you’d be nothing but shark bait.” I paused, a slow, pleased smile spreading across my face. “Now that I think about it, I’m your savior. And since you’re refusing to speak, you can’t thank me with words. You’ll just have to repay me with your body.” I had no idea if the merman understood my words, but I was certainly enjoying myself. Gazing at his impossibly beautiful face, a familiar itch started under my skin. I leaned down, cupped his jaw, and pressed a firm kiss to his thin lips, lips that I knew hid sharp teeth. “Hiss—” He bit me. “So shy,” I murmured, licking the drop of blood from my lip. I looked at his defiant, sneering face and was about to go in for another, more forceful kiss. But just as I reached for him, the morning light flooded my vision. The dream was over. 7 “Son of a—” I woke up snarling, furious at the interruption. But the words died on my lips as my eyes adjusted to my surroundings. I froze, not daring to move a muscle. Because I was in the exact same position as in my dream: sprawled on top of the merman. His stunning face was inches from mine, so close I could feel his cool breath ghosting across my skin. But this wasn’t my dream. I was in the water, in his domain, held captive in his arms. Discretion is the better part of valor. I looked from his teasing, observant gaze down to my own empty hands, and offered a weak, ingratiating smile. “Long time no see.” He raised a single, perfect eyebrow. The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me even closer. The sudden movement made me lose my balance in the water, and I instinctively threw my arms around his neck to steady myself. A low, throaty chuckle vibrated through his chest and echoed in the silent water. I snapped my head up to meet his eyes, saw the amused curve of his lips, and understood instantly what he was doing. He was playing with me. My fear, my small, desperate movements—it was all a game to him. In that moment, I forgot I couldn’t swim. I forgot I was at his mercy. I, Ava Thorne, always repay my debts. My hand, already around his neck, slid up into his cobalt hair, my fingers finding the translucent, webbed fin behind his ear. “You ruined a perfectly good nightgown,” I said, my voice dripping with false fairness. “A little touch for a touch seems only fair, don’t you think?” I gently pinched the delicate membrane, a sly smile on my face. “Nice texture,” I commented honestly. Seeing no aggressive reaction from him, no baring of teeth, that reckless, self-destructive part of me decided to push my luck. My hand slid from his fin to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before brushing over his lips. He caught the tip of my finger between his teeth, a gentle pressure, not a bite. Under his smoldering, predatory gaze, I laughed softly. “Why so gentle? Haven’t you eaten? Or is it possible the great merman knows how to be tender with a lady?” As I spoke, my other hand began its own exploration, gliding over the hard, defined planes of his chest. But this time, I had pushed too far. I had grossly overestimated my ability to operate in his world. It was only later that I would understand the monumental, almost fatal, mistake I had made. The merman was in his mating season, and my foolish provocations had nearly gotten me killed. Or worse. Lost in the intoxicating feel of his skin, I failed to notice the change in his eyes, the deep blue darkening to a stormy, abyssal black. By the time I sensed the shift in the atmosphere, it was too late. His silver tail, which had been swaying lazily, shot out like a whip, coiling tightly around my waist. “What are you doing?” “Hey, where are you touching?” “Whoa, easy there, handsome! Let’s talk about this! Don’t rip the silk!” “Isle! Okay, okay, I won’t touch you! I’m sorry!” “Damn it, I said I’m sorry!” “…”

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For eight years, I was the perfect wife to a man who claimed he never wanted children. Then I found out he had a six-year-old son, born on our anniversary, and his entire family was in on the lie. They thought I would crumble. They thought I would cry. They forgot that my name is on the door of the most ruthless divorce law firm in the state. And I’m about to take on my most personal case yet. 1 On our eighth wedding anniversary, Ethan’s text arrived like a predictable weather forecast: Stuck at the office. Raincheck? For a moment, disappointment flickered. Then, with a familiar, practiced motion, I cancelled the reservation at Per Se. He was always busy. We hadn’t properly celebrated an anniversary in years. It was almost a relief when my paralegal knocked on the doorframe. “Ava, that new client is here. The one who insisted on you.” I settled back behind my desk. The woman who walked in had a smirk playing on her lips before she even sat down. “Our son is six now,” she began, without any preamble. “And everyone knows that children born outside of a marriage still have inheritance rights. So, you tell me, what’s a wife who can’t even produce a child still clinging to a dead marriage for?” She slid a file across the polished surface of my desk. “Honestly, we had a ceremony years ago, abroad. If his wife wasn’t such a ball-busting lawyer, we’d have a marriage license by now.” I opened the folder. The name on the intake form was Ethan Hayes. A jolt went through me, but I dismissed it. A coincidence. A common name. Because everyone knew my Ethan was child-free by choice. He didn’t just dislike kids; he claimed to loathe the very idea of them. But then she pushed a photo from her purse and laid it on the desk. My breath caught. It was like looking at a childhood picture of Ethan. The same unruly brown hair, the same shape of the eyes. Before I could process it, she produced another photo. This one made the world tilt, then shatter. It was Ethan, my Ethan, his head bent with a look of intense, gentle focus, carefully pulling a tiny sock onto a small foot. So, he didn’t hate children. He just hated the idea of having children with me. The realization hit me with such force that a wave of nausea washed over me, and I had to swallow down a gag. The woman across from me simply arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “So, Ava,” she said, my name a poison dart from her tongue. “Are you going to take the case?” … I stared at her, my hands trembling under the desk. My throat felt like it had been clamped in a vise. I couldn’t speak. On my phone, a text from Ethan an hour ago still glowed: Got a surprise for you for the anniversary, babe. Later. A bitter laugh tried to crawl up my throat. Some surprise. This was the kind of gift you only wanted to receive once in a lifetime. The woman, Sophia, let out a soft, mocking laugh and stood up, placing her phone face-up on my desk. She looked down at me, savoring the pale shock on my face. “Did you know,” she said, her voice a confidential purr, “that ever since my son was born, Ethan has never once spent an anniversary with his wife?” She leaned in closer. “Because my little boy was born on your wedding day. Of course, he wants to be with us, to celebrate his son’s birthday.” “You tell me, Ava,” she whispered, “a woman who stays in a marriage like that… does she have some kind of humiliation fetish?” She laughed outright at that, a bright, cruel sound. My fingers dug into the edge of my mahogany desk, the polished wood biting into my skin. I was trying to stop the shaking, but my nails scraped against the wood until I felt a sharp sting. A lawyer’s first rule is to maintain a poker face. Never let them see your weakness. But my face had drained of all color. I was broken. So that was it. That was why he was always “working late” today. I pushed the feeling down, crushed it into a tight, manageable ball in my chest until I could force words out. “Is it possible,” I heard myself say, my voice thin and reedy, “that he’s never actually asked his wife for a divorce?” Sophia feigned a gasp. “Oh, of course not. He wouldn’t want to hurt her poor, fragile feelings.” She paused, her eyes glittering. “But you’d think a woman would take a hint, wouldn’t you? I mean, from what I hear, they haven’t had… you know… a real marriage in years.” Her voice dropped again, laced with venomous pity. “He told me that after all this time, the thought of her body just… bores him to tears. He said he couldn’t imagine being saddled with a boring woman who would only produce a boring child. That would be the end of his life, he said.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s why he’s always so… energetic with me. Making up for lost time.” A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. My vision had gone numb, fixed on the photo on her phone. I burned the image into my memory, a self-inflicted wound I would revisit again and again. Ethan and I were the cliché. Childhood sweethearts. We’d grown up together, our hands always finding each other. He proposed a year after we started dating, desperate to lock it down. At first, he said he didn’t want kids because he was afraid they would steal my love from him. The one time I pushed it, he got so angry he slept in the guest room. “Now you know what it feels like to not have me in your bed because of a kid!” he’d yelled through the door. I’d laughed then, thinking it was just him being childish. I respected his choice. The box of condoms in our nightstand was always replenished before it was empty, just in case. Not that we’d used one in years. Eight years of marriage. I thought we’d dodged the seven-year itch. Even as he got busier with his company, he was never impatient with me. He’d just ask for my understanding, quoting some tired line about how a man’s thirties are his new sixties. I believed him. But the reality was a six-year-old boy. I didn’t even know when it started. When he had started living this entirely separate life. Just then, Sophia’s phone screen lit up with a notification. The profile picture was the same one I had saved in my contacts. The same man who, just this morning, told me he was swamped with work. The message preview read: Hey baby, on my way up. A polar vortex of ice swept through my veins. Sophia picked up her phone, her expression a mask of pure scorn. “It seems the great Ava Harrison isn’t so great after all.” She slipped the phone into her designer bag. “My husband is here to pick me up. We’ll talk later.”

