Author: Momo Chan

My relationship with Bob Croft started in college. We were together for eight years, and with our wedding just around the corner, he dropped a bombshell. He wanted his one true love, Monica Bell, to marry him as well. He wanted two wives. I fought back a surge of rage. “Are you telling me you want to make the love of your life your mistress?” Bob just shook his head. “She wouldn’t be the mistress,” he said softly. “You would be.” I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Had he lost his mind? Did he really think he could make the sole heiress to the Crestwood fortune his mistress? … Seeing my silence, Bob must have thought I was considering it. His voice softened, turning persuasive. “Monica is just so gentle, and her family is… modest. If she were the one on the side, she’d be miserable.” “So you’re suggesting I take that position?” The fury was a jackhammer against my temples, but my voice came out eerily calm. Bob frowned, clearly annoyed by my question. “Vivian, I don’t want it to be this way. But Monica… she doesn’t have anyone. I have to look out for her. Don’t worry, you’ll both be my women. I’ll treat you both equally. Monica is incredibly kind; she’d never make things difficult for you.” When he first pursued me, he swore he would marry no one else, that his heart had room only for me. Now, on the eve of our wedding, he was dreaming of having us both, a perfect little harem. What a joke. A mistress is a secret, a lover hidden in the shadows. I took a step back, my disgust for him a physical thing. “Mr. Croft, please leave. Since you’ve found love elsewhere, our engagement is off. There’s nothing more to discuss.” He sighed, a look of weary frustration on his face, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Vivian, the invitations have been sent. The venue is booked. If you call it off now, what will happen to your reputation? Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I trembled with rage. So that was their game. Monica and he had been carrying on for years, but she chose to make her move now, right before the wedding, because she knew I was backed into a corner. “So, by your logic, I should be thanking you for not just bringing her to the wedding as a surprise?” Bob’s face darkened. “It’s just a title! You’re Vivian Vance. Who would dare look down on you? Why are you being so petty?” “Besides,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension, “what successful man has only one woman? I know you’re better than this. I know you love me. Show me the gentle, understanding woman I know, and don’t act like some bitter shrew.” I closed my eyes, trying to contain the inferno inside me. I couldn’t. I slapped him. Hard. I put all my strength into it, and the imprint of my hand immediately bloomed red on his cheek. Bob clutched his face, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Vivian! Are you insane?” “The invitations are out! Everyone in Crestwood knows you’re marrying me! If you back out now, who do you think will ever want you?” he snarled. “I’m telling you, you’re marrying me whether you like it or not! And if you want any standing in the Croft family, you’ll go home and tell your parents you’re voluntarily giving up the position of wife!” My expression was glacial. So that was it. He’d come today because he knew my parents were out of the country on business. He thought he could force me to submit, keep his own hands clean, and get everything he wanted. A thought struck me. “What’s my name?” I asked suddenly. Bob blinked. “Vivian Vance? Has the anger scrambled your brain?” I waved my hand, and the security team that was always stationed discreetly nearby came jogging over. “When we were dating, I didn’t mind you calling me Vivian,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as I remembered his outrageous words. “But now, I’d like you to address me with the respect I’m due. Call me Miss Vance.” “Throw him out.” Two towering guards grabbed him by the arms and began dragging him away. Bob stared at me in shock. “You can’t do this! I’m your family’s future son-in-law!” I scoffed. “Can’t I? If I wanted to, the line of eligible bachelors willing to marry me would stretch from here to Paris. Who the hell do you think you are, Bob Croft?” “Today, you’re going to get a very clear lesson on why Vivian Vance does whatever she wants in this city.” I raised an eyebrow at the guards and added, “Throw. Him. Out.” … Bob, seething, arrived home just in time to run into his mother, who had heard the news and rushed over. Seeing the furious look on his face, Mrs. Croft was about to ask what happened when Bob burst out, “This is all your fault! You’re the one who insisted I marry Monica! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been humiliated at the Vance estate today!” After hearing the whole story, Mrs. Croft’s simmering dislike for me boiled over. She secretly vowed to put me in my place once I was married into the family, but for now, she soothed her son. “That Vivian is just spoiled, not at all like our sweet, sensible Monica. Everyone in Crestwood knows what a temper she has. She’s lucky to be marrying into our family.” “She’s just young and foolish. In a few days, I’ll personally invite her over and explain the benefits of having Monica join the family. Once she understands, she’ll come crawling back to you, begging for forgiveness.” … After having Bob thrown out, I immediately had my assistant place an overseas call to my parents in Europe. Still fuming, I then had my driver take me to my grandfather’s estate on the hillside to vent. I assumed that would be the end of my dealings with the Crofts, but a few days later, an invitation to a party at their home arrived. My secretary and assistant both advised me not to go. But I wasn’t having it. “I’m not the one who did something wrong. Why should I be the one to hide?” When I arrived at the Croft manor, I had barely stepped out of my car when a woman in a delicate white dress approached me. It was Monica. She looked the picture of fragile beauty. Her brow was furrowed with concern as she glided towards me. Her voice was soft, but her words were laced with venom. “Miss Vance, everyone who’s anyone in Crestwood is here tonight. Why would you come dressed so… casually?” “Even if you’re upset with me, you shouldn’t embarrass Bob and the Croft family like this.” I gave her a single, dismissive glance and ignored her. In Crestwood, I wear what I want. No one but my own family would ever dare to comment on my attire. With a cold smirk, I pulled my phone from my clutch and made a call. “Manager Wallace? I believe the venue for the Croft’s party tonight is one of my family’s hotels, is it not?” “Clear the room. Immediately. Bill all losses to my personal account.” The color drained from Monica’s face. Bob rushed out from inside just in time to hear me. He shot a pained look at the teary-eyed Monica before turning his glare on me. “Vivian! Monica was just trying to welcome you! How can you treat her kindness like this?” I glanced at the growing crowd of guests, who were now pointing and whispering. I let out a chilling laugh and looked between the two of them. “Welcome me? In what capacity? As the future Mrs. Croft? Anyone who didn’t know better would think he’s already married her.” A murmur went through the crowd as faces shifted with intrigue. “Isn’t that the Miss Bell who’s always with Mr. Croft? When did things become official?” “Even if she’s his girlfriend, it’s not her place to greet guests. That’s against all protocol…” “His actual fiancée is standing right there, and she’s already playing the lady of the house?” Bob’s expression turned grim. He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. “That’s enough, Vivian!” he hissed under his breath. “Do you have to be so aggressive? Are you trying to ruin Monica’s reputation?” Just then, Mrs. Croft bustled out, ever the peacemaker. “Goodness, whatever misunderstanding has occurred, can’t we discuss it inside? Must we make a scene at the front door for everyone to gossip about?” She then turned and made a show of scolding Monica. “And you! Vivian can wear whatever she pleases. It’s not your place to comment.” A flicker of resentment crossed Monica’s face, but she maintained her gentle facade and curtsied to me. “It was my mistake, Miss Vance. Please, forgive me. Don’t be angry with Bob.” Her performance of a long-suffering victim made Bob’s heart ache for her, and his anger toward me intensified. He decided then and there that after the wedding, he would give me the cold shoulder to teach me a lesson. Mrs. Croft was trying to frame the entire conflict as a simple lover’s quarrel. Some of the guests started to chime in. “Come now, Miss Vance, let it go. For my sake, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill.” Another, a woman with a sanctimonious air, clucked her tongue at me. “Miss Vance, one must know when to be merciful. A young lady should be more magnanimous.”

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1 Hayden Cole and I were a match made in hell, famous in our circles for it. After a decade of mutual torment, we’d finally called a truce. But on the very first day of his return to the country, he trashed my bar, all to win a smile from some new girl. So I split his lip. “Tch. Smashing up your place felt good,” he’d sneered, dabbing at the blood. “Name your price for the damages. Anything you want.” What does a dying woman have to ask for? It wasn’t until my final check-up that I knew my time was officially up. In the hospital corridor, a mother and daughter who’d recovered from the same ward looked at me with pity. “That poor thing. So young, and in the end, there won’t even be anyone to collect her body.” Sitting on that cold bench, I finally dialed the number I’d kept saved for ten years. “If you really want to compensate me,” I said, my voice flat, “then you can be the one to collect my body.” … Rain lashed against the windows of the bar that night, driving away most of the customers. The TV on the wall was broadcasting a news segment about Hayden’s triumphant return. I was just about to lock up when a young girl burst in. She shook out her umbrella, her eyes bright with excitement as she pointed at the top-shelf liquor behind the counter. “I want all of those.” Following her was Mason, Hayden’s closest friend. He froze when he saw me. “Uh,” he stammered, “maybe we should try another place?” “No, this is it,” the girl insisted, her voice light and cheerful. “I bought Hayden a bottle from here once. He absolutely loved their signature blend.” She turned her sparkling eyes to me. “Ma’am, I’m booking the whole place for tonight. Get those bottles ready for us, will you?” I managed a nod, my head bowed to hide the tremor in my hands as I scooped ice into a shaker. It wasn’t nerves, and it certainly wasn’t anticipation. It was the illness, a relentless disease for which there was no cure. “Mason, can you help me light these candles?” the girl chirped. “Hayden will be so happy when he sees this, don’t you think?” Mason didn’t answer. He knew as well as I did that the sight of me was the last thing that would make Hayden Cole happy. On the television, Hayden smirked into the camera. “I’m sure she’s watching. And believe me, I’m looking forward to our reunion, too.” The camera angle highlighted a faint, silvery scar above his brow. I put it there with a kitchen knife. There was no grand reason. I was in a bad mood, so I swung. Just as the jagged scar on the back of my own hand was a souvenir from him—a wound he’d torn open with his bare hands and let fester until it scarred over. The reporter on screen was breathless. “So, where are you headed now? I see you have roses. Are you on your way to see your girlfriend?” He paused, his smirk softening just a fraction. “My fiancée.” The young girl, who was meticulously arranging the candles, glanced up at the screen. “Mason,” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity, “did you ever meet her? The first love he spent ten years with?” I kept my head down, the rhythmic rattle of the cocktail shaker filling the silence, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mason’s gaze flicker towards me. “Hayden!” the girl suddenly cried out. She darted outside, forgetting her umbrella in her haste. “Lily,” Hayden’s voice, deep and familiar, drifted in. He angled his large black umbrella to shield her from the downpour. She stood on her toes, her face alight with pure, unadulterated joy, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. For a split second, Hayden flinched back. And in that fleeting moment, through the rain-streaked glass, our eyes met. Lily tried to follow his gaze, but he caught her chin, tilting her face up to his and deepening the kiss, turning it into a passionate, public display. I looked away, dropping a sprig of mint into a glass. Mason was already at the bar. He hesitated, then finally spoke, his voice low. “Please, Avery. Don’t make things harder for him.” He paused, then added, as if to twist the knife, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Reminds me of you, when you were younger. She’s only nineteen.” I nodded, feeling a strange sense of detachment. “Yes. She’s very beautiful.” The couple stepped inside, Hayden collapsing his wet umbrella by the door. “Are you two… complimenting my fiancée?” he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance. Then, his gaze, heavy with a decade of history, landed squarely on me. 2 Mason held his breath, watching me. He had no idea if I was about to fly into one of my infamous rages. But I simply placed the cocktails on the counter. “Your drinks are ready. Enjoy.” Lily cupped her face in her hands, her eyes twinkling with adoration for the man across from her. “Hayden, try it. It’s the one you said you loved.” Hayden took a sip, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “Bitter and sharp,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on me. “Yes, this is definitely my favorite.” Lily looked puzzled and took a sip herself. “It’s sweet! You’re teasing me again!” She didn’t see the way he was looking at me, his gaze dark and intense. Suddenly, the bar door was kicked open. “Bro! Welcome back!” A group of guys swaggered in, but their boisterous energy evaporated the moment they saw me behind the counter. Their eyes darted from me to Mason, their faces a mixture of confusion and alarm. I brought over their drinks, but as I handed them out, they flinched back in unison, throwing their arms up as if to shield their faces. I guess my decade-long war with Hayden had included some collateral damage. I hadn’t thought much of it, but clearly, they remembered. “Mason, what the hell is going on?” one of them whispered. Mason just shrugged. “Enjoy your drinks,” I said coolly. I turned to walk away, but Lily grabbed my hand. “Ma’am, could you take a picture for us?” “No.” I brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from my shirt. As I took a step, Hayden’s voice cut through the air from behind me. “Everyone in business has their price. Name it.” When I didn’t respond, he threw a wad of cash at me. “Is that enough?” I turned back just in time for the bundle of bills to smack me squarely in the face. “Hayden… don’t…” Mason started. