Author: Momo Chan

I’m a relationship coach who streams online, the person women call in the dead of night to help them navigate the wreckage of their hearts. That night, a young woman called in. She claimed she’d been a billionaire’s mistress for seven years and now wanted out. She wanted to go back to her small town, get married, settle down. But he was threatening to kill himself if she left. I gave her my standard, professional advice. “You want to be free? Go to his wife. Tell her everything. Confess your mistake and return every single thing he ever gave you.” Three days later, a box arrived at my door. Inside was the deed to a house, keys to a dozen luxury cars, and what looked like a hundred designer handbags. At the same time, a notification lit up my phone: a wire transfer for $850,000. The attached note read: “Thank you for the advice. I’m returning everything to its rightful owner.” I stared at the name on the deed, my husband’s name, and that night, I started my livestream. “Tonight,” I said, my voice hollow, “I’m going to tell you all a joke. And the punchline is me.” 1 “Remember that girl from the other night? The one who’d been a billionaire’s mistress for seven years, asking me how to break free?” I was walking through the villa, the one from the deed, my phone still streaming live. I felt pathetic. Even now, in the moment I discovered my husband’s affair, my first instinct was to turn my own humiliation into content, into traffic. All to pay for my father’s astronomical medical bills. A lump formed in my throat. “Do you want to know what happened next?” I continued, my voice tight. “Well, it turns out… I’m the wife.” The comment section exploded. Digital gifts, animated supercars, a flood of notifications. But before I could say another word, the front door of the villa was thrown open. “Stop following me! I told you, we’re over!” It was a woman’s voice. The exact same voice from my livestream three nights ago. My heart seized in my chest. And then I saw him. Ethan. He followed her inside, his face a mask of desperation. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, and his expression darkened. “Mia, baby, don’t joke like that.” Her voice was muffled. “I’m not joking… My mom set me up with a really nice guy back home. I’m going back to marry him.” A switch flipped in Ethan. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, pacing like a caged animal before finally kicking the glass coffee table, shattering it across the marble floor. “Who is he? What could he possibly give you that I can’t?” The crash made the girl—Mia—flinch, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “You’re an asshole, Ethan… you…” He closed the distance between them, his anger melting away as he tenderly kissed the tears from her eyes. “If you don’t want me to die right in front of you,” he whispered, his voice raw, “then don’t leave me. Please.” She pushed him away, her voice rising to a shout. “Then what am I supposed to do? You can’t give me a ring, but you won’t let me go!” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. In our seven years of marriage, Ethan had always been the epitome of cool control, a man of unshakable composure. I had never seen him like this—unhinged, frantic, utterly consumed by a love that wasn’t for me. My hand went slack, and the selfie stick clattered to the floor. The camera angle shifted wildly, sending the live chat into another frenzy. [Wait, did I just see the other woman’s face? Someone screenshot that!] [OMG this is the messiest, most incredible drama ever. Live front-row seats to the husband’s epic breakdown!] [That guy is hot, though. NGL.] [CHLOE! What’s happening? Pick up the camera!] The sound of the phone hitting the floor finally drew their attention. They both looked up and saw me standing on the landing of the staircase. Mia’s eyes lit up with a desperate hope, as if I were her savior. “You’re here! You actually came!” She rushed up the stairs and grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “The house, the cars, I don’t want any of it! Please, just talk to him. Tell him to let me go. You said… you said if I gave it all back, I could walk away. Right?” I stood there, frozen, the blood draining from my face. I couldn’t form a single word. But Ethan’s shock had already curdled into rage. He stormed up the stairs, grabbed me by the throat, and slammed me against the wall. His eyes were cold and dark. “When did you find out about Mia?” His gaze dropped to the deed in my hand, and his fingers tightened around my neck. “Did she make you give the house back? Huh?” I couldn’t breathe. It was Mia who pulled at his arm, her voice panicked. “No! I brought it to her myself! Stop it, you’re hurting her!” Ethan finally released me. He turned back to Mia, his hand instantly finding hers, his voice dropping to a soft, pleading whisper. “What if I said I could give you the title? Mrs. Blackwood. Anything you want, Mia. I’ll give it all to you.” I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of bitter resignation washing over me. The title I had held for seven years, offered up like a party favor. In the ringing silence, Mia slowly let go of my arm. She looked down at the floor and whispered, “…Okay. I’ll give you three days. If you can’t do it in three days, you have to let me go.” 2 After Ethan left with Mia, I bent down and picked up my phone. I was stunned to see that over a hundred thousand people were watching the stream. The comments were all screaming the same thing: Read the diary! I looked over to where my phone had fallen. Next to a pile of Mia’s luggage, a small leather-bound journal lay open on the floor. My hands trembling, I did what my audience demanded. I opened the diary. With every page I turned, the world tilted further off its axis. March 18th, 2018 We’ve been together for three years, but today, he got married. He promised me she was just a business arrangement, a tool for an alliance. He said I was the only one he loved. We cried and made love all night, desperate and broken… My wedding night. The night Ethan told me he had an urgent business trip, leaving me to sleep alone in our cold, empty bed. April 4th, 2019 He swore he didn’t love her, but now she’s pregnant. He was furious, his eyes red. He promised me, he swore on his life, that she would never have his child before I did. I’d been pregnant six times in seven years. Every single time, I lost the baby to a freak “accident.” The first, a hit-and-run. The second, a mugging that went wrong. The third, a severe case of food poisoning. …I felt a cold dread creep up my spine. I didn’t dare think about the others. June 19th, 2021 The storm was terrible today. I was so scared of the thunder, I lost control of the car and hit something. I’m so glad he was here to hold me. That was the day my mother died. It was pouring rain. I had collapsed on the pavement, sobbing until I passed out, miscarrying our fourth child. He had told me he was stuck in a meeting, unreachable. He’d been with her. All night. May 14th, 2025 My family is pushing me to get married. I tried to break up with him for the first time. He gave me 10% of his company’s stock. He said it was my security, my power. Tucked into the page was a stock transfer agreement. I read the document, and the air left my lungs. My entire body went numb. This May, just a few months ago, my father’s tech company had faced a catastrophic cash flow crisis. It was on the verge of bankruptcy. I had begged Ethan, pleaded with him for a bridge loan, for any kind of help. He’d told me his assets were tied up, that his hands were tied. The assets that were “tied up” had been transferred, without a moment’s hesitation, to Mia. My father’s company went under. He had a massive stroke and ended up in the ICU. I couldn’t control it anymore. My hands shaking violently, I ended the livestream and finally, finally let myself break, my body wracked with silent, gut-wrenching sobs.

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It was our seventh time filing for divorce. An hour later, wedding photos of my husband and his young assistant appeared on my feed. Her hand was intertwined with his, showcasing his elegant fingers. The caption read: Legally, logically, lovingly yours. I clicked his profile—the first “like”—and instantly blocked him. His frantic call came moments later. I ignored it. He seemed to vanish. Days later, he called again: “Withdraw the divorce, Aurora. Come home.” His voice trembled. “Your daughter and I… we’ve missed you.” I laughed bitterly. Missed me? He’d flown his assistant to New Zealand for orcas, then to Norway for Northern Lights—all documented in a hundred boastful posts. I stayed silent, switched to speaker, and playfully pinched the bare chest of the man in front of me. He groaned sharply. The silence grew heavy. “Who was that?” My husband Karl’s voice turned tense, teeth gritted. “Where’s my wife?” 1 The man holding me chuckled softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear before ending the call and walking out the door. Half an hour later, my front door was kicked open. Karl stormed in, his eyes wild with panic. He grabbed my hands, pulling me up and spinning me around, his gaze frantically checking every inch of me. Only when he was satisfied that I was unharmed did he let out a shuddering breath and pull me into a bone-crushing hug. “Aurora, I missed you,” he whispered, his eyes red-rimmed as he nuzzled his chin against my shoulder. “Are you mad at me? I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again. Just… don’t use some other guy to make me jealous.” Listening to his heartfelt confession, I couldn’t help but smile. “He’s not a prop, Karl.” His own smile froze on his face. My voice was light, almost cheerful. “We’re divorced. I have no reason to make you jealous.” Karl let out a forced laugh, his posture immediately relaxing. “Oh, you’re still hung up on that? Don’t be mad, baby. She’s just a colleague. I didn’t do anything to betray you.” “Look,” he said, pulling a small box from his pocket. “To make up for this whole divorce mess, I’ll propose to you all over again. You know how we are—we fight, we make up. Just forgive me one more time.” The box opened to reveal a delicate DR necklace. “I got this for you on my business trip.” My gaze fell to his left ring finger. A faint, pale line circled the base—the unmistakable mark of a ring worn for a long time. We never exchanged wedding rings; he’d claimed it was unprofessional for the office. That, combined with this sudden, out-of-place necklace, made it painfully obvious who he’d been wearing a ring for. Just then, my daughter burst through the door and threw her arms around my waist. She opened her small hand to reveal a lifelike butterfly hairpin. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? The little butterfly is saying sorry to you.” I took the hairpin and clipped it into my hair. The cold, sharp words I’d been about to say died on my lips. You can’t stay angry at your own child. BOOM! The sudden crack of fireworks made me jump. Karl grabbed my hand and led me outside. A swarm of 999 drones, arranged in the shape of a massive heart, was gliding toward our house. As they hovered over our lawn, they shifted formation, spelling out my name. AURORA, HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY. My daughter looked up at me, her eyes shining with hope. Karl’s smile was as gentle and intoxicating as it was the night he’d laid out 999 candles and asked me to be his girl. It was cheesy. But it was dazzling. Passersby stopped to gasp and applaud. “Now that’s how you do it, kid! So romantic!” someone shouted. “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” a group chanted. I stared into Karl’s eyes, saying nothing. He bit his lower lip softly and leaned in, aiming for my cheek. At that exact moment, a pair of blinding headlights flooded my face, and the sound of a woman’s heartbroken sobs cut through the air. 2 Katie teetered toward us on impossibly high heels, her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at Karl. “We just took our wedding photos, and you’re already cheating on me, Karl? You said you would only love me for the rest of your life! You lied to me! I’m just going to go kill myself!” With a dramatic cry, she ran towards a tree on the curb, only to collapse theatrically into Karl’s waiting arms. She pounded weakly on his chest. “You’re a bastard, Karl! If you’re going to break my heart, just let me die!” My daughter ran over to her, gently wiping away her fake tears. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” she cooed. “Daddy and I only love you.” In an instant, the curious glances from the crowd turned into sharp, judgmental glares aimed directly at me. “So, she’s the other woman?” “Obviously. They have a child together. I can’t believe she has the nerve to seduce a married man.” I opened my mouth to explain, but Karl cut me off, his brow furrowed with annoyance. “You should go, Aurora. I can’t do this to Katie.” My daughter then reached up and yanked the hairpin from my head, tearing out a fistful of my hair with it. She snatched the necklace box from my hand. “Did you really think this was for you? Daddy and I got these presents for Mommy.” It had only been a month, and my daughter was already calling Katie ‘Mommy.’ Karl shot me a triumphant smirk before turning and dropping to one knee in front of Katie. “I kept feeling like I still owed you something. Perhaps… it was this ring.” He produced another box, this one containing a massive diamond ring. My daughter clipped the butterfly hairpin into Katie’s hair. “Mommy loves butterflies. I bought this especially for you.” Meanwhile, someone in the crowd was live-streaming. The hashtag #EpicLoveStory was trending. [He and their daughter love her so much! She’s the real winner here!] [OMG, is that a two-carat diamond? I think that’s the ‘Heart of the Ocean’ ring! It took the designer three years to make, it’s worth over a hundred million, and it’s the only one in the world!] Basking in the crowd’s adoration, Katie shot me a look of pure contempt and melted into Karl’s embrace. He scooped her up with one arm, took our daughter’s hand with the other, and walked away. I just stood there, silently taking screenshots of all of Katie’s Instagram posts before blocking and deleting them both. I had no time to be a player in their pathetic little soap opera. 3 A few minutes later, a video call came through from my new boyfriend, Julian. “Aurora, I’ve just wrapped things up at the office. I’m on my way back now. Want me to pick up some late-night snacks?” I thought for a moment. “No, that’s okay. I don’t have much of an appetite.” His expression immediately turned serious. “What’s wrong? Did that man from this afternoon bother you? He… he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” He tried to sound casual, turning his head away, but the way he bit his lip betrayed his concern. I shook my head, a small smile touching my lips. “Don’t be silly. It’s just the heat. And from now on, don’t answer calls from unknown numbers. It’s always spam.” When Julian got home, he found the living room empty and rushed into the bedroom, looking panicked. He visibly relaxed when he saw me packing a suitcase. “I thought we weren’t leaving for another month. Why are you packing already?” I smiled and gave him a quick hug before returning to my task. “I changed the flight. We leave in three days. We can get there early and do some sightseeing.” There was nothing left for me here. Just one last piece of business to take care of, and I could leave this all behind. The next morning, I arrived at the auction hall. My parents had gone missing during a round-the-world trip years ago. An island up for bid today held the only clue I’d managed to find about their disappearance. I hadn’t even reached my seat when a stiletto shot out, tripping me. I stumbled and fell to the floor. Katie let out a snort of laughter. “Seriously, Aurora? I know your daughter calls me ‘Mom’ now, but you don’t have to bow to me.” She tutted. “You’re so much older than me. I’m worried this will shorten my lifespan.” Despite her words, she didn’t walk away. Instead, she had one of her friends help me up. “You’re so good at playing the victim,” Katie cooed. “If I were a man, I’d probably fall for it. Too bad for you, Karl is completely devoted to me.” I brushed her friend’s hand away. “Does it feel good being a homewrecker? You must be enjoying it, judging by that smile.” Her smile vanished. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes.” I assumed she was talking about Karl and shrugged it off. Why would I care about a man who had already cheated on me? But when the bidding for the island began, one of Karl’s employees took the stage and began presenting my proposal. My bid, my research, my entire plan—it had been stolen. I stared at Karl in disbelief. He flinched and looked away, unable to meet my eyes. I had poured my heart and soul into that proposal, working sleepless nights for a month, all for the chance to get access to that island and investigate my parents’ last known location. I never thought he would do this to me, not even for Katie. Katie tilted her head, pointing to the presentation on the screen. “Isn’t it a great presentation, Aurora? This island is mine.” To get the answers I needed, I had no choice. I clenched my jaw and signaled my assistant. “Add another ten percent to our budget. I don’t care what it takes. We are winning that island.” Karl’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, to explain, but Katie tugged on his arm. “Karl, you promised you would give this island to me. How can you let Aurora use your money to steal it?” A bitter laugh escaped me. So, after all the years we’d spent building our company from nothing, in everyone else’s eyes, I was just a freeloader living off his success. I was about to tell Karl that I would fight him to the end for this, but he suddenly stopped Katie. “Why are we fighting over a deserted island? I have a much better gift for you, my love.” 4 After my employee presented our revised, much higher bid, the auction organizers smiled with approval. Seeing her chances evaporate, Katie burst into tears and fled the room. Karl shot me a dark look before following her. I frowned, wondering what new drama they were cooking up. Their malicious bidding war had already forced me to sell off all my company shares to cover the cost. Just before the auction concluded, Katie returned, wrapped in Karl’s arms. She gave me a cryptic, triumphant smile. As I was leaving the venue, I noticed people pointing and whispering. Snippets of ugly rumors reached my ears, souring my victory. Just as I reached the exit, a woman stormed up to me and blocked my path. “Are you the one sending nude photos to my husband?” Before I could react, she slapped me across the face, sending me sprawling to the ground. “Can’t you go one day without a man, you slut? Sending him videos of you in lingerie, calling him ‘daddy’?” A crowd started to gather, including some of my own business partners. “Whoa, she sent them to me, too,” one of them snickered. “I had no idea Ms. Hayes was hiding all that under her business suits. Look at all those toys… she’s wild.” “Well, now we know how she kept Mr. Shaw wrapped around her finger for so long. She probably slept her way to the top. Can’t blame the guy, what man could resist that?” My head was spinning from the slap. I looked at the explicit images on the woman’s phone, and my blood ran cold. The woman in the video was wearing lingerie so sheer it was more provocative than being naked, drawing the eye to the most intimate parts of her body. I tried to explain, but someone threw a cup of coffee at me. The hot, sticky liquid streamed down my head, soaking my blouse. At the end of the video, my voice, breathy and seductive, echoed from the phone. The entire crowd fell silent, their eyes fixing on my coffee-stained lips.