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1 The night Gavin’s parents were taken, he was walking out the door—not to save them, but to go camping with her. I didn’t stop him. I just called 911. In my last life, I begged him to stay. He saved his parents, but Lily was killed by a wild animal on her trip. After that, he never spoke to me again. On the day I was due to give birth, he drove me into the wilderness and left me there. “If it weren’t for you,” he said coldly, “Lily would still be alive.” He watched as beasts tore me apart. I woke up screaming, soaked in cold sweat, my body aching with phantom pain. Trembling, I checked my phone. The date confirmed it: I was back. Reborn on the day his parents were kidnapped. In a few moments, the phone would ring. The kidnappers would demand five million dollars in cash, to be delivered in thirty minutes. Any delay, and they’d kill them. Gavin and I were a story written by our parents. Childhood friends, a match made by our families before we even knew what it meant. Whether it was for the sake of our family empires or for the sake of my own foolish heart, I was always meant to be his wife. I knew about his ex, Lily. Their relationship was a passionate flame his parents had worked hard to extinguish. Before our wedding, I’d looked him in the eyes and asked him if this was what he truly wanted. If he was marrying me because he loved me. He said yes. To both. So I walked down the aisle with a heart full of hope. After the wedding, he was a ghost in our home—distant, cold, his texts and calls with her a constant, secret hum in the background. I chose to be blind and deaf to it all, swallowing my pain in silence. I loved him. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, of watching my marriage crumble. A choice that cost me my life, and the life of my unborn child. But this time would be different. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I watched him jog down the stairs, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. I slowly pushed myself up from the sofa. Our eyes met, and his gaze was like ice. “I’m not coming home tonight,” he said, the words clipped and final. I didn’t answer. My eyes were fixed on the landline phone on the end table. Right on cue, it began to ring. I snatched it up and hit the speakerphone button. A distorted voice crackled through the line. “We have Richard and Helen Thorne. Five million in cash. Thirty minutes. Westwood Plaza. You call the cops, they’re dead.” Gavin heard every word. He merely frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome features, before letting out a short, derisive laugh. “Really, Elara? Is this fun for you?” he sneered. “Getting my parents to play along with this pathetic little drama?” I looked at his face, the same face that had watched me die, and the love I’d nurtured for over a decade turned to ash. “You heard the call, Gavin. What you do next is your decision. I’m staying out of it,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “If you want to believe it’s a performance, fine. But I’m telling you, this isn’t a game.” Perhaps the sheer lack of emotion in my voice gave him pause. He hesitated for a heartbeat. But only a heartbeat. Then he turned and strode out the door without another word. Last time, he’d reacted the same way, convinced it was a ploy to keep him home. But I knew it was real, and I had thrown myself in his path, screaming and crying until he’d finally relented. He’d joined the search, and his parents were saved. But by the time he returned, it was with the news of Lily’s death. And all the blame landed squarely on my shoulders. The moment the front door clicked shut, I dialed 911. Five million in cash wasn’t something I could produce in half an hour. Besides, there was no guarantee they’d release his parents even if I paid. This was a job for professionals. The dispatcher said a car was on its way from the local precinct. But before they arrived, my cell phone rang. It was an old friend of Gavin’s from the police academy. “Elara? It’s Mark. You and Gavin having a fight?” I frowned. “What’s this about, Mark?” “Look, I just got the dispatch. We’re buddies and all, but filing a false report is a big deal. I get you’re fighting with Gavin, but you can’t pull stunts like this. He and Lily are just friends. You keep this up, you’re just making him a laughingstock.” It took me a second to process what he was saying. “What are you talking about? Did Gavin tell you I filed a false report?” Silence on the other end. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Mark, I’m giving you one chance. Get your ass over here and do your job, or my next call is to Internal Affairs to report an officer obstructing a kidnapping investigation.” He scoffed. “Don’t treat everyone like they’re Gavin, Elara, ready to jump at your command. I’m not your family’s private security.” His voice dripped with contempt. “You’re not worth a single strand of Lily’s hair.” I hung up. Then I dialed 911 again, reported the kidnapping a second time, and formally filed a complaint against Officer Mark for dereliction of duty. A different pair of officers arrived fifteen minutes later. They were professional, their faces grim as I explained the situation and played the recording of the first call. They immediately ran a trace on the number, but it came back as a burner, already disconnected. All we could do was wait for the kidnappers to call again. While the police set up, I was on the phone with my financial advisor. “How much liquid cash can I access right now?” “Two-point-three million? Get it ready. All of it.” Next, I called Gavin’s uncle, David. The moment I mentioned the kidnapping, he gasped. “Who would do such a thing? Is Gavin there?” “He’s gone camping with Lily,” I said flatly. “Uncle David, they’re demanding five million. I can’t cover it all myself. Can you help me? I’ll pay you back within a week.” “Don’t be ridiculous, child, this is for my brother! We’re family. How much are you short?” “Two-point-seven million.” “Don’t worry. I’ll get it.” The thirty minutes evaporated in a haze of adrenaline and fear. The phone rang again. I answered, a tech expert beside me trying desperately to get a location trace. He quickly shook his head. No luck. My stomach plummeted. The voice on the other end was sharp, impatient. “Time’s up. Where’s the money?” “I don’t have it all yet,” I pleaded. “Please, just give me a little more time. My husband isn’t here, I don’t have access to that much cash on my own.” “I told you what would happen if the money wasn’t there!” “Please, don’t hurt them! You want money, right? Killing them won’t get you paid. It’s a lose-lose. Give me another half hour. I swear I’ll have the money.” As soon as I finished speaking, a muffled, gut-wrenching scream echoed through the phone—my mother-in-law. The kidnapper’s voice returned, laced with chilling amusement. “Half an hour. For every minute you’re late, I take a finger. You want to stall? Be my guest.” The line went dead. Just then, a pale-faced Officer Mark appeared in the doorway. He’d clearly overheard the call. “Gavin called me…” he stammered, avoiding my eyes. “He said… he said his parents were just helping you with an act to keep him home…” I was too drained to even respond. One of the other officers spoke up. “Call him back. Now. Tell him what you just heard.” Mark nodded, fumbling for his phone. He dialed, but after a moment, shook his head. “Busy.” I thought of my mother-in-law, Helen. She was so delicate; a paper cut was a major incident. I couldn’t imagine the agony she was in. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I tried calling David again. His line was also busy. A minute later, he called me back. But before I could ask about the money, he sighed heavily. “Elara, child, it’s not right of you to play with an old man’s heart like this. I know my brother and his wife spoil you, but this is too much. I just spoke to Gavin. Thank God he told me the truth before I had a heart attack.” The world tilted on its axis. My blood ran cold. “Gavin told you it was an act?” I asked, my voice hollow. “Uncle, I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but can you reach my in-laws right now? Can you? Because the police are standing right here in my living room.” He just sighed again. “Gavin has someone else in his heart. Child, maybe it’s time to let him go. Just divorce him. It would be a release for you both.” He hung up. At the same time, Mark finally got through to Gavin. “Gavin, man, you need to get back here,” Mark said urgently. “I think… I think your parents might really have been kidnapped.” The voice that answered wasn’t Gavin’s. It was the syrupy-sweet voice of Lily. “Oh, Mark! You’re playing along with Elara’s little game too? How sweet. Gavin’s just grilling some steaks, let me get him for you.” We heard her muffled voice relaying the message. Gavin never even took the phone. His reply was distant but clear. “Just hang up. That psycho will do anything for attention.” The call ended. Mark looked at me, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and dawning horror. I let out a bitter, shaky laugh. “I have no idea what to do,” I admitted to the officers, my gaze empty. “But they want the money at Westwood Plaza. It’s not the full amount, but I have to go. If I act as bait… does that increase your chances of catching them?” A female officer stepped forward. “Ma’am, let me go in your place.” I managed a weak smile. “What if they know what I look like? Your presence would blow the whole operation. I’ll be the one to deliver it. You can all provide cover from the outside.” With no other leads, they agreed to my plan. When the kidnapper called again, I lied, telling them I had the full amount. “Just tell me where to bring it. We can do the exchange. My money for my in-laws.” The man on the other end let out a cold laugh. “Sure,” he said, his tone making the hairs on my arm stand up. A wave of dread washed over me. “Wait,” I said quickly before he could hang up. “I want to hear their voices. I need to know they’re okay.” “Why the rush, Mrs. Thorne? You’ll be seeing them very soon.” He disconnected. My financial advisor delivered the cash. I dragged the heavy suitcase to the designated spot in the plaza. My phone rang again. A new location. “Go to the underground parking garage. They’re waiting for you there.” I didn’t care about the money anymore; I knew the police had it covered. I just ran. I sprinted toward the parking garage, my heart hammering against my ribs. I found my mother-in-law’s sedan. The driver’s side door was hanging open like a broken jaw. Their throats had been cut. Blood, so much blood, was still pooling on the leather seats, spilling onto the concrete floor. A choked sob escaped my lips as I stumbled forward, my legs threatening to give out. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers slick with sweat, and dialed 911. “Westwood Plaza… underground parking… two people… their throats…” I grabbed their hands. They were so cold. “Mom, Dad, hold on. Please, just hold on. The ambulance is coming.” My voice was a frantic whisper. “I’m calling Gavin. I’ll get him here right now.” They both looked at me, their eyes fading, and weakly shook their heads. “Elara…” Helen rasped, a bloody bubble forming on her lips. “After we’re gone… divorce him. Our shares… the house… the funds… it’s all yours… I’m so sorry…” “No,” I choked out, tears blurring my vision. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s my fault. I didn’t get the money fast enough…” “It’s not… your fault…” Richard whispered, his breath shallow. “They never… intended to let us live.” I kept dialing Gavin’s number, over and over. It rang and rang, unanswered. I sent him a text. Gavin, Mom and Dad are hurt. Badly. Get back here. Now. The message sat there, unread. Stone-cold silence. I kept calling. Kept texting. I didn’t stop until I watched the last spark of life leave their eyes. The paramedics arrived, but it was too late. There was nothing to save. I tried to stand, but the world spun violently and went black. I grabbed the car door to steady myself, and a firm hand took my arm. It was one of the officers. “Mrs. Thorne,” she said, her voice gentle but strained. “They didn’t take the money. We had a team move in on the pickup man, but he fell from a height during the pursuit. He’s in critical condition, unconscious.” She paused, her grip tightening slightly. “I am so, so sorry for your loss.” We spent the rest of the night at the station. Everyone was on edge. After I gave my statement, the forensics team began their work. They knew there was more than one kidnapper, and with only one in custody—and in a coma at that—the pressure was immense. This was a brutal, high-profile case, and they were determined to bring the killers to justice. As the first light of dawn broke, I finally left the station and called the funeral home.

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My husband kept forcing me to see a shrink. He said I had delusional disorder, that I was obsessed with the fantasy that I was a corporate heiress. He would grab me by the throat and scream that my parents had died in a car crash years ago. To cure my “illness,” to smooth the constant worry from his brow, I took my medication on time and tried my best to forget those “fantasies.” Today, I was handing out flyers on a street corner when a Rolls-Royce glided to a stop in front of me. The driver opened the door with a deferential bow, and my father—the one who was only supposed to exist in my “fantasies”—stepped out, his face etched with pain. “The million dollars I wire to your account each month is for you to experience life,” he said, his voice aching. “What are you doing suffering out here?” A million dollars? A roar filled my head. My husband, the man who claimed to have spent his life savings to cure me—what had he been hiding from me? 1 I was curled up on the sofa, my face buried in my knees. My father’s words echoed in my mind like a broken record. A million dollars. Every month. It turned out I wasn’t delusional. I was a fool, kept in a cage. The lock clicked softly. Peter was home. He shrugged off his coat with a quiet elegance, his brow furrowing in that familiar way when he saw me. “Clara, why are the lights off again? The doctor said you need more sunlight.” He walked over, pressing his palm to my forehead. His voice was so gentle it felt like a caress. “Are you feeling unwell today? Did you take your medicine on time?” I looked up, meeting his concerned gaze. I had loved this face for five years. Three years ago, right after we were married, he told me my mental state was deteriorating and took me to a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with severe delusional disorder. From that day on, my world shrank to this small apartment and the white pills he brought home for me. He said my parents had died in a car accident when I was in college. He said my fantasy of being a wealthy heiress was a sickness that needed to be cured. He said he had sold his house, his car, and spent every last penny of his savings to pay for my treatment. And I believed him. My heart ached for his sacrifices. I took the pills obediently, cooperated with the therapy, desperate to get better so I would no longer be a burden to him. Thinking back on it now, it was all a monumental joke. I looked at him, my throat dry. “Peter… are we… out of money?” A flicker of alarm crossed his eyes, so quick I almost missed it, but it was instantly replaced by a look of pity. He sighed, pulling me into his arms. “You silly girl, thinking too much again. Don’t you worry about money. You have me.” His embrace, once my safe harbor, now felt like a freezing abyss. I gently pushed him away. “I handed out flyers today. I made fifty dollars.” I held out the sweat-dampened bill to him. Peter froze. His expression turned ugly in an instant. He grabbed my wrist, his grip shockingly tight. “Who told you to go out? Clara, you were just starting to get better. Do you want to have a relapse?” His voice rose to a shout, the gentle mask cracking. I flinched. It was the harshest he had ever been with me in three years. “I… I just wanted to help,” I whispered, my eyes cast down. Peter’s chest heaved. He stared at me for a long, tense moment before finally releasing his grip, slumping as if exhausted. He pulled me back into his arms. “I’m sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to yell. I was just so worried about you.” He took the familiar bottle from his pocket and shook out two white pills. “Here, be a good girl. Take your medicine. Everything will be fine once you take it.” I stared at the pills in his palm, my stomach churning. This was the poison that had kept me in a fog for three years. I took the pills and obediently put them in my mouth, taking a sip of water. As the pills slid toward my throat, I pressed them firmly under my tongue. “I’m going to bed,” I said, turning and walking unsteadily toward the bedroom. The moment the door clicked shut, I ran to the bathroom, spat the pills into the toilet, and flushed. Over the sound of rushing water, I stared at the pale, unfamiliar face in the mirror. My dear husband. The man who shared my bed. It was time I started playing my part in this charade. 