Author: Momo Chan

The moment the boy tried to poison me with a snack, a cascade of text exploded into my vision, floating in the air like a ghostly live-stream chat. 【Thank God the Male Lead was reborn. Once this cannon fodder side character dies, our darling White Moonlight can finally be adopted by her wealthy parents. She’ll never have to suffer from depression and commit suicide.】 【Poor Asher. In the last timeline, this side character fell for him at first sight and became obsessed. She tried to buy his love, but he never gave her a second glance. Good thing he eventually destroyed her family and got his revenge.】 【Even after being adopted, our White Moonlight had it rough. Her rich parents hated that Asher was an uneducated dropout and tried to break them up. Luckily, Asher was smart enough to arrange a few… accidents. He used the inheritance to start his empire. He’s not a book-smart type, but his potential is limitless.】 I looked from the floating text to the boy’s fake, smiling face, and without a moment’s hesitation, I pressed the emergency button on my watch. 1. A piercing alarm blared through the amusement park. Panic flooded Asher’s face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the ice cream cone in his hand trembled, nearly falling to the ground. I took a few deliberate steps back. In the next second, my bodyguards closed in, forming a tight circle around Asher. “Miss Vivian, is something wrong?” Asher’s face was ashen, but he forced a calm expression. “Ma’am, it’s nothing. I was just selling ice cream.” The text feed in front of my eyes scrolled furiously. 【Smart move by the Male Lead. He knows the Female Lead is deathly allergic to grapes, so he made this ice cream with pure grape juice. Even if he gets caught, there’s no evidence.】 【Why are you worried? Who’s going to suspect a six-year-old? And even if there was proof, he’s a minor. Ever heard of juvenile immunity?】 【Why isn’t this side character following the script? This is so annoying. Wasting page space on her. When do we get to see the Male Lead and Female Lead together?】 【Aren’t there kidnappers known to operate near this park? Someone should just grab her already and get her out of the way.】 My nanny, however, didn’t spare Asher a single glance. She stood by my side, waiting for my command. I scanned the area, my eyes moving past the stream of text, and landed on a nondescript van parked in a shadowed corner. I raised a small hand and pointed. “I heard those people in the van,” I said, my voice a childish lisp. “They told this boy to use the ice cream to make me go with them. But I don’t want to go. If I go with them, I won’t see my mommy and daddy anymore.” The feed instantly erupted with vitriol. 【F***, what is this little bitch trying to pull? The Male Lead never said anything about kidnapping!】 【No wonder the plot kills her off. Lying and scheming at such a young age. She deserves to die.】 Asher immediately put on a wounded expression. “Little sister, how can you say that? Don’t you like this flavor? I can give you a different one.” 【Ahhhh, he’s so handsome, even when he’s pretending. In the last timeline, she fell for him instantly. His looks will probably win her over this time, too.】 I ignored Asher completely and turned to my nanny. Her brow furrowed. She immediately dialed my father’s number. Seeing things were going south, Asher tried to bolt, but one of the bodyguards grabbed him, holding him firmly in place. A few minutes later, a Bentley silently pulled up to the curb. I ran, sniffling, and threw myself into my father’s arms. He picked me up, murmuring words of comfort, as a team of his employees and several police officers exited the cars behind him. They moved with swift, professional efficiency. The kidnappers from the van and Asher were taken into custody together. My father’s team was fast; it didn’t take them long to determine that Asher had no connection to the professional kidnappers. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like an innocent bystander swept up in the mess. Of course, I knew that. But he had still tried to kill me, and I had no intention of letting him go. I tilted my head, feigning confusion. “But… I heard him say he knew I was allergic to grapes. He said he made the ice cream just for me, with grape juice. He was going to take me away when I couldn’t breathe…” My father looked down at me, his voice gentle. “Vivian, are you telling me the truth?” I nodded, my eyes wide. “Yes. Being allergic is scary. It makes it hard to breathe, and everything gets itchy. I don’t want to be itchy.” My father’s face turned to stone. He gave a sharp nod to his head of security. Moments later, the report came back. The entire cooler of ice cream Asher was carrying was made from 100% concentrated grape juice. With the evidence irrefutable, the police took Asher and the kidnappers away. My father took me home. My mother was beside herself with worry and made all my favorite foods to soothe me. That night, she sat by my bed, reading me a story. As I drifted off to sleep, the ghostly text appeared again. 【This little monster is sleeping peacefully while our Male Lead is locked in solitary at the group home.】 【He’ll be fine. He’s the hero, he’ll prove his innocence. But if it wasn’t for this girl, he would have been the one being welcomed by a rich family today.】 【Don’t worry. The plot dictates that if she escapes death once, she won’t escape it a second time. She’s on a deadline. Ooh, look, the Female Lead is sneaking him food. Two little broken souls comforting each other. I ship it.】 【Exactly. The wheel of fortune turns. The Lancaster family’s wealth will belong to the Male Lead eventually. They’ll regret what they did today when he has them begging for mercy.】 I was too tired to care about their fantasies. I rolled over and fell asleep to the soft sound of my mother’s voice. 2. I was woken by the chatter of the feed. I climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. My parents had already left for the group home to finalize the adoption of my father’s old army buddy’s daughter. A few weeks ago, his friend had been targeted in a corporate reprisal. His entire family was killed in an explosion, except for his young daughter, who had been at school. My parents, with my blessing, had decided to take her in. 【Is Vivian dead yet?】 A new wave of identical messages floated past my eyes. Ever since my “close call,” this had become their daily ritual, a morbid check-in on my mortality. I ignored them, finished my breakfast, and put on a pretty dress. I went downstairs to wait by the door for my parents to arrive with my new sister. Before long, I heard a car pull into the driveway. My parents walked in, holding the hand of a small, delicate-looking girl. “Vivian, this is Luna,” my mother said with a warm smile. “Say hello to your new sister.” I opened my mouth to greet her, but the feed exploded. 【There she is! So pretty! She’s going to be a knockout when she grows up. Finally, something nice to look at after staring at that ugly side character.】 【So the Female Lead is the daughter of Vivian’s dad’s army buddy?】 【No, the real daughter is also named Luna. The Male Lead knew the Lancasters were coming today, so he beat up the real Luna and locked her in a closet. To be safe, he even scratched off her distinctive birthmark. The director and the parents don’t know what the real one looks like, so when they came to adopt, our Luna was the only one there.】 【I love it! Our dark, tortured hero, doing anything for his little ray of sunshine. It’s an honor for the other Luna to be a stepping stone for their love story!】 【Honor? She bit him. She deserves the abusive husband she’s fated to marry.】 I slowly retracted the hand I’d extended. “Mom, Dad… she’s not Mr. Henderson’s daughter.” “Darling, what are you talking about?” my mother chided gently, but I could see a flicker of doubt in their eyes as they looked at the girl. Luna’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Is… is Vivian-sister unhappy with me? I can go back to the group home, Uncle and Auntie. I don’t mind if I don’t get enough to eat, or if I get locked in the closet. I don’t want to be a bother.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394238”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone in New York said Seraphina Blackwood was a rose armed with thorns, and that I was the only one for whom she’d ever retracted them. What they didn’t know was that being Seraphina’s husband meant accepting her harem. It meant becoming numb as she brought home man after man. It meant watching her fall for a charismatic new house manager, Leo, who then set about making rules for the entire Blackwood estate. He didn’t just cancel my credit cards, throw out my clothes, and take my car keys. He instituted a ten-dollar daily allowance for me and an 8 PM curfew. Even when the hospital called with a critical alert at 8:01 PM, he had the security guards block my path. “My mother is having a heart attack,” I explained, my voice tight with a patience I didn’t feel. “I have to get to the hospital. Now.” Leo was unmoved. “House rules, Ethan. No one leaves after eight. Not even if your mother is dying.” I trembled with a rage so profound it felt like a fever. I spun around, found Seraphina, and begged her to let me go. She regarded me with a cool indifference. “As long as you’re my husband, you can’t break Leo’s rules.” Staring at the woman I had loved for ten years, I felt like I was looking at a stranger. If that was the case, then this was a title I was more than ready to surrender. 1 The front door was a wall of impassive bodies in black suits. My legs felt weak, my hands shaking as I dialed the hospital’s number again. “Please, just start treatment. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” “But sir…” Before I could hear the rest, a hand slapped the phone from my grasp. It clattered across the marble floor. “House rules,” Leo chirped. “No shouting in the residence.” The phone lay shattered, its screen a spiderweb of blackness. I scooped up the dead pieces, my vision blurring with helpless tears. “Who are you putting on that long face for?” Leo pouted, turning as if to leave. “Is it because you’re not happy with my rules? If your husband doesn’t want me here, Seraphina, I can just go.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Seraphina murmured. She hooked an arm around his neck, planting soft kisses on his cheek. “My darling manager, who in this house would dare disobey you?” Her voice dropped, turning icy as her fingers clamped onto my chin, forcing my head up. “Ethan. Smile.” My mother’s face flashed in my mind. I couldn’t afford to provoke her. I stretched my lips into a grimace that felt more like a sob. “My mom is in critical condition, Seraphina. Please, just let me go see her.” My voice cracked. “She was in that car accident last year trying to protect you. You can’t just let her…” For a moment, something shifted in her eyes. A flicker of guilt. She looked at Leo, her tone careful. “My love, maybe just this once?” “No.” Leo twisted out of her embrace, crossing his arms as he plopped onto the sofa. “It’s a heart attack, not a death sentence. You’re overreacting.” He glared at her. “You promised me when you brought me here that everyone in this house would listen to me. Everyone.” His voice rose to a childish whine. “If you let him get away with this, you’re not sleeping in my bed tonight.” “Alright, alright.” Seraphina shook her head, a sigh of exasperated affection on her lips. She walked over and sat right on his lap, tickling his sides. Leo erupted in giggles, his eyes, full of triumphant malice, locking with mine over her shoulder. Bringing his lover into our home, allowing him to grind my dignity into the dust. I’d lost count of how many times I’d endured scenes like this. I could feel the pitying stares of the household staff, a wave of desperate powerlessness washing over me. I clenched my fists, the nails digging into my palms. I found my voice, and it was steadier than I expected. “Seraphina,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce.” If I wasn’t her husband, I could walk out that door. 2 The atmosphere in the living room dropped twenty degrees. You could hear a pin drop. Seraphina’s expression turned to ice. A cruel smirk touched her lips. “Are you kidding me, Ethan? You’re threatening me with a divorce?” Her voice was low, dangerous. “Where was all this backbone when your father was on his deathbed, begging my family to take you in?” An invisible hand seemed to close around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. The memories flooded back, sharp and unwelcome. My father was the Blackwoods’ driver. Ten years ago, when Seraphina’s father was ambushed, my dad took the bullet meant for him. Lying in a hospital bed, Mr. Blackwood asked him what he wanted. Anything. My father’s voice was a faint whisper. “Just… promise my son will always have a place… a home.” Back then, Seraphina and I were inseparable, childhood sweethearts. When she heard my dad had passed, she’d held me while I cried, her own tears soaking my shirt. “Don’t worry, Ethan,” she’d vowed. “I’ll take care of you for the rest of our lives. As long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you.” Promises, scattered like ashes on the wind. Seraphina, you’re the one hurting me the most. Watching her coo at the man in her lap, I felt a pain so sharp it was like a physical blow. I forced down the acidic burn of grief in my throat. When I remained silent, she stroked my hair as if I were a pet. “Until the papers are signed, you’re my husband. And that’s that.” I knew what that meant. As long as she refused, no lawyer in New York would dare process our divorce. There was only one way. I braced myself and made a run for the door. Crack. The sting of the slap exploded across my cheek, my head snapping to the side. “I told you,” Leo said, his voice sing-song, as his men intercepted me. “No one breaks the rules.” Seeing his smug, triumphant face, something inside me finally broke. I lunged, grabbing the collar of his silk shirt. “Who the hell do you think you are? If anything happens to my mother, I swear to God I will end you.” I tightened my grip on his throat, but before I could do anything more, a brutal kick from Seraphina sent me flying. My head slammed against the corner of the coffee table. Pain bloomed behind my eyes, and the world tilted, threatening to go black. “Take him to the wine cellar,” Seraphina’s voice echoed from a great distance. “Let him think about what he’s done.” Hands dragged me like a sack of garbage down the stairs and threw me into the cold, damp dark. No matter how hard I pounded on the heavy oak door, no one answered. I slid down to the floor, defeated. The image of my mother, frail and struggling for breath in a hospital bed, finally shattered my control. The sobs came, ragged and torn from my chest. Knock, knock, knock. A soft tapping at the door. Through the small, barred window, a hand appeared. “Mr. Ethan,” a gentle voice whispered. “You must eat something.” It was Maria, our housekeeper. She’d known me since I was a boy, loved me like her own son. “Maria, please,” I begged, my voice hoarse. “You have to let me out. I have to get to the hospital.” “Sir, I can’t,” she whispered back, her voice thick with regret. She pulled up her sleeve, and even in the dim light, I could see the faint, crisscrossing lines of old scars on her arm. A warning. “…Thank you,” I choked out. I wouldn’t put her in jeopardy. I slumped back to the floor, staring at the dry roll and bottle of water she’d left. Ever since Leo arrived, my food budget was ten dollars a day. This had become my staple meal. Meanwhile, he had Seraphina taking him to Michelin-star restaurants every night. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The husband of New York’s wealthiest woman, living worse than a stray dog on the street. 3 I didn’t sleep. The moment they let me out the next morning, I raced to the hospital, my mind a frantic blur of anxiety. My mother was lying in bed, her breathing shallow and labored. Tears streamed down my face as I stumbled to her side, taking her hand. “Mom, I’m here. I’m so sorry.” “Mr. Hayes, you’re finally here.” Her doctor entered the room, his expression grave. “We managed to stabilize her last night, but her condition has worsened. She needs surgery.” “Then do it! Whatever it takes!” The doctor sighed, shaking his head. “The funds in your account have been frozen. The hospital can’t proceed without payment. We need at least two hundred thousand dollars to begin.” The words hit me like a physical blow. The world went fuzzy at the edges. Seraphina had cut off my mother’s medical funding. All for this sick game with Leo. My mother tugged weakly at my sleeve, her eyes pleading. “Son, don’t… don’t go begging her for me.” I shook my head, my tears falling onto her hand. “You’re all I have left, Mom. I’m going to get you through this. I promise.” My vision was so blurred I didn’t see the tears welling in her own eyes, or the lingering, loving way she watched me as I ran from the room. I burst back into the house to find Seraphina coaxing Leo to eat his breakfast. The table was a decadent battlefield of food. Freshly squeezed juices, artisanal breads, soy milk for him, an entire filet mignon with a side of caviar. The stark contrast, the image of my dying mother, sent a surge of pure rage through me. “Seraphina!” I stormed toward them. “Why did you stop my mother’s medical payments?” She looked up, genuinely surprised. “What are you talking about? I never…” “I did,” Leo said, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. He looked at me, his eyes dripping with arrogance. “Your daily discretionary spending is ten dollars, Ethan. If your mother needs medical care, perhaps you should go out and earn the money yourself.” I was shaking. I turned to Seraphina, my voice a strangled whisper. “You’re just going to let him do this?” “Leo…” she began, a hint of protest in her voice. “Maybe…” He cut her off before she could finish. “Are you going to coddle him again?” He shot to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “You promised me! You said the whole house listens to me now! If your husband can just override my rules whenever he wants, then what am I even doing here? I’m leaving!” Seraphina immediately grabbed his arm. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. We’ll do it your way.” I stared at them, a chasm opening in my chest. This was the woman I had loved for a decade. My mother and I were nothing more than props in the game she played to appease her latest conquest. My eyes swept over the feast on the table. A wild, desperate laugh bubbled up from my throat. “You preach austerity to us, Leo, but look at you. If I’m not mistaken, that suit you’re wearing is a runway piece. It costs more than a car.” He sniffed, completely unbothered. “The rules are for the Blackwood family. I’m not a Blackwood.” “Do you have any idea how hard people work for a living? The water you drink, the food you waste in one meal, could feed a family for a month.” I saw the custom-tailored suit, the diamond pin on his lapel, and the rage boiled over. I lunged, my hands closing around his throat. The next thing I knew, my head snapped back, my cheek burning. Seraphina had hit me with all her strength, knocking me to the ground. She was already fussing over Leo, gently rubbing his neck where my fingers had been. She looked down at me, her face a mask of fury. “I told you, Ethan. No one is allowed to hurt Leo.” Leo, rubbing his neck theatrically, sneered. “You want money? Go earn it.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me out to the car. “Tonight,” he said with a malicious grin, “I’m giving you special permission to come home after eight.” 4 He took me to an exclusive lounge in SoHo, a playground for the city’s trust-fund kids. Seeing my pale, drawn face, Leo’s grin widened. “A little self-reliance will do you good. Go on. Pour some drinks, shine some shoes. You might earn a few tips.” He pushed me forward. “When you’ve got the two hundred grand, you can go save your mommy.” Before I could resist, his guards shoved me into the main hall. For my mother, I swallowed my pride. I knelt on the plush carpet, the humiliation a burning stone in my gut, and began shining shoes. A polished leather loafer tipped my chin up. A wad of hundred-dollar bills slapped against my already swelling cheek. “Well, well. Isn’t this Seraphina Blackwood’s husband? How the mighty have fallen.” “Pathetic. Can’t even keep his own wife interested. Guess you can put a crow in a palace, but it’s still just a crow.” “You guys haven’t seen her new boy toy. I heard last week she bought out an entire charity auction for him. Just to see him smile. Dropped ten million without blinking…” Every word was a poisoned dart, piercing my heart. My mother’s life wasn’t even worth a fraction of that to her. I moved numbly from one sneering heir to the next, my body aching, but the pile of bills grew with agonizing slowness. I was nowhere near two hundred thousand. Black spots danced in my vision. I was about to pass out. Then, a familiar pair of designer shoes stopped in front of me. “Still working hard for your dying mom?” Leo crouched down, patting my cheek condescendingly. “You know, you’ve been such a good sport, I think I’ll put on a little show for you. I think you’ll really like it.” I didn’t understand. He produced a small, ornate box. He opened it, took a pinch of grayish-white powder, and tossed it into the air. “We’ll call this one… ‘Confetti.’” A cold, terrible premonition crawled up my spine. I clutched my chest, a dull ache starting to throb there. “Leo… what is that?” He feigned a gasp, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Oh, my. I thought you two were so close. Don’t you even recognize your own mother’s ashes?” He laughed. “So pretty, isn’t it? Like fireworks.” He grabbed another handful and blew it into my face. The fine dust filled my lungs, and I broke into a violent coughing fit. “You should thank me,” he cooed. “I’ve arranged a little mother-son reunion for you.” My world narrowed to a single point of roaring terror. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers clumsy and shaking, and dialed the hospital. Every ring felt like an eternity. My vision swam with tears, blurring everything into meaningless shapes. When someone finally answered, my voice was a broken, unrecognizable thing. “The doctor… my mother… where is she?” There was a pause on the other end. “Mr. Hayes? Your mother was cremated this morning.” The voice was hesitant, professional. “She passed away last night from cardiac arrest. We tried calling you and Ms. Blackwood, but no one answered. Finally, Ms. Blackwood’s personal assistant took the call.” The voice continued, but I could barely hear it over the blood rushing in my ears. “He told us to proceed with the cremation as quickly as possible.” I stared at the box in Leo’s hand, a wave of nausea and grief so immense it threatened to drown me. A metallic taste filled my mouth. That box… it was really my mother. Leo met my gaze, his smile splitting his face. “You and your mother are both such fools. All I did was show her a little video of you on your knees, shining shoes for strangers. The old woman just… popped. Heart gave out right then and there.” He giggled. “Honestly, it’s better this way. You two can be together in hell.” “Leo,” I screamed, a sound torn from the deepest part of my soul. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” The grief was a tidal wave, and I was lost in it. I launched myself at him, my fist connecting with his jaw in a satisfying crunch of bone. If what he said was true… I couldn’t even imagine my mother’s final moments, seeing that video, her heart breaking for me… “Seraphina, help! He’s trying to kill me!” Leo shrieked. A second later, a powerful kick sent me sprawling. I rolled, my head cracking against a table leg. The room spun violently. “Ethan, have you lost your mind?!” Seraphina’s voice, sharp with fury. 5 Seraphina helped Leo to his feet, cradling him as if he were a priceless treasure. When she turned to me, her face was twisted with disgust. “Leo was being kind. He came here to bring you the money for the hospital fees, and this is how you repay him?” The world went silent. Colors faded. All I could see was the small box, now lying on its side, half its precious contents spilled on the carpet. I stumbled toward it, my only thought to gather what was left. Before I could reach it, Seraphina’s foot shot out, kicking the box across the room. “What is this filthy thing?” Leo, feigning innocence, just shook his head. “I have no idea. Maybe it’s some trash he picked up off the street.” Seraphina’s eyes narrowed at me, her contempt a physical thing. “Look at you, Ethan. Do you have any idea how pathetic you look? You’re supposed to be the husband of the most powerful woman in this city.” As I watched, horrified, she walked over to the trash can and emptied the rest of the ashes into it. She then smashed the beautiful wooden box on the floor, where it splintered into a dozen pieces. The sound shattered the last piece of my heart. I fell to my knees, staring at her through a waterfall of tears. A laugh, ragged and broken, escaped my lips. “You say I don’t look like your husband?” My voice rose to a scream. “And you? Do you look anything like a wife? Like a daughter-in-law?” She looked momentarily stunned, shocked by my outburst. I scrambled on the floor, trying desperately to scoop up the scattered ashes. But my tears fell, mixing with the dust, turning it into a gray paste that stuck to my fingers. I couldn’t save her. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I wept. “I’m so, so sorry…” “Ethan.” Seraphina took a step toward me, a flicker of concern on her face. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” I shoved her back with all my strength. “I hate you! Don’t you dare touch me! I hate you!” She stumbled, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Seraphina, are you okay?” Leo rushed to her side. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You see? He’s ungrateful! After everything the Blackwood family has given him! Without you, he’d be nothing!” “Nothing?” I cradled the splintered remains of the box, a crazed grin spreading across my face. A grin of pure, unadulterated despair. This life of constant fear, of being unable to even protect my own mother… I was done. I was so, so done. “What are you laughing at? You think I’m wrong?” Leo’s voice was shrill. “Fine. Let me show you what your life was supposed to be.” He yanked me to my feet. Seraphina, looking lost and confused, followed us out to the car. We drove for what felt like an hour, ending up on a desolate, forgotten street in the outer boroughs. The stench of garbage and urine filled the air. Men with hollow eyes and dirty clothes stared out from shadowy alleyways, their gazes hungry. “See that?” Leo sneered, shoving me out of the car. “This is where you belong. Without the Blackwoods, you’d be just like them.” He slammed the door. “You can stay here for three days. Get a real taste of what it’s like to earn a living.” Seraphina frowned. “Leo, this place… it’s too much.” “What, you feel sorry for your husband now?” he mocked. She sighed, her expression softening as she looked at me through the window. “Ethan. I’ll send someone to pick you up in three days.” I met her eyes, my own gaze cold and empty. “Seraphina. Promise me you won’t let anything happen to Maria.” She looked startled for a second, then nodded slowly. The Maybach sped away, leaving me in a cloud of dust. Before the dust even settled, the figures from the alley swarmed me, pushing me to the ground. They tore at my clothes, their hands grabbing for anything that might be valuable. Fists rained down on my face and body. My arms were pinned. I couldn’t move. I thought of my mother. Of her ashes in a trash can. And for the first time, I welcomed the darkness. I closed my eyes, and I gave up. A second later, a warm spray spattered across my face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394237”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d picked one of the two boys I’d grown up with. Waking up, I saw the comments scrolling across my vision, a strange, spectral feed only I could see. 【Guess the side piece is finally awake. The screen’s been black all night. So much for the male lead being pure, sigh.】 【It’s fine, you guys. The main character has high standards. She only wants a guy who can go for an hour, minimum. The male leads have to practice on the side piece to get their stamina up.】 【Both of them have been ‘practicing’ on her for ages. Damn, she’s eating well. Wish I could sub in!】 【Her name’s Lane? More like the fast lane.】 I processed that for a moment. Then I nudged the man sleeping beside me. “Hey. Are you bad in bed?” His eyes fluttered open. “You only lasted, like, twenty minutes last night.” 1 After the screen went black again, the words started flooding the feed. 【OMG, she’s good. Got him right back into bed with one sentence. Can I please get cast for a couple of episodes?!】 【Let her have her moment. She’s going to lose it when both male leads ditch her for the Siren. They’ll be falling all over themselves for the real main character.】 I kicked Caleb’s back lightly with my foot. “I’m wiped. Carry me to the shower.” He caught my ankle, his voice a low growl. “Lane. Did you get there?” In the bathroom, the sound of the shower eventually faded. Caleb walked out, a vaguely apologetic look on his face. “Hey, Lane, something came up. I can’t give you a ride today.” The feed laughed. 【’Something came up,’ LOL. He’s running off to worship at the altar of the Siren, obviously.】 