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1 A week before our wedding, I was designing e-vites on Mike’s laptop. My hand slipped as I typed “For now and for all our years to come,” accidentally opening his browser. [What if you’re about to marry someone but having second thoughts?] My fingers froze. Mike was on the sofa, frowning at his game. The AI chatbot replied: [Is this anxiety, dissatisfaction, or…] Mike typed again: [It’s neither. What if I met someone new and can’t stop thinking about her?] The AI concluded: [A true connection is rare. Don’t let it go.] I looked at him and asked steadily, “Are we rushing this? Are you sure you’re ready?” He put his phone down, voice tender: “How could you think that, Kate? I’ve waited ten years for this. It was always you.” His eyes returned to the screen. I looked down—a new message popped up: “Ugh, she asked if I was ready. I lied. What now?” … I sat in the study, the water in my cup trembling, sending ripples across its surface. We met when we were eight. Sixteen years of a storybook childhood friendship, followed by a ten-year marathon of love. I never, ever thought Mike would be the one to waver. I closed the laptop and walked over to him, casually taking his phone from his hands to browse through it. From food delivery orders to travel apps, from his social media follows to his direct messages—there was nothing. My face was his chat wallpaper. My photo was his profile banner. There were no restricted posts, no hidden friend lists. It was too clean. So clean it felt sterile. “What’s this? Hunting for a cheater?” He laughed, wrapping his arm around my waist and resting his head on my shoulder. “Find anything? Or did you just find the same loyal dog who’s been stuck to your side all these years?” I stared at his bright, open expression, a smile that was all charm and innocence. I wanted to smile back, but my lips wouldn’t move. “What if you meet someone else someday? Someone who makes your heart race more than I do?” He flinched, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “I don’t like jokes like that, Kate.” His voice was low, serious. “From the day I understood what love was, I knew I would only ever love you. Even if I met someone who seemed perfect, I would never, ever allow myself to do anything to betray you.” Looking at his earnest face, I felt a flicker of doubt in my own suspicion. He was the one who had pulled me from the deepest, darkest abyss of my life. He was the one who stayed by my side through it all. He had seen me at my most broken, my most unlovable, and he had still chosen me. Maybe everyone feels a flash of panic before their wedding. Maybe I was being too hard on him. He stood up and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, his smile returning, carefree. “You can keep searching. Let me know if you find anything.” He disappeared into the bathroom. I looked at the picture of us on his phone’s lock screen and felt my tense shoulders relax. I was about to put the phone down when a delayed payment notification popped up. It was a receipt for a returned portable charger, probably a glitch in the app sending it again. The charge was $12, for a rental period from 1 PM to 5 PM today. He was supposed to be in a company meeting at that time. The rental location was The Grandview Hotel. My breath caught in my throat. I dialed the hotel’s front desk. “Hello, I was a guest who checked in this afternoon around 1 PM. I seem to have misplaced a pair of diamond earrings. Could you please help me look for them?” I added, “I don’t remember the room number, but the guest name is Mike Archer. His ID number is…” After a moment of typing, the receptionist replied politely, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t see a guest by the name of Mike Archer who checked in at 1 PM today.” My heart, which had been hammering against my ribs, slowly began to settle. Maybe he was just passing by and needed to borrow a charger. He was always forgetting to charge his phone. But the receptionist’s next words made me freeze. “However, I do have a record of a Mr. Mike Archer with matching identification. He just didn’t check in this afternoon.” The frantic clatter of a keyboard echoed through the phone, and my own pulse raced to match it. Then, silence. “Here it is. He checked in six months ago. He booked a suite for an extended period. Room 328.” The phone slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the floor. The voice on the other end continued, tinny and distant. “Would you like me to have someone go up and check the room for you? Hello? Ma’am, are you still there?” I fumbled to pick up the phone, my voice trembling. “No, that’s alright. I found them.” The sound of the shower stopped. Mike leaned against the doorframe, his hair still damp, steam swirling around him. In the hazy light, his smile was audacious, almost reckless. “So? Did you find the other woman?” I forced down the wave of nausea and managed a weak smile. “Nothing. You’re clean.” He took the phone from my hand, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of smug triumph in his eyes. I knew that look. It was the same expression he wore when a business rival tried and failed to catch him in a mistake. I didn’t sleep a wink, staring into the darkness until dawn broke. The next morning, after making breakfast, Mike left for work, whistling, a spring in his step. I opened an app on my phone I’d never used before and watched as a small red dot began to move away from our apartment. It was a GPS tracker for the cat’s collar, but our little rascal, Mittens, refused to wear it, so I’d tossed it in the trunk of his car months ago. He never knew. The car stopped. I stared at the name on the map, a chilling coldness seeping into my bones. The Grandview Hotel. On the wall, our engagement photo mocked me, his loving, adoring gaze now feeling like a dagger piercing my heart. After a long moment, I dialed the number of a private investigator. “Jack, I need you to tail someone for me, 24/7. I want to know his every move and every woman he sees.” I sent him the hotel address and all the information. Then, I just sat at the table, alone, for a very long time. Until Jack’s first message came through. I had run through countless possibilities in my head. But I never, ever expected it to be her. Tessa. Mike’s most hated intern, the one who was “parachuted in.” “I can’t stand girls like Tessa,” he had complained to me six months ago. “These little princesses who think they can just waltz in and coast by because their family has connections.” For the past six months, he had portrayed their relationship as pure animosity, a constant war of wills, made worse by the fact that she had been assigned to his team. He despised her. At least, that’s the show he put on for me. I grabbed my car keys and sped to the location Jack sent. “Tessa Thorne, 22, fresh out of college,” Jack briefed me over the phone, his voice grim. “Her dad’s a major shareholder in a partner company, mom’s a doctor. A classic rich girl. Bubbly personality, gets along with everyone. The people at your boyfriend’s company love her.” He paused, and I could hear the pity in his voice. “Including your boyfriend.” “He even pulled strings to get her the lead on a multi-million dollar project, stepping back to act as her support.” My hand, resting on the binoculars, tightened. I leaned forward, focusing the lens on the window of the hotel room across the street. Tessa was sitting by the window. Mike came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, his eyes filled with a tenderness so profound it made my stomach churn. The next second, the wind lifted the sheer curtain. And Mike leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hungry, fierce, like a teenager’s first taste of passion. Despair washed over me, drowning my reason. My hand fumbled in my purse, searching for my pill bottle. I shook out a few tablets and swallowed them dry. I could hear my own voice, strained and shaking despite my best efforts. “The camera, Jack! Do you have the camera!?” “Get every single second of it!” They stayed in that room all day. I followed them when they left the hotel. I watched them shop at a luxury mall. I sat in the same restaurant as they shared a romantic dinner. Mike gave her everything—material gifts, emotional validation, a perfect day. They ended the night with a late-night movie. I sat in the row directly behind them, hidden under a hat and a mask, a voyeur lurking in the shadows. Tessa nibbled on his earlobe, her voice a playful whisper. “Spending the whole day with me… aren’t you afraid that psycho will find out and have another one of her episodes?” She giggled. “What if I took a picture of us like this and sent it to her? Do you think she’d lose her mind and try to kill us?” Mike turned and gave her a hard, silencing kiss, taking her phone. “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t let her hurt you.” He softened his tone. “But she’s… unstable. When she snaps, she’s not herself. Just be good and don’t provoke her.” He kissed her again, his voice a husky murmur. “Let’s go to the car after this, okay? I can’t wait…” Tessa leaned into his shoulder with a soft laugh, then slowly slid down, resting her head between his thighs. A moment later, Mike’s body tensed. He gripped the armrest, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. The movie blared on, the sound of explosions and dialogue covering their sordid exchange, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of my heart shattering into a million pieces. It was so loud, so clear. Ten years ago, he was the boy who dug me out from under a pile of rubble with his bare hands, who held me tight and promised he would love and protect me for the rest of his life. Now, that same boy was getting a blowjob from another woman while calling me a psycho. He knew. He knew my deepest wound was betrayal. He had been there for the most shameful moments of my past, had seen the ugliest of my scars. And now, he was choosing to destroy me in the exact same way. After a few minutes, Tessa sat up, her face flushed and her eyes hazy with desire. Mike couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled her into his arms and practically dragged her out of the theater. I started to get up, but Jack grabbed my arm, his face etched with concern. “Kate, don’t go down the same road your mother did. Sometimes, knowing too much just gets you hurt. Why tear yourself to pieces over this?” he pleaded. “Let me handle the rest. You go home.” My father’s affair. My mother, accused of being the mistress, beaten in the street until she lost an eye and was left with a permanent limp. She had died holding onto that hatred, never understanding why. I pulled my arm free, my body trembling uncontrollably. “It’s okay, Jack. I’m not my mother.” My voice was cold, distant. “She couldn’t bear the betrayal because she loved him. For me… the betrayal is the reason I will choose not to love.” “The deeper the pain cuts now, the less mercy I’ll show later.” In the parking garage, Mike’s back rose and fell as he moved over Tessa in the backseat of his car. Through the foggy window, I saw her say something. Mike paused, fumbling for his phone with his right hand. A second later, my phone rang. I took a deep, shuddering breath and answered. “Hey, Kate. Are you asleep yet?” Across the lot, the shadows in the car began to move again. A faint, breathy moan reached me through the phone. “No. I’m looking at our e-vites. When are you coming home?” There was a beat of silence on his end, then he spoke quickly. “I have to work late tonight. I won’t be back.” His breathing was heavy, each gasp a knife twisting in my heart, the pain so sharp it made my limbs go numb. I fought back a sob. “Mike… you promised you’d help me with the wedding favors. The wedding is so soon.” My voice cracked. “And the seating chart, and the final meeting with the planners, and…” I clamped my hand over my mouth, turning away, refusing to let him hear me break. He didn’t answer for a long time, but the rhythm in the car never stopped. My eyes blurred as Tessa suddenly bit down on his shoulder. I heard his sharp intake of breath, a pained grunt. “Ngh… Behave, don’t do that,” he growled into the phone, clearly not talking to me. Then he quickly covered, “Sorry, that was the assistant’s puppy. It just bit me. You should get some sleep. And don’t forget to take your medication.” The line went dead. Across the way, after a final, violent surge, the movement stopped. I raised a hand to my face and felt the wet tracks of tears on my cheeks. I turned to Jack, my expression numb. “Did you get their faces on camera?” Jack held up his camera, his eyes filled with a complicated mix of pity and respect. I gave a weak, absentminded nod. “Good. As long as you got their faces. It is for a wedding, after all. You need to see the happy couple.”