2 Late that night, Peter was sound asleep. I slipped out of bed and took his phone from his wallet. Fingerprint unlock. I used his. For three years, I had been cut off from the outside world—no phone, no internet. He claimed it was to protect me from any “triggers.” I navigated to his banking app and entered the password. My birthday. How ironic. My hands began to shake as I stared at the balance, a string of numbers so long I couldn’t even count them. I scrolled quickly through the transaction history. Every single deposit was clearly labeled: “Pocket Money.” They came from a name both familiar and distant: Mr. Chen, my father’s personal assistant. The most recent transfer was from yesterday. A million dollars. Peter’s spending records were staggering. Luxury cars, designer watches, custom-made suits. He had even purchased several properties in another city. He was using my money to live like a king while keeping me locked in this tiny rental, like a pet. No, even a pet had a better life than this. Fighting the urge to smash the phone, I opened his messaging app. Pinned to the top was a chat with a girl named “Vivi.” Their conversations were sickeningly sweet and explicit. Peter called her “baby,” transferring her money without a second thought. “Baby, do you like this penthouse downtown? I’ll put it in your name.” “Baby, we’re going to Paris for Fashion Week next week. Buy whatever you want.” The last message was a photo. Vivi was snuggled in Peter’s arms, beaming. The background was their new home, lavishly decorated. And hanging on the wall was an oil painting by my mother’s favorite artist. It had been a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday. Now, it was just another tool for Peter to impress his mistress. My vision swam, and I nearly collapsed. I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling a sob. He hadn’t just stolen my money. He had betrayed our marriage. I took a deep breath and, using his phone, photographed all the evidence. Then, I found Mr. Chen’s number and memorized it. Once I was done, I placed the phone back where I found it and climbed into bed. The man beside me breathed evenly, lost in some pleasant dream. I lay awake, staring into the darkness until dawn. I had to get out. Immediately. But I had no ID, no money. I couldn’t even get out of the building. To “protect” me, Peter had installed a state-of-the-art security lock on the door, and only he knew the code. I was a bird trapped in a cage. The next day, Peter had an “important meeting” at the “office.” This was my only chance. Before he left, he kissed my forehead tenderly, as he always did. “Wait for me at home. I’ll take you out for a nice dinner tonight.” The moment the door shut, I pulled a small, pre-packed suitcase from under the bed. It held only a few changes of clothes and a small amount of cash I had managed to hide—money he occasionally gave me for groceries, which I had saved, dollar by dollar. I walked to the door and stared at the cold, impassive keypad, my heart hammering. How was I going to get out? I suddenly remembered a time a repairman had come to fix a leaky pipe. I overheard Peter mention an emergency reset function for the lock. It was a long shot, but I had nothing to lose. Following a tutorial I found online, I pressed a random sequence of buttons. Beep. Password has been reset. My hands trembled. I pulled the door open, and blinding sunlight flooded my face. For the first time in three years, I walked out of that cage on my own. 3 I didn’t dare take a car. I ran along side streets until my legs gave out. I stopped at a payphone and dialed the number now burned into my memory. It rang for a long time before someone answered. “Hello, who is this?” It was Mr. Chen’s voice, calm and professional. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “Hello? I’m hanging up if no one’s there.” “Mr. Chen… it’s me.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. The line went dead silent. After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Chen spoke again, his voice trembling. “Miss Monroe? Is that you? Where are you right now?” The tears I had been holding back finally broke free. “Mr. Chen, I…” I gave him an address and then sank to the ground, unable to say another word. Less than twenty minutes later, a fleet of black cars pulled up. Mr. Chen rushed out and hurried to my side. Seeing my disheveled state, his eyes reddened. “Miss Monroe, you’ve suffered.” I was taken back to the manor that had only existed in my “delusions.” My father was waiting in the living room. The moment he saw me, he shot to his feet, his eyes flooding with a mixture of pain and guilt that threatened to drown me. “You’re home. That’s all that matters. You’re home.” He reached out to hug me, then stopped, as if afraid he’d break me. I knew he was blaming himself. Three years ago, I had married Peter against my father’s wishes and moved out to live our own life. At first, we kept in touch. But then Peter claimed my “condition” was worsening and that I needed absolute quiet, severing all contact between me and my family. My father had sent people to find me, but Peter always turned them away, saying I didn’t want to see anyone, that I was undergoing treatment and couldn’t be disturbed. My father, thinking I was merely suffering from postpartum depression, didn’t want to pressure me. So he simply wired money to my account every month, believing that as long as I was financially secure, I would eventually get better. He never could have imagined that his precious daughter was being held prisoner by her own husband, treated like a mental patient for three whole years. “Dad, I’m okay,” I said, forcing a smile. The family doctor arrived and gave me a thorough examination. The results showed I was severely malnourished, and the long-term use of a powerful sedative had caused damage to my nervous system. “This medication,” the doctor explained, “if taken in large doses, can cause hallucinations, memory loss, and even permanent brain damage.” His words were a hammer blow to my heart. I wasn’t sick. I was being poisoned. My father’s face darkened, and he slammed his fist on the table. “Peter Blackwood,” he growled, each word dripping with venom. “I’ll make him wish he was dead.” That night, I moved back into my old room. The pink princess bed, the walls lined with dolls—everything was exactly as I had left it three years ago. Yet, it all felt completely foreign. After a long shower, I put on clean clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. My skin was sallow, my eyes were vacant, and I was so thin I was practically a skeleton. Was this really Clara Monroe, the girl who used to be so vibrant and proud? I couldn’t stand to look at that face any longer. The next day, I had Mr. Chen bring in the best stylists and nutritionists. I cut off my dry, brittle hair and replaced it with a chic, short style. I started working out and eating right. I was going to reclaim the three years I had lost, piece by piece. A week later, I could already see a shadow of my former self in the mirror. My new phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered, and Peter’s frantic, angry voice flooded the line. “Clara Monroe, where the hell are you?”