【And the side piece thinks she’s irresistible. He’s just finishing his warmup before heading to the main event. In a bit, he’ll be holding the main character’s face, kissing her like she’s the only woman on earth.】 【Wait, hold up. Didn’t his hand just touch the side piece’s foot?】 【OMG DOES SHE HAVE ATHLETE’S FOOT?! AHHHHH!!!】 The feed was screaming. I paused, halfway through pulling on my dress, and offered him a placid smile. “Go ahead. I can get home on my own.” I didn’t get it. We were two adults scratching an itch. Why did the disembodied voices of the internet think I’d “lose it”? Standing alone in front of the hotel, a new model Porsche, the color of a stormy sky, purred to a stop in front of me. A refined, almost severe face looked out. “Why are you calling me at this hour?” I smiled at him. “Missed you, I guess.” The feed shrieked. 【HOLY SHIT, ISN’T THAT THE MAIN CHARACTER’S UNATTAINABLE CRUSH?! WHAT IS HE DOING HERE!!!】 What they didn’t know was that I didn’t have two childhood best friends. I had three. Besides the other two, there was the man now driving with quiet focus beside me. Every summer and winter break of my childhood was spent with him. The time we’d had together was no less than with the others. The feed was in a frenzy. 【The Siren’s one true obsession is Grant! Every time she gets near him, she’s completely captivated by his presence! Why does Grant even know Lane?!】 【I can’t. I just scrolled ahead in the spoilers—the Siren can see Grant’s stats and he’s a NINE. That number! A NINE! AHHHH!】 I studied him. His hands, with their long, elegant fingers, rested on the steering wheel. The top button of his dress shirt was fastened, giving him an air of impeccable, restrained class. He was staring straight ahead, yet the tips of his ears were slowly turning a deep red. Behind us, a chorus of impatient horns began to blare. He seemed not to hear them, turning his head to look at me. “What is it, Lane?” I asked him, “Are you… a nine?” He looked almost disappointed. He put the car in gear with a soft sigh of resignation. “Lane, I’m twenty-seven.” The air conditioning was blasting. I looked away, grasping for something to say. “You’re not at the office. Why button your shirt up all the way? It’s so formal.” The consequences of an all-nighter were catching up to me. I slept it off, waking up to find it was already three in the afternoon. My phone was blown up with messages from Rhys. 【Lane, you busy?】 【Silas just rolled out a new tasting menu. Everything’s flown in fresh. Want to go tonight? My treat.】 I didn’t reply. The feed was back. 【Stupid side piece. She has no idea she’s just a pawn in the main characters’ game. She actually thinks both guys are into her.】 【Too bad. The two male leads don’t even know they have the exact same idea: find a practice partner who’s safe and they know well, all to get ready for the main character.】 【Heehee, and when they find out they’ve both been ‘practicing’ with the side piece, that’s when they’ll finally team up to practice with the Siren!】 【OMG! Can we fast forward? I can’t wait!】 【Girl, your thirsty is showing!】 【Whatever! This is the part! The side piece goes to the restaurant and runs into the main characters. She’ll run off crying, and that’s when Rhys makes his move and they have their big ‘practice’ session!】 My fingers paused over the screen. My phone rang. Hearing Rhys’s gentle voice, I let out a soft breath. “Rhys, give me a minute.” “I just need to do my makeup, okay?” Have you ever felt the air in a room turn to ice? Rhys was peeling a prawn for me when they arrived. Caleb, with her. Caleb placed her handbag on the chair beside him, its metal clasp making a soft, expensive click. The next second, our eyes met. All four of us. The feed erupted in a dense wall of text. 【Oh damn, is the legendary pissing contest about to start?!】 【The Siren is here! The two male leads can’t even see the side piece. Stupid girl, still trying to compete with the main character for Caleb’s attention.】 【I just want to tell her to stop trying. The Siren’s allure is something no man can resist. God, this author writes such perfect wish-fulfillment. This setup is everything!】 My gaze landed on the ‘main character’s’ face. I was just curious. What made a species I’d only ever read about in novels different from a regular person? Stella’s skin was luminous. Under the soft restaurant lighting, it seemed to glow. The ends of her wavy hair cascaded over her pale shoulders, exuding an effortless sensuality. I had to hand it to her. A main character like this was, objectively, a masterpiece. Luckily, knowing I couldn’t compete on hardware, I had gone with a clean, no-makeup makeup look. Her eyes met mine, and in them was a faint flicker of hostility that only another woman would recognize. “Rhys, and this is—?” Before Rhys could answer, I widened my eyes innocently. “Oh, me? I’m basically the little sister he never had.” The feed exploded. 【HOLY MOTHER, WHAT IS SHE DOING?! I thought this was a showdown! What is this saccharine, fake-ass response? I’m gonna puke!】 【Seriously, does she actually think she’s pretty or something?!】 Beneath the scrolling text, I saw Stella’s expression freeze for a fraction of a second. Three beats later, she produced a gentle, warm smile. “Oh, a little sister. Rhys hardly ever mentions you…” She paused, her tone playful. “Keeping you a secret. We should punish you for that.” I didn’t take the bait. I turned to Caleb. “Caleb, honey, are you on a date with your new girlfriend?” At the two adjacent tables, every face, except for mine, was a mask of complex emotions. Caleb frowned. “Lane, you’re taking this too far.” Caleb’s response was strategically vague. He hadn’t confirmed his relationship with Stella, but he hadn’t confirmed mine, either. He was leaving all his options open. Even the feed was buzzing that, according to the plot, Rhys was supposed to use this opportunity to get me into bed, and then Caleb would come back later to smooth things over, explaining his words meant nothing. But here’s the thing. There is no childhood friend more considerate than me. As the waiter approached, I tapped the table. “Excuse me? Could you push our tables together?” I pointed at Rhys and smiled brightly. “He’s paying.” The table merger went off without a hitch. My two childhood friends immediately focused all their attention on Stella. When the abalone appetizer arrived, it was cut into two perfect halves. Both men offered their plates to her. Stella looked up, catching my eye. Every gesture was laced with charm. “Rhys and Caleb are so sweet. But I can’t possibly eat all of this. Little sister, you can have the extra one.” I tilted my head, looking at her. “The extra abalone? No, I’ll pass. Someone’s picking me up later to get something else to eat.” Caleb froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Lane, stop with the passive-aggressive act.” Rhys’s brow furrowed as well. “Lane, can you just drop it and eat your dinner?” 【Ooh, the two male leads defending their queen! So hot! They know they still need the side piece to practice on later, but when the Siren is around, everything else comes second!】 【*’Someone’s picking me up to get something else to eat’ ~*】 【Who is she kidding? Both of her guys are right here, and they won’t even give her a second glance for the Siren’s sake. She’s bluffing about being picked up. How is she gonna walk this back?】 【Get ready for the side piece’s most epic moment of public humiliation.】 I dabbed my lips with a napkin. I smiled sweetly back at Rhys. “I’m afraid I can’t. “The person picking me up? He’s here.”

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“I became the most hated woman on the internet after helping my daughter with her homework. It was the 99th time I’d broken down the elementary school math problem for Mia. And for the 99th time, she wrote down the wrong answer. “Is the answer 1, Mommy?” Seeing the same number she’d started with, something inside me finally snapped. I slammed the door to her room and walked away. I collapsed onto the sofa, desperate for a moment of peace, only to find my husband’s dirty socks balled up next to the cushions. After throwing his socks in the wash, I realized the laundry from yesterday was still sitting in the machine, damp and forgotten. By the time I’d hung the clothes, mopped the kitchen floor, and washed the dishes, I heard a crash from the living room. Mia had spilled her box of Goldfish crackers everywhere. The room was a disaster again. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I screamed at her. Shaking, I grabbed my phone, mindlessly scrolling to escape my own life, and stumbled upon a live stream. On the screen, a woman who looked like a ghost sat numbly at a dining table, mechanically shoveling food into her mouth. Her face was gaunt, her skin sallow and oily, and she wore a cheap, faded pajama set that looked like a $9.99 Amazon special. I froze. The woman on the screen looked terrifyingly familiar. She looked like me. I clicked on the stream. It was from a reality show called Fresh Start Family. And the woman in the video was being verbally crucified by hundreds of thousands of viewers. 【How can any woman let herself go like this? She looks like a zombie. It’s actually disgusting to watch.】 【I can’t imagine how her husband faces this every day. No wonder he signed them up for this show. He’s trying to save her from herself by forcing her to see the truth.】 【Did you see her this morning? She had a total meltdown because her daughter got ONE math problem wrong. What a monster. I feel suffocated just thinking about it!】 I looked up from my phone, my reflection catching in the dark screen of the TV. The woman in the live stream looked up at the same time, her face a mask of despair. It was me. I was the monster. 1 The comments kept coming, a relentless, hateful torrent. “Her daughter is ten. So she’s a little slow with math, who cares? Is that a reason to scream like a psycho? If you can’t handle it, hire a tutor. This whole ‘I sacrifice everything for my child’ act is pathetic.” It’s been ten years since I turned down a six-figure corporate job to become a stay-at-home mom. Now, I was a national spectacle, the crazy mother everyone loved to hate. Mia was in the fourth grade, but she still couldn’t grasp basic multiplication and division. I’d teach her, and five minutes later, the knowledge would vanish. Every homework session was a marathon of failures that left me utterly broken. Her teachers had started to whisper about sending her to a school for children with special needs. I couldn’t bear the thought of her growing up under that kind of stigma, so I doubled down, pushing her, pushing myself. She refused to go to a tutor. The mere suggestion sent her into a tantrum—sobbing, screaming, rolling on the floor. My husband, David, always gave in. “It’s okay, honey,” he’d say to me, his voice laced with patronizing pity. “You just need to be a little more patient. Spend a little more time with her.” I’d look around at the mountain of housework, the endless cycle of chores, and feel a profound exhaustion settle into my bones. Before I was married, I barely knew how to boil water. Now, I was a master of domestic drudgery. On top of that, Mia’s stubborn refusal to learn felt like a personal attack, a deliberate act of rebellion that sent my blood pressure soaring. David and I both had degrees from prestigious universities. How did we produce a child who seemed incapable of learning? At first, we thought it was a cognitive issue. We spent years shuttling her between specialists, our vacations spent in the sterile waiting rooms of pediatric neurologists. The answer was always the same: “Her cognitive development is perfectly normal. We can’t find a medical reason for her learning difficulties. We suggest seeing a child psychologist.” Therapists in our city were a luxury we couldn’t afford. Four hundred dollars an hour. A full month of my part-time salary barely covered five sessions. And they were useless. Mia would charm the therapists, derail the sessions, and convince them to tell her stories. After a while, David started to think I was the one with the problem. “What kind of mother has so little patience for her own daughter?” he’d demand. “So she’s a little slow! She’ll grow out of it. You’re the one who needs to see a shrink! Stop pressuring her!” The live stream audience, remembering my breakdown from that morning, piled on. “Why do women like this have kids? Is she just a masochist? Or too cheap to hire a tutor?” “Seriously, if you can’t teach a ten-year-old basic math, you have no business being a mother. Just die already.” “That poor little girl looks so scared of her. You can tell she’s trying her best! Can’t you show your child a little grace?” 2 Could she learn? Deep down, I already knew the answer. But I was her mother. My job was to protect her, to shield her from the world’s judgment. I told myself her defiance was just a phase, a childish quirk. I thought if I just loved her enough, taught her enough, I could fix it. I cleared my mind, pretending I hadn’t seen any of it. I shut off my phone and gently woke Mia. “No more homework this morning, sweetie. I already corrected it for you. Time to get ready for school. I toasted that chocolate croissant you like.” She nodded, meek as a lamb, while I dressed her. I packed her lunch, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt normal. Then I turned back around. She had taken a pen and scribbled all over the worksheet I had just corrected, changing the right answers back to the wrong ones. Her expression was blank, devoid of guilt. In fact, there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. “Mommy,” she said, her voice dripping with fake innocence, “is this right? Can you teach me again? I don’t want the teacher and the other kids to be mad at me.” It was a performance. She was trying to provoke me, to turn me back into the desperate, screaming lunatic from the live stream. The teacher’s words about a special school echoed in my ears, and a high-pitched ringing started in my head. I had been up until midnight with her homework, only grabbing a few bites of a cold dinner after she was asleep. Then I was up again at 5:30 a.m. to start the day. The chronic sleep deprivation was shredding my nerves. I took a deep breath, fighting to control the rage building in my chest. “Mia, honey, I know you understand this. These are easy problems. Can we please just try to learn them?” I patiently explained it one more time, stopping just short of giving her the answer. She stared at me with those wide, clear eyes. “Like this?” She wrote down a 1. I felt the air leave my lungs. My chest heaved as blood rushed to my head. I wanted to slap her. The urge was so powerful, so visceral, that my hand twitched. But my education, my identity as a mother, as a rational adult, held me back. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms until they bled. Mia’s angelic smile never wavered. “Mommy, can you explain it again? I just don’t get it.” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, a trigger that made me physically ill. David, woken by our voices, stormed out of the bedroom. “What is wrong with you?” he bellowed, pointing at me. “Why can’t you do this one simple thing? Can’t you even handle your own child’s homework? What good are you?” Hearing her father yell at me, Mia’s eyes lit up with triumph. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards. A bomb went off in my head. She is doing this on purpose. The innocent eyes, paired with that fleeting, knowing smirk… it was a look of pure, calculated poison. I shouldn’t think this way about my own daughter, but in that moment, I felt like I had given birth to a monster. I lost control again. I was hyperventilating, but I couldn’t calm down. I sank to the floor, pulling at my own hair, a helpless, insane wreck muttering to myself. “Why? Why did I ever have you? Why are you my daughter?” Predictably, the live stream chat exploded. 【Her husband works so hard to support them, and he can’t even get a decent night’s sleep. This woman is human garbage. I’d hire a damn tutor.】 【Exactly. She’s the one with bad genes, and she blames her ten-year-old daughter. She’s a psycho.】 【Can they just cancel this episode? This woman is genuinely mentally ill. This isn’t entertaining, someone is going to get hurt.】 【Okay, but to be fair… 18 divided by 3 minus 4 is 2. She has explained it over a hundred times. I wouldn’t have that kind of patience either!】 3 Seeing me on the floor, David looked momentarily startled, maybe even scared. But then a flicker of something else crossed his face—satisfaction. He glanced up at the hidden camera in the corner of the room, pursed his lips, and said nothing. He was waiting. Waiting for me to have a complete public meltdown, to cement my role as the crazy one. In that instant, the expression on his face was identical to our daughter’s. He sighed dramatically, shook his head, and went to brush his teeth. He put on his suit without another word and walked out the door. I was left alone in the room with my wide-eyed, innocent daughter and my own shattered sanity. The audience was starting to notice. 【Wait… did the dad just walk out? He just left her like that? This is basically single parenting.】 But his defenders were quick to reply. 【He probably has to get to work. It’s hard enough providing for a family. You can’t expect him to do everything.】 【Besides, isn’t educating the kids the mom’s job? Men aren’t usually good at that stuff anyway.】 The argument sent the stream’s viewership soaring. The air in the room was cold. I looked at Mia, and she felt like a stranger. The sweet memories of her in the cradle, the first time she said “Mama,” were all fading, replaced by this cold, calculating child in front of me. Sensing the shift, she seemed to get nervous. She knew she needed me. She walked over, her face a perfect mask of sweetness. “Mommy,” she cooed. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” There it was. The angel. The one who only appeared when she wanted something from me. I had suspected for a long time that she was faking it. I’d seen her playing with a boy she liked, effortlessly showing off how smart she was. That was the first time I realized this wasn’t about inability; it was about power. When she was unhappy with me, when I denied her some new toy or treat, she would weaponize her own supposed stupidity. She knew it was my weak spot. And seeing me, the woman who prided herself on competence and control, become a fumbling, desperate mess in front of everyone… the look in her ten-year-old eyes was one of pure, punishing glee. I had tried to tell David. “Do you think… maybe she’s doing it on purpose?” His response was always the same wave of dismissive anger. “She’s a child, Sarah! What does she know? How can you be so cynical about your own daughter?” And so I became the paranoid, cruel mother who projected her own failures onto her innocent child. I stopped bringing it up. I checked my phone. The live stream comments, swayed by Mia’s apology, were turning on me again. 【See? What a sweet kid. She’s apologizing even though she can’t help being slow.】 【My heart breaks for this little angel. What is this mother’s problem?】 I stood up, went to the fridge, and chugged a bottle of cold water. When Mia saw my frown, her face hardened. “Mommy, are you ashamed of me? Because I’m stupid?” Normally, I would have rushed to reassure her, to smother her with affirmations of my love. This time, I said nothing. I just coldly packed her schoolbag. The sooner this was over, the better. They say a mother can’t be ashamed of her child. They’re wrong. I’m not just a housewife. I have a job. A part-time, remote job that I cling to as the last remnant of my former self. Sometimes, after a hellish morning, I’d log into a Zoom meeting and see the pitying looks from my colleagues. My hair a mess, dark circles under my eyes. What does marriage give a woman? Misery, humiliation, torture? I took her hand and walked her to the school bus stop. In the hallway, she was still wearing her angel face, but the look she gave me was ice-cold. She smiled, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and whispered, as if commenting on the weather: “I wish you would just die.” 4 Her tone was so casual I thought I’d misheard. “What did you say, Mia?” Before she spoke, she glanced up, checking the hallway for the little red light of a camera. She knew. She had known about the live stream all along. The only one in the dark was me. After dropping her off, I went through my usual ritual: delivering small gifts to her teachers, thanking them for their patience. The head teacher, Mrs. Davis, pulled me aside. “Mrs. Miller, you really need to work with her. She’s ten years old. If she isn’t learning, she’s disrupting the class. This is a lapse in educational oversight at home. My teachers are not your private tutors.” I’d lost count of how many times I’d had this conversation. Shame and guilt washed over me, and I could only nod and apologize. In ten years of being Mia’s mother, I had lost every shred of my dignity. The woman I used to be—strong, confident, always put-together—was dead. The grief for that lost self hit me so hard I stumbled back to my car, got in the back seat, and sobbed. As I was crying, a paper fell out of my bag. Her latest report card. A sea of red F’s. The live stream viewership was low. No one wanted to watch a woman cry. 【Serves her right. She can’t even handle her own life. Who else is there to blame?】 【I don’t know… I feel kind of bad for her. The dad is useless. He just criticizes her and walks away.】 BING. An email notification popped up on my phone. It was from HR. A termination letter. The last piece of my old life, the career I had fought so hard to maintain, was gone. A profound, numbing despair spread through me. Each disaster was a stone, and they were all being thrown at me at once. I was losing everything. I truly was… a failure. Did I have to bury my entire life for a child who hated me? I cried for a solid half hour, huddled in the back of my car. And then, something shifted. The tears stopped. I was done. I would clear my name, in front of the whole world. This game my husband and daughter were playing, the game of driving me insane… it ends now.”

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My phone died. That’s how it started. My fiancée, Isabelle, was outside the car, her own phone now automatically connected to the Mercedes’ Bluetooth. She had no idea I could hear every word. “Did you pull it off?” It was her best friend, Chloe. Isabelle’s voice, crisp and clear through the car’s speakers, replied, “Barely. I made it to the airport just in time. He thinks I just got back from my business trip. He has no clue.” “You two have a wedding date set, Izzy. Are you seriously going to marry him?” “I don’t know,” Isabelle sighed, and I felt the air leave my lungs. “There’s a sense of… safety with Caleb. It’s solid. But it’s so damn boring. There’s no fire, no passion.” Chloe cackled. “Let me guess, the new boy toy is all fire? Lots of passion? Did you have a good time playing house?” “Oh, shut up,” Isabelle said, but there was no heat in it. “The wedding is in two weeks. I’m freaking out. I can’t live a life this predictable. But if I call it off, the damage to the company’s reputation… to my family’s… Chloe, what do I do?” “So, what you’re really asking is how to get Caleb out of the picture without taking the blame?” “I don’t know.” “Right,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with understanding. “You want your cake and you want to eat it, too. Got it. Give me a couple of days. I’ll come up with a plan.” “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” The call ended. I watched her walk back toward the car, a vision of effortless elegance against the chaotic backdrop of the airport arrivals lane. 1 I had been waiting here, my heart thrumming with anticipation, only to have it shattered by a conversation I was never meant to hear. You don’t know how to choose? Fine. I’ll choose for you. Three years ago, Isabelle was negotiating a deal in Sonora when she was taken by a local cartel. Her father, a titan of industry, put out the word with a staggering reward: whoever could get his daughter back would have his blessing to marry her. I’d just gotten out of the service, my discharge papers still fresh. When I heard the news, I didn’t think about the money or the marriage. All I thought was: An American is in trouble. We don’t leave our own behind. I called in favors, assembled a small team of guys I’d trusted my life with overseas, and we went in. It was a hellish, razor’s-edge operation, but we brought her home. Maybe it was the way I kicked down the door to her cell, but something about me left an indelible mark on Isabelle. I never asked for the reward, but she started pursuing me. She was stunning, polished, and sharp as a tack. I didn’t stand a chance against her carefully orchestrated charm. I fell, and I fell hard. We started dating, but she never pushed for marriage, always saying her career came first. I didn’t push either, because my own family was a different kind of obstacle. They disapproved of the match, saw her as a socialite, and to this day, had refused to meet her. For three years, I worked on them, sending photos, telling stories of our life together, trying to bridge the gap. They finally relented, agreeing to meet her at a charity gala in three days. Today was supposed to be the triumphant first step. Instead, she’d just doused my world in ice water. Just as she reached for the passenger door handle, my phone, plugged into the console, flickered back to life. I had to end this, but I wanted to do it with some dignity, to give us both a clean break. The moment she sat down, my phone rang. A number without a name. But my memory, honed by years of training, is photographic. I’d seen this number on her phone before. It was her assistant, Leo. Her “boy toy.” What the hell was he calling me for? I answered. “Hey, Cal, I’m not feeling so hot. Can you swing by my place and give me a lift to the hospital?” Cal? At the office, I was officially Isabelle’s bodyguard and driver, but everyone knew the real story. Every employee, from the mailroom to the boardroom, called me Mr. Henderson, or Caleb if they were feeling bold. No one called me Cal. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” I said, my voice low and tight. “I’m Ms. Ross’s assistant. You’re her driver. It’s your job. If my condition gets worse because you wouldn’t help, that’s on you.” “Leo? What’s wrong?” Isabelle’s voice was laced with genuine panic. “Oh, Ms. Ross, you’re there! Perfect. Can you tell Cal to come get me? I feel awful. Just… sick all over.” “Of course,” she said immediately. “Stay put, we’re on our way.” “Thanks,” he rasped, then hung up. “We need to go to Leo’s place, now,” she ordered. “‘Leo.’ Sounds cozy,” I said, the words tasting like acid. “He went to my alma mater. He feels like a little brother,” she explained, not meeting my eyes. “Don’t be jealous, Caleb. He’s sick. Let’s just go.” “Address.” She rattled it off without a moment’s hesitation. “I meant,” I said, turning to face her fully, “how do you know his address by heart?” “What is that supposed to mean?” Her brow furrowed. “I hired him myself. Of course I have his personal information on file.” “And did you hear him call me ‘Cal’?” “He doesn’t know who you are to me, officially.” “And that gives him the right to be a disrespectful little punk? To order your driver around?” “Caleb, are you going to do this right now?” she snapped. “He’s not feeling well, he obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Just drive the car.” I stared at her. The anxiety etched on her face, the deep well of worry in her eyes—it was a look I’d never once seen directed at me, not even when I was sick with a fever that could boil water. “Caleb, Leo’s an orphan,” she said, her tone softening, manipulative. “I just feel like he needs a little extra looking after. Don’t read into it.” She started digging through her purse. “Oh, look! I got you something on my trip. I know you were upset I missed your birthday, but this… Leo actually helped me pick it out. I know you’ll love it.” She handed me a small, elegantly wrapped box. I took it, my fingers numb, and without a word, I rolled down the window and tossed it onto the pavement. The lie about the trip, the casual mention of his involvement—it was all a suffocating poison. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she shrieked. “Get out of this car and pick that up. Right now. Immediately.” I didn’t move. “Fine! Don’t! Just drive to Leo’s.” I remained still, the engine humming softly beneath us. “Get out,” she seethed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “This is my car. Get out.” “You’re right,” I said, pushing the door open. “You told me to get out.” I stepped onto the asphalt, saw the little gift box lying there, and brought my heel down on it. Twice. Isabelle slid into the driver’s seat, the window gliding up to seal me out. The tires squealed as she peeled away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust and shattered expectations. I knew, in that moment, that we were over. Truly over. I pulled out my phone and made a different call. “Terminate all partnerships and joint ventures with the Ross family. Effective immediately. Halt any projects currently in progress.” When I first got with Isabelle, my family cut me off financially to show their disapproval. But my time in the service hadn’t just left me with scars; it had forged a network, a brotherhood. Those connections became the foundation of a business empire I built from the ground up, quietly, in the shadows. It was the discovery of this empire—and their inability to control me through it—that had finally convinced my parents to meet Isabelle. For three years, I had secretly funneled resources and opportunities to her family’s company, propping them up, making them stronger. Not anymore. The pain, though, was real. A raw, hollow ache in my chest. I found a dimly lit bar, ordered a bottle of whiskey, and sat there in silence, the past three years playing out like a film reel in my head. After the service, I’d come back with wounds you couldn’t see. Being with Isabelle had been a balm, a way to quiet the ghosts. I had given her everything I had, every ounce of love and trust I could muster. “Love is giving without expecting anything in return,” a voice from my past once told me. “If you think of it that way, you can’t be angry when it’s not returned.” Thinking of her words now, the anger began to subside, replaced by a cold, clear resignation. I was setting Isabelle free. And I was starting my new life. Later that evening, my phone buzzed. It was her. The storm inside me had passed, so I answered, my voice calm. “Leo’s at the hospital. I’m staying with him tonight. I won’t be home.” “Fine.” I said only that and hung up. From now on, she could stay with him every night. In the hospital room, Isabelle felt a pang of unease. She had agonized over making that call. She knew she needed an excuse not to come home, but telling me she was staying with Leo was a risk. Her friend Chloe had called it “desensitization training,” a way to slowly make me accept his presence. So she’d steeled herself and made the call. My flat, unemotional “Fine” was not the reaction she’d expected. It left her feeling strangely empty. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Her phone began to ring, and it didn’t stop. One call after another. Suppliers, distributors, partners—all pulling out. The bank was calling in their loans. Her company was hemorrhaging. Leo was still whining about his phantom illness, but she barely heard him. She grabbed her coat and rushed back to the office, a sense of dread coiling in her stomach. The next morning, I went to the office. As Isabelle’s bodyguard, I had my own small office, a courtesy she’d insisted on. I was there to clear out my desk and type up my resignation. As I was writing, there was a knock on the door. “Come in.” Leo pushed the door open. “Caleb, man, I am so sorry. I didn’t know who you were. My behavior yesterday was way out of line.” His posture was deferential, but I saw the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. My eyes scanned him, and then I froze. He wasn’t dressed for an office. He was wearing a military dress uniform. My uniform. He stood unnaturally straight, and pinned to his chest was a medal. My medal. The one I earned with blood and grit. I looked closer. The uniform itself… it was mine. The one I brought back when I was discharged. The leather belt, with the faint scar where it once deflected a blade, a belt I treasured. The entire ensemble—the uniform, the medal, the belt—they were my history, my pride. Sacred. “Nice outfit,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Where’d you get it?” “Ms. Ross gave it to me,” he said, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “She said I needed to project a more… commanding presence.” Leo was a pretty boy, the kind of guy who looked like he’d never seen a day of hardship in his life. The uniform hung on him like a costume, doing nothing to hide the soft, entitled core of the man wearing it. The anger I thought I’d buried came roaring back, hot and blinding. I looked at his smug face. “Take it off. And get out.” “Caleb, I don’t know what I did to offend you, but tell me. I can fix it.” “I said, take off my uniform, and get the hell out of my office.” He put on a wounded expression, slowly unbuttoning the jacket, but as he turned to leave, I saw his lips curl into a definitive, victorious smile. BAM. The door to my office flew open, crashing against the wall. Isabelle stood there, her face a mask of fury. “Caleb, you have gone too far.” “I’ve gone too far?” I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. “This uniform, this belt, this medal… do you have any idea what they mean to me? Did you forget?” “Honestly, who knows if they’re even real?” she retorted, her words like daggers. “I ran a background check on you. There’s no public record of you receiving any major commendations. For all I know, you made the whole hero thing up to impress me.” “And even if I did,” I roared, “even if it was all a lie, you knew how much I cherished them! Why would you give them to him?” “I gave them to him, so what? I can buy you new ones. I had no idea you were this petty and small-minded.” “Ms. Ross, please, don’t fight with him. It’s all my fault,” Leo simpered, stepping back into the room. He’d thrown on one of Isabelle’s blazers over his t-shirt. It looked ridiculous, but his eyes shone with the unmistakable glee of a winner. He looked at me. “Caleb, a psychic told me I have too much negative energy around me. I needed something with powerful, positive energy to ward it off. Ms. Ross was just trying to help. If I had known they were yours, I never would have accepted.” He continued, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “Look, I’ll resign right now. I don’t want to come between you and Ms. Ross.” “No one is resigning,” Isabelle snapped, her voice cold as ice. “Your value to this company is proven. It was a gift from me, your boss, and no one has the right to question it. I’ll buy you something even better.” She glared at me. “You humiliated him. You made him take off the clothes in front of everyone. I want you to go out there, into the main office, and apologize to Leo in front of the entire staff.” “Ms. Ross, really, it’s not necessary,” Leo demurred. “I should be the one to apologize.” “Stop acting,” I snarled. “Just get out of my sight.” If this had been a battlefield, Leo would have been the first casualty. Suddenly, Leo dropped to his knees in a theatrical display. “Caleb, I’m so, so sorry. Please, don’t call your old army buddies to come after me. I’ll leave the city. I’ll never come back, I swear.” “Caleb Henderson!” Isabelle’s voice was a whip crack. “I was so wrong about you. I can’t believe you’re this kind of man.” She rushed forward and helped Leo to his feet. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. No one is going to hurt you.” As he stood behind her, shielded by her body, he shot me a triumphant, mocking look and discreetly flipped me the middle finger. The sight of them together, this pathetic tableau, filled me with a profound disgust. I stood up to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” Isabelle demanded as I walked past them. “Apologize to Leo right now, or you’re fired.” “Fired?” I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. I plucked the resignation letter from my desk and threw it in her face. “I quit.” She stared, stunned, as the single sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. “Wait,” she called out as I reached the door. “You’re just going to walk away like this?” “What else is there to do? Stay and watch you two make me sick?” “Nothing is going on between Leo and me! Watch your mouth!” she hissed, the anger returning, but her voice was low. She didn’t want a scene. “You’re only doing this because you know the company is in trouble, aren’t you? You think I can’t provide you with the lifestyle you want anymore, so you’re bailing.” I just laughed again. I didn’t bother to reply as I walked out into the main office. “What are you all looking at? Get back to work!” Isabelle shouted at the gawking employees. Downstairs, on the street, I stretched my arms wide, breathing in the city air. It tasted like freedom. “Hey, Cal. You lose.” Leo had followed me out. He stood there, puffed up with his victory. “You know, Izzy is incredible in bed. I never would have guessed the ice queen could be so wild. And now, that side of her belongs only to me.” He made a downward-pointing gesture with his little finger. “You’re this small.” He dangled a key fob in front of my face and pressed a button. The Mercedes I used to drive chirped in response. “The car, and the woman, are both mine now. As for you… why don’t you get on your knees and apologize? Oh, and take off that suit. That’s a company uniform. You’re not worthy of wearing it out of here.”

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“I was in love with my fiancée for years, but when it came time to seal the deal, I walked away. I let her go, handing her over to my adopted brother on a silver platter. I did it because I’d lived this life before. In the first one, I fought for her. I clawed and schemed and cheated to make sure my name was the one she chose. My brother, Leo, left for London with a broken heart, and I thought I had won. Thirty years later, my heart failed. My wife, Audrey, didn’t hesitate. She signed the papers, giving me hers. Everyone called us a model of devotion, a testament to true love. They envied me. They never saw her final letter. Three thousand words, and twenty-nine hundred of them were a tribute to Leo, the man she’d mourned since the day he died young. She had wanted to join him all along. For me, she left only a single sentence: “If you ever felt a shred of decency, Cole, do me one favor. In the next life, stay away from me.” The grief was a physical blow. The only woman I had ever wanted had never wanted me. And then I opened my eyes. I was back. Watching Audrey, poised to make her choice. So I tore the paper to shreds. “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice ringing through the silent, cavernous room. “You and Leo can have each other.” 1 My surrender stunned the glittering crowd of family friends and business partners my father had assembled. They all knew I was obsessed with Audrey Prescott. They’d all heard the stories: how, even after she was unofficially promised to Leo, the golden boy my parents adopted, I had debased myself. I’d begged, I’d pleaded, I’d knelt in the rain on the Prescott’s manicured lawn for three days straight, all for this one chance—a public declaration. “Is this you being noble, Cole? Or is it guilt?” Audrey’s voice was ice. She knelt, gathering the scraps of paper from the polished marble floor. She pieced them together, then held up the other, unopened envelope for everyone to see. “Both of them say ‘Cole Grayson,’” she announced, her eyes locking onto mine. “You were afraid of getting caught, weren’t you? That’s why you backed out.” In that instant, I knew. She remembered, too. She was reborn, just like me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t even speak. Well, this simplified things. Let the star-crossed lovers have their reunion. Leo, a master of theatrics, rushed forward, feigning shock. He snatched the papers, his voice thick with false emotion. “Brother, I know Audrey was promised to you from birth. I’m not a true Grayson, I don’t deserve her. You didn’t have to do this, to stain the family name by cheating. I would have stepped aside. I’m stepping aside now!” If he’d truly meant that, we wouldn’t be standing here in the first place. But Audrey bought it completely. She gently wiped a tear from his cheek, her eyes filled with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in thirty years. A tenderness never once directed at me. “Don’t cry,” she whispered. “It was always going to be you.” I stood there, a clown in the presence of gods. The whispers started, sharp and cruel. “When they found Cole two years ago, I knew he was trouble. Look at him, no class at all. Trying to cheat his own brother out of a fiancée.” “My daughter told me he’s always forcing himself between them. He has no shame!” My father’s face was a thundercloud. He glared at me, the disappointment radiating from him in waves. He dismissed the guests with a clipped, “Family matter,” then dragged me into his study. The door had barely clicked shut before his hand cracked across my face. The sound was sharp, electric. I stumbled back, my cheek stinging. He kicked the back of my knee, forcing me to the floor. “You have disgraced me, Cole. You’ve shamed this entire family. After their wedding, you’re done. Get on a plane and don’t come back. Stay the hell away from Audrey and Leo.” He threw a one-way ticket to London on the desk in front of me. He couldn’t even look at me. My mother, standing by his side, just nodded. “You have our name, and our blood, but nothing else of us. Perhaps some time abroad will do you good.” I picked up the ticket. A hollow laugh echoed in my chest. They’d already planned my exile. In my first life, when Leo lost and flew to London in a rage, my parents had been devastated. They gave him half the company to “ease his suffering,” called him every day, and mourned him like a fallen prince when he died. When his casket was flown home, their hair turned white overnight. They were gone within a year. Now, they looked at me like I was something they’d scraped off their shoe. The difference between being loved and being tolerated is a chasm. Fine. In this life, I wouldn’t beg for scraps of affection. I would choose myself. I swallowed the bitterness and met my father’s gaze, a strange calm settling over me. “I’ll go. But I want what’s mine. My inheritance.” My father’s face hardened. I was a lost cause. “You insolent brat! Fine. You want your money? Then sign this.” He pulled a document from his desk. “A legal disavowal of all future claims on the Grayson estate. I’m not running a charity.” My mother touched his arm, murmuring for him to calm down, for me to just apologize. Instead, I took the pen, signed my name, and pressed my thumb onto the ink pad without hesitation. My father’s expression grew even colder. “The money will be in your account the day you leave.” He didn’t trust me not to take it and stay. A few hot tears splashed onto the paper. I wiped them away angrily, left the document on his mahogany desk, and walked out. Audrey and Leo were waiting in the hall. Leo put on a concerned face. “Cole, what’s that in your hand? I heard Dad yelling. This is all my fault. Let me go talk to them for you—” The same old act. If he wanted to help, he wouldn’t have waited until now. Audrey shot me a cool glance, then patted Leo’s hand. “Cole is their son. They won’t be too hard on him.” She turned to me, her voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “I exposed you today to kill any lingering hope you might have. You can’t force happiness, Cole. Please, just stop chasing me.” Her words, so reminiscent of her final letter, sent a phantom pain through my chest. I just smiled faintly. “I will.” My simple agreement left her speechless. A dozen pre-rehearsed arguments died on her lips. Leo, ever the opportunist, slung an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, bro. Don’t be like that. The wedding’s in a week. We can still compete fairly until then! Name your terms, anything you want.” Audrey’s eyes narrowed. She pulled Leo behind her as if I were a threat. “Cole, I’m warning you, don’t repeat the past. No matter what tricks you pull, I will never marry you. Leo has been nothing but good to you. If you have any gratitude, you won’t do this to him.” There it was again. That familiar guilt trip from her letter. The irony was, I understood the lesson better than she ever could. I let out a short, sharp laugh. I clutched the plane ticket, my one tangible piece of this family’s love, and looked her dead in the eye. “Audrey, I will never bother you again,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “Or may I rot in hell.” If they all wanted Leo so badly, then fine. They could have him. I didn’t want any of them anymore. 