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It was my first time picking up my daughter from preschool. I was beaming as I brought her home, my heart full. Then, nestled in my arms, she whispered, “Mommy, aren’t we living in the little house anymore?” I froze. A little house? We had never lived in a little house. Our eyes met, hers wide and innocent, mine widening in dawning horror. A shriek tore from my throat. I raced back to the preschool, and as I burst through the doors, I collided with a frantic woman who looked exactly like me. 01 I used to see stories on the news about parents accidentally taking the wrong child home from daycare, and I’d scoff. How could you not recognize your own kid? If you can’t even do that, you don’t deserve to be a parent. I never, ever imagined I would become the very person I despised. I fumbled with the car door, my arms tightening around the little girl. As I buckled her into the child seat, I couldn’t help but stare. “It’s just… incredible,” I murmured. “How can you look so much like my Rosie?” She was a bit thinner, which made her face seem smaller and her eyes larger, but otherwise, she was a perfect double. Especially in that little yellow dress, sitting so obediently in the booster seat… she was the spitting image of my daughter. If it hadn’t been for that one whispered question, I never would have known. The little girl, Lily, was shy. She peeked at me, her small body tense, but her voice was as soft as cotton when she spoke. “Aunty, you look a lot like my mommy, too.” She added, “But you’re prettier.” I brushed it off as a cute kid-compliment and gave her cheek a gentle squeeze. “You’re just the sweetest thing. I almost don’t want to give you back.” Her eyes shot open, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of disbelief. She grabbed my hand in a panic. “No, Aunty, you can’t! Mommy can’t live without me!” She looked like she was about to burst into tears, which, I’m ashamed to admit, I found adorable. I quickly soothed her, promising over and over that I was taking her right back to her mother before she finally calmed down. As I pulled up to the preschool, my phone rang. It was Rosie’s teacher. I answered while unbuckling Lily. Just as I lifted her out of the car, I saw a woman standing across the parking lot. She was wearing worn, faded clothes and smelled faintly of grease and stale kitchens, her hair unkempt around her shoulders. Her eyes, wide with panic, scanned the area until they locked onto me. The moment she saw the child in my arms, a desperate cry escaped her lips and she sprinted towards us. In a flash, she had snatched Lily from my arms. The force of it sent me stumbling back against the car. My wrist, caught in her rough grasp, throbbed with a stinging pain, already showing angry red marks. “Hey! What was that for?” The pain shot up my arm, and my patience evaporated. “You hurt me!” My tone was sharp, angry. The woman ignored me, her attention entirely on Lily. She frantically checked her daughter from head to toe, her hands patting down her arms, her legs, her face. Only when she was certain Lily was unharmed did she pull the child into a crushing hug and break down into ragged sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby,” she choked out, her voice raspy and raw. “Mommy got held up at work, I almost lost you.” Her voice was so coarse it was like listening to grinding stones. I frowned, but my anger began to soften. She was just a terrified mother. A terrified mother whose child I had accidentally kidnapped. A wave of guilt washed over me. “Look, I am so, so sorry,” I said, stepping closer, intending to pat her shoulder in apology. “Your daughter and mine… they look so much alike, I just didn’t even realize…” My words died in my throat as she turned her face towards me. My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs. It wasn’t just that she looked like me. She looked like an older, weathered, exhausted version of me. 02 After collecting my own Rosie, I convinced the woman and her daughter to get in my car. The woman, whose name was Leah, sat stiffly in the back with Lily, radiating a nervous energy that filled the car. The tension broke when Rosie, her pigtails bouncing, climbed in and sat next to Lily. Two identical little girls, staring at each other, wide-eyed. Even Leah, who was wound tighter than a spring, couldn’t help but let a small, hesitant smile touch her lips. “See? I wasn’t kidding,” I said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “They’re practically twins. That’s why I made the mistake.” Leah mumbled a barely audible “yes.” The two girls, however, hit it off immediately. They poked each other’s cheeks, played with each other’s hair, and held hands, letting out little gasps of wonder. “You’re so pretty.” “No, you are.” “We’re both pretty, right?” “Definitely.” Their soft, sweet voices were filled with such genuine self-admiration it made my heart melt. I kept glancing at Leah in the mirror. She was looking at the two girls, her face softened by a look of pure, maternal love. A strange feeling stirred in my chest. My original plan had been to take her to a nice restaurant as an apology. But seeing her face, seeing my face in hers, I made a new plan. At the next intersection, I turned the car towards home. Bringing Leah and Lily home sent a shockwave through my family. That evening, even my grandparents, who lived out in the suburbs, drove into the city. The whole family gathered around Leah, who was so tense and overwhelmed she could barely speak. They walked around her, stared, and whispered. “It’s uncanny. Absolutely uncanny!” my grandmother said, leaning in so close her face was almost touching Leah’s. “It’s like they were cast from the same mold!” Leah tried to shrink back, but she was already pressed against the sofa cushions, with nowhere to go. My mother took her hand, turning it over and over, her lips pressed into a thin line as she examined the rough calluses and worn skin. Leah’s face was pale with panic. She tried to pull her hand away, but my mother’s grip was firm. “Um, we really shouldn’t impose,” she stammered. “Lily and I… we should be getting back.” “Nonsense!” my grandfather’s voice boomed from the armchair where he sat, the undisputed head of the family. The sound made Leah jump. “This is not a coincidence. We are going to get to the bottom of this, step by step. You and your daughter will stay here tonight.” Leah was too stunned to argue. She simply nodded, all power of refusal stripped from her. That night, my father pulled some strings. A doctor came to the house and drew Leah’s blood. The next morning, we had the results of the DNA test. Leah was one of us. To put it simply: she was my sister. My twin sister. 03 Years ago, my mother gave birth to twins in a small, rural clinic. The first baby, they told her, was stillborn. They took her away. I was the second. Medical care wasn’t what it is today, and my mother was weak. We were two months premature. The doctors had warned my parents that the chances of survival were slim. So when the first baby was declared dead, no one questioned it. They were just grateful that one of us, that I, had made it. They never knew that the other baby had survived, too. She had been passed from hand to hand before being sold to a family deep in the countryside. In that remote, isolated place, she grew up like a weed, tough and resilient. She had little education, was married off to her adoptive parents’ son, and had a daughter of her own. Her so-called husband was a lazy good-for-nothing who gambled away any money he made. Leah had no choice but to work herself to the bone in menial jobs to support her daughter. If Rosie hadn’t been on the waiting list for a prestigious private preschool, if we hadn’t enrolled her in a regular public one near our house as a temporary measure, if I hadn’t made that mistake… Leah and I might never have met. The story left me breathless. My heart ached for her, and I pulled her into a hug. She went rigid in my arms, too unaccustomed to affection to even move. “Sister,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Move in with us. You can have the third floor, I’ll move up to the fourth. It’s all furnished—closets, a study, a room for Lily. Everything. Please, don’t argue.” Leah’s face flushed. She shook her head frantically. “No, I can’t! You live on the third floor. I can’t just come in and displace you.” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t like the stories I’d read. The long-lost heiress, returning at thirty years old, was a flower that had bloomed in the mud. And despite all the hardship she had endured, her very first instinct upon returning home was to worry about my comfort. How could she be so good? So good it made me want to weep. I was about to insist when the shrill ring of her cheap phone cut me off. She gave me an apologetic look and answered. A split second later, a man’s sharp, grating voice erupted from the speaker. “You goddamn whore, who’d you run off with last night?” “Was some other bastard’s bed so good you couldn’t drag yourself out of it?” “You get your ass back here right now! If I don’t see you by lunchtime, I swear to God I’ll kill you and that little brat!” He spewed a torrent of curses and then hung up without waiting for a reply. I stared at Leah’s face. It was a deathly, chalk-white mask. “I have to go!” she gasped, scrambling to her feet. She moved so quickly she nearly tripped over her own feet. I caught her arm. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes unfocused as she muttered, “I have to get back. Right now.” A cold dread washed over me. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I tightened my grip on her rough, calloused hand. “I’ll go with you,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. The words seemed to snap her out of her trance. Her eyes focused on me, filled with sheer panic. “No! Absolutely not!” she cried. “You can’t come!” 04 Leah was adamant. No matter what I said, she refused to let me come with her. I tried to compromise. “I’ll drive you. I’ll wait in the car, I won’t come up.” She still shook her head, her refusal absolute. Finally, I gave in. “Alright. I won’t go. Just… be safe. Come back soon.” A visible wave of relief washed over her. “Okay,” she nodded, and then she was gone. I watched her until she disappeared from view. Half an hour later, I picked up my phone. “Hello, is this the preschool?” I asked calmly. “I feel terrible about the mix-up with Ms. Leah’s daughter the other day. I’d like to go to her home to apologize in person. Do you happen to have her address?” Three minutes later, I had it. Before I started the car, I thought about the man’s voice on the phone. The sheer, unhinged violence in it. On a hunch, I made another call and asked for a few of my family’s bodyguards to meet me there. It was a smart move. The moment my car pulled up to her rundown apartment building, I heard it: a cacophony of crashing and banging from an upper floor. A man’s furious, high-pitched screaming was interspersed with the sound of furniture being thrown against walls. I didn’t hear a woman scream, but my heart started pounding anyway. I sent up a silent prayer as I ran up the stairs. Please don’t be her. Please don’t be Leah. But when I reached the fourth floor, my heart sank. The door to apartment 402 was wide open. The entryway was a sea of shattered beer bottles and splintered wood. I stepped over the debris and saw it. Leah was on the floor, her head bleeding, while her husband—a man I now knew as Marco—stood over her, raising a wooden chair to bring it down on her again. “You bitch! You dare cheat on me? Stay out all night and then try to lie about it?” he roared. “Some long-lost rich family? You think anyone would want a piece of trash like you that was thrown away at birth?!” “I’ll beat the truth out of you! I’ll kill you, you lying whore!” He brought the chair down hard. Leah curled into a ball, too weak to fight back. She covered her head with her arms, her body shaking, trapped between his rage and the wall behind her. Tears and blood streamed down her face. Seeing her like that, a hot, sharp pain lanced through my chest. My eyes burned. I didn’t think. I just ran. I threw my entire body at Marco, knocking him off balance. “Don’t you touch her!” I screamed. He clearly hadn’t expected anyone to intervene. The fire in his eyes, which had started to dim, flared back to life. “Who the hell are you? This is none of your goddamn business!” he snarled. “You want some too? I’ll beat you both!” He steadied himself, his face purple with rage, and raised the chair again, this time aiming for me. I stood my ground, shielding Leah with my body. For a split second, as he looked at my face, he froze. 05 Marco’s brain might have stalled, but his body was still in motion. The chair was already swinging down. But just before it could connect, my bodyguards, who had been waiting for my signal, burst into the room. One of them didn’t hesitate, delivering a brutal kick straight to Marco’s stomach. The force was dozens of times stronger than my shove; Marco went flying backwards, landing in a heap on the floor. He curled up, gasping and whimpering in agony. A second bodyguard followed up with a sharp punch to his face. As Marco opened his mouth to scream, the third yanked off one of his filthy socks and stuffed it into his mouth, then twisted his arms behind his back, pinning him to the floor. With him subdued, I scrambled to Leah’s side. “Leah? Are you okay?” My voice trembled as I looked at the gash on her head. I tried to press a tissue to the wound, but my hands were shaking so badly I accidentally poked her in the eye. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. She didn’t respond. She was still in that defensive crouch, her eyes vacant, staring at nothing. Blood trickled into her eye, and she didn’t even blink. She just kept repeating the same phrase over and over, so quietly I had to lean in to hear. “Don’t hit me… I’m sorry… please don’t hit me…” A lump formed in my throat. I squeezed her hand, tears spilling down my cheeks. That reflexive, conditioned begging… I couldn’t imagine how many beatings it had taken to carve that response into her soul. A fresh wave of fury washed over me. I stood up, walked over to where Marco was pinned, and slapped him hard across the face, twice. His eyes burned with hatred. He struggled against the bodyguard’s grip, earning another kick for his efforts. Just looking at his bloated, pig-like face made my teeth ache with rage. “Tie him up,” I ordered, my voice cold. “Break one of his legs and call the police. My lawyers will handle the rest.” I didn’t care what the charge was. I was going to make sure this monster rotted in a cell. “If you don’t get at least ten years for this, my name isn’t Grace Vance,” I spat, leaning down to spit on his face. Just as I straightened up, I felt a desperate tug on my ankle. I looked down to see Leah, her eyes pleading. “No!” she whispered, tears streaming down her bruised face. “Sister… I’m begging you… don’t call the police!” I froze, sure I had misheard. I knelt beside her, trying to help her sit up. “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you ever again.” What kind of man was this? A coward in public, but a raging tyrant at home, getting his sense of power from beating his wife. He wasn’t a man; he was an animal. “A piece of filth like him deserves to be put down,” I seethed. But my words only made Leah more agitated. She pushed my hands away, her voice rising with hysteria. “Don’t call the police!” she cried, her eyes wild. “He’s… he’s good to me, most of the time. When he’s not angry.” “He’s not a bad person, he was just… he was just having a bad day today.” The words tumbled out of her, frantic and nonsensical. “And he’s Lily’s father! I can’t… I can’t let him go to prison!” “Please, sister, I’m begging you! I’ll get on my knees!” And she did. She struggled onto her knees on the filthy floor, ignoring the broken glass, and bowed her head to me, ready to kowtow. Looking at her, my heart didn’t just break. It sank like a stone. A profound, soul-crushing wave of helplessness washed over me. The one thing I had feared the most, the one thing I couldn’t stand, was happening.