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Seraphina Hanover and I were both stolen children. When her family—the Hanovers, titans of industry—finally found her, she clung to my wrist, her grip like iron. “I want him as my brother,” she declared. “I’ll protect him for the rest of my life.” But as the years passed, I didn’t want to be her brother anymore. I was desperately in love with her. “That’s not on the table,” Seraphina told me, her voice gentle but firm. The burgeoning love became a torment I couldn’t bear, so I left, tearing myself away from the only home I’d ever known. Five years later, we met again. My boss, Mr. Wallace, shoved me into the seat next to her. “You’re a dead ringer for the guy on Seraphina Hanover’s lock screen,” he hissed in my ear. “She’s been searching for him like a madwoman.” “This is your shot. The look-alike gambit? You were made for it.” I shook my head so frantically my neck ached, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. “No, seriously, this is a bad idea. She’s not into my type.” 1 I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I’d run into Seraphina Hanover like this. I was with my boss, Wallace, at a dinner for potential investors. He’d told me there was a billionaire investor, notoriously hard to please, and that I was the only one who could crack her. He’d even dangled a promotion and a hefty raise. I thought he valued my negotiation skills. I didn’t realize he was planning on pimping me out. The moment we stepped into the private dining room, he pointed at the back of a woman seated at the head of the table, his eyes glinting with manic opportunity. “That’s her. Tonight’s deal hinges on you, Sam.” “I’ve done my homework,” he continued in a low whisper. “You look exactly like the man on her phone’s lock screen. This look-alike gambit is a sure thing.” Even from behind, I knew her instantly. Seraphina Hanover. The youngest heir to the Hanover fortune. And my sister, in name only. I started backing away, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Absolutely not, boss. She’s not interested in me. I… I suddenly have a stomach ache. I have to go. Don’t try to stop me.” But Wallace’s hand shot out, faster than my escape attempt. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward Seraphina, his voice a conspiratorial hiss. “What are you running for? How do you know it won’t work if you don’t even try?” “I’ve got the inside scoop. Miss Hanover is famous for being an ice queen. Men have been throwing themselves at her for years, and she doesn’t even bat an eye.” “It was her best friend, Chloe, who spilled the beans one night when she was drunk. She said, ‘You idiots don’t know the first thing about getting her attention. If you want to give her a gift, give her the man on her lock screen. Seraphina’s been looking for him for years, even calling his name in her sleep.’” “If you weren’t his spitting image, you wouldn’t be getting this golden opportunity. Now, go seal this deal for us.” For a man who only drank herbal wellness teas and never worked out, Wallace had a grip like a vise. He propelled me forward and shoved me into the chair to Seraphina’s left. He clamped a hand on my shoulder, his face plastered with a salesman’s smile as he presented me to her like a prize. “Miss Hanover, this is our company’s rising star, Sam Cole.” “He may be young, but his talent is off the charts. He’s the one who’s closed all our toughest projects.” My heart leaped into my throat. I cursed myself for not checking my horoscope this morning. My eyes, betraying my will, darted toward the woman I had spent five years trying to forget. Her face was still as captivating as ever, a single glance enough to undo me completely. Framed by a pair of elegant, gold-rimmed glasses, she exuded an air of controlled power, a quiet intensity that was both ascetic and alluring. My resolve crumbled in an instant. As I wrestled with how to greet her after all this time, Seraphina’s assistant, a severe-looking woman to her right, shot to her feet and rounded on me. “Mr. Wallace, what is the meaning of this?” she snapped. “Are you unaware of Miss Hanover’s rules? No man sits next to her. Especially not one who’s clearly had work done to look like… him.” “Are you that desperate to be a substitute? Get out!” 2 I had, in fact, had plastic surgery. I’d also changed my name. I used to be Leo Hanover. After leaving the Hanover family, I found my birth parents. Now, I was Sam Cole. No wonder she didn’t react when she heard my name. She sat there like an unfeeling statue, letting her assistant swat away the flies buzzing around her, not even gracing me with a glance. Her assistant, however, scrutinized my face as if inspecting a cheap forgery. “You’ve had work done on your face, haven’t you, Mr. Cole?” “I studied medicine. I can spot a surgeon’s work a mile away.” “Unfortunately for you, you’ve all miscalculated. The boy in Miss Hanover’s heart can’t be replaced by some cheap imitation.” “What kind of ‘one that got away’ can be so easily substituted?” “Not only does Miss Hanover not entertain look-alikes, she finds the very idea repulsive. You’ve walked right into a minefield. Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to have you thrown out?” I felt like I was sitting on a bed of nails. Why did everyone keep calling me Seraphina’s long-lost love? If only that were true. In her eyes, I was, and would always be, just her little brother. The truth is, Seraphina and I share no blood. We were both kidnapped as children and spent three years together in the hands of our captors, relying on each other to survive. When I was beaten, she would shield me with her own body, taking the searing lash of the whip for me. When she was burning with fever, I’d stay up all night, changing the cool cloth on her forehead. When we were starving, we’d find a single packet of instant noodles; she’d give me the noodles and drink the broth herself. We lived in a place that was no better than a pigsty. One night, a snake bit me. Without a moment’s hesitation, Seraphina knelt, pressed her lips to the wound on my foot, and sucked out the venom. “Am I going to die, Sera?” I’d sobbed. She held me tight. “I won’t let you die.” Then, her wealthy family found her. I cowered in a corner, convinced our time together was over. But Seraphina grabbed my hand, her grip unyielding, and stared down her parents. “I want him as my brother,” she said, her voice shaking with stubborn resolve. “I’ll protect him for the rest of my life.” Her parents were hesitant. So she doubled down. “Then I’m not going either. Where he goes, I go. No one is separating us.” Overjoyed and stunned, I became the adopted son of the prestigious Hanover family. Seraphina’s beloved little brother. And she truly spoiled me. Still a girl herself, she patiently taught me to read and write. Every tutor her family hired for her, she insisted I join the lesson. She bought me the sharpest clothes, the coolest toys. She was always fixing my collar or styling my hair, transforming me from a grimy, scared little boy into a handsome, polished young man of eighteen. Everyone in our circle knew I was the boy Seraphina Hanover kept in the palm of her hand. “He’s less an adopted son,” they’d whisper behind our backs, “and more her future husband, groomed to perfection.” At the time, those rumors sent a thrill through me. I didn’t mind them at all. Because I was so in love with her. I wanted to grow up and marry her, so we could be together forever. But when I finally mustered the courage to confess, her answer shattered my world. “That’s not a line we can cross, Leo. You’ll always be my brother.” Her words were like a bucket of ice water, drenching me to the soul. But I couldn’t suppress the love that grew more intense with each passing day. You can’t command your heart to stop feeling. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching her marry someone else, of another man spending his life by her side. This unrequited love would eventually twist me into something ugly. My only choice was to leave. I thought that with distance, I could finally rein in the almost pathological possessiveness I felt for her. I never imagined that five years later, our reunion would be like this. Mistaken for some shameless stand-in by her own assistant. 3 I didn’t dare say a word, terrified she’d recognize my voice. Honestly, this was for the best. She was exactly as the rumors described: aloof, untouchable, with a complete disdain for any man who tried to get close. She had loyal subordinates to enforce her boundaries. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the lump in my throat and bolted faster than a rabbit. When I left five years ago, I’d sworn to never appear before her again. Because one look was all it took for my world to descend into chaos. I could never forget her. I could never stop loving her. A one-sided love is a war waged alone in the heart, and it’s exhausting. It was better for us to go our separate ways, to never meet again. I found a nearby bar and started drinking, trying to drown the fire in my chest with whiskey. So many nights, I’d dreamt of her. In my dreams, I’d secretly kiss her, doing all the things I’d never dare to in reality. In my dreams, I was bold. In my dreams, Seraphina never pushed me away. She’d stroke my hair gently, letting me press her against any surface, in any room. Like the grand piano in the northeast corner of the living room. After we were brought to the Hanover estate, she loved to sit with me at that piano, her hands guiding mine over the keys. Those were beautiful times. In my dreams, I loved pinning her against that piano, removing her glasses, unbuttoning her silk blouse. A faint, knowing smile would play on her lips, lazy and uninhibited. She’d lean in, her breath warm against my ear, and whisper wickedly, “You want to kiss me? How badly?” “More than anything,” I’d murmur back. And her voice, a low, seductive hum, would tempt me. “Then kiss me, Leo. I’m all yours.” The dream blurred the lines of reality, giving me a courage I didn’t possess. I’d pull off my own tie and blindfold her with it, wild and unrestrained. “Don’t move,” I’d command. But every single time, just as my lips were about to touch hers, I would wake up. I’d hurl my pillow across the room in frustration, closing my eyes and trying desperately to recall the image of her in my dream, to will myself back into that moment. It never worked. Tonight, drunk and reckless, I did something stupid. I logged into an old, forgotten social media account. I hadn’t touched it in years. It was a digital diary filled with all my forbidden feelings for Seraphina, a testament to the secret war I’d waged in my heart since I was a boy. I had tried to bury it, to never look back. But seeing her tonight had stirred up everything. My fingers moved on their own. [Everyone says I’m the one she can’t forget, her ghost.] [If only that were true.] [But I’m the only one who knows the truth. To her, I can only ever be her brother.] I had no idea that this one small act was about to cause an earthquake. 4 Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Wallace. “Sam! Where are you? Get to a bar called ‘Serendipity’ right now!” “Seraphina Hanover is heading there as we speak! This is your last chance!” “She didn’t get a good look at you before. Once she sees your face, you’re in!” I was slumped over the bar, my head spinning. “Boss, please,” I slurred. “Just let it go. Her assistant already warned me off. This whole look-alike thing is a bust.” He wasn’t listening. The man was obsessed. “What do you know? Even an ice queen melts if you’re persistent enough! There’s no such thing as an irreplaceable love, only a stand-in who doesn’t try hard enough.” “Once or twice, she might resist. But seven or eight times? Can she really stay immune?” “Trust me, I know women better than you do. When you can’t have the real thing, even a picture is enough to quench the thirst.” “And listen to this! Just after you left, Seraphina shot to her feet so fast she shattered her wine glass in her hand.” “Her assistant asked what was wrong.” “And Seraphina—her voice was trembling—she said, ‘He’s online. He’s nearby.’” “Turns out her long-lost love just logged into an old account he hasn’t touched in years and posted something.” “She saw it, dropped everything, and personally tracked the location. It’s a bar nearby.” “She’s on her way there now, ready to drag him back. Now, I’m betting this guy doesn’t want to be found. Otherwise, why stay away for five years? And when she finds him and he refuses to go with her, that’s your moment. That’s when you swoop in.”