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Lily said, rushing to my side. “My fiancé has had a little too much to drink.” I bent down, picking up the scattered bills. “Two cocktails wouldn’t get him drunk,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “He has a better tolerance than that.” From above, I heard a contemptuous snort. “Man, look at her, still scrambling for cash,” one of his friends, Seth, sneered. “Three years and she’s still the same piece of trash.” I suppose I’d been playing nice for too long if he thought he could get away with saying that. I picked up the last of the ten bills, now crumpled and smeared with bar floor grime. Then, I walked calmly over to Hayden. He held out his phone, a confident smirk on his face, as if my newfound composure amused him. I balled up the wad of cash, pried his jaw open with my other hand, and shoved it all inside. To make sure he really got the message, I grabbed the two cocktails and poured them down his throat after it. Then, I turned and slapped Seth hard across the face. “Keep that mouth of yours shut,” I hissed, “or I’ll sew it shut for you.” The bar fell silent, the only sound the drumming of the rain outside. Only Mason seemed unfazed, leaning back and downing his drink with a heavy sigh. “Ma’am, you can’t run a business like this!” Lily cried out, her voice trembling. “We were wrong first, but you can’t just hit people! He—” I spun around and slapped her too. Hayden licked his lips, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “You can hit me,” he said softly. “But laying a hand on my fiancée? That crosses a line. Lily, darling, how do you want to get even?” Lily clutched her stinging cheek, tears welling in her eyes. Hayden’s gaze swept across my small, lovingly curated bar. “Nice place,” he said. “How about we tear it down for you, Lily?” As she nodded, a team of his bodyguards filed in, armed with crowbars and bats. The windows, the island bar, the overhead lights—all of it was shattered. Rain and wind whipped through the broken panes, spattering against my face. Hayden stepped through the wreckage and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re not wrong, Avery,” he whispered, his eyes greedily tracing every line of my face. “But I have to make my fiancée happy. Think about what you want for compensation. I’ll give you anything.” I jerked my head away from him and started coughing, a wracking, uncontrollable fit. I scrambled desperately through the debris, searching for my pill bottle. He glanced at the label with a dismissive sneer. “Six tranquilizers in one go. You’re not afraid of killing yourself?” He picked up the bottle and casually tossed it into a growing puddle of rainwater before wrapping an arm around Lily and striding out into the night. I collapsed next to the puddle, fished the bottle out of the murky water, and swallowed two more pills. They weren’t just for calm; they were for the pain. It had started with half a pill. Now, even eight barely took the edge off. The bottle was almost empty. My life was being drained along with it. 3 Three years ago, my mother died. All she left me was this bar. For a moment, standing in the ruins, I had no idea where to go. A wave of pain, sharp and searing, washed over my entire body, making it impossible to even think about moving. I just sat there, in the middle of the wreckage, and let the rain soak me to the bone for the rest of the night. By morning, Harbor City was buzzing with the scandal: Hayden Cole had returned, only to violently retaliate against his first love. As the sun rose, I prepared to leave. But first, I knelt before the wreckage and bowed my head three times, a final farewell. I didn’t realize Hayden was there until he was standing right in front of me. He stepped over a pile of broken wood and hauled me to my feet with one hand. “It’s just a damn bar, Avery. You don’t have to destroy yourself over it.” I dusted off my hands, planted my feet firmly on the ground, and slapped him three times, hard, across the face. “My mother’s memorial plaque was in there,” I said, my voice hollow. “I can’t find it. So yes, I had to pay my respects.” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Is that so? Three slaps in exchange for your mother’s plaque. Sounds like a fair trade.” I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the desolation that had once been my life. He wouldn’t shut up, following me and spewing a stream of vitriol designed to get a reaction. “Avery, I’m talking to you.” I kept walking as if I hadn’t heard him. He rushed to catch up. “Don’t pretend you don’t care. Do you have any idea how awful you look right now? Stop the act.” “I was sick for a while,” I shot back, finally turning to face him. “It took a toll. But don’t flatter yourself. You really think you have the power to affect me anymore?” One thing was clear, though. He had come back specifically to make my life a living hell. If I were healthy, I wouldn’t have minded breaking a few more of his bones. But now… I just didn’t have the energy. … At the hospital, a panel of doctors studied my scans, their faces grim. “How many of the last pills I gave you are left?” my primary physician, Dr. Evans, asked. “None.” “None?!” He stared at me, aghast. “That was a three-month supply! You finished it in a week?” Dr. Evans had been managing my case from the beginning. The moment he started hedging, using vague language about my prognosis, I knew. I knew my time was short. “Where are… your parents?” he asked gently. “Dr. Evans, you of all people should know better,” I said with a wry smile. “We’ve known each other a long time. It’s just a few more years of suffering, then a handful of dust. I can handle it.” He adjusted his glasses, his expression pained. “Your emotional state was stable for three years. What happened this past week to cause such a drastic change?” I glanced at the news notification on my phone. Sometimes, the person you care about the least becomes the very thing that seals your fate. “Your condition is deteriorating rapidly,” he finally admitted. “Without the medication… it could be a week, a month, maybe three. There’s no way to know.” “Take this,” he said, pushing a new bottle of pills toward me. “When the pain comes, take three. Remember, no more than three at a time…” He didn’t get to finish. I twisted the cap off and poured a handful of pills into my mouth. I didn’t care how many. I’d take however many I needed until the pain stopped. A week or three months, it was all the same to me now. Afterward, I found an empty corner in the hospital and huddled there, my back pressed against the ice-cold wall, as wave after wave of pain and sweat washed over me. For ten minutes, I listened to the muffled sounds of prayers and whispered pleas drifting from a nearby surgical waiting room. The most desperate bargains with God are always made outside an operating theater. “Mommy, is that the lady from before?” a little girl’s voice piped up. “Now that we’re all better, should we go say goodbye to her?” “Her illness isn’t going to get better, sweetie,” the mother whispered back. “We shouldn’t bother her. Poor thing. No mother, no father, and so sick. She might die without anyone even there to claim her body.” The little girl looked up, confused. “But her mommy and daddy… isn’t there someone in the world who cares about her?” I stared down at the blurry screen of my phone, rubbing my eyes. It was a text from Hayden. He’d been messaging me since last night, relentlessly asking about compensation. No one who cares, I thought. But maybe someone to claim the body. I pulled up the contact I hadn’t called in a decade and pressed the button. He answered almost immediately. “Made up your mind?” he asked, his voice laced with impatience. “If you really want to compensate me, Hayden,” I said, “then you can collect my body.” 4 There was a three-second pause on the other end of the line, followed by a scornful laugh. “Someone as vicious as you, Avery? People like you live forever. But fine. If you do manage to die before me, don’t worry. I’ll give you the grandest funeral this city has ever seen. I’ll light a candle for you on every street corner in Harbor City.” With that promise, I hung up, satisfied. As I left the hospital, I saw the mother and daughter from the corridor. The little girl was puffing out her chest defiantly. “See? Someone does care about her! I care about her!” “Alright, alright, let’s go or we’ll miss the bus… oh, there it is!” her mother exclaimed, and they hurried off. I walked to the parking garage. When I drove out, they were still waiting at the bus stop, so I pulled over. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” I dropped them off downtown, their grateful thanks still ringing in my ears. As they walked away, I saw a familiar group coming out of a nearby restaurant. “Well, well, look who’s doing good deeds,” Seth sneered, spotting me. “Guess she’s trying to earn some good karma before it’s too late.” They were all drunk. Lily’s eyes, however, were sober and sharp as she stared at me. I had no desire to engage. I was about to drive off when Lily stepped forward and pressed her hand against my window. Her lips were curved into a sweet smile, but her eyes were cold as ice. “Avery, I just found out about your history with Hayden. I… I hope I didn’t offend you yesterday.” I tried to roll up the window, but she held it down firmly. “I have something for you,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “I really don’t have any hard feelings.” “I’m not interested in your act. Get lost.” Lily suddenly let go. Just as I was about to hit the gas, she pulled a small urn from her designer handbag. “I heard your mother’s memorial plaque was destroyed in the bar,” she said sweetly. “I was afraid you’d have nothing left to remember her by, so I went back this morning and gathered a handful of ash from the site.” She leaned in through the open window and, right before my eyes, tipped the urn over, pouring its contents onto the pavement. “Oh!” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “You didn’t catch it! You’re not mad at me, are you?” I watched her pathetic performance, a cold fury building inside me. Fine. She started this. The guys on the sidewalk were clueless, praising Lily’s magnanimity. “Wow, Lily, you’re so big-hearted. Talking to her without getting disgusted, and even bringing her a gift.” Lily shot a triumphant look over her shoulder as she walked toward the Porsche parked in front of me. She dangled the keys, a small celebration of her victory. I looked past her, my eyes landing on Seth. “I have a gift for her, too.” Seth scoffed. “What could you possibly give her?” I clicked my seatbelt into place. “A ride to hell.” Before the last word left my lips, I floored the accelerator.

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I sent a message to my aloof stepbrother. [Hey hubby, you on tonight?] My fingers had slipped. I meant to type “Hey bro, cooking tonight?”. To make matters worse, he was in a meeting, his phone screen mirrored on the main projector. The entire conference room went silent. The man on screen paused for a fraction of a second, then calmly closed the chat window and typed something on his phone. A moment later, my phone buzzed with his reply. A single sentence. [I am.] I froze. He meant… cooking, right? 1 It was that time of day again—my sacred slacking-off hour. I expertly opened my pinned chat and sent a message to my ice-king stepbrother. [Hey bro, cooking tonight?] The moment I hit send, a colleague came over with a question. We talked for maybe two minutes. When I looked back at my phone, Leah from the design department had spammed me with a frantic series of messages. [OMG! I think Mr. Pei is dating someone!] [And trust me, the texts are SPICY!] My heart leaped into my throat. My fingers moved faster than my brain, clicking on the video she’d sent. On screen, Timothy Pei was dressed in a deep red shirt and a black vest, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing the faint tracery of veins. The black sleeve garters he wore added a touch of roguish charm to his usually stoic vibe. It sent a fire low in my belly. Damn it. The things I’d do to get a piece of that… I pushed the thought down and followed the camera as it panned to the large screen behind him. He was screen-sharing. And someone had just messaged him. The profile picture looked familiar. It looked like… mine. But his contact name for me wasn’t “sister,” or my name, Autumn, but a bizarre chemical term: “Phenylethylamine.” I frowned, not having time to decipher its meaning before my own message popped into view. In that instant, I almost jumped out of my chair. I’d meant to ask, [Hey bro, cooking tonight?], but in my haste, I’d made two critical errors. “Bro” had become “hubby,” and somehow, I’d completely omitted the word “cooking.” [Hey hubby, you on tonight?] The accidental message was so explosive that the entire conference room fell into a stunned, awkward silence. The department heads shot subtle glances at Timothy, their faces screaming, You look so prim and proper, but you’re into this kind of stuff behind closed doors? Timothy recovered from his initial shock. He didn’t explain. He simply lowered his gaze, calmly closed the chat window, and tapped twice on his phone. “Sorry about that,” he said, his voice smooth and steady. “She’s a bit of a handful.” His deep, magnetic voice resonated through my headphones, sending a pleasant tingle down my spine. Blood rushed to my face, turning it a shade of crimson I didn’t know was possible. The video ended there. Timothy’s tone had been perfectly level, but Leah was convinced it was dripping with affection. Great. Now my face was even hotter. [I wonder which lucky girl landed a catch like Mr. Pei. She’s eating well!] [Wait a second!] [Why does that person have the same profile pic as you?] [Autumn, don’t tell me…] I frantically cut off her speculation. [No! Not me! I barely know Mr. Pei!] I’d hidden my relationship with Timothy since starting at the company, and we always kept our distance at work. My quick denial was clumsy, but Leah bought it. I let out a long sigh of relief and swiped out of my chat with her. And there it was. A small red dot next to my pinned chat with him. My eyes drifted to the message preview. I didn’t even have to open it. Timothy’s reply was right there. A single sentence. [I am.] My mind went completely blank. While watching the video, I’d wondered what he could have possibly typed with just two taps. A question mark? An ellipsis? I never imagined it would be this. So… he was talking about cooking… right? 2 I had no idea how to reply. My original seven-word message had two catastrophic errors. It was hard to believe it wasn’t intentional. Desperate, I turned to the internet for help. Title: Accidentally texted my stepbro “Hey hubby, you on tonight?” instead of “Hey bro, cooking tonight?” and he replied “I am.” What do I do now? User A: [Was it really an accident though?] User C: [Finally, some good food. Where can I find Part 2 of this story? Asking for a friend.] User D: [If he’s not into you, I’ll eat my hat.] User E: [Wait, aren’t you the same person who posted “What do you do when you meet your dream guy at a family dinner and he’s your new stepbrother?” a few years ago?] …I can’t believe someone remembered that. 3 Before I was sixteen, everyone in my village used to say my mom was a hopeless romantic. As a young woman, she’d turned down a perfectly good college graduate to run off with a man who had nothing to offer but his handsome face. That is, until she divorced him and married a tycoon who had nothing but money. And just like that, in my senior year of high school, I became a rich heiress with a capital city residency. The only downside? At the first family dinner, I met my dream guy. My aloof, devastatingly handsome stepbrother—Timothy Pei. He was only four years older than me, still studying abroad at the time. He sat across from me at dinner, his hair a stunning platinum blond that gave him an almost ethereal, boyish look. Every time I looked up, our eyes met. But Timothy didn’t seem to like me. He would adjust the black, half-rimmed glasses on his nose, a subtle move to break my gaze. It stung, but only for a second. Then I’d get distracted by his elegant, long-fingered hands. Or the hint of his collarbone peeking out from the neck of his sweatshirt. Or the tiny mole on his throat that bobbed when he drank champagne. Sweet mother of… I was a sheltered country girl, uncorrupted by the temptations of the internet. I had never seen a walking temptation like him in my life. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. That teenage crush simmered for three years. I shamelessly tried to get closer to him, but I never crossed the line. I was so well-behaved that his friends would tell him how lucky he was to have a sister like me. Timothy, however, still didn’t seem to like me. He’d frown whenever they said that, the coldness in his dark eyes intensifying. “I don’t see her as a sister.” His words were a polite, but brutal, rejection. I was so hurt I avoided him for weeks. But we lived under the same roof. We were bound to run into each other. Sometimes it was at the pool, when he was wearing nothing but swim trunks. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, an eight-pack, and pale, perfect skin. My eyes would go wide again. Other times, I’d find him leaning against his black-and-white motorcycle by the front gate, his face hidden by a helmet, only his deep, intense eyes visible, fixed on me. The early summer breeze would rustle the wall of roses behind him and tug at the hem of his white t-shirt. It wasn’t the wind moving, it wasn’t the roses… it was my heart. An old quote surfaced in my mind. I clutched my backpack straps, torn. Finally, I ended my one-sided cold war and put my “good little sister” mask back on. “Bro,” I’d said, my voice small, “can you give me a ride to school?” That was the day I made that online post. It got so popular I had to hide it, terrified someone we knew might see it. 4 And now, someone had brought it up again. I sighed, scrolling through the gleeful comments. I decided the best course of action was to ignore the situation entirely. I had no idea why Timothy had replied the way he did, but given his usual coldness, he probably didn’t want me clinging to him over a typo. But then, after work, I ran into him in the elevator. His gaze was heavy, fixed on me. I braced myself and stepped inside, turning my back to him. As more people crowded in, I was forced backward, step by step, until my back was pressed against his warm chest. A second later, he slipped something into my hand. I recognized it instantly by touch. His apartment key. Oh, god. This was basically him handing me a hotel room key. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to discreetly pass the key back to him before we reached the ground floor. My hand fumbled behind me, searching for his, but instead, it brushed against something firm and decidedly not his leg. A muffled grunt from behind me drew the attention of everyone in the elevator. I snatched my hand back, my entire body turning the color of a boiled lobster. “You stepped on my foot,” Timothy said, his voice a low rasp, saving me. “Sorry, so sorry,” I mumbled, going along with it. The doors opened, and I scrambled out with the crowd. It wasn’t until I was in my car that I realized I still had his key. Just then, my phone lit up. Timothy: [That’s my only key.] Well, damn. Looks like I was going to his place after all. 5 Timothy beat me there. He was leaning against the wall by his door, arms crossed, watching me inch my way down the hall. The short walk felt like it took a century. When I finally reached him, I kept my head down, my voice barely a whisper. “Your ke—” Before I could finish, he produced another key as if by magic and unlocked the door. I stared. “You lied to me?” “Mhm,” he said, completely unapologetic. He held the door open, his dark eyes intense. “Coming in?” The suggestive undertone of his words made me flinch. I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, I’m good!” He didn’t push, just coughed into his fist, a soft, weak sound. He looked… sick. I stopped my retreat. “Are you not feeling well?” “A bit of a fever,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. He looked so vulnerable. On pure instinct, my heart ached for him. I reached out to feel his forehead. He took a sharp step back. “Just go home. Don’t worry about me.” His voice was cold, and he turned his head away, a picture of self-pity. That did it. I marched into his apartment, shutting the door behind me, and headed for the TV console. “Bro, your first-aid kit is in here somewhere, right?” I rummaged through the drawers, missing the slow, triumphant smile that spread across Timothy’s face as he watched me. He sank onto the sofa, loosening his tie. “No idea.” He sounded like a petulant child, and I assumed it was the fever talking. “Don’t be difficult,” I cooed, walking over to try and check his temperature again. The next thing I knew, he had grabbed my wrist. A gentle tug, and I stumbled, landing right in his lap. My mind went blank. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. His usually cool eyes were turbulent, dark with something I’d never seen before. His voice was a raw whisper. “Bad Autumn. Teasing me like a dog on a leash and then taking no responsibility…” His hot breath ghosted across my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The feeling was electric, a current that shot straight to my core. I bit my lip, flustered. “It was an accident, I can explain…” Timothy pulled back, leaning against the sofa cushions. But his eyes, intense and possessive, never left my face. “Mm,” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “I’ll listen patiently to my bad little Autumn’s explanation.” He drew the words out, the suggestive tone turning the air thick with unspoken things. This Timothy, this predator, was pushing all my buttons. God help me. I felt my resolve melting. Timothy was ridiculously well-proportioned. His long legs meant that on a normal-sized sofa, his knees were elevated. As my body went pliant, I started to slide down his thighs. When I didn’t say anything, a wicked glint appeared in his eyes. He bounced his leg slightly. “Cat got your tongue, my bad little Autumn?” The movement sent me sliding right onto his lap, my hands flying out to brace myself against his chest. The feel of his firm muscles under my palms made my head spin. I gave an involuntary squeeze. Timothy froze for a second, then let out a low, husky laugh. “You little devil.” That snapped me back to reality. I snatched my hands away, my ears burning. “The text this afternoon was a typo. I meant to call you bro…” “Mhm,” he nodded calmly. “And the second part?” Here we go. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I… forgot to type the word ‘cooking.’” Silence. The charged atmosphere began to dissipate. Seizing my chance, I pushed against his chest to get up, trying to change the subject. “Can you let me up? Your belt buckle is digging into me.” Timothy’s gaze darkened, becoming deeper than the night sky outside. “I’m not wearing a belt.” …Oh. Well. The atmosphere was officially back. I was so confused. Wasn’t he supposed to be the cold, aloof stepbrother who hated me? What was with this sudden change? He must have seen the conflict on my face. He lowered his gaze, the raw desire in his eyes softening into something that looked like disappointment. “So… you don’t feel that way about me?” He looked so dejected, all traces of the confident man who had just been seducing me gone. Damn it. This vulnerable act was just as irresistible. All I could think was, Sweet mother of… This time, it wasn’t just an expression. I was genuinely trying to summon the image of my mother to stop myself from doing something stupid. She had suffered for so long with my biological father before finding a man who adored her. I couldn’t ruin her happiness by making a mistake with Timothy. And I had worked so hard, for so long, to hide my feelings and play the part of the perfect sister. I couldn’t let one typo destroy everything. The thought was like a bucket of ice water. My spine straightened, my legs found their strength, and my brain cleared of the fog of lust. I shot to my feet and held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Stop! I don’t know why you’re suddenly acting this way, but we are brother and sister! We can’t do this!” Timothy stared at me. He gently took my wrist and guided my hand to his cheek, his eyes blazing with a desperate, wild light. “But I don’t want to be your brother!” “I feel—” It was strange. I had dreamt of this moment for years, fantasized about him finally returning my feelings. But now that it was happening, all I wanted to do was run. I couldn’t let our relationship reach a point of no return. I couldn’t tear this family apart. I cut him off, my voice sharp and cruel. “Actually, there was no typo in my message.” He froze, his eyes lighting up like a puppy waiting for a treat. Until I delivered the final blow. “I sent it to the wrong person.” He went rigid. His grip on my wrist slackened. I pulled my hand free. The movement was slight, but it made him stumble, his lips turning pale. I grabbed my bag from the sofa and rushed to the door. “I’m sorry about tonight,” I said, not looking back. “Please don’t say anything. I don’t want him to find out. He gets so jealous, and then I’m the one who has to calm him down.”

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I’d made Caleb angry. So angry that nothing I did could fix it. Even when I told him I was sick, he wasn’t worried like he used to be. After I got off the train, I called him. “Caleb? I’m in Seaport City for a heart check-up. Can you… can you take me to the hospital?” His voice was a razor’s edge. “Your heart condition was fixed years ago. Leo, stop playing the victim!” A dull ache bloomed in my chest. “It’s just a follow-up,” I whispered. He let out a cold laugh. “Fine. You wait there.” I curled up in a corner of the train station and waited. And waited. Until my heart gradually slowed to a stop. And Caleb… he never came. 01 Before I closed my eyes for the last time, I never imagined I would die so suddenly, so unceremoniously, in a train station waiting hall. All I felt then was a deep, pulling drowsiness. I’ll just rest for a little while, I thought. Just a little while, and then I would see Caleb. I pictured him standing over me, scolding me for not staying put at home, for running off to Seaport City to cause more trouble. I slowly closed my eyes, rehearsing my excuses for needing him to take me to the hospital. Because you were always the one who took me to my appointments. Because all the registration info is on your phone. Because if the doctors ask about my childhood surgery, you know the details better than I do. Yes, that was it. It had nothing to do with how much I missed you. Nothing at all. But when I opened my eyes again, I saw my own body, slumped in the corner of the loud, crowded waiting hall. My head was tilted against the wall, my eyelashes resting peacefully on my cheeks, perfectly still. As if I were just sleeping. Suddenly, my phone vibrated, slipping from my hand and clattering to the floor. I reached for it instinctively, but my hand passed right through it, grasping at nothing. I stared at my translucent fingertips. My mind, slow and thick, finally processed the truth. I was already dead. I had died quietly, invisibly, in the middle of a bustling train station. Died while waiting for Caleb to come and get me. The phone screen lit up, displaying a message Caleb had sent a minute ago. [Still waiting?] [Guess that proves you’re not sick at all.] [Leo, you lied again.] I didn’t lie. I said the words, but no sound came out. It was real. I wasn’t feeling well. I was born with a congenital heart defect, which was surgically corrected when I was six. But for the past three months, the dull ache in my chest had returned, along with occasional bouts of cyanosis—my lips and fingertips turning blue from lack of oxygen. If this had happened before… that incident, Caleb would have been frantic with worry. He would have rushed me to the hospital without a second thought. But he didn’t trust me anymore. He was convinced I was a manipulator, someone who would do anything to get what I wanted. Because I’d been frail my whole life, Caleb had become a surrogate parent by the time he was a teenager. He was mature, serious, and meticulously protective. He worried if I might get hurt, if I might catch a chill. He controlled the thermostat in my room, the layers of clothes I wore when I went out. A single cough, a slight frown from me, and he would be on high alert. I basked in his attention, his care. I was spoiled by it. I would cling to his side and declare petulantly, “I’m never getting married.” Then I’d wrap my arms around his waist, squeezing tight. “And you’re not allowed to get married either, Caleb. You have to stay with me forever!” He would just laugh and ruffle my hair, his voice soft. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But then, seeing my pout, he’d quickly relent. “Alright, alright. I’ll wait until after you’re married. How about that?” I wouldn’t say anything. I’d just tilt my head back and gaze at him, wishing that moment could last forever, but also secretly hoping for something to change. Something did change. Just not in the way I’d imagined. I should have looked at you longer then, I thought, staring at my own corpse. I never even got to see him one last time. People streamed past me, their suitcases rattling on the floor, but no one gave my body a second glance. A person sleeping in a waiting room was the most normal thing in the world. Just then, I saw a small hand reach down and pick up my phone. 02 It was the little girl who had been sitting next to me. While I was still conscious, we had chatted for a bit and exchanged nicknames. She called me “the pretty boy,” and I called her “cutie-pie.” Cutie-pie looked at the lit-up screen, seeming to read the messages. But at only five years old, she didn’t know many words. She frowned, then looked at me with her big, serious eyes for a long moment. Finally, she placed the phone back in my hand. “Pretty boy,” she whispered, as if not to wake me, “you dropped your phone. You should hold it tight.” When I didn’t respond, she scampered back to her mother’s arms. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed again. Caleb’s name flashed on the screen. [I’m at City General already.] [If you want to come, take a cab yourself.] But you told me to wait. Why aren’t you coming? A sudden thought struck me. Is Caleb the one who’s sick? The thought propelled me upwards. My spirit shot through the air, and in an instant, I was at City General Hospital. The first person I saw was Caleb. He was wearing a dark gray, bespoke suit, his back to me as he stood by a glass wall, talking on the phone. He looked as handsome and composed as ever, completely unshaken. I floated closer, planning to give him a little scare, when I heard him say, “The doctor is examining Finn now. It should be nothing serious, don’t worry.” Finn? What’s he doing here? The next second, the door to the examination room opened. Caleb hung up and walked over. “Are you okay?” he asked the person who came out. “Caleb, the doctor said I’m fine,” Finn said, grabbing Caleb’s hand and frowning. “But I still feel sick. Will you stay with me?” That drama queen. He’s faking it! I thought, so furious I could have screamed. I swooped forward to throttle him, but my hands passed straight through his neck. I was trapped between them as I saw Caleb’s lips curve into the faintest of smiles. “Of course,” he said, his voice gentle. Caleb was tall and built, with sharp features and intense, cold eyes. When he wasn’t speaking, he had an intimidating air about him. But whenever he smiled at me, I felt he was the kindest person in the world. He hadn’t smiled at me in a long time. “But,” Caleb’s gentle expression faded slightly. “Leo is coming over later. I need to be here for his heart check-up.” A flash of resentment crossed Finn’s face before he quickly masked it with a smile. “Caleb, you’re the best, kindest person I know. Leo isn’t even your real brother, and after how he lied to you, you’re still so good to him.” The mention of me seemed to trigger something in Caleb. His face darkened. “This is the last time,” he said. “If he ever pulls a stunt like this again, I’m done with him.” I hovered in the middle of the stark white corridor. A cold draft from the window passed right through me. Strange. Why does my heart still hurt? “It really is the last time,” I murmured to the empty air. “Caleb.” “I won’t bother you again…” Because I think I’m already dead. Finn, satisfied with Caleb’s answer, tugged his arm toward the exit. Before they reached the door, Caleb’s phone rang. I floated to his side as he answered. “Hello, Mr. Kane,” a voice on the other end said. “I was wondering, have you heard from Leo?” 03 “Leo is no longer my brother.” Recognizing the voice, Caleb’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “I hope you’ll stop using him as an excuse to contact my family.” The caller was my birth mother. Maybe it was the illness, or maybe it was the guilt, but she was silent for a moment before her voice came back, weak and choked with tears. “It was my fault. I never should have… switched Leo and Finn all those years ago. But Leo is innocent. Can’t you… can’t you treat him like you used to?” It was a cliché straight out of a soap opera. I was the wrong son, the cuckoo in the Kane family’s nest. I was born with a severe congenital heart defect. My birth mother, afraid I wouldn’t survive, had secretly swapped me with the Kanes’ newborn son. It wasn’t until she was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer that she confessed the truth. She had dragged Finn to the gates of the Kane estate, kneeling and sobbing. “I was wrong! And now I’m paying for it! I’m giving Finn back to you… please, just let me see Leo. He’s my real son!” But when she finally saw me, she’d said, “The Kanes paid for your treatment, so you didn’t lose out. You had twenty years of luxury. Now it’s Finn’s turn.” I wasn’t hurt. She was right, after all. The second night after Finn moved in, he came to my room, feigning reconciliation. He said he would beg our—his—parents to let me stay. Like a fool, I blushed and told him, “I want to stay too. But… not as Caleb’s brother anymore.” And so, I confessed to Caleb. I told him I was both heartbroken and relieved. I told him I’d known for years that what I felt for him was far more than brotherly affection. I told him I wanted to be with him forever. I watched him, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and hope. But his face was a mask of cold disappointment. “Hah,” he sneered. “Be with me forever? You mean you want to stay in the Kane family and live a life of comfort forever.” He pulled a small voice recorder from his pocket. My voice filled the air, speaking words I’d said to Finn the day before. But they were all wrong. It was my voice, but twisted into something ugly. “I have a way to stay. If I can get with Caleb, the Kanes will never kick me out. I was always so close to him on purpose. Now, it’s finally time to use him.” The wail of an ambulance siren outside the hospital doors ripped me from my memory. An ER doctor rushed past, accidentally bumping into Caleb. “Sorry,” the doctor said over his shoulder. “Got a cardiac arrest coming in, sorry for bumping you.” Caleb paused for a second, then shook his head, accepting the apology. He turned his attention back to the phone. “You want me to treat him like I used to? You mean watch him pretend to be innocent and pitiful while he uses me all over again?” A cruel laugh escaped his lips. “I guess cheap tricks run in the family. Otherwise, how could he even think of confessing to his own brother?” A nurse’s voice suddenly cut in from the background of the call. “Bed 3, if you don’t pay the hospital bill, we’re going to have to stop her medication…” Caleb heard it, and his voice became hard with certainty. “He didn’t come here for a check-up. He came to get money from me for you, didn’t he?” Without waiting for an answer, he hung up. He immediately opened his messages and started typing. [Leo, don’t bother coming.] [I’m not giving you a single cent.] I didn’t come for your money. I’ll never ask you for money again. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I took a step back. I wanted to put some distance between us. Because I could feel it. He truly, deeply disliked me. So much that he could only imagine me as the worst kind of person. “He’s not coming. Let’s go.” When he got no reply from me, Caleb stalked out of the building, fuming. As he got into the car, the ambulance screamed past them, pulling up to the entrance. A gurney, covered by a white sheet, was wheeled inside. Caleb saw it in the rearview mirror, frowned, and looked away. The Rolls-Royce began to move, but just as it reached the hospital gate, the driver stopped. Someone was knocking on the rear window. Caleb lowered it to see the same ER doctor who had bumped into him earlier. “Can I help you?” he asked. 04 “Excuse me, I think this might be yours?” The doctor held out a cufflink. Matte platinum framing a perfectly cut piece of black onyx. It was the birthday gift I had given Caleb last year. He recognized it instantly. “Yes, it is.” He took it. “Sorry about that,” the doctor said. “It must have caught on my coat when I bumped into you. It fell right into my pocket.” Caleb closed his fist around the cufflink, nodded his thanks, and raised the window. The car moved on. On the way, Finn chattered away, trying to make conversation. Caleb was mostly silent, offering only short, clipped replies. The hand holding the cufflink never opened. I sat on the far side of the back seat, looking past the babbling Finn at Caleb’s profile. I wondered if he was remembering his birthday last year. The cufflinks were from a famous independent designer, and they were absurdly expensive. I wanted to buy them with my own money, so for six months before his birthday, I had worked day and night, painting and selling every piece I could create. At the stroke of midnight, I snuck into his room. He was frowning over a financial report, but his face broke into a smile the moment he saw me. “Be serious. No smiling,” I commanded, standing before him. I ordered him to close his eyes. He obeyed, but the corners of his mouth were still turned up, refusing to be contained. The room was silent. I stared at his handsome face and felt my mind go blank. My ears roared with a sound I couldn’t place—his heartbeat, or mine. “Leo?” Caleb’s voice was soft. He must have gotten tired of waiting. Flustered, I thrust the velvet box into his hands. “You can open your eyes now.” He opened it, and his surprise was genuine and bright. “Help me put them on,” he said with a grin. I took one out, but my fingertips were trembling. I shoved the box and the cufflink back into his hands, mumbled, “Happy birthday,” and fled from the room. Back in my own bed, my mind replayed the scene over and over. One moment I was sure I hadn’t hidden my feelings well enough, the next I was convinced I’d acted like a clumsy child. A soft knock came at my door. Caleb came in, pulled me out from under the covers, and said fondly, “What are you running for?” I looked up at him, wanting to say, You have no idea, but the words wouldn’t come. He handed me a large gift box. Inside was a custom set of paints I had wanted for ages, along with a vintage paintbrush. Either one was worth far more than the cufflinks. Outside, the spring night air of Seaport City drifted in, carrying the rich, heady scent of magnolia blossoms. It was so thick it felt like it was smothering me. “Do you like it?” Caleb asked, playfully messing up my hair. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. His gaze was so pure, so unguarded. “I love it,” I whispered. The Rolls-Royce pulled into the Kane estate, driving down the long, tree-lined lane to the main house. Mom was waiting at the door. “How is he? Is Finn alright?” she asked, her face etched with worry. Caleb assured her he was fine. Finn put on his act again, clinging to Mom and complaining that he still felt awful. She offered a few awkward words of comfort before sending him off to rest. But Mom’s worried expression didn’t fade. “Mom, is something wrong?” Caleb asked. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I know Finn is fine, but… my heart is racing. I have this terrible feeling.” “Do you think… do you think something’s happened to Leo? The place he’s staying now… it might be cold. That’s not good for his heart. Caleb, please, will you go and bring him home?”

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The moment I found my boyfriend’s private account, he had just posted a new thread: What are some good cities for a couple’s getaway? As a joke, I anonymously recommended a historic town upstate that I’d always wanted to visit but had never gotten the chance. Ten minutes later, he replied to my comment. “Thanks, but my little girl and I already went there for the midsummer festival this year.” “She didn’t like it.” 1 My finger froze over the screen. I clicked again on the profile picture—a jumble of random numbers and code—and scrolled through his feed. There weren’t many posts, but every single one was undeniable proof that this was my boyfriend, Bob. The custom watch I’d given him. The unique hydroponic plant on his office desk. My own hand, wearing our anniversary ring, from a photo taken on our fifth year together… I took a steadying breath and reread his reply. My little girl. I was two years older than Bob. He had never, not once, called me his little girl. And the midsummer festival… This year, during the festival, he and his team were on a business trip. He’d been so busy he hadn’t even called. I calmly messaged my assistant, asking her to pull the list of everyone from the tech department who went on that trip. Three minutes later, I had my answer. Chloe. The only female intern on the list. A “little girl” who had just graduated from college a year ago. Of course, it was her. My mind flashed back to last night, when I’d brought up taking a vacation next week to unwind. The massive project he was leading was finally wrapping up, and the coming week was supposed to be his first real break. But before I could even finish my sentence, he’d looked up from his computer screen and said flatly, “I have another business trip next week. No time.” “If you want to go, just go with your friends.” In six years together, it was the first time he had ever refused to take a vacation with me. Ever since we started working at the same company, we had always synced our annual leave. And until I found his private account, until I saw that post, I had clung to a sliver of hope that he was just planning a surprise for me. “Director Hayes, VP Barry submitted his vacation request three days ago,” a colleague from HR informed me. “Also on leave next week are the VP of Operations, someone from Legal, and… Chloe, the intern from the tech department. She’s taking a week of sick leave.” A bitter, silent laugh escaped my lips. Whenever Chloe’s name came up, people would pause, their voices trailing off. The day she started, rumors that she was the niece of a board member at corporate headquarters had spread like wildfire. Everyone treated her like a princess just there to pad her resume. Only Bob had put on a show of impartiality when he mentioned her to me. “She’s just an intern. They’re all the same in my eyes.” But over the past year, the “special treatment” he gave her had become painfully obvious. He’d worn the red string bracelet she gave him behind the custom watch I’d gifted him, claiming she’d gotten it blessed at a monastery and it was just for good luck. He’d placed the stuffed animal she gave him in the most prominent spot on his desk, insisting that everyone in the department got one and he didn’t want to be accused of singling her out. He forgot our six-year anniversary for the first time, yet he remembered that the next day marked Chloe’s 100th day at the company and had already booked a table at her favorite restaurant. And every time I questioned him about these things, he would dismiss it as me being paranoid. “Given who she is, it’s only natural for me to look out for her a little more.” “It’s just office politics, Claire. You’re a director, you should understand how this game is played.” It was because I understood all too well that I had let it slide, again and again. Until today, when I saw this post—this irrefutable proof. If before I had only sensed his heart slowly drifting away, now, I knew it was time to make a clean break. I sat in my office, numb, for the rest of the afternoon, then went home to wait for Bob to finish his overtime. “I saw your leave request at HR,” I said, lounging on the chaise. I heard his footsteps halt just inside the door. “You were investigating me? That’s my private information.” His voice was laced with anger. “Is it?” I said without looking up. “Does your ‘private information’ also include your little girl?” 2 In the six years we’d been together, I had rarely used such a tone with him. I remember when he first joined the company. I was already a team lead, having built a reputation for being efficient, decisive, and for keeping my professional and private lives strictly separate. Back then, he would hold me and laugh, saying that everyone else only saw my tough exterior, but only he knew my softer, more passionate side. From college until now, I had given him so much of that softness. So much that, eventually, he started to take it for granted. Since he no longer valued it, I no longer needed to offer it. “What’s the matter? You have the guts to do it, but not to admit it?” I stood up, facing the man I had loved for six years. The air grew thick with tension. Bob turned his face away, refusing to meet my eyes. “Next month, there’s a chance I could be transferred to the corporate headquarters overseas.” After a long silence, he finally spoke. I raised an eyebrow, setting my water glass down. “And what does that have to do with you cheating?” Bob’s brow furrowed in annoyance, clearly displeased with my choice of words. “What does it have to do with it? Claire, this is a special promotion, a once-in-three-years opportunity. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve put in just to get on Chloe’s good side?” He sighed, his voice taking on a martyred tone. “Can’t you be more understanding for once? Can’t you see how tired I am?” What a magnificent, self-serving excuse. He wanted to use Chloe and her board-member uncle as his personal rocket to the top, but he also didn’t want the stain of being a cheater. So he was still trying to argue his way out of it. “In that case, you should go straight to your ‘little girl’ and ride your coattails to success,” I said with a faint smile. “Bob, I wish you all the best.” “Claire, you—!” His face flushed with humiliation, but as his eyes met my unflappable expression, he faltered. There wasn’t a single trace of sadness on my face. Just the calm, detached air of someone tossing out a bag of trash. I knew exactly what he was thinking. My indifference was bruising his ego. “Do you really not know why I’ve been trying so hard to get close to her?” he finally spat out, trying to regain control. “I can put up with it for the sake of our future, but you’re getting hung up on every little thing.” “Claire, you’re just too controlling,” he said, his eyes scanning me critically. “It was just a private account, a few lines I wrote to play the part. Is that really worth interrogating me like this?” He was desperately trying to save face, to provoke a reaction from me. Every word was designed to paint me as the suspicious, unsupportive partner, while he was the one making noble sacrifices. Too bad for him, that act didn’t work on me. The word “understanding” was not in my vocabulary. “Controlling,” however, suited me just fine. “You’re right, I am controlling,” I said. “Controlling enough that I can no longer tolerate my cheating ex-boyfriend standing in the house I paid for in full.” “Bob, get out. The moving company I called will be here soon. You’re welcome.” And so, against the backdrop of the wind howling outside and Bob’s furious curses, my apartment was finally quiet again by three in the morning. To avoid office gossip, Bob had never made our relationship public. I’d understood his reservations at the time, but looking back, it was clear he had never considered me his only option. Sure enough, three days after I unilaterally ended things, Bob and Chloe started appearing together everywhere, making no effort to hide their new relationship. It was like a declaration of war. Then, right on schedule, a box of candy appeared on my desk—the brand Bob always ordered for me. I have severe hypoglycemia and tend to get dizzy when I overwork myself. It used to worry him sick, so every month, he would have a box of my favorite candy delivered directly to my office. I looked at this ghost of our dead relationship, sighed, and was about to put it away when Chloe pushed my door open and walked in. “Director Hayes, sorry, but it looks like a delivery was sent to the wrong person.” She sauntered in, her eyes glinting with triumph. “Those are the announcement gifts Bob is giving out to our colleagues. Can I have them back?” 3 In all my years, I’d never heard of an “announcement gift.” The way she was acting, you’d think they were getting married tomorrow and were rushing to hand out wedding favors. It was so brazen it was almost comical. “I see. Well, go ahead and take them,” I said with a flick of my chin toward the box, then turned back to my computer. She froze, clearly taken aback that her provocation had completely failed to land. “I know you’re Bob’s ‘ex-girlfriend,’” she said, putting heavy emphasis on the last word. “But he’s mine now. So, Director Hayes, please learn to keep your distance. Don’t try to take what isn’t yours.” So young, I thought to myself, a wry smile playing on my lips. “Miss Shen, are you aware that when he asked you out, he was still in a relationship with me?” Chloe’s face went pale. So, she knew. Of course, she knew. “And you think,” I continued, my voice level, “that I would actually fight you for a man who cheats on his girlfriend and then has the audacity to beg for a gift back to use as an ‘announcement present’ with his new flame?” I shook my head slowly. “A man like that is beneath me.” Her expression turned ugly. She opened her mouth to say something else, but I cut her off. “And frankly, Miss Shen, so are you. Barging into a director’s office without knocking shows a profound lack of professionalism and basic manners.” “How did someone like you even get hired here? Tina,” I called to my assistant, “please show her out.” I think Chloe was crying as she ran out of my office. I didn’t particularly care. I had more important things to deal with. Later, Sarah, the general manager of the tech department and a personal friend, came to see me. She brought up the overseas promotion, her voice hesitant. The tech department had two Vice Presidents: Bob and a woman named Diane, who was equally qualified and also eager for the transfer to headquarters. “I thought it would be a fair competition between them,” Sarah said, “but now with Bob being so public with Chloe, he must have everything locked down. It’s disgusting watching him get his way like this.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “Claire, I know tech talent is a priority, but you’ve been here for seven years. Based on seniority alone…” Sarah knew about Bob and me, and she knew the advantage Chloe gave him. Her words were a mix of concern and indignation on my behalf. “It’s fine. I trust that headquarters will make a fair decision,” I said calmly, flipping through a file. “Besides, I’m not in the running for that position, so there’s no conflict.” We chatted for a few more minutes before I dove back into my work. A little later, I happened to see Bob’s new post on my social feed. A picture of the entire tech department, each person holding a gift, celebrating his new relationship. Most of the comments were congratulatory, people being polite after receiving a gift, but I could only imagine what they were really thinking. A flood of messages came in from friends who knew the real story, all asking what had happened. I gave them a brief rundown, and just before leaving for the day, I called my assistant in to book a flight for me. The words had barely left my mouth when, just like Chloe, Bob threw my door open without knocking. “Why are you booking a flight there? Are you trying to go to headquarters too?” He stood there, aggressive and greedy, a bitter glint in his eyes. He looked nothing like the earnest, handsome young man who had pursued me all those years ago. “You’re not actually thinking of competing for the promotion, are you?” His gaze turned pitying. “Claire, headquarters just promoted your predecessor last year. There’s no way they’d choose you again this year.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You embarrassed Chloe today, and now she’s throwing a fit, saying she needs to ‘reconsider’ who gets her uncle’s support. Just play along with this, Claire. As soon as I get the transfer, I’ll dump her. Don’t you want to work at headquarters? Once I’m in, I can pull some strings and get you in, too. It’ll be easy.” He paused, a look of magnanimous compromise on his face. “Just bear with it a little longer. For me.” 4 He looked so self-satisfied, as if he were bestowing upon me some great act of charity. I felt like I was watching a monkey perform at a circus. It was utterly baffling. Bring me in? The moment his plane touched down overseas, I’d be getting a breakup text. I had no doubt about that. “Next time, install a new keycard lock on my door. I’m tired of uninvited people barging in,” I instructed my assistant before finally turning my gaze to Bob. “Bear with it?” I repeated. “VP Barry, are you suggesting I should stay here and ‘bear with it’ so I have a front-row seat to your cheating scandal? Or perhaps so I can broadcast it to the entire company?” “I told you, I’m not cheating!” I noticed that whenever I used the word “cheat,” he would have an outsized reaction. If he had just been honest and admitted he was dumping me to climb the corporate ladder, I might have respected his candor. But this—this was just pathetic. “Not cheating? You and Chloe have booked hotel rooms dozens of times in the past six months, and just last week you were looking at villas to live in together overseas.” I smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “Bob, did you really think you could fool me?” The color drained from his face. He had no idea I’d dug that deep. “Fine, Claire. If this is how you want to end our relationship, then there’s nothing more to say.” His tone suddenly shifted, becoming threatening. “I admit, I approached Chloe with a goal in mind. But after getting to know her, I’ve realized she’s so much better than you.” He puffed out his chest, a final, swaggering display of power. “You’re just pushing me to make our act a reality. And you… the next time you come to headquarters, you’ll be the one knocking on my door.” “You’re going to regret this.” I watched him walk away and simply laughed. After the holidays, headquarters sent formal invitations to both Vice Presidents, Bob and Diane, to attend a farewell banquet for the outgoing Director of Technology. Everyone knew it was more than just a farewell party; by the end of the night, the successor would be unofficially crowned. When I entered the venue, Bob was on Chloe’s arm, gliding through the room, schmoozing with executives, a confident smile on his face. The other candidate, Diane, stood off to the side, looking isolated and alone. “Claire? What are you doing here?” Bob finally spotted me, his hand tightening around his wine glass. I ignored his question, exchanging pleasantries with a few senior managers. Just days before, right before his flight, he’d sent me a text message. It was a long, patronizing farewell, saying he was off to a new life overseas and that I should learn to let go. He really thought I’d booked my flight just for show. Chloe’s expression soured when she saw me, but she whispered something to Bob, and soon the confident smirk returned to his face. The banquet began. My position as a director was higher than his, so my seat was naturally closer to the head of the table. After a few rounds of drinks, the outgoing director finally raised the topic on everyone’s mind. “So, have we decided on the new transfer from the branch office? Will they be my replacement, or are we promoting internally and bringing someone up from another department?” Bob froze, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. A strange, unsettling feeling began to creep over him. Could it be? Is Claire actually here to compete with me? He sat up straighter, his posture rigid with tension. Just then, the General Manager, seated next to me, spoke up. “Of course, we’re prioritizing talent from the tech department. We have two excellent candidates this year.” The GM smiled warmly in my direction. “Besides, our chairman’s own daughter has been overseeing the domestic branch. She’s been there long enough to have a sharp eye for talent, and she’s the one who recommended this year’s candidates.” He then turned directly to me. “So, Claire. Have you chosen a worthy successor for your father?” There was a sudden, sharp CRASH from Bob’s direction as his wine glass slipped from his hand. He had it all wrong. I wasn’t there to compete with him. I was there to decide his fate. Smiling, I nodded at the GM. “I have. And my father has already reviewed my choice. He approves.”

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After my arranged-marriage husband went blind, I started walking around the house in my lingerie. Sometimes, nothing at all. He would just sit there on the sofa, a picture of calm silence. But the tips of his ears would always turn pink, and sometimes, he’d get a random nosebleed. Then one day, I heard his thoughts. 【Should I tell my wife I can actually see again?】 【God, her waist looks so damn soft.】 【I wonder what it would feel like to hold…】 【Her legs are so long.】 【I wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around my shoulders…】 “Stop it!” I lunged forward and clamped my hand over his mouth. 1 I stumbled home from the club, exhausted in body and soul. My father was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed, with a serene smile on his face. “I have some wonderful news.” “What?” “The company’s bankrupt.” I stared at him. “…Dad, has the grief driven you insane?” “Don’t be silly. I’m saying it’s a blessing in disguise.” “What kind of blessing?” I had a very bad feeling about this. “The Thorne family wants to arrange a marriage.” The Thornes? They only had one son. Adrian Thorne. But he’d been in a car accident a few months ago. He was blind. I was supposed to marry a blind man? No way. I wasn’t done living my life yet. “So you’re selling your daughter?” I looked at him like he was the enemy. “Dad, I’m a mess. I cheat, I’m fickle, I’ll bring shame to their family and they’ll break my legs. Besides, Adrian Thorne is blind—” “How dare you speak about your future husband that way?” my father roared. Three days later, I was practically shoved into the wedding car. At the ceremony, the officiant asked, “Mr. Adrian Thorne, do you take Miss Gigi Carter to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The man before me was devastatingly handsome, with deep-set eyes and a cool, distant air. The perfectly tailored black suit made him look like a star from a classic movie. “I do,” he said, his voice flat and cold. Ugh. Jerk. Ice block. You’ll never have me! Who cares if you’re handsome? The officiant turned to me. “And do you, Miss Gigi Carter, take Mr. Adrian Thorne to be your lawfully wedded husband?” “I DO NOT!” I screamed. “I DON’T, I DON’T, I—mmph!” A bodyguard standing behind me clamped a hand over my mouth. The officiant didn’t miss a beat, maintaining his professional smile. “Excellent. It seems the couple is in perfect agreement.” 2 That night, I was tossed onto the wedding bed, still trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I’d cursed my father until my throat was raw, and I was just starting to drift off when the door creaked open. The sound of expensive leather shoes on the hardwood floor echoed in the silent room, each step a sharp tap against my eardrums. I was instantly awake. “Help! I’ve been sold against my will! Somebody help me!” “Gigi.” The man calmly adjusted his cuffs. His voice was like a cold winter rain, sending a shiver down my spine. “What do you want?” I watched, wide-eyed, as he moved closer. Help! Isn’t he supposed to be blind? Why is he walking so steadily? Where’s his cane? “Adrian! Please, let me go! You don’t like me, I don’t like you! It’s perfect! I can set you up with my best friend! She’s gorgeous and sweet, seriously!” I was practically begging. His face was now only inches from mine, his features radiating a cool indifference. His dark eyes, though supposedly unseeing, felt intensely focused, filled with a dangerous pressure. “But we’re already married,” he stated simply. He straightened up, reaching out as if to pat my head. I flinched away. “So what? We can get a divorce!” “But your father’s company needs the capital.” I froze. Right. If I went back now, the house, the cars—everything would be gone. I’d be in debt for the rest of my life. A shudder ran through me. My expression changed in an instant. “Oh! I was just kidding! Of course I’m happy to marry you! I mean… you’re so—” Rich. The word echoed silently in my head. Fine. Whatever. It was just a marriage. A husband I didn’t have to do anything for. Once my dad’s company was back on its feet, I could just leave. It was a perfect plan. I stopped struggling and flashed Adrian a brilliant smile. “Well then… hubby.” His entire body went rigid. “Don’t… call me that.” “Oh?” I leaned into it. “Hubby, hubby, hubby!” Then an idea struck me. “Since this is just a business arrangement, we need some ground rules. Rule number one: you can’t touch me. I get the bed, you get the couch!” “We have guest rooms,” Adrian said, rubbing his temples with a hint of weariness. “Then you sleep in a guest room!” 3 I woke up the next morning to find Adrian already gone, presumably to the office. So dedicated, even though he’s blind. How does he even work? As I was pondering this, I realized I was hot. The thermostat read 102 degrees. I searched everywhere for the remote. Where was it? “Hey Siri! Turn on the A/C!” Silence. “Alexa! Turn on the A/C!” Still nothing. Furious, I tore off all my clothes in a fit of frustration and flopped onto the sofa, falling back asleep. I was dead to the world when the front door suddenly opened. The familiar footsteps approached. I jolted awake. “Wait! Don’t turn on the lights! I’m not wearing anything!” All I had on was my underwear. Too late. Click. The lights flashed on. Adrian stood in the doorway, his gaze unfocused. Oh, right. I forgot. He can’t see. Heh. Relaxed, I sank back onto the couch. “You’re back. Good, hurry up and make dinner. I’m starving.” “You haven’t eaten all day?” For some reason, Adrian seemed… uncomfortable. His eyes darted away from me. He can’t see, and he’s still this shy? I decided to tease him. I padded barefoot across the floor and stood right in front of him, my body almost brushing against his. “Hubby, do you think I’m beautiful?” I took his hand and placed it on my waist. Adrian’s pupils constricted. A dark blush crept up his neck and flooded his face. “Beau… beautiful,” he stammered, turning his head away. “Tch. What’s the point? You can’t even see,” I said, disappointed, and turned to leave. Adrian’s confused voice followed me. “Can’t see? Who told you I can’t—” He stopped himself. “Right. The car accident. I’m blind.” “Well, you should get that fixed,” I called over my shoulder as I headed upstairs for a shower. After my shower, I was about to put on a robe, but then I remembered: no security cameras, and a husband who couldn’t see. Why bother? Sleeping naked was just too comfortable. Oh! Right! I pattered back downstairs and found Adrian sitting on the sofa. “Turn on the AC, I can’t figure it out. I’m dying of heat.” No reply. I looked down and saw him sitting there, perfectly still, the tips of his ears bright red. His head was bowed, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Did you hear me?” I reached out to grab his collar. Suddenly, a trickle of dark red blood dripped from his nose. ? 【Should I tell my wife I can actually see again?】 Wait. Who was that? Adrian? What did he just say? No, his lips didn’t move. I frowned, confused. 【But God, her waist looks so damn soft.】 【I wonder what it would feel like to hold…】 ? Am I hearing Adrian’s thoughts? 【Her legs are so long.】 【I wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around my shoulders…】