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I was on a scenic sky-tram with my in-laws when the mountain below erupted into a million-dollar firework display. Against the twilight sky, it spelled out: STELLA, MY HEART IS YOURS FOREVER. I knew instantly. This was for my husband’s childhood flame—a grand gesture to win her back. The blast shook our cable car violently. The support cable groaned, ready to snap. Gripping my phone, I screamed: “Ross, you’re insane! Stop! Your parents are in here with me!” A cold chuckle came through, layered with Stella’s coaxing voice. “Why stop? Three years ago, Stella’s parents died under your care—a surgeon who ‘never’ failed. Today, Peyton, you’ll taste that same pain.” I heard a security guard in the background before Ross commanded sharply: “Fire three hundred more rounds. Aim for the cable car. Obliterate it.” Stella giggled sweetly, “Make those old fools disappear.” The car plunged. My in-laws cried out, pale with terror. Seeing red, I roared into the phone: “Ross, these are your own parents!” 1 “Peyton, do you even hear yourself? How pathetic.” Ross’s voice was a sliver of ice. In the background, Stella tittered. “Oh, Ross, don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s trying to use your parents to control you,” she cooed. “Just like she did to force you into marriage.” That was the trigger. I heard Ross’s breath catch, his anger flaring. He barked an order, and a new volley of fireworks, fifty shells this time, screamed toward us. “You have ten minutes,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Agree to a divorce, sign away everything you have, and tell my parents it was your choice. Do that, and maybe I’ll let you live.” He paused, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air. “Otherwise…” The car’s glass door, already fractured, swung wildly on its hinges, shrieking with the tortured sound of metal. Before I could respond, my father-in-law, his face a mask of fury, snatched the phone from my hand. “You little bastard! Is this how you treat Peyton when we’re not around?” His voice, usually so steady, was sharp with fear and altitude sickness. There was a stunned silence from Ross’s end, followed by an explosion of rage. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?” “I’m your father!” “I never acknowledged that marriage. You think you can claim a connection to me? You must have a death wish.” The barrage intensified. A shell hit the car directly, and the remaining glass shattered. I was thrown halfway out the window, my hands desperately clinging to the frame. Shards of glass dug into my palm, a hot, searing pain that made me break out in a cold sweat. My mother-in-law screamed, her eyes wide with horror. “Peyton, your hand!” For a surgeon, your hands are everything. I managed a grim smile. “I’m fine.” She fumbled for her own phone. “I’m calling Mr. Cole. He’ll get us out of this.” But when she dialed, the call was rerouted. It was Ross who answered. My mother-in-law was hysterical. “You monster! You’re trying to kill us! Stop this right now!” Ross just clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Mom, has Peyton been feeding you stories again? Don’t listen to her nonsense. We’re perfectly fine.” He hung up. A second later, my phone rang. It was him, bellowing with rage. “You bitch! You really think you can use my parents as a shield?” he snarled. “Let me spell it out for you. I fired Cole this morning. No one is coming to save you. It’s divorce, or it’s death. Choose.” My mother-in-law gasped, a strangled sound, and collapsed, clutching her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart. It was a heart attack. I frantically dug through my bag, my fingers finally closing around her pill bottle. Just as I was about to give her one, a helicopter thundered into view, hovering a hundred yards away. Ross stood in the open doorway, Stella wrapped around him. In his hands, he held a hunting rifle. He calmly loaded a round. Bang. The bullet whizzed past my cheek and struck the pill bottle, shattering it into dust. The impact sent a numbing shock up my arm. There was another metallic click. He was aiming at me. “Ten minutes are up, Peyton. Are you signing, or not?” 2 My mother-in-law gripped my hand, her eyes pleading as she weakly shook her head. My father-in-law, his face ashen, tried to lean out to reason with his son. A warning shot from Ross tore through his shoulder. “I’m counting down from ten!” Ross yelled. “Ten… nine…” I looked at the two elderly people, both on the verge of death because of me. My voice was cold as stone. “I’ll sign. On one condition.” “You will send up a new bottle of heart medication immediately, and you will get my father-in-law to a hospital. This is between us. Leave them out of it.” “Deal.” A slow, cruel smile spread across Ross’s face. He snapped his fingers. A drone buzzed toward the cable car, the divorce papers clipped to its landing gear. I signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. As I reached for the bottle of pills attached to the drone, another shot rang out. The bullet tore straight through the center of my palm. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. It was Stella. She was holding a pistol, her eyes glinting with venom. “Ross, baby, her incompetence killed my parents. Why should hers get to live? I don’t think so.” She pouted, turning her face away. Ross kissed her cheek, his laughter loud and unrestrained. “Patience, my love. Did you really think I’d let her off that easy? That bottle is filled with rat poison.” My head snapped up. I stared at him, my mind reeling in disbelief. If Stella hadn’t shot my hand, I would have given that poison to his mother. Not even a miracle could have saved her. Seeing the look on my face, Ross’s smile widened. “I never planned on letting any of you live. What difference does it make if you die now or later?” He raised his rifle again, this time aiming at the hook connecting our car to the cable. Bang. The car lurched violently, now hanging by a single, fraying steel wire. The jolt sent my father-in-law flying out the broken window. His hand shot out, his fingers closing around the cable, but he was losing his grip. Dangling from his neck was a jade pendant, a family crest carved into its surface. Ross’s assistant saw it and gasped. “Sir, that pendant… isn’t that the Master’s?” he stammered. “The one he had made for the two of you from that emerald he found? Sir… is that really him?” For a second, Ross’s face tightened with uncertainty. But Stella was right there, whispering poison in his ear. “These people are all thieves, aren’t they? Peyton stole my place as your wife, and her father stole your father’s necklace. They’re a family of criminals!” she hissed. “Ross, you just called your parents last night. They’re in the Maldives. How could they possibly be here?” Her words were all it took. The flicker of doubt in his eyes vanished. I was desperately holding onto my father-in-law’s arm with one hand, my feet braced against the doorframe. A profound, crushing sense of powerlessness washed over me. It was true, they had been in the Maldives. But they had flown back overnight, a surprise trip to help me fix my marriage with Ross. They had made me promise not to tell him. We were all supposed to ride this sky-tram together. We had waited and waited, but instead of Ross, we got his million-dollar declaration of war. My father-in-law had lost consciousness. He was a dead weight, slipping from my grasp. My arm was dislocated, the pain so intense I could hardly breathe. But I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t let him fall hundreds of feet to his death. I squeezed my eyes shut, my voice raw with desperation. “Ross, please, save your father! If you don’t, you will regret this for the rest of your life!” I never imagined he could be so monstrous. He raised the rifle one last time, aimed it at my wrist, and pulled the trigger. “Don’t you dare call that man my father,” he said, his voice flat and empty. “My father is in the Maldives. And I told you, Peyton. Today, you learn what it feels like to lose someone you love.” The impact of the bullet shattered my wrist. My hand went numb, my fingers releasing their hold. My father-in-law fell, a straight, silent line into the abyss. A primal, heart-shattering scream was torn from my throat. “DAD!” 3 The cable car was moments from breaking completely. My mother-in-law was hovering between life and death. I was losing so much blood that my vision was starting to blur. From the helicopter, Ross watched us, sipping from a wine glass, utterly at ease. Stella snuggled against him. “Ross, baby,” she purred, “let’s play a game.” He adored her. He would do anything she asked. He tweaked her nose. “Anything for you, my love.” A wicked smile spread across her face. She clapped her hands, and a guard appeared, holding a massive, buzzing hornet’s nest in a net. She admired her freshly painted nails, then casually gestured toward our car. “Toss it in.” The nest sailed through the air and landed with a thud inside the car. A living, buzzing cloud of fury erupted, swarming toward me and my unconscious mother-in-law. I couldn’t move fast enough. A hornet stung my arm, and the spot instantly swelled into an angry, painful lump. “I heard a rumor that hornet venom is a folk remedy for heart problems,” Stella called out, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “I’m just trying to help your mother-in-law, Peyton. You should be more grateful.” She was enjoying this. She gave a signal, and a bucket of honey was splashed into the car. The cloying sweetness filled the air, driving the hornets into a frenzy. Gritting my teeth, I pulled a jacket from my bag and threw it over both of us, a pathetic shield against the onslaught. Ross and Stella’s shrill laughter echoed through the valley. We were their entertainment. The movement made the car swing wildly again. We were thrown against the bent metal frame. And then I saw it—a single, overlooked pill lying in a corner of the car. Ignoring the stinging insects, I lunged for it, my movements fast and desperate. I forced it into my mother-in-law’s mouth. Then, with a surge of adrenaline, I kicked the hornet’s nest out of the car. It plummeted into the canyon below, its furious inhabitants following it down. I collapsed, every muscle in my body screaming. My mother-in-law began to stir, her breathing still shallow. When her eyes focused and she saw that we were alone, she grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Where’s your father?” My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t speak. I just turned my head away. She understood instantly. From the helicopter, Ross’s taunts continued. “Looks like the old hag is still breathing. Need some help finishing the job?” Another shot. This one hit the last remaining cable. My mother-in-law’s nails dug into my skin. Her face was a mask of pure hatred. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a small, metal object. A flare gun. “Peyton,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “Signal the Thunder Team. Tell them to come for us.” Her body was failing. The effort of speaking was too much, and she slumped back into unconsciousness. I didn’t waste a second. I aimed the gun at the sky and fired. A brilliant crimson flare shot into the clouds, exploding in a dazzling burst of light high above the mountain—far brighter and more meaningful than the million-dollar fireworks Ross had set off for Stella. The sight of it made Ross jump to his feet. “She gave you that?” he roared. A flare from the head of the family was a summons of the highest urgency. It meant the matriarch was in mortal danger. As a Sterling, he knew exactly what it meant. Once the Thunder Team—the family’s elite private army—arrived, there would be no hiding what he had done. “No,” he muttered to himself, his eyes wild with a new, murderous intent. “I can’t let my parents find out about this.” He reloaded his rifle and aimed it squarely at my head. Stella’s eyes gleamed. “That’s right, Ross! Kill her!” she urged. “Once she’s dead, all your problems will be gone.” Her words mirrored his own desperate thoughts. He didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger. Bang. 4 The bullet sped toward me. But another bullet, fired from the southwest, was faster. The two rounds collided in mid-air, exploding in a shower of sparks. A squadron of black helicopters, the insignia of the Sterling family’s security detail emblazoned on their sides, descended from the clouds, surrounding Ross’s chopper. The powerful downdraft nearly blew him off his feet. A man rappelled down from the lead helicopter. It was Ross’s uncle, Marcus. “Ross,” he boomed, his voice radiating authority, “what in God’s name have you done?” Ross’s face was a thunderous scowl. “Uncle Marcus, you’ve been tricked by this lying bitch! She stole the flare gun! My mother isn’t here!” Marcus ignored his protests. He landed on the helicopter’s skid, reached across, and slapped Ross hard across the face. “Insolence!” he roared. “Have you forgotten all the rules you were taught? How dare you speak back to me!” His voice was like a whip crack. Ross, though seething, could only bow his head. “I understand.” The Thunder Team moved with practiced efficiency, quickly airlifting me and my mother-in-law from the dangling wreck. As I was carried past him, Ross glared at me, his voice a low, venomous hiss. “You’d better keep your mouth shut, Peyton. If you breathe a word of this to my parents, I will hunt you down and kill you.” Before he could finish, his own assistant interrupted, his face chalk-white. He was pointing at the hand of the unconscious woman being carried onto the rescue helicopter. “Sir,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “the scar on her hand… it’s identical to Mrs. Sterling’s.”

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It was the night of the annual company gala, and it all started because the new intern, Alex, accidentally ate a peanut and broke out in a single hive. For that, my fiancée, Sarah, decided the appropriate response was to shove me—a man with a life-threatening pollen allergy—into a ten-thousand-acre sea of wildflowers. The moment the pollen hit my face, my lungs seized. The air turned to fire. I grabbed Sarah’s arm, my fingers digging into her skin as I forced the words through my clenched teeth. “Sarah, you know I’m severely allergic. How could you do this?!” She just sneered, prying my fingers off one by one. “And you knew Alex was allergic to peanuts, so why did you let him eat them? Hurts when it’s your own skin, doesn’t it? A little late for that. Tonight, I’m going to teach you a lesson on behalf of Alex, you power-tripping bastard.” Just before she pushed me from the helicopter, she looked down at me with eyes as cold as ice. “You told Alex he just needed to be more careful, right?” she said. “Let’s see how careful you can be trying to walk out of this.” 1 I hit the ground hard, tumbling uncontrollably down a steep, flower-covered slope. Sharp rocks tore at my skin, ripping open bloody gashes with every rotation. I don’t know how long I fell, but I finally slammed to a stop against a large boulder, my body screaming in protest. It felt like I’d been torn apart. A sharp, drilling pain shot up from my right ankle. Worse, the thick, cloying scent of pollen was everywhere. I took two ragged breaths and immediately exploded into a fit of violent sneezes, tears streaming from my eyes. From above, Sarah’s voice echoed, cold and distant. “Have you learned your lesson yet? If you have, then crawl through this field, find Alex, and beg for his forgiveness. Then I’ll let you go.” I clutched my nose and throat, shaking my head frantically. A second later, a walkie-talkie thudded onto the ground beside me. The helicopter turned and flew away without a backward glance. Alex’s voice crackled through the speaker, dripping with fake concern. “Sarah, maybe we should stop? He looks like he’s really suffering. I can totally empathize with how awful allergies are.” Sarah’s reply was soft and tender, but not for me. “You’re too kind, Alex. That’s why he thinks he can walk all over you. He’s hurt you so much. Today, he gets what he deserves.” Her voice hardened as she addressed me. “Stop the act, Leo. Come over here and apologize to Alex, and our wedding next month can still happen.” A sharp pain, entirely separate from the physical agony, pierced my chest. She really expected me to crawl to him. But the burning in my sinuses was unbearable, forcing me to swallow my pride. “Sarah,” I rasped, my voice already thick and nasal. “You said you’d love me forever… You can’t do this to me… please.” The only response was the sound of Alex’s soft, deliberate breathing on the other end. Hearing it, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I dropped to my knees and retched, vomiting until my stomach was empty, my eyes swimming in tears. When there was nothing left to throw up, I just doubled over in a fit of violent, body-wracking coughs. The last time my allergies were this bad was in college. My ex-girlfriend at the time had gone into a full-blown panic, mobilizing the city’s top specialists in the middle of the night to treat me. The memory was a bitter joke now, a cruel echo in this nightmare. “How long are you going to keep up this charade?” Sarah’s voice crackled again. “It seems you won’t back down without a little extra persuasion!” I gasped for air, tilting my head back to look at the sky, tears tracing paths through the grime on my face. “I… did nothing wrong!” I cried out. “Sarah, please, just let me come up. Don’t you remember? You promised you would never, ever break my heart.” I could feel the silence on the other end of the walkie-talkie, a sudden, tense freeze. But after three seconds, Sarah gave her order. “Do it. Make sure the drop is precise.” Her words had barely faded when a black swarm of drones appeared in the sky. They hovered directly over me, and then the hatches on their undersides opened, releasing a suffocating, kaleidoscopic cloud of fine powder. I threw my arms up to shield my face, but it was useless. The powder was too fine, too pervasive. It wormed its way under my collar and cuffs, coating every inch of my exposed skin. Waves of intense itching began to crawl over my body. I scratched frantically, my nails leaving raw tracks on my skin. A furious red rash bloomed, the hives so dense they merged into a single, horrifying mass. “Sarah…” I choked out, my throat closing up. “I’m so sick… I can’t… I can’t breathe.” I instinctively reached a hand out, a ghost of a memory surfacing—a time when she would have appeared at my side in an instant if I was in any distress. I once coughed while walking past a flower shop, and she bought the entire shop the next day and had it converted into a Lego store, just for me. But the woman who once cherished me, who held me in the palm of her hand, wasn’t coming. My heart turned to ice. Dragging my shattered leg, I grabbed the walkie-talkie and forced myself to my feet, trying to limp my way out of the floral prison. A long time passed before her voice returned. “Finally ready to give in?” she asked. “Apologize to Alex over the radio right now, and I’ll send someone to pick you up.” “Never!” I hissed, but the wind tore the word from my lips, scattering it into nothing. She seemed surprised by my defiance. A long pause, then a single word squeezed through her teeth. “Fine. You want to blow this out of proportion? So be it.” The drones immediately descended again, and the rain of pollen became a relentless downpour. I pulled my shirt over my nose, but my lungs were already screaming in rebellion. Pollen got into my eyes, and my eyelids swelled shut, the pain blinding. Suddenly, I started to laugh—a broken, desolate sound. “Sarah,” I gasped between laughs and coughs. “He got a single hive, and for that, you’re torturing me like this. And you’re telling me I’m the one blowing things out of proportion?” 