2 I left Audrey and Leo standing there, stunned, and went to my room. It was in the back of the house, small and windowless. The only light came from a small desk lamp, perpetually on, illuminating a watch under a glass cloche. My gaze fell on the watch, and the memories flooded back. Five years ago. I was eighteen, a waiter at Leo’s extravagant college acceptance party. I’d bumped into Audrey, spilling soup all over her designer dress. But instead of anger, her eyes lit up with recognition. She dragged me in front of Robert and Eleanor Grayson. That’s how I found out the truth: my birth mother, a desperate woman, had switched me with their son to give him a life of luxury. The woman who raised me had beaten and starved me, pulling me out of school at sixteen to work and support her. When I first came to the Grayson estate, I was naive. I thought we could be a family. But I was a ghost. If I asked for a glass of water, the staff would look right through me until Leo gave a nod. I learned my place quickly. I learned to want nothing. A year later, on our shared nineteenth birthday, they threw a massive party. Everyone treated Leo as the sole heir. One mountain of gifts, one birthday boy. I stood in the corner, invisible, until Audrey found me. She pressed a small, wrapped box into my hand, her smile so bright it eclipsed everything else in the room. In that moment, she was an angel. And I was hopelessly, instantly lost. A single thought took root and became an obsession: Audrey was promised to me. That should be my life. The desperation grew like a weed, choking out everything else, and I began to fight Leo for every scrap of her attention. Her quiet permissions, her occasional gifts and kind words—I mistook it all for reciprocated love. But after I finally married her, she never smiled at me again. I told myself she felt guilty about Leo leaving. I tried to earn her love. I did her laundry, cooked her meals, drank myself sick at business dinners so she wouldn’t have to. I tended to her every need. She remained polite, distant, a beautiful piece of art in our cold house. I convinced myself this was what settled love looked like. Then came the end. Thirty years later, waking up from surgery with her heart beating in my chest. Waking up to her letter. That cool, reserved woman was capable of such fiery, passionate love. She could write poetry. Just not for me. She’d even denied me her ashes, requesting to be scattered at sea so the currents might carry her to him. The shock and grief were too much for my newly operated body. My system rejected her heart. I died choking on my own blood. I finally understood. You can’t force someone to love you. The only woman I ever wanted had never been mine at all. I reached out and switched off the small lamp. I lifted the glass cloche, took the watch, and dropped it into the trash can. I didn’t expect to see it again. But at dinner that night, Leo’s Samoyed, Lucky, trotted into the dining room with the watch dangling from his mouth, tail wagging. I gripped my fork. I knew what was coming. Leo feigned outrage, snatching the watch from the dog’s mouth and lightly tapping his head. “Lucky, no! This is my brother’s most prized possession! What are you doing? He’ll skin you alive for this!” To anyone listening, I sounded like a monster who’d abuse a dog. He continued his performance. “It was just a promotional gift, but my brother’s worn it for years. Don’t you know how important it is? You’re going to get me in so much trouble!” He held the slobber-covered watch out to me, his expression earnest. “Cole, I’m so sorry. Please, take it back.” A drop of dog saliva fell from the watch and landed in my bowl of soup. My parents, who knew I never let anyone touch the watch, broke their usual silence. “Cole, it was an accident. Leo didn’t mean it. Don’t make a scene.” But I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at Audrey. “…A promotional gift?” Her eyes flickered away. She placed a piece of asparagus on Leo’s plate. “Don’t be dramatic, Leo. It wasn’t just a cheap giveaway. It came with the Patek Philippe I bought for you. It’s a genuine timepiece, worth a few thousand dollars.” A few thousand dollars. A footnote to his multi-million dollar masterpiece. It all clicked into place. She hadn’t bought a gift for me. She’d just handed off the freebie. And I, like an idiot, had treasured it, thinking someone in this cold, vast house actually saw me. My entire pursuit of her, my thirty-year devotion, it must have looked like a pathetic joke to them. I reached out and took the watch. Audrey, thinking the crisis was averted, managed a small smile. “The thought is what counts, Cole. I’ll get you the latest model next week—” I stood up. And in one smooth motion, I threw the watch across the room. Lucky, thinking it was a game, bounded after it, retrieved it, and brought it back, dropping it at my feet with an expectant whimper. I reached down and scratched the dog behind his ears. “Leo’s right,” I said, my voice calm and even. “It’s a cheap promotional gift. It’s perfect for a dog toy.” 3 Audrey stared at me, her composure cracking. An unreadable expression crossed her face—confusion, maybe even a flicker of hurt. Her cheeks flushed. Leo, seeing his plan to make me lose my temper had failed, switched tactics. His eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Brother, you said you weren’t mad, but you threw it away. If you’re that upset, just hit me. Get it out of your system!” A look of understanding dawned on Audrey’s face, and she seemed to relax, her certainty returning. “That’s enough, Cole. What is this, some kind of reverse psychology? No matter how you provoke Leo to get my attention, you will not be the one standing next to me at the altar.” My father slammed his hand on the table, convinced I was being a petty tyrant. “Cole, if you can’t behave, you can leave the table. Go to the safe room and think about what you’ve done.” The safe room was pitch black, soundproof. A concrete box in the basement. I lost all track of time, my throat raw with thirst, my stomach aching with hunger. Suddenly, the heavy door creaked open. A tactical flashlight beam hit my eyes, blinding me. “Being the blood son has its perks, doesn’t it?” a familiar voice mused, dripping with jealousy. “No matter how much I stir the pot, the worst you get is missing a meal. It’s just a slap on the wrist…” It was Leo. I sighed. “You’re wrong. They’ve already decided to send me to London after the wedding. They only see you as their son. You don’t have to do this. I’m not going to fight you for Audrey anymore.” He paused. “Really?” “I’m serious,” I said. “Check the top drawer of my dresser. The plane ticket is right there.” The silence stretched for a moment. He switched off the flashlight. I thought maybe, finally, this would be the end of it. Then he laughed, a low, cold sound. “You must think I’m an idiot, Cole. First you were the quiet little mouse, then you suddenly decided you were in love with my fiancée. You expect me to believe you’d just give her up?” He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper. “I don’t believe in luck, Cole. I believe in making my own.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room. I was weak from hunger, my legs unsteady. He pulled me toward the grand staircase. My eyes widened in alarm. “What are you doing?” A twisted smile played on his lips. “Guess how ugly your end is going to be?” I tried to pull away, but he was already in motion. With a final, conspiratorial glance, he let himself fall backward, tumbling down the long, winding staircase. He crashed into a massive porcelain vase at the bottom. The sound of shattering ceramic and his own theatrical screams echoed through the entire mansion. Lights flicked on everywhere. Audrey was the first one out of her room. She saw Leo crumpled on the floor and her face went pale. She flew down the stairs. “Leo! I’m taking you to the hospital!” In my first life, I’d been hit by a car saving her from walking into traffic. Lying in a pool of my own blood, I never saw that look of sheer terror on her face. Leo, knowing full well he was fine, clutched her dress, sobbing. “We can’t go. They’ll arrest Cole. Please, don’t blame him. I shouldn’t have gone to check on my tux… I wouldn’t have seen him sneaking out to cut it to pieces, and he wouldn’t have… he wouldn’t have pushed me.” He looked up at me, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Brother, I know you were mad about the watch, and I already said I was sorry. The wedding is next week… what am I going to do without a tuxedo?” Just then, a maid came running, her face white. “Mrs. Prescott-to-be, it’s true! Mr. Leo’s suit… it’s been shredded!” The frame was perfect. Audrey looked up at me, her lips a thin, hard line. The disappointment and shock in her eyes were a physical blow. I knew her better than anyone. When her gentle nature finally gave way to real anger, she could be ruthless. Her voice was cold steel. “Cole. Get down here and apologize to Leo. Now.” Before I could move, two of my father’s bodyguards grabbed me and hauled me down the stairs, my shins banging against the sharp edges of the steps. My head was finally clearing. I pointed to the corner of the ceiling. “Check the security cameras!” “How dare you!” My parents had appeared at the top of the stairs, their faces masks of fury. “Are you saying Leo is lying?” Audrey’s brow furrowed. She leaned in, her voice a low hiss in my ear. “Last time, you were the death of him, Cole. Are you going to torment him in this life, too? Don’t you feel the slightest bit of guilt? Apologize now, and I’ll put in a good word for you.” A lightning bolt of understanding struck me. I was the death of him? “What? No! He went abroad, he was reckless with money and made enemies! He got into a fight and was beaten to death—” CRACK! She slapped me, hard. The idea that I would slander his memory was too much for her. “There is a limit, Cole. He is the future son-in-law of the Prescott family. You will offer him a formal apology. Now.” The last bit of warmth in my heart turned to ice. It all made sense now. In our first life, our relationship, which had been slowly warming, turned arctic the day we heard Leo was dead. She became a stranger in our home, moving through the rooms like a ghost, never speaking to me unless she had to. In her mind, I wasn’t just her husband. I was a jealous monster who had chased his own brother to his death. A wave of despair washed over me. I looked around. Every single person was staring at me with anger and condemnation. It took a long time to find my voice. When I did, it was a hoarse whisper. “You’re right. It was my fault. Is that what you want to hear?” My father snorted. “Lock him in the safe room. Double the bolts. No one gives him food. If anyone lets him out, they’re fired.” As the guards dragged me away, I heard Leo’s voice, deliberately loud. “Audrey, you’ve always been so kind to everyone. I think it gave him the wrong idea. Seeing you get angry for my sake… it must be breaking his heart, don’t you think?” There was a pause. Then Audrey’s voice, devoid of all emotion. “He brought this on himself. He doesn’t deserve my kindness.” I laughed, a dry, rattling sound in my throat. In my first life, everyone envied me for marrying such a gentle, kind, perfect wife. They never knew. She was kind to everyone in the world. Everyone but me. This time, I was locked away for what felt like an eternity. Delirious from hunger, I was barely conscious when the door finally opened. Someone kicked me. “The wedding is tomorrow. Leo is worried you’ll cause a scene. Get out, you menace. Get out now!” My fingers twitched. I’d been locked in here for five days. My father hauled me to my feet and shoved a suitcase into my arms. “Stop pretending. No one would dare actually hurt you. The money’s been wired.” He pushed me out the front door into the cold night air. The clock on the Bentley waiting for me read 2:00 AM. The world was silent. Just me, a suitcase, a car, and a driver. Just like the day I arrived, when they snuck me in quietly so Leo wouldn’t get upset. The car started, pulling away toward the airport. I asked the driver for the bag of crackers I saw on the passenger seat and ate them like a starving animal. Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt bit into my chest, and I choked, the taste of blood in my mouth. I looked up. Caught in the high beams of an oncoming car was a tall, familiar silhouette. 4 The driver panicked. “Mrs. Prescott-to-be? What are you doing out here?” Audrey ignored him. She pulled her trench coat tighter and tapped on my window. I lowered it. She saw my gaunt face, the sharp angles of my cheekbones. She frowned, then reached out and brushed a crumb from the corner of my mouth. “Why do you always end up looking so pathetic?” Her voice was softer now. “I heard the car. Leo said you couldn’t handle the punishment and snuck out for a feast. Don’t worry, I won’t tell on you. Just come back quietly, and please, don’t ruin the wedding.” I was too tired to argue. I just nodded. She paused, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a watch. A Patek Philippe. It shimmered under the faint moonlight, worth millions. “Leo and I won’t be getting a marriage license. It’s just for show. I’ll convince him to find someone who truly loves him… Just give me three months, Cole. Three months, and I’ll come back.” I thought I was hallucinating. She pressed the watch into my hand, her gaze intense. “Cole, if you swear to leave Leo alone, to treat him with kindness, I’m willing to be with you. I’ll help you atone for the sins of our last life.” Her eyes, a pale, clear gray, looked almost merciful. And I finally, truly understood. She wanted it all. The tragic romance with her dead lover’s memory, and the steady, obsessive devotion of the man who survived. She wanted to absolve her guilt without giving up a thing. A dry, aching lump formed in my throat. I shook my head slowly. “Don’t worry. I won’t fight him…” She mistook this for agreement. A genuine, beautiful smile spread across her face, the same one I’d fallen in love with at that birthday party. “See, Cole? A few days of discipline and you’re much more obedient. It’s settled, then.” She waved as my car pulled away. “Go on, get your big meal. I’m going back to bed…” The car picked up speed. When her slender figure had completely vanished in the rearview mirror, I rolled down the window and threw the Patek Philippe into the darkness. … The next morning, the wedding went on as scheduled. The venue was packed. My seat at the family table was occupied by a distant cousin. In the bridal suite, Audrey kept checking the time, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She called my phone. “The number you have dialed has been switched off…” The robotic voice was cut off by Leo’s cheerful one as he entered the room. “My beautiful bride. Are you ready?” Audrey was distracted. “Cole isn’t back yet. The ceremony is about to start.” Leo’s eyes gleamed with triumph, but he put on a pained expression. “Well, maybe he doesn’t respect me enough to attend our wedding. If he doesn’t want to be here, we can’t force him…” But Audrey didn’t relent as he expected. Her brow furrowed. “No. That’s not possible. We had an agreement.” She gathered her skirts and went to find my parents. “Robert, Eleanor, Cole is missing. Have you called the driver? We need to find him.” My mother waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about him.” My father’s face was dark with contempt. “That useless screw-up? I put him on a plane to London last night. I wasn’t about to let him ruin your wedding and embarrass me further—” He was cut off by his assistant, who burst into the room, pale and sweating. “Mr. Grayson, sir, it’s terrible news. The flight… Mr. Cole’s flight… there was an accident. The plane went down.” “What did you say?” Audrey’s voice was a choked whisper, all the color draining from her face. The assistant wiped his brow and repeated, his voice trembling, “Mr. Cole’s flight last night… it went down over the Atlantic this morning at eight o’clock. The airline just confirmed…”