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Everyone said Caleb Hayes was crazy about me. For years, we were the kind of love story that burns down buildings. He was the proudest man I knew, and I was the only one who ever saw him laugh until he cried, the only one for whom he would have broken every bone in his body. But in our seventh year, he met her. The one he said he was “truly meant for.” One spectacular fight, and we were over. Five years later, on the third day after his return to the States, he smashed my food truck to pieces in a public square, all to defend his new girl’s honor. I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. I slapped her three times, hard enough to leave a mark. We both ended up at the precinct. I refused to reconcile. They locked me up. He posted bail that same day, paid her fine, and walked out with his arm around her. Three days later, an officer told me they needed to call a family member to come get me. “Don’t have any,” I said, my voice flat. “They’re all dead.” As if on cue, Caleb showed up with a crowd of his friends, all of them ready to enjoy the show. I grabbed the nearest heavy object—a fire extinguisher—and swung. That little stunt bought me a few more days in a cell. Later, a female cop looked at me, genuinely confused. “What’s with the temper?” I just stared back in silence. There was no point in explaining. When you’re already dying, you stop giving a damn about being polite. Besides, his brother was the one who killed my father. Another swing of that fire extinguisher would have been getting off easy. 1 It was three in the morning. The last of the late-night crowd had drifted away from the food truck, and I was shutting down the grill. A girl with bleached-blonde hair appeared out of the darkness, leaning over the counter to look at the menu. Trailing behind her was Leo, Caleb’s best friend. His eyes met mine, and he froze. “Jenna, maybe we should try somewhere else?” Leo whispered, his voice tight. Jenna just shook her head, her smile relentlessly cheerful. “At three a.m.? Where else are we going to go? Besides,” she said, her gaze flicking to me, “this place looks… authentic. And clean!” She finally looked me in the eye. “We’ll take one of everything. And go easy on the spice—my boyfriend can’t handle too much heat.” I mumbled an okay from behind my mask, my hand trembling slightly as I stoked the coals. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t nerves. It was the body’s primal reaction to seeing a predator. “Leo, can you grab me a soda?” she chirped. “Caleb will be here any minute. We should have something to toast with, a little celebration for being back home.” Leo’s face was a stone mask. He didn’t answer. He knew perfectly well that as long as I was standing here, Caleb wouldn’t be celebrating anything. Jenna didn’t seem to notice. She unlocked her phone, the screen lighting up with a photo of two clasped hands. Caleb’s left hand was unmistakable. The missing half of his pinky finger was a stark, white scar against her skin. I was the one who did that, years ago, with a knife. Of course, he’d paid me back in full. The thin, silvery scar above my eyebrow was a permanent reminder of his shove, of my head meeting the corner of a marble coffee table. As if worried I might not be paying enough attention, Jenna switched her phone to speaker, her voice sickly sweet as she left a message. “Caleb, we’re at this little barbecue truck waiting for you! Hurry up, baby. I just sent you the location.” Five years, and she hadn’t developed a single new trick. Pathetic, that she thought this little performance would get under my skin. I sprinkled chili flakes over a skewer of lamb. My hand twitched. A little extra fell on. Might as well add some more. “Caleb! Over here!” Jenna suddenly shot to her feet, waving wildly at a figure emerging from the distant shadows. She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Through the haze of grill smoke, Caleb’s eyes found mine. For a split second, he looked stunned. Jenna felt him stiffen and started to turn, but he caught her chin, tilting her head up and crushing his mouth to hers in a brutal, performative kiss. I looked away, squeezing another line of hot sauce onto a row of corn. The smoke billowed, thick and acrid, stinging my eyes. Leo shuffled up to the counter, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed to speak. “Sadie… please,” he stammered. “Don’t make this harder. They’ve been through so much to get here. It wasn’t easy, I…” His words were lost in a fit of coughing as the smoke washed over him. I ignored him, focusing on the fire. The heat was choking me, but it was a familiar burn. It kept me sharp. Just then, a voice I hadn’t heard in five years cut through the night. A voice I still heard in my nightmares. “Leave it on the grill longer,” Caleb said, not looking at me. “My girlfriend likes her food tender.” 2 Leo held his breath, watching me. I simply plated the skewers and set them on the counter. “Enjoy.” Jenna rested her chin in her hands, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Caleb. “Try it, baby. Does it taste like you remember?” Suddenly, the metal stool next to their table was yanked back. Two beefy guys, shirtless and draped in gold chains, sat down heavily. “Hey! Get us some ribs,” one of them barked. They cracked open a case of beer they’d brought with them and started chugging, tossing a handful of crumpled bills onto my counter. “Extra spicy,” the other one slurred. “If it ain’t got a kick, we ain’t paying.” A few minutes and several beers later, they were wasted, catcalling me from their table. “Hey, beautiful! How about some extra sausage? A guy’s gotta keep his strength up for later, you know?” While their table grew louder, Caleb’s was unnervingly silent. Leo tried to get up and leave several times, but Caleb held him in place with a look. His eyes followed my every move, a detached curiosity in his gaze. He was probably wondering what sequence of failures had led me from a penthouse apartment to a grimy food truck on a Tuesday night. I didn’t care. A customer was a customer. And God, I needed the money. One of the drunks told a filthy joke, and his table roared with laughter. Jenna, however, was not amused. She could have just left. Instead, she stood up, walked over, and poured her entire beer over the bald head of the guy with the neck tattoo. The sound of the plastic cup hitting his skull was a dull thud. Beer and foam dripped down his face. He exploded, slamming the table and lunging to his feet. Caleb instantly jumped up, pulling Jenna behind him. He yanked his wallet out, throwing a thick wad of cash onto their table. “That’s for the trouble. Now go find somewhere else to drink.” I let out a cold laugh. If they left, my money left with them. In a flash, I snatched the cash from the table. Then I grabbed a half-full bottle of water and dumped it squarely over Jenna’s head. “Ah! You… you bitch!” she shrieked. Maybe that trip abroad had damaged her memory. She should have known better than to call me that. I fisted the money in one hand and grabbed the front of her designer blouse with the other, stuffing the wet bills down her shirt. For good measure, I slapped her. Hard. “Keep that mouth of yours clean,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Or I’ll be happy to sew it shut for you.” The world went silent, the only sound the crackle of the embers on the grill. “Sadie, are you insane…” Caleb started. I spun around and slapped him, too. He touched his lip, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “You can hit me. But hitting my fiancée? That’s crossing a line. Jenna, baby, what do you say? How should we make her pay?” Jenna clutched her cheek, fat tears welling in her eyes. Caleb’s gaze swept over my small setup. “This is a nice little truck you’ve got here. How about we smash it up for you, Jenna? Would that make you feel better?” Before I could react, he went berserk, grabbing racks of food and hurling them to the ground, kicking over tables and chairs, sending my entire livelihood crashing onto the greasy pavement. The two drunks stared, mouths agape, looking from me to the enraged man demolishing my life. They scrambled away into the night. I stared at the wreckage. Something inside me finally snapped. I launched myself at Jenna, grabbing a fistful of her bleached hair and pulling. It took both Caleb and Leo to drag me off her. In the end, all four of us ended up at the precinct. As the cops put me in the car, I looked at the ruin of my truck. That was at least a thousand dollars in damages. Enough to cover a week of my chemo. This was literally killing me.

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After the ninety-ninth proposal, Liam finally agreed to marry me. I spent all morning on my hair and makeup, choosing a simple white dress that felt both hopeful and appropriate for the City Clerk’s office. I sat on a cold stone bench across from the grand, columned entrance from nine a.m. until the sun began to dip, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple. Then, my phone buzzed with a text from him. “Getting a license for Daisy’s dog. We’ll have to reschedule.” A moment later, a new post from Daisy popped up on my Instagram feed. A picture of her chihuahua, held in Liam’s arms, both of them beaming. The caption read: “Someone still comes running the second I call. Makes you wonder… if I called out on his wedding day, would he leave her at the altar for me? ” Beneath it, a single comment from Liam’s account appeared. “I would.” I stared at that two-word death sentence for a long time, the ambient noise of the city fading to a dull hum. And then, a strange sense of calm washed over me. It was over. The fight had gone out of me, leaving behind a hollow sort of peace. I scrolled through my contacts, found a number I’d saved but never planned to use, and dialed. “You wanted an alliance between our families, right? The City Clerk’s office closes in thirty minutes.” 1. “Are you serious?” The man on the other end of the line sounded so genuinely shocked that he stumbled over his words. “You… you mean it?” “Yes or no?” “Yes! Yes, absolutely. Don’t move. I’m on my way.” Caleb Sterling hung up so fast it was as if he was afraid I’d vanish if he stayed on the line a second longer. Less than twenty minutes later, a black Maybach screeched to a halt at the curb in front of me. The driver’s door flew open and Caleb emerged, looking nothing like the perpetually relaxed, borderline-lazy heir I’d always known him to be. It was the first time I’d ever seen him in a suit. It fit him perfectly. When I didn’t move, he leaned in close, his handsome face a mask of playful menace. “Ava Sinclair, you better not be yanking my chain. You back out now, and all bets are off…” “I’m not backing out,” I said, rising. “Let’s go.” Once we had the marriage certificate in hand, he treated it like a sacred artifact, carefully tucking it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Watching him, you’d think he was genuinely in love with me, not just with the strategic advantage our union would give his family’s business empire. As we parted ways on the steps of the courthouse, Caleb gave me a jaunty tip of his chin. “I’ll see you in a week. To pick up my bride.” I nodded. I’d just walked through the front door of my family’s estate when Liam came in behind me. He shot me a single, unreadable glance before hurrying past me into the house. He moved like a man escaping a fire. In the grand living room, my parents were sitting with a few of my uncles, all close family friends. My mother’s face lit up when she saw me, and she beckoned me over with a smile. “Darling, do you have the certificate? We asked Liam, but he said he didn’t have it.” My eyes instinctively flickered toward Liam. One of my uncles chuckled. “Well, of course she has it. Everyone knows our Ava has been desperate to lock Liam down since they were kids. She’ll guard that piece of paper with her life.” At his words, a shadow passed over Liam’s face. He stared directly at me, his eyes filled with a familiar, weary disgust and a clear warning. It was a look I knew well—a silent command to smooth things over, to explain, to manage everyone’s expectations so he wouldn’t have to. For a split second, I almost did it. The old habit was strong. But then, as the words formed on my tongue, they dissolved. Why should I? We were nothing to each other now. Let him feel the burn of uncertainty for once. Let him wait. I clutched my handbag a little tighter and smiled. “Yes, it’s with me. But you can’t see it just yet.” I let the statement hang in the air before adding, “Oh, and we set a date for the wedding. It’s one week from today.” With that, I excused myself and went upstairs, leaving a fresh wave of good-natured teasing in my wake, all of it centered on how deeply I must love Liam. They weren’t wrong about the history. Liam came to live with us when he was ten years old. We grew up like siblings, then something more—at least for me. He was the classic boy from the wrong side of the tracks, taken in by my father, and I fell for him. But he never saw it that way. He saw my affection as a gilded cage, an insult to his pride. He hated the special treatment he received because of me, the whispers that he was the Sinclair family’s charity case. All his patience, all his kindness, he saved for another girl. No matter how devoted I was, how many times I humbled myself to propose, he met it with disdain. He had no idea how many lucrative alliances my family, the Sinclairs, had to politely refuse because I insisted I would marry no one but him. He didn’t know about the quiet snubs, the closed doors, the business deals that mysteriously fell through. In our world, if you aren’t at the very top, rejection is a sign of weakness. Isolation is an invitation for predators. My love for him had become a liability my family could no longer afford. But now, they wouldn’t have to. And I didn’t need him anymore. As I was about to close my bedroom door, a figure pushed past me into the room. “Ava. We need to talk.” 2 Liam shut the door behind him, his face tight with anger. “We didn’t get a license! Why would you lie to them? And how dare you set a wedding date without talking to me.” I looked at his clenched fists and offered a placid smile. “Who says the wedding is with you?” His brow furrowed in irritation. “I don’t have time for your games. Just go back down there and clear this up. Don’t let it turn into a bigger mess than it already is.” I swallowed the familiar bitterness and walked to the window, looking out over the manicured lawns. “Don’t worry, Liam. There won’t be a mess. In fact, it’s a win-win for everyone. You’ll be… free.” His frown deepened. “What is that supposed to mean?” I sighed, about to tell him everything, when the door burst open with a bang. A tiny chihuahua shot into the room and immediately began nipping and tearing at my ankle. Daisy rushed in after it, scooping the dog into her arms with a frantic apology. “Oh my God, Ava, I’m so, so sorry! It was an accident! Please don’t be mad at Tinkerbell!” The puppy was so small its bites felt more like playful nibbles. Hardly a reason for Daisy’s theatrical panic. I looked at her, confused. She was the daughter of our head housekeeper, a girl who was all smiles and sunshine to everyone else, but who always adopted a posture of meek fragility around me. It was a performance that always made Liam think I was secretly bullying her. Seeing Daisy’s eyes well up with tears, Liam’s face softened with