2 For a fleeting moment, a flicker of guilt crossed Sarah’s face. She quickly suppressed it, her tone hardening into pure scorn. “I’m teaching you how to be a decent human being, a better boss! You’ve become a stranger to me, Leo. Don’t think that just because you’re at the top now, you can forget where you came from. Have you forgotten what it was like to be the one fetching coffee and making copies?” Her voice trembled with righteous anger. “When you used to cry about the pressure, I was the one who held you, who comforted you. I never thought you’d become the very thing you used to hate.” Forget where I came from? Impossible. Her words were like a blade, tearing open old wounds. Right out of college, I started at a tiny firm. I spent my days chasing clients under a scorching sun and my nights rewriting proposals until my hair fell out in clumps. Sarah was my colleague back then. She saw my struggle and would often help with small tasks. Later, when we started our own company, I landed our first major client by letting them pour so much liquor down my throat I ended up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach. When we were on the verge of bankruptcy, I secretly used the dowry money my parents had saved for me to keep the company afloat, telling Sarah it was an early payment from a client so she wouldn’t feel the pressure. The only reason I was so demanding now was because I knew, better than anyone, that we couldn’t afford to fail. And her? She reaped the benefits of my hard work, while my dedication, my sacrifice, was twisted into something ugly she called “authoritarian.” So this was the love I had earned with my blood, sweat, and youth. Fine. Let my heart die completely. Then it can’t hurt anymore. “Leo! Do you have to push people to their breaking point to be satisfied?” she screamed, her voice shaking. “Why do you always have to fixate on one tiny mistake? Why do you always have to make a mountain out of a molehill? Alex is young! It’s normal for him to mess up! Did you have to hold a grudge and secretly retaliate against him?!” I looked from Alex’s smug, triumphant smirk to Sarah’s furious face. Seeing my silence, she mistook it for surrender. Her voice softened slightly. “Leo, we still love each other. I just want you to apologize to Alex. It’s that simple. Your allergic reaction is getting serious. You need a hospital. Please, just be good and listen to me.” I stared up at her and spit on the ground. “In your dreams,” I snarled. Her expression hardened instantly. “It seems the punishment wasn’t severe enough.” She barked an order at one of the security guards with her. “Bring me the package. I’ll teach him a lesson myself.” A cold dread washed over me. This wasn’t over. My eyes fell on the bracelet on my wrist, on the small charm attached to it. An idea sparked. But my fingers hovered over it, hesitating. It’s been so many years. She’s probably forgotten all about me. After I broke things off so decisively, how could I have the nerve to ask her to save me now? For all I know, she hates me. She might even wish I was dead. While I hesitated, the guard returned, carrying a bucket of red powder. I instinctively tried to scramble away. “Scared now?” Sarah mocked, a cruel satisfaction dancing in her eyes. “Weren’t you so defiant just a minute ago? So sure you’d done nothing wrong?” She nodded to the guard. “Pry his mouth open. Let’s see how he likes the taste of chili.” Goosebumps erupted on my skin. Spicy food was my kryptonite. “Let go of me! Sarah, are you insane?!” 3 I thrashed wildly, but the severe allergic reaction had drained all my strength. “You’re going to regret this!” I choked out. “The only one with regrets here will be you, Leo. I swear I will make you break today!” Pure terror seized me. Like a drowning man grabbing for a lifeline, I slammed my thumb down on the button hidden in the charm. The next second, my jaw was forced open, and a torrent of bright red chili powder was poured into my mouth. A strangled gasp was all I could manage. The spice was an explosion of agony. Combined with the allergic reaction, I couldn’t breathe at all. My tongue, my gums, my throat—all on fire. Tears streamed from my eyes. Seeing my torment, Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Are you going to apologize or not?” I was on my knees, coughing so hard it felt like I was trying to turn myself inside out. But I refused to say a word. Her eyes flashed with fury, and she grabbed another handful of the powder. Alex quickly intervened, placing a hand on her arm in a show of gentle restraint. “Sarah, I don’t think he can handle spice. Maybe we should stop.” He paused, then added, “Why don’t we just rub it on his cuts instead? Just a small punishment.” Sarah looked at him, her expression softening into adoration. “You’re too gentle, Alex. You never hold a grudge.” She turned back to me, her face a mask of impatience. “Since Alex is pleading for you, we’ll do it his way!” With that, she viciously smeared the chili powder into the deepest gash on my leg. “Aaaargh!” A scream of pure, unadulterated agony ripped from my throat, echoing across the vast, silent field of flowers. She didn’t stop there. She ground the powder into every single cut, every abrasion on my body. The combination of stinging and burning was like being flayed alive with a blade dipped in acid. My body convulsed, and the world began to fade to black. “Sarah… I think I’m dying…” I finally begged, the words tearing through my raw throat. “Please… let me go.” It was then that Alex tugged on Sarah’s sleeve again. “Sarah, I have some allergy pills here. Maybe if we give them to him, he’ll feel better.” Sarah’s eyes flickered toward my barely conscious form. She snorted. “See how good Alex is to you? Unbelievable. Fine. Give him the pills. I’m not done with him yet.” A guard roughly grabbed my chin and forced a pill into my mouth. A few minutes later, the suffocating tightness in my chest eased slightly. Seeing that I was conscious again, Sarah’s expression grew even colder. “Drag him over here. Make him kneel and apologize to Alex.” The guards hauled me by my arms and dropped me in front of Alex. A heavy hand pushed down on my shoulders while a knee slammed into the back of my legs, trying to force them to buckle. Looking at Alex’s triumphant face, I found a new surge of strength. “Alex! Sarah! I will make you pay for this!” Alex tilted my chin up with his fingers. “Just apologize, Leo. I really hate seeing you like this.” His smile was dazzling, but his fingers were digging into my jaw, the pain sharp and tearing. Just as my vision was blacking out, the roar of engines suddenly split the air. A convoy of black SUVs was speeding toward us, screeching to a halt just a few feet away. The moment I saw the lead license plate, the last thread of tension in my body snapped. She really came. Sarah’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “What the hell is this?”

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The first thing I did after being reborn was switch my newborn daughter with another baby. I know how it sounds, but in my last life, that decision would’ve saved me. Days after my daughter was born, a blood test showed she was type AB. The problem? I’m type B, and my husband Joel is type O. Genetically, we couldn’t have an AB child. Joel exploded. He demanded a paternity test. The results were a nightmare: the baby was mine, but not his. He slapped me, his voice trembling with a pain worse than the hit. “I gave you everything, Eve. I loved only you. Is this how you repay me?” His mother’s wails filled the hall, accusing me of cheating, tricking her son, planting a bastard to steal their fortune. My world collapsed. I was completely lost. I knew Joel had to be the father. It couldn’t be anyone else. Instantly, I was branded a cheater, a whore. Joel divorced me and took his story online, playing the heartbroken victim. Strangers attacked me with poisonous words. With a baby and nowhere to go, I fell into depression and jumped. Until the end, I never understood what went wrong. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back in the hospital, the day my daughter was born. … 1 “Eve, you did so well. You must be exhausted,” Joel’s voice, soft and gentle, washed over me. He was cradling our daughter, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated love. “Why don’t I take her for her check-up?” A jolt, electric and sharp, shot through me. I was back. It was real. There was no time to think, only to act. “No,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “I’ll take her. You said you had that big project at work, didn’t you? You don’t need to stay here.” Joel paused, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Are you sure? You just gave birth…” The more he hesitated, the more a frantic urgency clawed at my throat. I held out my arms. “I’ve rested all day. I’m fine. I want to take her myself.” Last time, it was after this very check-up that the AB blood type was discovered. It was Joel who had brought me the news, his face a storm of fury, his accusations already formed. He’d demanded the paternity test, seasoning his demand with cruel insinuations that poisoned everyone against me before the results even came back. He’d driven me from our home, penniless, and smeared my name until I had nothing left. The memory of his lies still sent a chill down my spine. Before Joel could hand the baby over, his mother, who was standing beside him, let out a sharp, derisive snort. “Some people pop out a girl and think they’re the queen of the world,” she said, her voice dripping with acid. “Making my son run around like a servant when he should be at work. All you do is eat and sleep. You couldn’t even give the family a boy. You’re nothing but bad luck.” Ever since Joel and I had married, his mother had treated me with relentless contempt. I had always tolerated it for Joel’s sake—he was a devoted son—but my patience only seemed to fuel her arrogance. She spoke as if the hospital room were her private living room, her venomous words echoing in the shared space. The other new mothers in the room exchanged uncomfortable glances. “What kind of thing is that to say? Of course a father should help with his own child,” one of them finally piped up. “You’re a mother, you know how hard it is,” another added, frowning at her. “How can you talk to your own daughter-in-law like that?” “Seriously, it’s the 21st century. That whole ‘must have a boy’ thing is just toxic.” Used to being the unchallenged matriarch at home, Joel’s mother’s face flushed a blotchy, angry red. Joel quickly stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Mom, please. Eve is my wife. It’s my job to take care of her and our daughter,” he said smoothly. Then he turned to me, his expression a perfect blend of loving concern and apologetic frustration. “Honey, Mom and I will go home and make you some chicken soup to help you get your strength back. We’ll be right back.” He was so good at it—playing the poor guy caught in the middle, trying to please everyone. The sympathetic looks from the other patients returned. I just watched him, my face a cold, unreadable mask, as I finally took my daughter into my arms. I saw the tiny mole on her finger and my heart clenched with certainty. This was her. This was my child. So far, nothing had changed. Joel hadn’t swapped the baby. He wasn’t insisting on taking her for the check-up himself. So where did the AB blood type come from? And that damning paternity test? My mind raced. Filled with a cold dread and a flicker of a plan, I called my parents and asked them to come. When they arrived, I handed my daughter to them. A short while later, after making a quiet inquiry, I learned of a baby girl abandoned at the hospital earlier that day. A baby with type O blood. I arranged a temporary foster placement, and just before the check-up, I carefully slipped my daughter’s hospital bracelet onto the other infant’s tiny wrist. This time, I thought, a bitter smile touching my lips, let’s see how you frame me now, Joel. 2 When I returned to the room with the baby, it wasn’t long before Joel and his mother reappeared, carrying a thermal container. “Eve, I made your favorite chicken soup myself,” Joel announced, his voice booming with affection as he opened the container, releasing a fragrant cloud of steam. He handed me a bowl of rice. “If you like it, I’ll bring it every day. Don’t ever worry about a thing. My paycheck goes straight to you, remember? Buy whatever you want.” He gazed at me with such adoration, such tender concern. The other women in the room sighed with envy. “You’re so lucky. It’s rare to find a man who dotes on his wife like that.” “A man who’s a good provider and a family man? You hit the jackpot.” I glanced at Joel, his eyes shining with sincerity. He was playing the part of the perfect, doting husband flawlessly. This was how he’d done it last time, crafting this image of a blameless, devoted man so that when the time came, everyone would believe him without question. I slammed my chopsticks down on the bedside table. “Cut the crap, Joel,” I said, my voice cold and sharp. The room fell silent. “You talk a good game, but you ordered this soup from a restaurant using my hospital meal card. You act so generous, giving me your credit card, but you interrogate me like a criminal over every single charge. You wanted a line-item report for a two-dollar coffee last week. And every time your mother starts in on me, you just tell me to ‘be patient’ and ‘let it go.’ You’ve never once actually cared about me, have you?” Every eye in the room swiveled to Joel, their expressions shifting from envy to suspicion. He looked completely blindsided, his jaw slack. “Eve… honey, what are you talking about?” he stammered, his performance crumbling. Just then, a nurse bustled into the room, holding a clipboard with several test reports. Joel looked as though he’d been thrown a lifeline. “Oh, the results! Here, I’ll take those,” he said, practically leaping to intercept her. His mother crowded in right behind him, their bodies forming a subtle barrier, shutting me out. Watching their eagerness, a pit of ice formed in my stomach. A terrible premonition washed over me. A second later, Joel’s eyes went wide. “What is this? Why is the baby’s blood type AB? That’s impossible!” His mother let out a piercing shriek. “My son is type O! How could he have a type AB daughter?” She whirled on me, her finger pointing like a dagger. “Eve! What have you done? This child isn’t a part of the Collins family!” A doctor, drawn by the commotion, entered the room with a stern frown. “Ma’am, please, this is a hospital. Keep your voice down.” This only fueled her fire. She grabbed his white coat, her face contorting into a mask of theatrical grief. “Doctor, you have to help us! The mother is type B, the father is type O, but the baby is type AB! How is that possible?” The doctor’s frown deepened. “Well, typically a B and O pairing cannot produce an AB child, but there are extremely rare exceptions—” “I knew it!” his mother screeched, slapping her thigh for emphasis and cutting him off. “It’s all her fault! That cheating bitch!” Joel, ever the actor, let his face fall into an expression of devastated disbelief. “No, Mom, it can’t be. I trust Eve. There must have been a mix-up. They must have given us the wrong baby!” The nurse who had brought the results chimed in immediately. “That’s impossible. Our hospital has very strict protocols. Every baby is tagged with a bracelet at birth. There are no mix-ups.” It was a perfectly rehearsed play. The three of them, in a few short lines, had already declared my guilt. Joel’s mother glared at me, her eyes filled with venom, and began to wail. “What a cruel joke! To let a woman like this into our family! Sleeping around with some stranger and passing off his bastard child as ours! The shame of it all!” The room buzzed with shocked whispers. Joel turned to me, his face a thunderous mask of righteous anger. “Eve,” he demanded, his voice shaking. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Why would you betray me?” 3 I just stared at him, speechless for a moment. We had been married for years, and I had waited for this child with so much hope, so much love. Now, I was watching him shatter that beautiful dream with his own hands, forcing me to see that the dream had only ever been mine. Seeing my silence, a flicker of triumph flashed in Joel’s eyes. His mother, emboldened, continued her tirade, her words already cementing the narrative. “I knew you were trouble from the start! Always prancing around the house, trying to catch someone’s eye. And all those male doctors in the delivery room! Shameless! No wonder you weren’t embarrassed—you’re used to being passed around!” she shrieked. “We are not letting some outsider steal our family’s money!” Her voice was a shrill drill boring into my skull. I ignored her, my eyes locked on Joel. “Is that what you believe, too?” His expression was cold, unforgiving. “Even though you’re my wife, this is something I cannot accept,” he declared, his voice ringing with false piety. “I have given you everything. I have catered to your every whim during this pregnancy. You took my love and threw it in the dirt. I will not be made a fool of!” He spoke with such passion, as if he were the one suffering an unbearable injustice. I finally let my own performance begin. I covered my face, my voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “You’re condemning me based on a blood test? After all these years… I was so wrong about you, Joel. Why? Why are you doing this to me?” The other patients and their families, having witnessed his mother’s vulgar display and now seeing Joel’s cold condemnation, began to rally to my side. Their belief in his ‘perfect husband’ act was shattered. “A blood type isn’t proof of anything. Accusing her of cheating like this is just cruel.” “You should double-check before you say something that could destroy your marriage.” “I thought you were so in love with your wife. Turns out you’re just a mama’s boy with zero trust in her.” Joel didn’t flinch at their criticism. In fact, a glint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. He seized the opportunity they’d given him. “Fine,” he announced, his voice booming. “Then we’ll get a paternity test. If the blood type isn’t enough, a DNA test will prove once and for all whether or not this is my daughter!” He turned his fiery gaze on me. “And when the results come back, I want you out of my house with nothing. Do you dare?” A cold smile touched my lips. “Who’s the one who should be scared? Let’s do it right now. And if it turns out you’re wrong, you’re the one who leaves with nothing.” Joel’s face was a canvas of smug triumph, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a plan perfectly executed. We went to the testing center that very same day to give our samples. Along the way, Joel was already on his phone, broadcasting the story. He posted multiple videos, tearfully recounting his tale of love and betrayal, and his posts quickly went viral. Calls from relatives started pouring in. Reporters, catching wind of the drama, followed us from the hospital to the clinic. Joel welcomed the attention, playing the part of the tragic hero to a captivated audience. I watched it all unfold, my mind racing. I knew for a fact that the baby I had taken for the check-up was type O. For the test to come back as AB, something had to have happened during the testing process itself. And yet, Joel was completely unafraid of a paternity test. What gave him that confidence? Suddenly, a theory, wild and terrifying, sparked in my mind. I quickly pulled out my phone and sent a discreet text to my parents. As we walked out of the testing center, Joel looked like a conquering king. “You’re going to pay for this, Eve,” he sneered. “You brought this all on yourself.” I met his gaze, my expression serene. He was so certain of his victory. He had no idea. This time, no matter what the results said, he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. 4 While we waited for the results, I moved out of our house and hired a lawyer to prepare for the divorce. When Joel found out, he laughed. “You should save the money you’re spending on a lawyer for living expenses. You’re going to need it when you’re out on the street.” He was glowing, energized by the outpouring of online sympathy. In just a few days, he had cultivated a loyal army of followers. He hosted live streams, weeping about his betrayal, and his audience ate it up. A few people questioned why he was so certain of the outcome before the results were even in, suggesting it was all for show. But they were quickly drowned out by his defenders. 【What do you know? A man can feel when his wife has cheated. He’s probably known for a long time but couldn’t take raising another man’s child anymore.】 【He wouldn’t be airing his dirty laundry in public unless he was pushed to the absolute limit!】 【The blood type is all the proof you need! Cheaters deserve to be thrown out with nothing!】 My own social media accounts became a cesspool of curses and threats from these self-proclaimed warriors of justice. I didn’t respond. Instead, I had my lawyer quietly gather evidence. I was preparing to settle the score. Last time, these were the people who had hounded me, who had found my address, sent threatening packages, and vandalized my door until I broke. This time, I wouldn’t let a single one of them get away with it. The day the paternity results arrived, Joel set up a live stream to open the envelope. The viewership was massive; everyone was waiting for the final verdict. When I appeared on camera, the comment section exploded with hate. 【Go to hell, you cheating bitch! How could you do that to a man who loved you so much!】 【Just sign the papers and go be with your secret lover! Our boy Joel deserves so much better!】 【You wanted to use a bastard child to steal his family’s money! You’re disgusting!】 Joel’s eyes shone with manic excitement. “It’s too late for apologies now, Eve,” he said, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “Just you wait.” His mother stood behind him, preening for the camera. “That’s right! My son is a famous influencer now. He’s way too good for the likes of you. Today, everyone will see you for what you are, and you’ll leave with nothing. And we want all the jewelry back, too! Every penny you spent over the years!” Even the nurse from the hospital was there, adding her own sanctimonious commentary. “We all saw how devoted Mr. Collins was to his wife. It’s such a tragedy he gave his heart to the wrong person. I can personally vouch for the accuracy of the blood test, and I’m sure the paternity test will be just as conclusive!” Beaming with triumph, Joel ripped open the first envelope. The report inside was stark, printed in black and white. It stated that he and the child shared no biological relationship. He held the paper up to the camera, his face a mask of fury. “Here it is! The proof that Eve cheated! This child is not mine!” The chat erupted. A tidal wave of vitriol washed over me, a digital mob calling for my head. Joel struggled to contain his glee, masking it with a performance of heartbroken rage as he tore open the second envelope—the one with my results. “And now, family, you’ll see… when you put these two results together, it’s just…” His words choked in his throat. He stared at the newly opened report, his bravado instantly evaporating. He froze, his face draining of all color, becoming a ghastly, pale white.

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The new intern suggested a team-building event at my family’s cherry orchard. Ignoring my pleas, they set up barbecues, chopped down trees, and stripped the branches bare. The damage was catastrophic. Even the Queen Cherry, our most prized tree, was scorched and left for dead. Faced with massive breach-of-contract fines and their livelihood destroyed, my parents saw no way out. They drank pesticide and died in the orchard they had loved. My eyes burning with grief, I went to confront the intern, Jessica, to demand an answer. But she just played the victim, collapsing into the arms of the mayor’s son, Patrick. “Molly, we paid you for the venue,” she sobbed. “You can’t try to extort more money from me now.” Patrick rallied the other townspeople to his side. “This is your family’s mismanagement, Molly. It has nothing to do with Jessica. You can’t take advantage of her good nature like this.” Outnumbered and alone, I backed away, step by agonizing step, until I stumbled and fell into the nearby pond. I drowned with their accusations ringing in my ears. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day the intern invited everyone to my family’s orchard. 1 “Hey, doesn’t Molly’s family own a cherry orchard?” The voice of the new intern, Jessica, sliced through the office chatter. I glanced at my phone, my heart seizing when I saw the date. I was back. I had been reborn. “I even got the boss to approve a huge budget for it!” she continued, her voice bright and bubbly. “There’s going to be food, drinks, games, and even cash prizes!” Jessica had a talent for whipping up enthusiasm. She turned to me, her smile wide and innocent. “And don’t worry, Molly. The company will pay you a generous venue fee. Your family won’t lose out.” A colleague nudged me, whispering, “Wow, Molly, easy money. You’d better treat Jessica to a nice dinner for setting this up.” It was happening all over again, a perfect, nightmarish replay. My breath caught in my throat. In my last life, heavy rains had led to a bumper crop for everyone in the region, driving prices down. The idea of having the team from work consume some of the surplus while bringing in extra income had seemed like a godsend. I had agreed without a second thought. But the moment they arrived, they set up barbecue pits without asking. Under Jessica’s direction, they turned it into a competition: who could chop down the most branches for firewood, who could pick the most cherries. I had tried to stop them, but Jessica just blinked her wide, innocent eyes at me. “Molly, you have more cherries than you know what to do with. Don’t be so stingy.” My other colleagues had chimed in, grumbling that I was being a killjoy. “We paid to be here. What we do with the cherries is our business.” They ignored my protests, their destruction growing more reckless by the hour. By the end of the day, they left the orchard a complete wreck, bragging about their “achievements.” But their carelessness had a deadlier consequence. An ember from a barbecue pit, left smoldering, caught the dry grass. The fire spread with terrifying speed. By the time we got it under control, our most valuable asset, the ancient Queen Cherry tree, was nothing but a charred husk. Without the Queen’s unique harvest to fulfill our most important contract, we were facing financial ruin. And with the tree gone, any hope of rebuilding was extinguished. My parents, staring at the devastation, had simply given up. They shared a bottle of pesticide and left me alone in the wreckage of our lives. The memory of their bodies, of the acrid taste of pond water filling my lungs, solidified into a cold, hard resolve. I gritted my teeth and looked Jessica dead in the eye. “My family doesn’t welcome outsiders,” I said, my voice cutting through the office buzz. “And we don’t need your money.” A wave of groans and complaints rippled through the room. “It’s just a few stupid cherries. What’s the big deal?” “Honestly, if Jessica hadn’t suggested it, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that backwater town.” “She’s offering you money and you’re turning it down? What a waste of Jessica’s kindness.” Jessica, ever the performer, pressed on. “Molly, if the budget is the issue, I can talk to the boss and see if we can get more.” I shot her a withering look. “My family’s orchard is worth over a million dollars. Is that in your budget?” Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Molly, if I did something to offend you, you can just tell me. This was a project the boss approved. If I have to change it last minute, it could affect my performance review… my chance to become a permanent employee.” Her display of vulnerability immediately rallied the others to her defense. “Are you trying to sabotage her, Molly? Are you jealous that the new girl is getting noticed?” “My god, are you that greedy? A million dollars? Get real.” I let out a short, cold laugh, standing my ground. “The price is two million. Upfront. Otherwise, stay the hell away from my home.” 2 I couldn’t get home fast enough. The sight of my parents, still vibrant and alive, working among the trees, sent a wave of relief so powerful it brought tears to my eyes. I made a silent vow: this time, I would not let the tragedy happen. Just then, my phone rang. A private number. It was a telemarketer. “Hello, are you interested in learning more about property damage insurance?” My finger hovered over the hang-up button, then froze. “Tell me more,” I said, my voice urgent. “Does it cover any and all property damage? What if… what if an orchard is intentionally vandalized?” “As long as the beneficiary isn’t committing fraud, we cover all forms of property loss,” the agent replied. Adrenaline surged through me. “Sign me up,” I said, my voice trembling with excitement. “Give me the highest possible coverage you offer.” After securing a multi-million dollar policy on the orchard, a weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifted from my shoulders. No matter what Jessica and her cronies pulled, my family wouldn’t be ruined. When I hung up, my parents greeted me with a proud smile. “The Queen Cherry is having her best year yet,” my father said. “If she wins at the state fair, we can double our prices for the whole harvest.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest, remembering the magnificent tree reduced to ash. I wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. On a hunch, I made another call, this time to a renowned horticulturalist, a leading expert on rare fruit varietals, asking if he would be willing to come out for an official appraisal of the Queen Cherry. To my surprise and relief, he revered the Queen Cherry by reputation alone and happily agreed. Now, all the pieces were in place. Let them come. This time, I was ready. Just as I predicted, despite my firm refusal at the office, a convoy of cars pulled up to our orchard early Saturday morning. Jessica led the charge, a whole company of my colleagues in tow. She put on her sweetest smile for my parents. “We’ve heard so much about your amazing cherries! We were just so excited to come and see for ourselves.” My parents, flattered by the praise, welcomed them with open arms, telling everyone to eat as much as they liked. Hearing this, my colleagues started snickering behind my back. “Two million dollars? I wouldn’t pay two hundred bucks for this dump.” I trembled with a rage so deep it was almost paralyzing. They were taking my parents’ simple, heartfelt generosity and twisting it into something pathetic, something to be mocked. They would gorge themselves on our hospitality, destroy our livelihood, and leave without a backward glance, pockets full of company prize money. And it was all Jessica’s fault. Just you wait, I thought, a cold fury settling in my heart. Just wait until the expert gets here and tells you exactly what that tree you’re about to destroy is worth. My parents soon left for a growers’ training seminar in the city. I stayed behind and quietly set up a tripod and camera in a discreet corner of the orchard. Jessica noticed me fiddling with the equipment and sauntered over, dripping with condescension. “The boss put me in charge of the main event, so I guess that leaves you on grunt work, huh, Molly?” A few others laughed. “You’re just so capable, Jessica. The boss was smart to put you in charge.” “Yeah, not like some people who are just greedy and try to pass off garbage as treasure. Can you imagine her in charge? She’d probably pocket all the prize money.” “Make sure you take the lens cap off, Molly. Wouldn’t want you to screw up the one easy job you have.” I gritted my teeth. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I’m going to capture every single thing you do today.” 3 Under Jessica’s direction, they started the barbecue pits. Then came the “games”—chopping down branches for firewood and stripping trees of their fruit in a race to see who could gather the most. Last time, I had held onto a sliver of hope that they would see reason, so I hadn’t physically stopped them. A fatal mistake. They had left without properly extinguishing the coals, and the resulting fire had consumed everything. No one had offered sympathy. We were officially reprimanded for failing to protect our property and endangering the neighboring orchards. When I confronted Jessica, she denied everything, accusing me of starting the fire myself to frame them for insurance money. Patrick, her partner in crime, had turned the whole town against us. Remembering that, I watched them now, my face a cold mask. I raised my phone and started recording. I walked over to the colleagues manning the barbecue. “It’s really dry,” I said. “Starting a fire here is incredibly dangerous.” One of them shoved a hot coal in my direction with a pair of tongs, forcing me to jump back. “Get lost, you buzzkill! Don’t you have something better to do?” The hot metal grazed my hand, raising an instant blister. Biting back the pain, I went to the group competing to chop down branches. “You don’t need that much firewood,” I pleaded. “Please, stop.” I turned to the ones pulling down cherries by the handful. “If you’re not going to eat them, don’t pick them. You’re just wasting them.” They were high on the thrill of competition. Annoyed by my interruption, one of them chucked a handful of cherries at me. “These things are worthless anyway. Who cares?” Even with the insurance policy, watching them destroy what my parents had spent their lives building was agony. I found Jessica. “There are a million other team-building activities. Why did you choose ones that specifically involve destroying my family’s property?” She raised her voice so everyone could hear, but her tone was that of a wounded bird. “Oh, Molly, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to steal your thunder.” “It’s just that everyone is so tired of the same old boring corporate events. I wanted to do something new and fun for everyone.” “If I’ve upset you, I can tell everyone to leave right now.” That was the cue for her defenders to rush over. “What is your problem, Molly? Everyone’s having a great time except for you.” “Don’t say that, she’ll get upset,” Jessica said, then turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Molly, I just want to do a good job so I can pass my probation. I really didn’t mean to make you angry.” Her supporters demanded I apologize to her. I couldn’t stand their hypocrisy. I just snorted in disgust. That set one of the more hot-headed guys off. He slapped the phone out of my hand and shoved me to the ground. “Apologize to Jessica. Now.” I spat at his feet. His response was a brutal kick to my side. I curled up, dirt and grit scratching my eyes, forcing hot tears to stream down my face. Jessica knelt beside me, feigning concern for the audience. “The competition isn’t over yet, guys. Let’s get back to it.” When the others had dispersed, she leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “It’s useless, Molly. Stop fighting.” “You can’t escape your fate.”