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I was transported to a world of beast-men and adopted by the Serpent King. But then he found a new human female, one who could stomach raw meat. She called me delicate and spoiled. The King started forgetting to feed me, showering all his affection on the newcomer. My vision was blackening from hunger when I caught the scent of cumin-roasted meat on the wind. My mouth watered so much the drool was practically dripping from my chin. Following the aroma, I found a stash of wild barbecue and began to devour it through my tears. Suddenly, a net dropped from the sky. A beast-man shouted, “Chief! We caught something!” A fluffy little black puppy stared at me, its tail wagging furiously. Wait a second… isn’t that my dog, Buddy? 1 It was the third day Kael had cut off my food supply, and the hunger was unbearable. The table in my room was piled high with raw, bloody meat. I clutched my stomach, retching at the sight, when my nose twitched. I smelled it—the rich, smoky aroma of cumin-dusted barbecue. … Three days ago, we were celebrating our formal engagement. A human girl stumbled into the ceremony. The moment she saw Kael’s half-human, half-serpent form, she threw herself at him, clinging to his massive tail. She stroked his scales, shouting, “Oh my god, a real naga! And two tails! So smooth, so delicious… I could just eat you up!” Kael, cold and obsessive about his personal space, was disgusted. He was about to drag her away to be food for the others. I couldn’t bear it. I persuaded him that we couldn’t just eat people. So instead, he gave the girl to one of the other serpent-men. But then, things started to change. I’d be sharing a story with Kael, only to find his gaze fixed on the other woman. Her name was Zara, and she was… unrestrained. She embraced the local customs with a wild enthusiasm, eating raw meat and drinking blood from the kill. Like the other serpent-folk, she refused to wear clothes. She would plop herself down on the laps of males who already had mates, laughing it off. “We’re all friends here! Don’t be so stingy, ‘sis’.” The serpent females said nothing, but they quietly found new husbands. In private, they came to me to vent. “Anne, it seems only the King can resist that female. I guess our exes just didn’t love us enough.” “The King is so loyal. Only a truly powerful male can resist temptation and devote himself to his mate. You’re so lucky.” I went to Kael, suggesting that for the sake of harmony within the tribe, we had to send Zara away. He didn’t speak, just sat silently in the hot spring. “I’ll go,” he finally said. I nodded, my tone relieved. “Good. I’ll go make it clear to her right now.” Kael turned his head, his eyes flashing with impatience. “I meant you should go. Go back to our room and cool your head. Picking fights with other females… it doesn’t align with that ‘respect for women’ you’re always talking about, Anne.” My steps faltered. I tripped, falling into the tall grass, and stayed there for a long moment, my mind reeling. Kael, who had only ever spoken to me with tenderness, what had happened to him? When I finally pulled myself to my feet, I heard splashing from the hot spring. I looked back just in time to see Zara surface, a bright, triumphant smile on her face. “Hey! Thanks for covering for me! If she’d found out, I’d have been in big trouble.” A faint blush crept up Kael’s neck as he pushed her away. “That’s enough. Don’t come here again. This spring is for my mate and me.” Zara pouted, wrapping her arms around his serpentine tail and whining coquettishly. “But I don’t want to bathe with anyone else. I like you. And you like me too, don’t you? You’re already… reacting. Besides, you’ve got two to spare. One for me, and one exclusively for her.” She went on, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Your fiancée is just too demanding. Why can’t she adapt? This isn’t the modern world, you know. She should respect your culture. Powerful males like you are meant to have many lovers. Liking just one is so boring! I can accept that. She’s just too delicate.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I leaned against a tree for support, staring at them. Kael had chosen his name just for me, to complement mine. He had carved this very spring from the rock with his own hands. He couldn’t possibly agree. But Kael was silent, a thoughtful look on his face. The girl smiled and slipped back beneath the water. He didn’t refuse her. My legs felt weak as I stumbled toward the spring, my eyes locked on Kael’s. 2 “Get her out of there.” Kael’s jaw tightened. His body was tense as he told me, in a strained whisper, to leave. I didn’t budge. I grabbed a rock from the edge of the spring and hurled it at the dark shape moving beneath the water. Kael instantly snatched the woman from the depths, shielding her with his body. The rock slammed into his back. He grunted in pain, but his first words were for her. “Are you okay?” Zara, perched on his tail, wiped her mouth and smirked at me. “I’m fine. But look at your fiancée, about to throw a tantrum. You’ve really spoiled her. Real human females aren’t like this, you know.” Only a chosen mate was allowed to touch his tail, yet he had let Zara explore it freely. I reached for another rock, but he whipped his tail around, striking my arm with a sharp crack. The searing pain brought tears to my eyes, and I instinctively looked to him for comfort. Before, if I so much as got a paper cut, he would rush to lick the wound clean. This time, Kael just stared at me, his eyes filled with condemnation. The next second, his back went rigid, and his ears flushed crimson. Zara let out a throaty laugh. “What? All I did was give you a little squeeze. You’re so sensitive, it’s cute. Your fiancée never did that for you? She’s such a prude.” He was completely lost to his own body, his eyes clouded with lust. “I’m going to call your name three times,” I said, my voice low and shaking. “If you don’t stop, I’m leaving.” The first time. Kael frowned and turned, as if to say something, but Zara silenced him with a kiss. The second time, he tried to rise from the water. She hooked her arm through his. “She’s just jealous. Are you really going to let a woman boss you around? Are you even a man?” The third time, he didn’t even look at me. He just pulled her into his arms. I turned my back on them, tore the engagement circlet he had made for me from my head, and threw the pieces to the ground. 3 Back in our room, I started packing. Knitted dresses, soft cotton skirts, and even the clumsily stitched undergarments he had made for me. I spread them out on the bed. Staring at the clothes Kael had sewn with his own hands, a bitter, delayed sorrow washed over me. Tears streamed down my face. He had found me when I first arrived in this world. The powerful Serpent King, who used his lethal tail—a hunter’s weapon—to playfully weave flower crowns for my hair. In this world of casual nudity, he had listened to my descriptions and painstakingly found fabric to make me clothes. Here, eating raw meat was the norm. When he saw me retching at the sight of bloody flesh, he had wracked his brain, listening to my descriptions of cooking, trying to create fire with sticks, even capturing lightning in a jar. He learned to roast meat for me. A cold-blooded serpent, going against his very nature, enduring the searing heat of the flames. His arm was covered in burns, all for me. He respected my customs. He took care of me. So when he knelt on one knee, in the human way, and offered me the mate’s circlet, I had said yes. “Anne,” he had promised, “I will be loyal. You will be my only female. You fear the pain of childbirth and don’t want children, so I will forsake my own desire to reproduce. For you, I will accept the rules of your human world.” Now, those promises were like wounds that had just started to bleed, tearing me apart. I wanted to scream. I bit down on my own hand, trying to steady my breathing, but my sobs were uncontrollable, my whole body shaking. How could he stop loving me, just like that? Because of her? The new arrival? Was that all it took? I packed quickly, needing a clean break. But as I slung the bag over my shoulder, Kael appeared in the doorway, still dripping from the spring. The lust had faded from his dark eyes. They were fixed on my bag, a vein throbbing in his arm. “Where are you going? Are you this jealous? We didn’t go all the way.” I raised my hand and slapped him, a light, sharp sound in the quiet room. “In my world, emotional cheating is still betrayal. I don’t accept it. The engagement is off. I’m leaving.” 