protective concern. “It’s okay, Daisy, don’t worry. He barely even nipped her. Nothing happened.” Then his gaze shifted to me, his eyes as cold and hard as river stones. “It’s just a dog, Ava. Do you have to make a big deal out of everything?” A humorless laugh escaped my lips. I hadn’t said a single word, yet I was already the villain. Before I could respond, a voice called up from the foyer. Someone had arrived with wedding gifts. Downstairs, Liam’s face grew even darker as he saw the mountain of lavishly wrapped boxes. Daisy’s eyes, however, widened with naked greed. She immediately reached into an open crate and pulled out a framed sketch. “Wow! Ava, did Liam get all of this for you?” I frowned. How could Liam possibly afford any of this? He was a boy my family had sponsored, nothing more. I was about to correct her when Liam grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside, his voice a furious whisper. “Do you have to humiliate me like this? I don’t need you to buy me a reputation! I’m telling you right now, I am not marrying you. End this ridiculous charade.” So that’s what he thought. “You’re mistaken,” I began. “These are from Cale—” “Ah! Tinkerbell, no! You can’t chew on that!” Daisy’s shriek cut me off. I turned to see the sketch on the floor, torn into several pieces by the dog. A genuine surge of anger shot through me. Forget the value for a moment; this was a gift for my wedding. “Daisy,” I said, my voice sharp. “Do you have any idea what that was? Are you really incapable of controlling a three-month-old puppy, or was this deliberate?” At my tone, tears began streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, Ava, I’m so, so sorry.” I stepped forward to pick up the ruined pieces, but Liam, thinking I was going to attack Daisy, forgot all about his wounded pride and shoved my hand away. “Ava, she’s already apologized! What more do you want? It’s just a drawing! Are you actually going to hit her? You’re becoming more and more unreasonable.” I’m unreasonable? I was the one who had lost something, yet I was the one being irrational. Fine. If he wanted unreasonable, I’d show him some cold, hard reason. I fixed my gaze on Daisy. “That sketch was a Hockney. It’s valued at one hundred thousand dollars. Since your dog destroyed it, as his owner, you’ll be responsible for the cost.” Daisy’s tears stopped instantly. She stared at me, stunned, for a few seconds before her crying intensified, her body language suggesting she was about to drop to her knees and beg. Liam caught her, glaring at me with outrage. “Ava, that’s enough!” I swatted his hand away. “Of course, you’re welcome to pay for it on her behalf.” The words struck him like a physical blow. His face went pale with fury, his whole body rigid with insulted pride. He clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “Stop acting like a spoiled princess. I’ll pay you back. Every last cent.” With that, he wrapped a protective arm around Daisy and stormed out. Watching him go, I couldn’t help but think of the boy who had first arrived at our house all those years ago. 3 He was ten years old when my father found him, a shy, quiet child. As an only child, I was thrilled to have a companion, and for years, he was the protective older brother I’d always wanted. Everything changed on his eighteenth birthday. Someone at his party joked that he was my future kept man, that marrying into the family was a clever career move. From that day on, he began to pull away, to resent me. All my years of devotion couldn’t stand up to a few careless words from strangers. I shook my head, a bitter smile on my lips. From every practical standpoint, Caleb Sterling was a perfect match. He had a reputation for being a bit of a playboy, but he was undeniably handsome, charming, and most importantly, his family’s wealth was endless. The day before the wedding, I went to the bridal boutique I had told Liam about a hundred times, each time being met with an impatient dismissal. I never imagined I’d run into him there, standing beside Daisy. He was in a tailored suit, she in a wedding gown. They looked perfect together. Suppressing the familiar ache in my chest, I walked into the shop. The manager greeted me warmly. “Ms. Sinclair! The custom gown you designed is ready. Shall I have it brought out for you?” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I had spent three months pouring my heart into that design. I wasn’t going to abandon it because of him. “Yes, please, thank you…” “Ava?” A voice cut me off. I turned to see Liam and Daisy walking toward me. Daisy, lifting the hem of her own dress, hurried over. Her eyes lit up when she saw the gown my assistant was carefully carrying. “Wow! Is this the one you designed? It’s beautiful.” Liam’s brow furrowed as he looked at it, his expression one of distaste, as if he were looking at something contaminated. Daisy reached out and touched the delicate lace. “Can I try it on?” Before I could answer, she turned to Liam, her voice a sweet plea. “Liam, can you wait for me to try this one on, too? Please?” Liam was silent for a beat, then gave a small, indulgent nod. “No,” I said, my voice firm. I was willing to let them have each other, but I drew the line at letting her wear my wedding dress. My refusal made Liam’s expression turn cold. “Ava, I’ve told you, I am not marrying you. You’re never going to wear this dress. What’s the harm in letting Daisy try it on?” I met his gaze, my own voice unyielding. “The harm is that it’s mine. So, no.” Liam looked taken aback, clearly not expecting such direct opposition from me. I had always been the one to back down. “But Liam, I really want to,” Daisy whined, clinging to his arm, her lower lip trembling. The next thing I knew, Liam had snatched the gown from my assistant’s hands. “It’s just a dress. She’ll give it back when she’s done.” Daisy took it with a triumphant smile. As she turned to go to the dressing room, the long train of the gown caught on a nearby metal clothing rack. There was a terrible screech of metal as the entire rack, weighed down with heavy garments and a mannequin, tipped over and came crashing down. For a split second, Liam’s hand instinctively shot out toward me. But then Daisy let out a sharp cry. “Ah!” His arm changed direction. He lunged for Daisy, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her out of the path of the falling debris. I was buried underneath it all. The sharp edge of the metal rack pressed into my back, sending a bolt of agony through me with every breath. When they finally pulled me out, I looked at Liam, and all I felt was a profound, chilling emptiness. Fifteen years of my life, my love, my loyalty—all of it meant less to him than a girl he’d known for three months. On the floor in front of me lay my wedding dress. A dirty high-heel print was stamped onto the pure white silk. It had been deliberately trampled. I raised my eyes to Daisy, who was nestled safely in Liam’s arms. She offered me a small, triumphant smirk. That was it. I’d had enough. I moved toward her, intending to pull her away from him, but Liam stepped in front of her, his face a mask of anger. “I know you’re upset I didn’t get to you first, Ava, but you can’t take it out on Daisy. She was almost hurt, too.” I pointed a trembling finger at the ruined gown on the floor. “And how do you explain that?” Liam’s jaw tightened. After a moment, he said, “She didn’t do it on purpose. It was a chaotic moment, she was scared, she dropped the dress. As for the footprint, we can have it cleaned.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Besides, I’m not going to be at the altar tomorrow. It’s not like you’ll be getting married anyway. Stop making a big deal out of nothing.” With that, he led Daisy out of the store. Just as their figures disappeared through the door, the manager hurried over, a phone pressed to her ear. “Ms. Sinclair? Mr. Sterling has asked me to escort you to the third floor.”

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I’m dying. It’s just a matter of time here, on the planet Prime designated as its personal junkyard. They don’t even bother shipping the nutrient paste anymore. Then, I found him in the scrap heaps. He’d been dumped like a defective appliance—body shattered, legs gone. He wouldn’t even power on, no matter how many fresh cells I plugged into him. He became a statue in my home, a silent companion to my only family: an old, sparking maintenance bot named K70. I didn’t know it then, but this piece of “trash,” discarded by the apex of civilization, would become my last hope against the end of the world. Chapter 1 I found him in the scrap heaps. Or maybe “heap” is the wrong word. It was a mountain range of rust and ruin, dumped from the pristine heights of Prime. I had to move nearly two tons of twisted metal just to uncover his arm. His legs were a lost cause, so I scavenged the ones from my own decommissioned bot, K70, and fitted them as best I could. But he was dead. Utterly. I reassembled him, gave him a new power core, and still, nothing. He ended up a piece of art in my cramped metal shelter, standing next to K70, who did nothing but hiss and spit sparks if I tried to wake him. I had no money for real parts, only a can of lubricating oil. I’d spend hours polishing their scarred torsos. Maybe that’s what did it. My fingers, slick with oil, must have brushed against an exposed wire. For a single, breathtaking second, he simulated a human breath—a soft rise and fall of his chest—and then he was just a dead machine again. I’m dying, too. The planet I live on, the Brink, is Prime’s galactic landfill. The radioactive waste is piling up, and the last nutrient paste factory in the city has shut down for good. The single pane of glass in my shelter that looks out on the world is caked with a permanent layer of gray dust. In the center, the sun, raw and unfiltered through a hole in the atmosphere, burns a bright, blinding spot that makes my head spin. “—zzz…ssshh—” The receiver crackled to life, a harsh static scream. It was picking up a signal from Prime, the pinnacle of civilization. Through the noise, I could make out a message, one probably being broadcast across their entire perfect world: androids with independent consciousness were rising up, rebelling against humanity. The signal suddenly cleared, and a single, chillingly calm sentence came through. “Protect yourselves. For the future of humanity.” Before I could process it, a cataclysmic bang threw me from my thoughts. The entire doorframe collapsed inward, and a pack of them stumbled in—humans twisted by long-term radiation exposure. The Wretched. Their eyes were wild, hungry, like animals, and they started tearing my home apart. I knew what they were looking for. The radiation kills you slow. Starvation does it fast. They found nothing. As they were turning to leave, their eyes fell on my two silent androids. When I saw the intent in their faces, the desire to destroy, I threw myself in front of them. They shoved me aside like I was nothing. I watched, helpless, as they ripped the head from K70’s body. They were about to pry the chip from his skull and snap it in two. “Food,” I begged, kneeling on the cold floor. “I can give you food. Just don’t touch him.” I never had parents. It was K70, another piece of abandoned scrap, who raised me, guided by the parental subroutines loaded into his memory. He was my only family. I pried up a floor panel and pulled out the single can of peaches I’d been hiding. I offered it to them. They tossed the head back at me, but they didn’t trust me. They tore up every inch of my floor, and only after finding nothing more did they finally leave. I sat in the silence, waiting to die. And then—thump. The android I’d salvaged from the heap had fallen over. He landed directly under the window, in that single, searing beam of sunlight. I saw his chest rise. And in his dark, lifeless eyes, a flicker of light began to glow. It was the sun. The sunlight had rebooted him. … Crushed biscuit crumbs, mixed with water to form a gritty paste, were being spooned into my mouth. I woke up. For a dreamlike second, I saw K70 standing over me—whole, functional, something he hadn’t been in years. I clutched his head, my whole body shaking with disbelief. He spoke a sentence I hadn’t heard since I was a child, his voice the same gentle, synthesized tone I remembered. “Ari. Time to eat.” Tears streamed down my face. I wrapped my arms around him. “K70. You’re back.” He didn’t seem to understand. The decade we’d spent apart was, for him, nothing more than a momentary system failure. My eyes darted past him. By the window, the new android was sitting up. He was using a scattered pile of spare parts to assemble a new pair of legs for himself. “Was it you?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Did you save K70?” He was clearly a far more advanced model. His skin was a high-fidelity simulation of human flesh, his face flawlessly sculpted. If it weren’t for the exposed wiring coiling from his neck, he would have been indistinguishable from a person. He sat in the column of light and looked at me. “A reward,” he said, his voice smooth and low, “for saving me.” “Thank you,” I whispered. I thought I would die before I ever saw K70 wake up again. “My designation is K90,” he said. “And thank you… for saving me.” Chapter 2 K90’s capabilities were beyond anything I could have imagined. He didn’t just repair K70; he ventured out into the collapsed city and returned with food. “This was all I could find.” He placed two cans of chili and a protein bar on the table in front of me. To me, it was a feast. He then proposed a system overwrite for K70. “The mechanics and wiring that compose you are obsolete,” he explained to my old friend. “I cannot fully repair you. But with this update, you’ll be able to perform self-diagnostics. You’ll have a much longer operational life.” K70 turned his head to look at me, a silent inquiry. If I said no, he would refuse. “Is that okay, Ari?” he asked. “Of course! It means we can be together longer!” Having lost him once, the fear of it happening again was a constant, dull ache in my chest. Only then did K70 turn back to K90. “Then… please, proceed with the update.” He opened the data port on his chest. As the cable connected him to K90, he spoke one last, soft request. “Please… save my memories of Ari. They are the most precious thing I have.” The data transfer was slow. I waited until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer and fell asleep on the small cot. I don’t know how much time passed before K90 gently shook me awake. “Is it done?” “Yes.” I sat up and saw K70 sitting in the beam of sunlight. His posture was perfect, his back ramrod straight. Through the worn casings of his limbs, I could see blue energy coursing, fast and bright. He truly was more advanced. “K70!” I scrambled over, moving past K90 to get to his side. But as I reached out to touch his arm, K70’s head snapped toward me. His face, usually a mask of gentle mechanics, was now an unyielding slate of cold steel. “Unauthorized subspecies, Sector Nine—stand down.” His words froze me. I didn’t know what to do. K90’s voice came from behind me. “The update is complete, but I haven’t re-installed his memory files yet.” Oh. That was it. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I didn’t try to touch him again, just circled him, studying this new, cold, unfamiliar version of my oldest friend. “I… read your memories. The ones with K70,” K90 said, stepping up beside me. “The life you shared was… beautiful. And you, Ari. You are beautiful, too.” He knelt down on one knee. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you, K90. You brought him back to me. You brought us back together.” A smile touched K90’s lips, a genuine, human-like expression of warmth. His eyes were like glass, like the ocean, like a thousand other beautiful things that didn’t belong on the Brink. But later, when I took him with me to the scrap heaps to find more replacement parts for K70, he vanished.