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Everyone calls me a pathetic doormat. When my husband Tristan gets intimate with other women in front of me, I just hurry over like a puppy and hand them a condom. “Use this,” I say with concern. “It’s safer.” Eventually, even Tristan sneered, “Moria, is this really love?” I’d nod, then shake my head, finally whispering, “Tristan, you’re mine.” That only made him call for more “takeout.” Their moans filled the air right before me. Afterward, he’d ask, “Am I still yours?” “Of course,” I’d reply, as if it were obvious. He’d scoff, “You’re a master of self-deception.” Later, while he slept, I’d gaze at his handsome face and lick my lips. “Delicious,” I’d whisper. “So delicious.” “The more wicked, the better they taste.” He doesn’t know I’m a succubus with a damaged bloodline. I can’t gain energy from sex—I have to eat promiscuous men. Their corrupted energy repairs my bloodline and restores my power. Tristan? He’s the prize hog I’ve been fattening for slaughter. … When Tristan woke up, I was curled up in his arms, studying a cookbook. The human world had its flaws, but the sheer variety of recipes was mind-boggling. He pushed me away. “What are you looking at a cookbook for?” I looked up, my smile innocent and pure. “To make you breakfast.” He just chuckled and got up to dress, not even glancing around the room. He didn’t need to. After every one of his… sessions, I meticulously cleaned everything and tied up all the loose ends. The “takeout” girls had already left; I’d even paid their final fees. As they were leaving, their faces were etched with contempt. “I’ve never seen a wife who orders escorts for her own husband.” I just offered a placating smile and bowed repeatedly. Once they were gone and I was sure Tristan wouldn’t be disturbed, I scurried after them, my posture subservient, my expression fawning. “Could I get your contact info? For next time.” They stared at me, dumbfounded, but gave it to me anyway. As they walked away, I heard one of them mutter, “Takes all kinds, I guess.” Back inside, I scrolled through my phone, calculating. Five more times. That’s all it would take. Then Tristan would be ripe for the picking. He’d cheated 9,995 times. The quality of his essence was about to reach its absolute peak. One more time after that, and he’d turn sour and rotten. Tristan noticed me zoning out and sighed with impatience. He’d always found me boring. A woman who never fought back was no different to a man than an inanimate toy. He held out his arms, and I stood to help him with his jacket and tie. After smoothing out the lapels of his suit, I felt a surge of satisfaction. My prize hog looked exquisite. The quality of his essence was practically radiating off him—firm, juicy, perfect. My mouth began to water. Tristan’s brow furrowed in disgust. He always assumed my drooling was some pathetic form of lust. “I’m going out,” he said, his voice low. “I won’t be back tonight.” I nodded. “Are you going to see Selene?” Selene was his mistress, the one he claimed to truly love. They were a perfect match—equal in status, looks, and background. A match made in high-society heaven, everyone said. Tristan, for all his wild behavior, was only ever reckless in front of me. He’d given me strict instructions: “Playtime is playtime, but no one, and I mean no one, is to ever upset Selene.” I had nodded vigorously, patting my chest in a solemn promise. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep a close eye on them for you.” One of his friends had been there and burst out laughing. “Why don’t you just divorce him and let Selene have him? Maybe then he’ll finally settle down.” But I had just shaken my head stubbornly. “Tristan is mine.” And so, the story spread throughout the city: I was hopelessly, tragically in love with Tristan. Willing to let him turn my world into his personal playground. Whenever I heard the rumors, all I could think was that a wild horse, allowed to run free, makes for better meat. The same was true for Tristan. “Wild thing… you make my heart sing…” I hummed a human tune as I started cleaning. Human songs were interesting. I felt like the horse tamer, and Tristan was my wild stallion. He might run wild and free, but in the end, every stallion must return to the ranch. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I peeked through the peephole and saw a young college student, her face streaked with tears. Another one of Tristan’s messes, no doubt. I opened the door. The student sobbed, her words coming in hiccuping gasps. “Are you… Mrs. Thorne?” I nodded, my eyes drawn to her swollen belly. Damn it. He didn’t use a condom again. This must have happened when I wasn’t there to supervise. The student clutched her stomach. “Ma’am, I had no one else to turn to. I’m pregnant.” She sniffled. “Tristan blocked my number. He just told me to come find you.” I sighed internally. That was Tristan all over—leaving me to clean up his filth. I ushered her inside, expertly brewing a cup of tea and setting out some pastries. The girl eyed the teacup suspiciously. I took a sip from my own cup. “It’s not poisoned.” She gave a weak, embarrassed smile but still didn’t drink. Human women were so strange. So guarded against other women, but so utterly defenseless against men. She pulled a wad of tissues from her purse and started crying again, a heart-wrenching display. “Mrs. Thorne,” she choked out, “what am I going to do?” I took a tissue of my own and wiped the spittle that had sprayed onto my face. This was a real headache. They never asked for my help when they were in bed with him, but as soon as their bellies started to swell, they came crying to me. Seeing that she was about to unleash another flood of tears, I pulled out a credit card. “There’s ten million on this. You can have the baby, you can get rid of it—your choice. Just don’t ever bother Tristan again.” As for keeping her mouth shut, it didn’t matter. Tristan’s reputation was already ground meat. She snatched the card and stuffed it into her pocket, but her words were dripping with melodrama. “It’s not about the money! I love Tristan! I just want to be with him! Please, I’m begging you, let us be together.” Every one of them thought I was the one standing in their way. If only they knew how little I cared. I shook my head and pulled out my tablet. “It’s not me, sweetie. He’s just bored of you.” I scrolled through page after page of names until I found hers. “There were five other girls at the same time as you. Tristan’s always like this. He plays with his toys, and then he throws them away.” The color drained from her face. “Are we just playthings for you rich people?” she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. She grabbed her teacup to throw it at me, but it wouldn’t budge. After 99 near-misses with flying liquids, did she really think I wouldn’t be prepared? She stared at the immovable cup, then grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa to hurl at me instead. That didn’t move either. I had spent a whole night sewing the pillows to the couch. And besides, why was she yelling at me? I wasn’t the one who’d played with her. In the end, she left in a storm of tears, clutching her millions and her broken heart. I touched my cheek, still baffled. Humans were so bizarre. Their hearts screamed for money, but their mouths declared, “I want love.” Yet, if you offered them a life of love in poverty, they’d run for the hills. As a succubus, I could see the greedy delight sparkling in her soul. Just as I was clearing the table, a text from Tristan came through. “Get to the hospital. Now.” “Something’s happened to Selene.” … When I arrived at the hospital, Selene was pale as a ghost. Blood was trickling from a long gash on her delicate wrist, and a team of doctors was scrambling to treat her. “She’s lost too much blood,” one of them announced. “She needs a transfusion.” All eyes turned to me. Everyone knew that Selene and I shared the same rare blood type. A fact I had, of course, fabricated. I was regretting that little lie now, but it was too late. Tristan grabbed my arm and threw me to the floor. “Take her! Drain her!” he roared. Spoken like a true alpha CEO. So commanding, especially with helpless women. A doctor pinned me down, and a needle slid into my arm. I was about to fight back, but then I saw it. The number above Tristan’s head had ticked over to 9,999. Wow. An afternoon with his true love, and he’d managed to get it on four times. Impressive. Since he was ripe for the eating anyway, I relaxed and let them take my blood. They transfused it into Selene, and she recovered almost instantly, a healthy flush returning to her cheeks. She opened her eyes, her gaze shattered and tragic. Tristan knelt by her side. “Selene, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. I’ll never mess around again.” Oh, this is getting good, I thought, scrambling to my feet to get a better view of the drama. Who had spilled the beans about Tristan’s escapades to Selene? Selene’s voice was a weak, choked whisper. “Don’t. I’m not your wife. I have no right to tell you what to do.” Aaaand here we go, I thought. Back to me. Tristan clutched her uninjured hand, his voice thick with emotion. “As soon as you’re better, we’ll get married. You’ll be my wife, officially and publicly. Selene, I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me.” My eyes widened. How was this my fault? Selene closed her eyes, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down her cheek. A much more effective angle than the standard 45 degrees, I noted. As expected, Tristan dissolved into a blubbering mess. “I was wrong! I was so, so wrong!” They clung to each other, sobbing, and within minutes, all was forgiven. The next time I looked, they were cooing at each other like lovebirds, Tristan feeding Selene pieces of fruit from a platter. The sharp click of dress shoes announced the arrival of his assistant. “Sir, we’ve traced the anonymous tip. It was sent from inside your villa.” Tristan’s head snapped around, his eyes like daggers. And just like that, the hunter became the hunted. That clever little college student had played me. She had come to me feigning helplessness, all while secretly sending the evidence to Selene to frame me. Smart girl. Tristan didn’t even bother to ask for my side of the story. He just kicked me to the ground. I scrambled back up and gave him a thumbs-up. “Nice kick! Great form!” He froze, a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like exasperated disappointment in his eyes. I must have imagined it. Selene’s expression was one of profound sorrow. “Why would you send me those things?” I leaned over the assistant’s shoulder to look at the phone. Wow. High-definition. A big-budget production. All of Tristan’s greatest hits were there: one-on-ones, group battles, team competitions—the works. I stroked my chin thoughtfully. “Honey, your quality and speed seem to be declining.” The room fell silent. The doctors quietly slipped out the door. The assistant stood frozen, holding the phone like a hot potato. Selene’s face was ashen as she stared at Tristan with utter disillusionment. Tristan’s eyes were spitting fire. He lunged at me, his hands closing around my throat. He squeezed, and I stopped breathing, just for effect. Then I remembered—I didn’t actually need to breathe. He choked me for a full minute, my face remaining perfectly calm and composed. The assistant finally snapped out of his trance and grabbed Tristan’s arm. “Sir, stop! You’ll kill her!” Tristan let go with a cold snort. “I told you, no one upsets Selene. I can’t believe I ever thought you were harmless. Moria, if you don’t want to be Mrs. Thorne anymore, then you’re fired.” He pulled out his phone to call his lawyer and file for divorce. I clutched my neck, coughed dramatically a few times, and then shouted at the top of my lungs. “Oh, heavens above, judge the innocent and the guilty!” A clap of thunder rattled the window, and a flash of lightning illuminated my grief-stricken face. “Darling, it wasn’t me! I’m completely devoted to you! Why would I ever stand in the way of you finding happiness with others?” The assistant looked like he’d been struck by the lightning himself. Even Tristan seemed at a loss, pressing a hand to his forehead. Selene, who was meeting me for the first time, just stared, utterly dumbfounded. She had heard of my reputation, but she had never witnessed a live performance. I dropped to my knees, snot and tears streaming down my face, and began my tale of woe. “A college student came to the house today! It must have been her!” The assistant nodded. “That’s right, sir. I was just about to say that.” My performance came to a screeching halt. I shot him a murderous glare. Didn’t his mother ever teach him to get to the point? Tristan looked uncomfortable, a rare flicker of guilt in his eyes. But all he said was a dismissive, “Oh.” I understood. Alpha CEOs don’t apologize. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a credit card, and tossed it at me. “This is for your trouble.” I was ecstatic. “Your divorce settlement,” he added. Years from now, I’d be sitting in my rocking chair, telling my grand-demons, “I was just one away from a full meal. If I’d eaten him, you’d all be high-level succubi by now.” Just kidding. If I didn’t eat Tristan, I wouldn’t have any grand-demons. So, I immediately dropped back to my knees, tears erupting from my eyes like geysers. “Darling, don’t leave me! I was wrong! Next time, I’ll be more careful! You can run the background checks, and I’ll check their phones!” Tristan’s face turned beet red. He glanced nervously at Selene, who was now glaring at me, all traces of her fragile vulnerability gone. The assistant covered his ears and stared at the ceiling. “Darling,” I wailed, “can’t we just wait until you’ve cheated one more time? At least let me catch you in the act!” That was the last straw for Tristan. “Get out!” he roared, kicking me away. I obediently rolled a few times, right back to his feet. For a good meal, a little humiliation was nothing. He gritted his teeth and had the assistant drag me out of the room. From the hallway, I could hear him on his knees, begging and pleading with Selene. Then came the sound of her soft sobs, and the fateful words, “Let’s break up.” The assistant lowered his voice. “Ma’am, do you really love him that much?” My eyes filled with tears. “Of course. I’ve watched him grow up, after all.” From 0 to 9,999—I had put in so much effort. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a struggle from inside the room, followed by a muffled grunt and a soft moan. The assistant’s face turned bright red as he pulled out a pair of earplugs. My eyes lit up. I pressed my ear to the door, listening intently. This was it. It couldn’t be more than one. Just one was all I needed. Selene’s moans grew louder, culminating in a final, sharp cry and a low male growl. Then, silence. I tried the door. It was locked. Focusing my energy into my leg, I kicked it open. There, shimmering above Tristan’s head, was the glorious, golden number: 10,000. I saw the two of them on the bed, preparing for round two, and I rushed over, pulling them apart. Taking a deep breath, I delivered the line I had been rehearsing for five years. “Tristan, you have disappointed me for the last time!” “You cheated on me!” They stared at me, stunned, clutching the sheets to cover themselves. I whipped out my phone and started snapping pictures, uploading them to the internet. As the flood of negative comments transformed into streams of corrupt energy and flowed into Tristan’s body, I could see the quality of his essence changing, ripening. I stretched out my hand. “Tristan, you have hurt me and betrayed me. Now, it’s time to pay your debt.” Silence. Then, a low growl from Tristan. “What kind of crazy act are you pulling now?”