4 Kael calmly rubbed his cheek. Then he took my hand, the one I’d slapped him with, and gently squeezed it. “Don’t you remember, Anne? You can’t go back. We searched everywhere when you first arrived. We tried every method. You can only stay here. What home do you have to go back to?” He laid the cruel truth bare. My face was a cold mask. “I can go to another tribe,” I said, refusing to admit defeat. “A place where I’ll be respected.” A playful voice interrupted us. Zara came running up, throwing her arms around Kael. “See? I was right! She’s threatening to leave. In human society, that’s just a tactic to make you want her more. Let her go. She’ll be back.” Kael cut her off. He pushed me back into the room and called for the guards. “No. It’s too dangerous outside. Even if she’s just throwing a tantrum, I won’t risk a female’s safety.” Such noble words. After that day, I was under house arrest. Kael brought me food every day. Raw meat, raw greens. Still dripping with warm blood. The sight made me physically sick. It was Zara’s idea. A test of submission, she’d called it. Every day, after I finished throwing up, I would give the meat to the guards. At first, they pitied me. Then, their pity turned to disgust. “When she was the only human, I thought they were all this delicate. But since Zara arrived, I see now this one is just spoiled.” “Everyone else can eat raw meat, go without clothes, drink from the river. But Anne has to be special. Always going on about hygiene and parasites. What parasites? I’ve never seen any. She’s just fussy.” “Shh, don’t let the King hear you. He gets angry. She’s been on a hunger strike for days, and it’s making him miserable. Who knew a female could be so self-destructive?” It was the third day Kael had cut off my food supply, and the hunger was unbearable. My stomach was a knot of agony. I huddled in the corner, staring at the pile of rotting food, the flesh still clinging to the bone. It was disgusting. But I was so hungry. If I didn’t eat, I would die. I didn’t even have the strength to run. I reached out a trembling hand, fighting back the nausea, ready to grab a piece of meat. But then, a scent hit me. Rich, fragrant, and unmistakable—the smell of cumin-roasted barbecue! A sudden surge of energy shot through me. I stood up and followed the smell. It was coming from the bushes just outside the tribal grounds. 5 But there were two guards at the door. They were yawning, waiting for their shift to end. I gathered up the day’s portion of raw meat and approached them, my voice soft. “Here, you can have this. Not just today, but every day. Just… let me step outside for a minute.” They were hungry, but they shook their heads, urging me to go back inside. They didn’t trust me. “My Lady, if you don’t eat a single bite, the King will have our heads,” one sighed. “If you’d just be reasonable, even a small mouthful would be enough. We’re stuck here guarding you, and we’re going to miss the matchmaking festival tonight.” That was my chance. The two guards were staring wistfully at the distant celebration. I steeled myself, picked up a slice of meat, and took a small bite, swallowing it down before I could vomit. Their faces lit up. “My Lady, you’re finally eating! We have to report this to the King!” They were so excited they took off without a second thought, the half-eaten piece of meat in hand as proof. The moment they were gone, I bolted out the door, following the rich aroma of barbecue to a small clearing behind a thicket of bushes. There, on a large leaf, was a pile of freshly grilled meat skewers. They were still steaming. I threw myself at them, stuffing my face like a wild animal. Each bite was heaven, so delicious it was explosive. Tears streamed down my face as I ate, my sobs muffled by the food. Then, I heard a rustling sound behind me. I looked up, suddenly alert, just as a net dropped from the sky.

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I never beat around the bush. When a strange woman’s intimate message appeared on my doctor boyfriend’s phone, I placed it squarely before him and demanded an explanation. After a long silence, Nick confessed: “She was a former patient, a severe case. I admit… I developed… different feelings.” “But Chloe,” he pleaded, “we’ve been through so much since college. I’ll cut her off completely.” Staring into his sincere eyes, I suppressed the sting in my heart and forgave him. The wedding continued as planned. But on our wedding day, a colleague burst in: “Dr. Morrison! Vanessa knows you’re getting married—she’s coding!” My bouquet dropped with a soft thud. Nick bolted out like a gust of wind. I screamed after him, eyes burning: “If you leave today, we’re done. For good!” His steps faltered for just a second—then he was gone, without looking back. He’d broken his promise after all. 1 The wedding hall erupted into chaos. The murmurs of the guests were like a thousand tiny needles pricking my skin. Our parents rushed to my side, their faces etched with confusion. Nick’s assistant, Chris, stood nearby, his face flushed with shame. “Chloe… Vanessa’s… her situation is complicated. The last time she flatlined, Nick was the one who brought her back. She only trusts him. He’s the only one who can calm her down… It’s a matter of life and death. He didn’t have a choice. Please, don’t blame him…” Chris had worked with Nick for two years and had always treated me with respect, calling me Chloe with a familiar warmth. Now, he couldn’t even meet my eyes. I could only wonder how many of Nick’s secrets he had kept, what other connections he had to this woman, Vanessa. A tight, crushing pain spread through my chest. The betrayal was real, and it was absolute. My parents held my hands, frantic. “What on earth is going on? Didn’t he take leave for the wedding? What kind of patient needs to be resuscitated right this second?” Nick’s parents, mortified, were already on the phone. “Chloe, sweetheart, don’t worry, I’m calling that worthless son of mine right now. If he doesn’t come back, I’ll break his legs!” The fallen bouquet was trampled underfoot by the shuffling crowd, its petals crushed and scattered—a perfect reflection of my own shattered heart. I stood frozen, my wedding dress pooling around me like a wilted flower after a storm. The wedding I had dreamed of for years had devolved into this humiliating disaster. The groom had abandoned his bride in the middle of a chapel filled with well-wishes, all for another woman. For four hours, I made seventy-six phone calls. Nick didn’t answer a single one. I watched my phone screen light up and go dark, over and over, until the battery finally died. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting harsh, bright patches on the floor. A beam of light fell on my bare ring finger, and a chill went through me that had nothing to do with the temperature. The guests gradually dispersed, leaving behind a field of deflated balloons and half-eaten meals. Suddenly, the world began to spin. The last thing I heard was my mother’s panicked scream. When I opened my eyes again, the sterile, antiseptic smell of a hospital filled my nostrils. A nurse was taking my blood pressure. “You’re in a delicate condition now,” she said softly. “You can’t afford any more stress. You need to rest.” I stared at the ceiling, silent tears tracing a path into my hair. The memories flooded back—a six-year film reel on fast forward. Me at nineteen, in the university library, when Nick handed me a notebook he’d “found.” The handwritten letters he sent every week when he was doing his residency out of state. The day he became an attending physician, holding my hands and promising, “I save lives for a living, but I will always, always protect you.” I saw the poorly concealed joy on the faces of my parents and Nick’s, and my own tears welled up. How was I supposed to tell them that our six-year love story was over? 2 The third time news came that Vanessa was “critically ill,” I was in the kitchen, brewing a traditional herbal remedy. The clay pot simmered on the stove, the bitter medicinal scent mingling with notes of dried citrus peel—a smell that perfectly captured the taste of my relationship with Nick these days. He burst in, a whirlwind in a white coat, the hem of it catching the edge of a bowl I’d just filled. The dark, murky liquid splattered across the cream-colored tiles, an ugly stain. “Chloe, Vanessa’s crashing again. Her heart rate dropped to forty, the doctors said…” He grabbed my arm, his grip so tight I thought my bones might snap. “I have to go to the hospital. Just for a minute. If she sees me, maybe she’ll stabilize…” I looked at the bloodshot veins in his eyes, at the single long, dark hair clinging to the collar of his coat—a hair that wasn’t mine. And I laughed. “Nick,” I said, pulling my arm free. I knelt, grabbing a rag to wipe the floor, my nails scraping against the grout. “Do you remember what day it is?” He blinked, clearly having no idea. “It’s the day of my follow-up appointment.” My voice was as flat and lifeless as a stagnant pond. “The doctor said my recovery isn’t going well. I have to go today, or I risk a serious infection.