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The call came, and just like that, my sister-in-law, Linda, was gone. A firestorm of screaming matches with my husband’s brother, Mark, and then… nothing. She’d walked out, leaving her twin daughters behind like a pair of old shoes. And now, here was my mother-in-law, Eleanor, standing on my doorstep, the girls flanking her like sullen bodyguards. They were high school sophomores, all sharp angles and simmering resentment. “Clara, honey,” Eleanor pleaded, her voice a practiced quaver. “An aunt has to be a mother now. You have to pity them. Two girls, without a mom…” In another life, I’d listened. In another life, my heart had been a bleeding, foolish thing. I’d taken them in. I’d poured my soul into those girls, bled my bank account dry for tutors and art camps, all to see them accepted into top-tier universities. And at their graduation party, a celebration I had thrown for them, they had repaid me with a spectacular, tear-streaked performance. Hailey had sobbed to our relatives that I’d treated them like household help. Kayla added that I’d even let my son, Leo, watch them, that he would come into their room. “Just because our mom left doesn’t mean we don’t have any dignity!” she’d cried. Then Linda, as if on cue, materialized from the crowd to reclaim her wronged children. She’d swept them into her arms, and they’d sworn they would never set foot in my toxic home again. My husband’s family turned on me, their whispers like venom. How could she? Those poor, motherless girls. Lost in a fog of disbelief, I felt two pairs of hands on my back. A hard shove. The world tilted, the city lights a dizzying smear as I tumbled from the 28th-floor balcony. My last sensation was a shattering impact. I blinked. The scent of Eleanor’s cloying perfume. The identical, resentful faces of the twins. I was back. This time, I would be so much better to them. I would be the aunt they deserved. And the first thing I’d do? Buy them each the brand-new iPhone they’d been begging for. 1 “Clara, you’re their mother now, you have to be,” Eleanor’s wheedling voice burrowed into my ear, pulling me from the daze. Yes. It was real. I was back on that very day. Before I could even speak, Eleanor was pushing the girls forward. “Hailey, Kayla, get on your knees. Thank your aunt. From now on, you treat her like your own mother, you hear me?” Hailey bristled. “We have a mom, Grandma.” “A mom?” Eleanor scoffed, her voice dripping with righteous indignation. “That woman isn’t fit to be called a mother! Leaving you at the most important time of your lives, just to run off and remarry. Let me tell you, from this day forward, Clara is the only mother you have. Your future, your college, everything depends on her now. So you show her some respect!” Reluctantly, Hailey and Kayla knelt before me, their voices a mumbled chorus. “Aunt Clara.” “Call her ‘Mom’!” Eleanor commanded. “Listen to your grandmother. Forget that witch. She threw you away. Why would you even think of her?” Last time, I’d fought it. I’d insisted I wasn’t trying to replace their mother, which only made them resent me more when Eleanor’s slaps finally forced the word “Mom” from their lips. That single word became a grudge they nursed for years. But Eleanor’s goal was never about family; it was about shifting financial responsibility squarely onto my shoulders. This time, I rushed forward, pulling them to their feet. “Oh, no, please don’t,” I said, my voice soft with understanding. “An aunt is an aunt. I could never take your mother’s place. You two just focus on your studies. As long as you work hard and stay on the right path, you won’t want for anything here. I promise, whatever my Leo has, you’ll have too.” Their eyes, previously guarded, lit up with a spark of surprise. “For real?” Kayla whispered. I gave them my most reassuring smile. “Absolutely. I’m a mother. I know how it is. You just make yourselves at home.” 2 Eleanor looked stunned by my easy acceptance. Even my husband, Robert, seemed taken aback. He pulled me aside. “Two teenage girls… that’s a lot to handle, Clara. Are you sure you’re up for this?” I was. Oh, I was. In my first life, my hesitation had earned me a lecture from Robert about my lack of compassion. “You’re a mother, how can you be so cold-hearted? They’re family, not strangers. You’ve known them since they were babies.” This time, I threw his own words back at him with a serene smile. “Don’t worry, darling. I will take the best possible care of them.” Refusing would only make me the villain from day one. This way was so much better. I started immediately. The master bedroom, the king-sized bed Robert and I had shared for twenty years, was cleared out. We crammed our lives into the cramped study, a space barely big enough for a mattress. I carried the twins’ suitcases into their new room myself. I bought them fresh, coastal-blue bedding and even changed the heavy drapes to light, airy curtains in a shade of seafoam green they’d once admired. I set up two new desks for their schoolwork. Robert and Eleanor were thoroughly impressed, praising my generosity. I just smiled. This was only the beginning. Next, a trip to the supermarket. “Get whatever you want,” I told them, gesturing to the aisles. “Anything at all.” Hailey’s eyes widened. “Like… Cheetos? And Coke? And Ben & Jerry’s?” “Of course!” “But… Mom said that’s all junk food. She never let us have it.” I laughed, a warm, conspiratorial sound, as I piled their cart high. “Oh, honey. If it were really poison, they wouldn’t be allowed to sell it. Your mom was just trying to save a few bucks. Don’t you worry about that anymore.” They attacked the aisles like it was Christmas morning, their cart overflowing. When we got home, Robert frowned at the mountain of snacks covering the kitchen island. “They’re teenagers, Clara. Especially girls… all this junk isn’t good for their skin. Or their weight.” I smiled placidly, offering no argument. But every day, the snack hoard was magically replenished. I started snapping photos of them, faces smeared with chocolate, laughing as they guzzled soda. I posted them on Facebook with carefully crafted captions. 【So happy to see these poor girls finally enjoying themselves. They’ve been through so much. In my house, they’ll never be denied the simple joys of being a kid.】 The comments from the family flooded in. 【Clara, you’re a saint! A better mother than their own.】 【Seriously. What kind of woman is Linda? To walk out right before their SATs? She couldn’t wait three more years?】 【Trash. Thank God she’s gone, so Clara can step in and show them what a real home is like.】 The digital applause was still ringing when my phone buzzed. It was Linda. I put her on speakerphone, right as Hailey and Kayla walked into the room. “Clara, what the hell do you think you’re doing, feeding my daughters that garbage?” Linda’s voice was a shrill saw. “It’s full of chemicals! It’s terrible for them! I swear you’re doing this on purpose. From now on, I want you making them bone broth and salads. Five courses, one soup, every meal. And you’ll send me pictures to prove it!” I let a tear roll down my cheek, my voice trembling for the twins to hear. “Linda… how can you say that? I just… they looked so happy, I couldn’t bear to say no. If you’re really this worried about my care, you should come get them. You’re their mother, after all. I would never stand in your way.” 3 At my words, a flicker of hope ignited in the twins’ eyes. They were still just kids. Of course they wanted their mom. But Linda extinguished that hope with a single, brutal sentence. “Are you insane? I’m getting remarried. I can’t show up with two teenage burdens in tow. My fiancé has two sons of his own to think about! They are your responsibility now, so stop trying to dump them back on me.” The light in their eyes vanished. They stared at the floor, two identical statues of disappointment. I was a good person. I couldn’t stand to see children so unhappy. “Come on, girls,” I said, pulling them close. “Let’s get you something to cheer you up.” Standing in the bright, sterile light of the Apple Store, their eyes were like saucers. “Aunt Clara… are you serious?” Hailey breathed, stroking the sleek glass of the latest iPhone. “Mom said we couldn’t have phones until after we graduated,” Kayla added. “She said they’d be a distraction.” I looked from one hopeful face to the other. “Forget what she said. Do you want them?” They nodded so hard I thought their heads might fall off. A moment later, two new phones were paid for, and they were shrieking with joy. Another photo went up on Facebook. 【The girls need to do research for school, and I’m too old to help with their newfangled homework! Guess I’ll have to rely on technology to lend a hand. 】 The likes poured in. A cousin commented almost immediately: 【Clara, that’s so generous! Those are the newest models, that’s almost two grand right there!】 【Wow. You really do love them. Linda would never. She’s always dripping in gold jewelry, but she’d never spend that kind of money on her own kids.】 I refreshed the comments, waiting. Two minutes later, my phone rang. It was Linda. “Clara, you’ve gone too far!” 4 Again, I hit the speakerphone button. “Linda, what is it now? I was just afraid of them falling behind in school, so I got them a tool to help them study. What’s so wrong with that?” She was practically screaming. “Don’t play dumb with me! What do high schoolers need a phone for? It’s a one-way ticket to failing! Adults can’t even handle the addiction, how do you expect kids to?” They can’t, I thought. And that’s exactly the point. I needed to see if Linda would finally crack, if she would come and rescue her precious daughters from my “terrible” influence. In my first life, I truly believed she had abandoned them. But I was wrong. She had only outsourced the hardest three years. The moment I had single-handedly dragged the twins into a prestigious university, she had reappeared, weeping about how I’d stolen her children and prevented her from seeing them. I remembered the sting of their palms against my cheeks as they’d each slapped me. “We will never see you again for the rest of our lives,” they had vowed in front of all our relatives. “You vile old woman who kept us from our mother.” The irony had been crushing. It was Linda who had refused to visit, yet I was the one who paid the price. Now, I spoke into the phone, my voice full of feigned reasonableness. “Linda, you’re their mother. You know best. Like I said, if you think I’m doing a bad job, you are welcome to take them back at any time.” The twins held their breath, waiting. And again, their mother let them down. “Get lost! I told you, I have sons now. Don’t let them bother me! But as their mother, I can’t stand by and watch you ruin them. Take away their phones. Do you hear me?” I looked at the twins, my face a mask of conflict. “Well… what do we do? She’s your mom, and she’s forbidden it. I’m just your aunt, I don’t have the final say. Maybe you should give them to me.” They shook their heads frantically, clutching the phones to their chests. Hailey grabbed my phone and spoke into it. “Mom, it’s okay! Aunt Clara is great to us. We’ll only use the phones for homework, we promise!” “You girls…” Before Linda could finish, I ended the call. Watching them, heads bent, fingers flying across their new screens, I smiled. 