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1 The world shattered in a screech of metal and glass. I was driving to my final check-up when suddenly I was rushed into the ER alongside another pregnant woman from the other car. “Her water broke! We need to move — now! Get the husband to sign the forms,” a nurse yelled urgently. As they wheeled me toward the OR, I gasped, “My husband’s busy… I can sign myself!” Just then, the other woman’s husband burst in, his face bloody. “Help her first!” he shouted, pointing to the other gurney. “She has a heart condition — she’s worse!” His face was panicked and dirty, but I knew him. My heart stopped. Alberto. That’s my husband. He turned to the medical team with sudden professional calm. “I’m Dr. Alberto Hayes from Metropolitan General OB/GYN. Trust my judgment.” I reached out, trembling, trying to touch him. He swatted my hand away without looking. “But this patient’s water has broken,” a nurse said, gesturing at me. Alberto gave me a cold, dismissive glance. “She’ll be fine. I’m her husband. I’ll sign a waiver.” … The crash had thrown the hospital into chaos, and doctors were stretched thin. An operating room had been a precious, life-saving lottery ticket, and I had just won it. But because my husband was a respected authority at Metropolitan General, the staff deferred to him. They trusted his “professional judgment.” They delayed my surgery. As my gurney was pushed aside, Alberto didn’t even look at me. His focus was entirely on the other woman, Bella. He held her hand, his touch gentle, all his fear and tenderness laid bare for her. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “I’ll get approval, and I’ll perform the surgery myself. I’ll make sure you get off that table safely.” The raw devotion in his eyes was a spike through my heart. With no available beds, I was left in the hallway, forced to watch the man I married pour his soul out for another woman. All around me, patients were surrounded by family, their hands held, their fears soothed by a loving presence. My own loving presence had just secured permission to personally save his true love. He walked past me on his way to scrub in. He paused for a fraction of a second but never turned his head. His steps were firm, resolute, leaving behind nothing but a cold, clipped sentence that drifted back to me. “You’re not going to die. Please, trust my professional judgment.” I don’t know how long that surgery took. Waiting in the cold, chaotic hallway, I drifted in and out of a pained, hazy sleep. The next time I was jolted awake, it was to the sound of panic. A crowd of scrubs and white coats swarmed around my gurney. “Patient is experiencing an acute amniotic fluid embolism! Now! Get the blood bank on the line!” “Where is Dr. Hayes?! Get him here! He’s the only one in the entire city who’s successfully treated an AFE! None of us have the experience!” The frantic thud of footsteps echoed around me as several orderlies grabbed my gurney and started running. “It’s going to be okay,” one of them said, his voice strained with false confidence. “Your husband is the best OB/GYN in the city. He’s handled two of these cases before, ninety-nine percent success rate. You’re young, you’re healthy, your blood type is common. You have a great chance.” They burst through the doors of an operating room. The blinding white light seared my eyes. Voices called out my vitals, a strange mix of clinical calm and rising panic. “No! Her O2 stats are dropping too fast! She’s not going to make it! Where the hell is Dr. Hayes?” my attending physician yelled, his hand gripping mine, his skin cold and clammy. A nurse nearby answered, her voice trembling. “Dr. Hayes… he left after finishing Bella’s surgery. He said she woke up craving the soup he makes, and he went home to cook it for her.” “Then call him!” “We did! He’s not picking up…” “The baby! Fetal heartbeat is gone! The mother has no will to live, we’re losing them both!” My doctor squeezed my hand, his voice firm and close to my ear. “They assigned you to me, and I don’t give up on my patients. You hear me? Don’t you dare give up on yourself! Get Pediatrics in here for the infant resuscitation! We are saving them both, do you understand?” Okay… I managed a weak flutter of my eyelids. Someone in this world still wanted me to live. I had to try. The interns were still frantically trying to reach Alberto. My doctor and a team of senior surgeons began a desperate, racing battle against time to save me. I watched bags of blood, full and red, being hung, then taken down, empty and pale. I saw the sweat pouring down their faces, their brows furrowed in intense concentration. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Just then, an intern held up my phone, his voice filled with relief. “Dr. Hayes is calling her! He’s calling back!” The call was put on speakerphone, his voice echoing through the tense silence of the OR. It wasn’t a voice of concern. It was sharp, impatient, and angry. “Lia! Where the hell did you put your hospital go-bag? It’s not like you’ll be needing it anytime soon. I’m taking it for Bella to use.” 2 I saw my attending physician’s brow furrow in disbelief. His face hardened as he handed his instrument to another surgeon and strode over to the intern, taking the sterilized, bagged phone. “Dr. Hayes,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Your wife has suffered an acute amniotic fluid embolism and is currently in critical condition. You have experience in this area. We need you at Riverside Community Hospital immediately to assist with saving her life.” Beep. Beep. Beep. He had hung up. “What the— Is he insane?!” one of the younger doctors exploded. “His wife is dying, and he’s worried about a go-bag for his mistress? Some top doctor! He’s nothing but a world-class scumbag!” The outburst was loud enough for everyone to hear. I almost laughed. The attending physician, realizing his colleague’s words might affect me, quickly apologized. Through the fog of anesthesia, I tried to move my eyes to show him it was okay. Because he was right. In that single, sharp moment, despair washed over me, a black tide that swallowed the last flicker of my will to fight. “Her O2 is crashing! Get more units from the blood bank!” Riverside Community began making emergency calls to every hospital in the city, pleading for plasma. The news of a woman battling an AFE spread quickly, even making it onto the local news reports. Finally, Metropolitan General sent over another doctor who had previously assisted with an AFE surgery. He rushed in, still breathless. “What a coincidence! Dr. Hayes’s wife just gave birth over at our hospital too. I was just stopping by to visit when I heard about your emergency. I got special permission to come over and help.” Dr. Hayes’s wife? My attending physician shot a quick, confused glance in my direction. But Alberto’s colleague, having worked with him on these cases before, was relatively calm. He helped stabilize the situation. As my vitals slowly returned to normal, he tried to lighten the mood with some chatter. “When I was on my way over, I saw the pediatric team had resuscitated the newborn. A healthy, chubby little boy.” He chuckled. “But they kept calling for the dad, and no one showed up. Is she a single mom or something?” My doctor cleared his throat loudly. The man didn’t catch the hint. “And it’s strange, you know? Alberto’s wife is in Room 303 right over at Metropolitan, but he didn’t come here to help you guys out. He’s the authority on this stuff! Did he turn down a chance to save a life because he was too worried about his own wife giving birth?” He kept rambling until an intern couldn’t take it anymore. “Dr. Evans,” she snapped, “the woman lying in front of you is Dr. Hayes’s wife, Lia.” Dr. Evans chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous, kid. I’ve worked with Alberto for years. I think I know who his wife is. It’s Bella. Not some Lia.” “We’re screwed,” my doctor muttered, watching my monitor as my once-stable vitals began to plummet again. He turned on Dr. Evans, his voice laced with fury. “Why would we lie to you about that? This is Lia Thorne, Alberto Hayes’s wife! He admitted it himself! She had a sliver of a will to live, and now, after what you just said, it’s completely gone!” Dr. Evans slapped his forehead. “I thought you were all joking!” At that moment, the faint sound of a baby’s cry cut through the tension. “The baby!” my doctor yelled to the pediatricians across the room. “Bring the baby to the mother, let her see him!” I forced my heavy eyelids open. A tiny, purplish infant was brought into my line of sight. A weak smile touched my lips. He was so wrinkled and ugly. He looked just like Alberto. But I loved him. An instinctive, biological mother’s love that I couldn’t control, even as it disgusted me. After a grueling twenty-four hours and a transfusion of what felt like the city’s entire blood supply, I survived. When I was finally moved from the ICU to a regular room, the maternity nurse I’d hired was already there. She looked incredibly awkward, holding a used diaper in her hand. I knew instantly what had happened. “Ma’am,” she began, avoiding my eyes. “Mr. Hayes insisted that I go and take care of Miss Bella first. I… I couldn’t really say no.” 3 Before I could respond, Alberto’s voice boomed from the doorway. “Maria, hurry up! The baby spit up again, and Bella is too weak to hold him.” He pushed the door open and froze, clearly surprised to see me there, awake and alive. Our eyes met for a moment before he adopted an air of nonchalant dismissal. “Our son is still in the NICU, so Maria isn’t needed here yet,” he stated, not asked. “I’m just borrowing her for Bella. I’m sure you don’t mind.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, by the way, I called your parents. They’re on their way. I’m exhausted from taking care of Bella, so I really don’t have the energy to look after you too. Hope you understand.” Just then, a group of his colleagues arrived, their arms laden with gift baskets and flowers. “Alberto, what are you doing in here?” one of them asked. “Your wife is looking for you!” “Bella needs something?” he asked, his immediate assumption that “wife” meant Bella sending another pang through me. He rushed out to her. His colleagues followed, leaving only Maria standing there, utterly bewildered. “But you’re Dr. Hayes’s wife, aren’t you?” she whispered. “I thought Bella was just his friend. Why does everyone call her Mrs. Hayes?” I managed a weak, bitter smile. “I guess it’s just a misunderstanding.” Maria tossed a washcloth onto the counter in frustration. “Doesn’t he have a mouth? Can’t he correct them when they’re ‘misunderstood’? It seems to me Dr. Hayes has a wandering eye and is more than happy to let everyone think Bella is his wife.” Even a stranger could see Alberto’s intentions so clearly. Bella was his high school crush, the goddess he never had the guts to ask out but whose pedestal he worshipped at from afar, very publicly. I wouldn’t have known the depths of his obsession if he hadn’t dragged me to a class reunion once. I saw a side of him I never knew existed—this proud, arrogant man, so subservient and meek in her presence. Facing Bella, he was always looking down, like a scolded puppy. His old roommates had joked with the newly divorced Bella, “You really have bad luck, goddess. If you’d just said yes to Alberto back then, you’d be Mrs. Dr. Hayes, the wife of Metropolitan General’s top specialist. Someone else wouldn’t have gotten the chance.” And I was that “someone else,” sitting right there, trying to saw through a tough piece of steak. None of his friends liked me. They saw me as the obstacle between Alberto and Bella. Without me, their goddess would have had her rightful place. And Alberto believed it, too. After that reunion, he started giving me the silent treatment. He used work as an excuse, coming home once a week at most and refusing to accompany me to a single prenatal appointment. Meanwhile, he became a fixture in Bella’s social media posts, lauded as her “amazing male friend.” Bella, for her part, never corrected the assumptions about their relationship. She’d just smile, a silent, all-accepting refusal to clarify. Alberto was the same. He basked in the glory of people thinking the vibrant, beautiful Bella was his wife. We fought about it once. He told me the “truth would speak for itself” and there was no need to prove anything. He told me to respect his right to have friends. When it came to Bella, his confidence evaporated. The slightest hint of affection from her, and he’d come running like a dog. But with me, he was always so sure. He thought I was his for the taking. If I couldn’t leave him before we had a child, I certainly wouldn’t leave him now. That certainty made him reckless. He forgot one crucial thing. Unlike him, I wasn’t a dog who would keep coming back for scraps. Bella’s room was right next to mine. A steady stream of visitors flowed in and out—Alberto’s colleagues, his old classmates, and even Dr. Evans, the surgeon from my operation. “Alberto, what you’re doing is disgusting!” I heard Dr. Evans’s voice, sharp and clear even through the wall. “Bella isn’t your wife, but you never correct anyone! You let all of us colleagues make fools of ourselves, calling her ‘Mrs. Hayes’ day in and day out! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was during your real wife’s surgery?” There was a long pause before Alberto finally replied, his voice flat. “I told you all to just call her Bella. You were the ones who insisted on calling her ‘Mrs. Hayes.’” 4 “Are you f—king kidding me? You couldn’t just say ‘she’s my friend’? Besides, your wife just survived an AFE! She was literally knocking on death’s door, and you’re in here playing nursemaid to Bella? Aren’t you afraid your wife is just going to leave you?” I heard the sound of a hand slapping against my door, as if Dr. Evans was trying to shove Alberto into my room. But the sound was followed by the firm click of Bella’s door being shut. “Afraid?” Alberto’s laugh was a cold, cruel thing. “I wish she would. She was the one who chased me for years, a pathetic backup plan who finally got lucky. She’d never leave. And now with the baby? She’s trapped.” The sound of his mocking chuckle sliced through me. “She’s not like Bella. Bella has a heart condition; she’s fragile. Lia was an athlete. An AFE is a big deal for other people, but for her? It’s a minor inconvenience.” “Have you lost your mind? You’re a damn OB/GYN! Do you not know the mortality rate for an AFE?” Dr. Evans shot back, his voice thick with disbelief. “That patient who died on your table last year was an athlete, in perfect health! An AFE took her in less than thirty minutes. Your wife is just lucky. Maybe Death took one look at her miserable marriage and took pity on her.” Dr. Evans argued until he was hoarse, but Alberto never came into my room. Instead, I got a notification on my phone: a wire transfer for twenty thousand dollars with a curt message to take care of myself. I blocked his number. I deleted every form of contact. That evening, my attending physician, Dr. Cole, stopped by. He told me that since my recovery was going well, a local news station wanted to interview me. Surviving an amniotic fluid embolism, with its ninety-nine percent mortality rate, was a miracle. “Don’t worry, the interview will be quick,” he assured me. “Afterward, the heads of Metropolitan General and a few other major hospitals are going to hold a postpartum consultation for you. It’s a good thing.” “Okay,” I agreed without hesitation. On the day of the interview, Alberto showed up. He was dressed in a sharp suit, standing confidently among the hospital administrators. He spoke at length about the challenges he faced performing my surgery, the immense pressure of operating on his own wife. Dr. Evans stood nearby, head down, looking miserable. The leadership from Metropolitan General beamed at Alberto with pride, murmuring words of sympathy. “The hardest thing for a surgeon is to operate on a loved one,” his direct supervisor proclaimed for the cameras. “And in this case, Dr. Hayes was faced with the lives of his wife and unborn son. It took incredible strength and a will of iron to achieve such a perfect outcome.” The supervisor gave Alberto a pointed look. Alberto strode through the crowd and stopped in front of my bed. “You know I’m up for a promotion,” he whispered, his voice low. “This is a huge opportunity.” He leaned closer. “Thank God it was you they were saving. If it had been anyone else, this wouldn’t have been so easy to arrange. When they ask you questions, don’t say the wrong thing. Remember, I was the one who performed your surgery. Just me. My superiors have already taken care of the narrative.” He reached out and ruffled my hair, an old gesture of affection. But I hadn’t washed it since giving birth, and it was greasy. He quickly wiped his hand on his trousers with a flicker of disgust. The interview began. Dr. Cole arrived late and was blocked from entering the room by staff from Metropolitan General. A reporter pushed a microphone toward my face. “Ms. Thorne, after such a near-death experience, what is the most important thing you want to say?” I paused, gathering my thoughts, then took the microphone. “I want to thank the doctors for their absolute refusal to give up on me, especially when I was about to give up on myself. They never faltered.” The reporter, sensing a story, glanced from me to Alberto and back again. “And is there any particular doctor you’d like to thank the most?” I saw Dr. Evans by the door, already turning to leave. I raised my hand and pointed past the crowd. “My attending physician, Dr. Cole, and from Metropolitan General…” Every camera swiveled to Alberto. He puffed out his chest, a prepared speech already on his lips. “…Dr. Evans!” I finished. The room erupted in confused murmurs. Alberto stared at me, his eyes wide with fury. He fumbled for his phone, probably to text me, but the failed delivery notification only made his expression darker. Dr. Evans, singled out, looked utterly stunned, his eyes welling up with tears. The reporter, flustered, tried to regain control. “Is there… anyone else?” I smiled, a wide, bright, unforgiving smile. “Of course. There is one more person. I want to thank my husband most of all.”

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