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes darted away. “I know, but Vanessa…” “She’s important, and I’m not. Is that it?” I looked up, meeting his gaze, and enunciated every word. “In your eyes, am I just supposed to wait here forever? Wait for you to comfort your patient, wait for you to remember the fiancée you abandoned, wait for you to throw me a scrap of your attention?” “No, it’s not like that!” he stammered, but his phone began to vibrate violently, the screen flashing with the words “ICU.” He glanced at the phone, then back at me. Finally, he grabbed his car keys. “Chloe, I’m begging you. I promise, I’ll go to the hospital with you as soon as I get back. I’ll stay as long as you need…” “Don’t bother.” I stood up and tossed the soiled rag into the trash. “Go, Nick.” He froze, a look of surprise on his face. He probably hadn’t expected me to be so calm. “But there’s something you should know,” I said, walking to the hall closet and zipping my jacket up to my nose. “At my last check-up, the doctor said that from now on… it might be difficult for me to get pregnant again.” The car keys clattered to the floor. “What did you say?” His voice trembled. He lunged forward, trying to hug me. “How? Was it the surgery…?” “Yes,” I said, taking a step back, avoiding his touch. “Or maybe it was when I fainted at the wedding and hit my stomach. Who knows.” I tried to smile, but my lips wouldn’t cooperate. “But it doesn’t matter. You don’t care anyway, right?” He stood there, his face as white as a sheet, his lips trembling, unable to form a single word. The phone continued its shrill, insistent ringing, a death knell for us. I pulled on my shoes and opened the door. A blast of cold air made me shiver. “Go,” I said, staring at the bleak fluorescent light in the hallway. “Don’t keep your patient waiting.” He didn’t move, his eyes fixed on me as if trying to burn my image into his memory. “Nick,” I said, giving him one last look, “the moment you chose her, you should have known. Once something is broken, it can never be put back together again.” The door clicked shut behind me, cutting off whatever he was about to say, and sealing the end of the six years he had personally destroyed. I walked downstairs. It had started to rain, a fine, cold mist that stung my face. I hadn’t gone far when I heard hurried footsteps behind me. He had followed me out, my medical file clutched in his hand. He must have grabbed it in his panic. “Chloe! I’ll take you to the hospital! Right now!” He tried to grab my arm, the desperation in his eyes spilling over. “I’ll have a colleague watch Vanessa, I’m worried about you…” “Don’t be.” I pulled the file from his grasp. “Dr. Morrison, you should go save your patient. After all, in your heart, her life is so much more important than mine.” I turned and walked into the rain, and I didn’t look back. The footsteps followed for a few paces, then stopped. I knew his phone must have been ringing again. The rain blurred my vision, and with it, the path that had begun in a sunlit library, a path I once believed would last a lifetime. I later heard that he did, in fact, go back to the hospital that day. Vanessa hadn’t been crashing. She had pulled out her own IV line, just to get him there. And while he was there, I was at my own appointment. The anesthetic didn’t take full effect. I felt everything. I bit down on the bedsheet so hard I thought my teeth would break, tears and cold sweat soaking the pillow. The nurses said I never made a sound. They didn’t know that compared to the pain in my heart, the physical agony was a dull ache. My heart had gone numb from the moment he had run to her, again and again and again. 3 At 8 PM, after seven hours of silence, Nick finally showed up at the hospital. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his gaze was heavy with guilt. “Chloe, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Vanessa… I couldn’t just let her die. It’s my duty to save lives.” I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. “There are dozens of other doctors in that hospital. Did it have to be you?” I paused. “Nick, I’m not an idiot.” After a long silence, he took my cold hand in his. “Chloe, in six years, I’ve never asked you for anything. Just this once, I’m begging you. Don’t make a scene. Don’t do anything that could negatively affect Vanessa. Her condition… she can’t handle that kind of stress.” I looked at the earnest plea in his eyes, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I couldn’t breathe. He shouldn’t be begging me for this. He should be apologizing to me. A person’s first instinct doesn’t lie. He never once thought about how humiliated I was at the wedding. He never worried about why I ended up in the hospital. His first words, his only thoughts, were of Vanessa. Tears fell like broken pearls onto the white duvet, spreading into dark, wet spots. It took all my strength to force out a single word. “Fine.” He visibly relaxed. “Vanessa knows I was getting married, and she’s emotionally unstable. Let’s postpone the wedding for now.” His voice was cautious, testing the waters. “I’ll stay with her through her treatment. Once she’s a little more stable… maybe two months. Just two months. Then we’ll have our wedding. Okay?” I had waited six years. What was another two months? But as I saw the worry for another woman in his eyes, I suddenly felt that I couldn’t wait another two seconds. The little life inside me seemed to sense my despair and gave a faint flutter. I placed a hand on my stomach, on the five-week-old secret that was ours, but now felt like only mine. I slowly pulled my hand away, my voice as still as a deep, dark lake. “Nick.” “My memory isn’t perfect, but I remember being nineteen, in the library, when you handed me that notebook, so nervous you could barely speak.” “I remember our first date, how your palms were so sweaty you could hardly hold your chopsticks.” “I remember graduation day, you held me and promised to give me the best life, to make me the happiest bride in the world.” “All these years, you remembered I don’t eat cilantro, you remembered I have a sensitive stomach and need warm soup, you remembered all my little quirks… I always thought you cherished me, that you held me in the very center of your heart.” I looked up at him, and the dam finally broke. “But today, Nick… today I can’t feel your love at all.” Six years of memories swirled between us. Nick’s eyes reddened, and a single tear traced a path down his cheek. “But Chloe,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “Vanessa needs me right now.” She needs me. Those three words shattered the last vestiges of hope I had. I looked at him and, through my tears, I smiled. “Then go to her.” He stared, clearly not expecting that. But he didn’t argue. He just turned and left the room. The next day, as I was packing my things to leave, I ran into Nick in the hallway. He didn’t see me. His entire world was focused on the girl beside him. She wore a hospital gown, her face pale, and he was half-supporting, half-cradling her, as if she were a frightened little bird. So this was the woman who had made him abandon me at the altar.

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