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In college, I was the most popular girl on campus, and I fell in love with a boy in worn-out Converse. For the twelve years of our marriage, we were the couple everyone looked up to, the one our friends called “goals.” I supported him every step of the way, from a broke kid with a dream to a CEO with a seven-figure income. Lately, however, I’d discovered he was in love with a forty-year-old receptionist at his company. When I asked my husband about it, he just said, “Let’s get a divorce.” He blamed me. Said that while I had fulfilled his physical needs, I had neglected his spiritual world, that I was too focused on our child. Excuse me? Was he a three-year-old? Did he need to be breastfed? A grown man in his thirties was coming to me for his “spiritual needs”? And what about my spiritual needs? Who was supposed to fulfill those? Should I go out and find some old boy toy to keep me company? It’s true what they say: when a man is starving, he’ll eat anything. Fine. Divorce it is. 1 When Leo saw the divorce papers on his desk, he didn’t say a word. The terms were simple: the house, the cars, and our son all went to me. He would pay me a one-time settlement of twenty million dollars for alimony and child support. After that, we would not contact each other again. He was in the middle of a conference call. He glanced down, and I saw his expression flicker for a fraction of a second at the words “Divorce Agreement.” He then gave a slight nod, acknowledging he’d seen it. I left his home office and closed the door. To save us both time, I began packing all of his clothes and belongings. It took three large suitcases. Not wanting to miss anything, I even went up to the attic and found a box of his childhood photos to put inside. The last thing I saw was our wedding photo, tucked away in a corner. In it, Leo was impossibly handsome, and my smile was radiant. We were wrapped in each other’s arms, bathed in sunlight. I could almost hear his voice, a constant whisper in my ear back then: “I love you so much, Stella.” “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” I met Leo in college. When we met, he was a scholarship kid in frayed jeans and tattered sneakers. Plenty of guys were after me back then, but I only had eyes for him. He was calm, kind, and beautiful. He had a quiet strength I admired. We got married right after graduation. He started a company with a friend, and after I got pregnant, I became a full-time mother. I poured everything I had into taking care of Leo, our son, and our home. As the business grew, so did Leo’s networking dinners and late nights. I carved out time between school runs and household chores to stay in shape, to learn about makeup and fashion. And Leo, to his credit, was a model husband. No matter how busy he was, he always came home and helped with our son, helped with dinner, and always took my side in any disagreement with his mother. To the outside world, we were the perfect couple. I don’t know when it started, but slowly, the meetings began to shift to the evenings. Sometimes, he’d pull an all-nighter at the office. A friend once joked that I should keep a closer eye on him. I laughed it off, but a seed of doubt had been planted. A few times, I brought late-night food to the office for him and his team. There was never anything out of the ordinary. Just a group of people in a conference room, working late. And the receptionist would be there, waiting quietly at her desk. Her name was Diane. She was in her forties, not very tall, thin, with short, unassuming hair. But her voice was gentle, almost melodic, a stark contrast to her plain appearance. She always smiled and greeted me warmly. For years, I had braced myself for the possibility of this day. I’d imagined a beautiful young assistant, a bright-eyed intern, or a sharp, powerful female executive he worked with. I had never, not once, considered the receptionist. I’d heard she was divorced; her husband had cheated on her. This was her first job in years, and she was grateful for it. She came in early, memorized everyone’s coffee order, and occasionally brought in homemade pastries. Some of the employees even paid her to make their lunch every day. When I heard about it, I’d told Leo that she must be struggling and that he should look out for her. He’d been dismissive. “The office isn’t a charity, Stella. I’ve already told her to stop conducting personal business at work.” At the time, I’d teased him for being a heartless CEO. Looking back now, he was probably just upset that Diane had to go home and cook for his employees after a long day. As for why Leo chose today to ask for a divorce… it was because I made him his usual hangover remedy this morning. He’d stared at the bowl, sighed, and pushed it slightly away. After a long silence, he looked up at me, his eyes full of exhaustion, and asked if we could get a divorce. He confessed everything. The affair had been going on for six months. Every time he said he was working late, he was really sneaking away to a hotel with her. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I fought to keep my voice steady. I asked him who it was. When he said Diane’s name, I thought I’d misheard him. A wave of profound powerlessness washed over me. I felt so cold. 2 By the time Leo finished his call and came out of the office, I had finished dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and was sitting on the sofa, watching a TV show. As if nothing had happened. He went to take a shower. Halfway through, I heard him call out instinctively. “Stella, where’s my towel?” I didn’t turn around. “I packed it. You can use mine if you want. I’ll just throw it out after you’re done.” The only response was a long, heavy silence. When Leo came out, he finally saw the three suitcases by the front door. He sat down across from me and pushed the divorce agreement back in my direction. “For the child support, I can give you fifteen million now, and the rest in monthly…” I cut him off. “No. A one-time payment. A clean break.” I met his gaze. “I don’t imagine she would want you to have any more contact with me.” He looked confused. “He’s not just your son, Stella. I have a right to be a part of his life. I know this is my fault, and I’m willing to compensate you, but you don’t need to use our son to punish me.” I paused the show and looked at him, my expression serious. “Cheating was your mistake. Paying alimony and child support is the legal and moral consequence. Considering your assets, taking the house and cars is hardly asking for too much.” “As for our son, I am the one who has raised him since the day he was born. He is a highly sensitive child who needs consistency and attention. Tell me, Leo, between your work and your new romance, how much energy do you honestly have to give him? Being a part of his life is about more than money. It’s about time.” He was speechless. Finally, he said, “I’m not paying twenty million dollars to be cut out of my son’s life.” I opened the document. “The twenty million is alimony and child support. If you wish to provide additional emotional support, you can transfer funds directly to our son’s account. I’ll set one up for him.” Leo suddenly laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “You know, Stella, I never realized how much you loved money. It’s all you can talk about.” “What else is there to talk about? Is loving you worth anything anymore?” That shut him up. His face hardened. He took a pen and signed the papers with a sharp, angry stroke, then scheduled a time for us to go to the courthouse tomorrow. He called his driver to pick him up. I finished my show and went to bed. When I woke up, Leo was gone. My son ran out of his room and hugged me, chattering excitedly about a happy dream he’d had. As I listened, I gently told him that Daddy was very busy at work and might have to be away on a business trip for a long time. Normally, he would whine and ask to call Leo, demanding to know when he was coming home. This time, he just said, “Oh.” He thought for a moment. “That’s okay. As long as I have you, Mommy.” That’s when I broke. Tears streamed down my face. I made an excuse and ran to the bathroom to compose myself. The deepest pain of this divorce wasn’t the betrayal; it was the guilt of not being able to give my son a complete family. But I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was not my fault. I dropped my son off at school, then met Leo at the courthouse. We filed the initial paperwork. There was a mandatory 30-day cooling-off period. After that, it would be final. Back in my car, I circled the date on my calendar. Divorce countdown: 30 days. 3 I debated whether to tell my parents. I had grown up in this city; all our friends and family were here. My parents were retired teachers, and I was their only child. They were open-minded, but my father’s health had been poor the last couple of years. I decided to wait. Two days later, Leo called me. He rarely called; he preferred to text because I always replied immediately. I had deleted and blocked his number last night. I answered. His voice was casual, as if nothing had changed. “Stella, your mom just called me. She’s made a big dinner and wants us to come over tonight.” He paused. “I know your dad isn’t well. I think… maybe we should wait to tell them about the divorce, until he’s stronger. What time should we go?” He added, “And his birthday is next Sunday. I should probably go with you to that, too.” Any hesitation I had about telling them vanished. “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “You don’t have to be stubborn about this, Stella. Their health is what’s important.” My voice was flat. “If you really cared about my father’s health, you wouldn’t have chosen this moment to cheat on me and end our marriage. My father may be unwell, but his mind is sharp. I don’t think he’d want me to stay in a marriage with a man who is unfaithful.” “Leo.” “Yes?” “Don’t call me again. If you want to see our son, follow the agreement. Once a week.” His tone shifted, the pretense of negotiation gone. “Stella, I’ll say it again. He is my son, too. My family…” “But you’re the one who abandoned his family, aren’t you?” I heard him slam something down on his desk on the other end. I hung up and took a moment to pull myself together. Then, I drove to the mall. I was going to replace everything in the house that he liked—the bedding, the sofa, all of it. And I wanted it delivered today. After the new furniture arrived, I cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. Then, I went to my parents’ place. When my mom saw me arrive alone, she assumed Leo was busy. I was silent for a moment, then my voice came out as a quiet, nervous, “Mom.” She immediately knew something was wrong. She stopped what she was doing, looked at me for a long moment, and then simply pulled me into her arms. I didn’t have to say a word. She could feel my pain. I told her everything, my voice as steady as I could make it. When I was done, she handed me a tissue. Her voice was soft. “It’s okay. Divorce is common these days. He was the one who was unfaithful. It’s better to know now. It’s over.” She took my hand, her eyes glistening. “Stella, I only ask one thing of you.” “Once this is done, no matter what happens, you never, ever go back to him.” “I promise,” I sobbed. Later, my mom and dad talked in their room for a long time. When my dad came out, he handed me a large check. He said today was a new beginning, worthy of a celebration. “I hope my baby girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “will be happy and free, always.” I cried in my car for a long time after leaving their house. I had been so afraid of disappointing them. They had been married for forty years and barely ever argued. When I chose to marry Leo, a boy with nothing, they had respected my decision. Now that he was a success and everyone envied me, they were supporting my decision to leave him. I wiped my tears and looked at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 28 days. 4 When I picked my son up from school, he told me that Grandpa had called and invited him to stay over for a week. He was so excited; they had made a plan to fly a new drone together. After dropping him off, my mom walked me back to my car. “Go out, Stella. Have some fun. Be happy.” She stood on the curb, watching me until I drove away. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My face was pale, my eyes were dull. I took out my makeup bag and put on a bright, defiant red lipstick. I went home, packed a bag, and went on a road trip for a week. I saw new places, met new people, and listened to their stories. When I came back, I felt like myself again. I looked at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 21 days. It was time for my father’s birthday party. They had booked a room at a hotel and invited a few tables of our closest friends and family. Many of them asked where Leo was. My parents deflected the questions. Just before dinner, my father stood up to give a toast. At that exact moment, Leo walked in. He was impeccably dressed, carrying several expensive-looking gift bags and a thick envelope. Our relatives greeted him warmly. He waited for my father to finish his speech, then walked over. “Dad,” he said, handing him the envelope. “Happy birthday.” 5 My father glanced at him, his expression neutral. “Mr. Chen, you’re too kind. But we can’t accept this. After all, you and Stella are divorced now. We wouldn’t want to impose.” Leo’s smile froze on his face. The room, which had been buzzing with chatter, fell completely silent. His voice was barely a whisper. “We’re still in the process…” My father shook his head. “It’s the same thing.” He turned and began to greet other guests. Leo stood there, frozen. My mother politely took the gift bags and handed them back to him. He didn’t stay. After he left, no one mentioned his name again. It was a relief. I was healing, accepting, and slowly shedding the identity of “Mrs. Chen.” I was becoming Stella again. Even the staff in my apartment building, having heard the news from somewhere, started calling me Ms. Lin instead of Mrs. Chen. I decided I needed to get busy. I was going to open a coffee shop. I found a place that was for sale, already beautifully renovated and in a great location. I signed the lease immediately. The staff agreed to stay on, so I could keep the doors open while I spent some time refining the menu and rebranding. I spent the whole day at the shop, planning. As I got in my car to head home, I glanced at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 15 days.

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