5 The girls’ grades plummeted. They’d always been average students, B-minus kids at best. Last time, I had poured a fortune into their education. Tutors at $100 an hour. A forty-thousand-dollar intensive art program their senior year just to get their portfolios strong enough for a top-tier school. And at their graduation party, they’d complained that I’d turned them into study-machines, that I’d stolen their youth just so I could brag about them. So be it. This time, I gave them all the freedom in the world. All the fun. And none of the discipline. Let’s see what they had to complain about now. A call came from their guidance counselor. She wanted me to come into the school. I knew why. Their grades had crashed from the middle of the pack to dead last. Last time, I’d rushed over, panicked. After a long talk with the counselor, I’d concluded their mother’s abandonment had wounded their sensitive teenage souls. This time, I took a long, leisurely shower. I did my hair. I arrived just as the counselor was packing up for the day. The twins stood beside her desk, staring at their shoes. The counselor, clearly annoyed by my tardiness, tried to remain professional. “Mrs. Miller, do you have any idea how much your nieces’ schoolwork has declined? We need to have a serious talk about your home environment. High school is a critical time. Some students blossom, others… they fall off a cliff. You need to go home and have a very firm talk with them. They have potential.” I nodded earnestly. “You’re absolutely right, Ms. Davis.” “It’s not enough to agree with me, you need to act. You are their primary guardian. The responsibility falls on you.” Last time, I’d protected their fragile egos, saying nothing of their family situation. I’d gone home, hired tutors, and implemented a strict study schedule—for which I was later branded a tyrant. This time, I corrected her gently. “Actually, Ms. Davis, I’m not their guardian. I’m just their aunt. More like an unpaid nanny, really, just looking after their basic needs. When it comes to their academics, I’m afraid I’m out of my depth. I can’t force them. You see, I’m just their aunt. There are some lines I can’t cross. Perhaps you should call their mother? A word from a biological parent might carry more weight.” The counselor’s expression softened into pity. An aunt, struggling with two teenage nieces. How difficult. She immediately called Linda. Linda didn’t even let her finish before cutting her off. “My ex-husband and I are divorced. They’re not my problem anymore. Don’t call me again.” Click. Fuming, the counselor then called Mark. His response was even worse. “They’re living with their aunt now. From now on, you talk to her about everything. That includes school fees, by the way.” The counselor looked like she wanted to throw her phone against the wall. I glanced at the twins. Their faces were a mixture of shame, anger, and a profound, bottomless sadness. The sadness of children who have been truly abandoned. As I led them out of the school, I put a comforting arm around each of them. “Don’t you worry,” I said softly. “Even if no one else in the world wants you, your aunt will always be here for you.” Their eyes, which had always held a flicker of disdain for me, were now filled with a desperate gratitude. We walked in the door at home, and my son, Leo, was there. He was back from his first year of college. I knew, with a cold dread, that the nightmare from my past life was about to begin again. 6 Leo was home for spring break. Last time, he hadn’t known the girls were staying with us. He’d walked out of the bathroom after a shower wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, toweling his hair dry. That single moment became the cornerstone of their accusation at the graduation party—the day my son began molesting them. This time, I had warned him. I told him his cousins were here and to be mindful. He walked in wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a book in his hand. He greeted Hailey and Kayla warmly; they’d grown up together, after all, with him being only three years their senior. Leo was a student at a top university, a fact I made sure to leverage. “You girls should ask your cousin for advice,” I said brightly. “He can give you all the tips for getting into a great school.” They nodded eagerly and were soon deep in conversation with him. I took the opportunity to snap another picture for my collection. 【A full house! So happy to have all my children under one roof. Feeling blessed!】 The family’s likes and heart emojis were immediate. I set my phone on the coffee table, expecting a call from Linda at any moment. But it didn’t come. I’d overlooked one crucial detail: in this life, the twins had phones of their own. I saw Kayla’s phone light up with a text. She and Hailey exchanged a look, then whispered as they scurried off to their bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Minutes later, a text message appeared on my own screen. It was from Linda. 【You bitch. You will not steal my daughters.】 My reply was the same as it always was. 【Linda, if you want them back, you only have to come and get them. I would never stop you.】 A few quiet days passed. I began to hope that maybe, just maybe, I had dodged the bullet this time. But on the morning Leo was scheduled to return to campus, the screaming started. Hailey and Kayla burst out of their room, hysterical, claiming my son had molested them. They swore he had snuck into their room during the night, that he had climbed into their bed. They were shaking, sobbing, invoking God as their witness. In my first life, I had been horrified. I’d screamed at Leo, who denied everything, his face a mask of shocked betrayal. Robert, hearing the accusation, had beaten our son senseless. Leo had left for school that day and hadn’t come home for three years. And still, after all that, the twins brought it up again at the party, cementing my son’s reputation as a predator and shattering our family for good. This time, I looked them dead in the eye, my voice dangerously calm. “Is that what really happened? Aunt Clara doesn’t like it when children lie.”

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It was Mother’s Day, and a pop-up booth in the town square was running a bizarre promotion: “The Empathy Exchange.” My younger brother, Leo, just turned eighteen but with the maturity of a toddler, was whining for ice cream from their cart. “I’ll just take you to the supermarket next door,” I offered, trying to steer him away. But Mom stopped me. Her voice was sharp. “Why waste the money, Clara? Just trade your love. It’s free.” The words felt like a slap. I had to be sure I’d heard her right. “My love… for you?” She waved a dismissive hand, not even looking at me. “What am I going to do with that? It’s not like it pays the bills. At least this way, it’ll make your brother happy.” I glanced at the promotional banner, then back at my mother’s cold, expectant face. A strange calm washed over me. Fine. For the last time, I would give my mother exactly what she wanted. 1 “Are you certain you wish to exchange your daughter’s love for you for one scoop of ice cream?” the attendant asked, her tone professionally neutral. “Please be advised, all transactions at The Empathy Exchange are final and irreversible.” Mom nodded without a flicker of hesitation. “It’s just a feeling, an abstract concept. I’d rather have something tangible.” Her casual words were a slow, dull blade twisting in my chest. But then, after she took the clipboard with the consent forms, her expression soured. “On second thought, this is too much paperwork. Let’s go.” I knew it was only the bureaucracy that deterred her, but a pathetic sliver of hope still sparked within me. For a moment, I could pretend it was a sign that she couldn’t bear to part with it, with me. That hope was instantly crushed. Leo threw himself on the pavement, drumming his fists on the ground like a child. “I want the exchange ice cream! Ice cream! ICE CREAM!” I rushed to pull him up. “Leo, come on. I’ll buy you any flavor you want at the store.” But he wasn’t having it. He clung to Mom’s legs, his face screwed up in a theatrical wail. “No! I want this one! The one she has to trade for!” And then I understood. It wasn’t about the ice cream at all. It was about the trade. It was always about taking something from me. He’d been like this since he was born. The family vacation to Disney World I wasn’t allowed on because he “wouldn’t have fun” if I was there. My bedroom, which became his “storage space” for video games and junk, forcing me into the tiny, windowless den. Every time I dared to protest, every time my teenage heart broke with the injustice of it all, I was met with the same line from our mother: He’s your brother, Clara. Why can’t you just let him have it? This time was no different. Mom caved instantly. “Alright, alright, my sweet boy!” she cooed, helping him up. “Get up off that dirty ground, you’ll get germs on your new jeans, my little prince.” Once on his feet, Leo shot me a look of pure triumph. He mouthed the words, a silent, vicious taunt: See? Your love is worth a scoop. My fists clenched at my sides. Mom was already back in line. “What are you doing just standing there?” she snapped over her shoulder. “Get over here! I finally got him to calm down, don’t you dare set him off again.” I walked toward her in a daze, a single thought chanting in my head. It’s just a gimmick. It has to be. How could something as complex as love, an emotion forged over a lifetime of longing and pain, be extracted and bartered away by a machine? She must think it’s a joke, too. That’s why she agreed. My rationalizations shattered when the attendant spoke again, this time with a more serious edge. “Our process is powered by the latest in neural-cognitive technology, validated by over ten thousand clinical trials with MIT and the Stanford Research Institute. I must confirm one last time: you, Brenda, consent to exchanging your daughter Clara’s love for you for one serving of ice cream?” I saw the logos on the fine print now, and a clause stating the entire process would be live-streamed. The floor dropped out from under me. This was real. My love for my mother could actually vanish. For a scoop of ice cream. Before I could process the shock, Mom’s voice cut through the air, firm and resolute. “If it’s real, it’s real. As long as it makes my son happy, I’m willing. Nothing else matters.” 2 Nothing else matters. The phrase echoed in the sudden silence of my mind. To her, I was part of the “nothing else.” My eyes scanned the consent form again, catching a line of bold, red text at the very bottom I’d missed before: Upon successful completion of the transaction, all legal and emotional bonds of kinship between the parties will be terminated. My mother either didn’t see it or didn’t care. She signed her name with a flourish and shoved the clipboard at me, her eyes impatient. A bitter wave of nausea rose in my throat. It was the final, brutal confirmation. The unconditional love I had spent my entire life desperately seeking would never come from this woman. In that moment, letting it all disappear felt less like a loss and more like a cure. I took the pen and signed my name. We were led into a small building that was, in fact, a studio set, complete with cameras and a large screen displaying a live chat. Mom and I were guided to opposite sides of the stage, each stepping into a sleek, pod-like machine. A synthesized voice echoed through the studio. “We will now begin memory extraction. Our live online audience will vote in real-time to determine if this transaction is deemed equitable.” Mom balked, realizing this was a public spectacle. “Wait, this is going to be on the internet?” But Leo was ecstatic. “Mom, this is amazing!” he yelled from the side. “Look at the viewer count! Play your cards right and we could go viral! We could be influencers, start a family channel! We’d never have to worry about money again!” The prospect of fame and fortune instantly erased Mom’s hesitation. Her face lit up. The live chat was already scrolling rapidly. OMG, is this for real? Trading her daughter’s love for ice cream? IDK, maybe the daughter is a total nightmare. No mom would do this without a good reason. I agree. It’s not about the money for a scoop of ice cream. There has to be more to the story. The mom must have her reasons. The votes were split, hovering around 50/50. The voice explained that we could each select specific memories to share, to either encourage or discourage the transaction. Seeing the stalled vote and Leo’s anxious face, Mom quickly typed a date into her keypad. The large screen flickered to life, displaying her first chosen memory. I was a small child, maybe five years old. A dinner table was overturned, food splattered across the floor. I was sobbing. “See what you did? Now no one gets to eat,” Mom’s voice said, sharp and angry. “Girls are so much trouble,” came my father’s sigh from off-screen. “Always so dramatic.” “This is the third time this month!” my nana chimed in. “When are you going to learn to behave?” The memory was from my mother’s perspective, her view of the three of them frowning down at me. My younger self, overwhelmed by their criticism, choked back her sobs and stared at the floor in shame. In the background, Leo’s infant cries grew louder and louder. The clip ended. The live chat exploded. Called it. She’s been a problem child from the start. Yeah, that love is probably worth less than a scoop of ice cream, LOL. She’s just a little kid. All kids have tantrums. Not like that. Overturning the table multiple times? Sounds like she’s got serious anger issues. The poll shifted. The “Approve Transaction” vote climbed to fifty-five percent. Leo gave Mom a thumbs-up, urging her to press her advantage. 3 Mom eagerly entered a second date. The screen now showed me as a teenager. Once again, the scene was one of chaos. But this time, it wasn’t the dining room. It was my bedroom—or what used to be my bedroom. Clothes, books, and shattered picture frames littered the floor. My nana stood in the doorway, brandishing a broom like a weapon. “You destructive brat! All you do is torment your brother! Look at this mess you made!” My dad, lounging on the living room sofa, didn’t even look up from his phone. “Can’t I have one day of peace in this house? I work myself to the bone all day, and I come home to this drama. Just for one day, can you not be a problem?” Then Mom appeared. She grabbed me by the sleeve of my t-shirt and threw me to the floor amidst the wreckage. “You’re not getting a bite of dinner until you clean up every last piece of this yourself!” As she turned away, the sound of a young boy’s crying could be heard. Mom’s entire demeanor softened. She rushed to Leo, scooping him into a hug. “There, there, my sweet boy. She’s just being awful. Don’t you cry.” The video stopped. The users who had called me a problem were now in a frenzy. See! I knew it! There’s no such thing as a bad mom, only a bad kid! First the table, now she’s trashing the house. This family has put up with enough. I’d trade her for ice cream too. A few dissenting voices tried to break through. Maybe there was a reason for it… Doesn’t a child’s behavior reflect on the parents? The vote count crept up slowly, but the viewer numbers were skyrocketing. The audience was hooked. Leo, seeing the momentum, scurried over to Mom. “Mom, forget the ice cream,” he whispered urgently. “This is about our reputation now! If we play this right, we can get brand deals. I could get you, Dad, and Nana a big new house. We could travel anywhere. I’ll marry a model, give you a dozen grandkids.” Mom’s face softened, captivated by the future Leo was painting for her. A smile bloomed on her lips. But when she turned her gaze back to me, her eyes were filled with a chilling, raw animosity. My heart seized. In that look, I wasn’t her daughter. I was her enemy. An obstacle. I just want you to love me, I wanted to scream. I’m not trying to hurt you. But the message didn’t reach her. As she raised her hand to select another memory, I couldn’t stop a desperate cry from escaping my lips. “Mom!” She heard me. Her eyes flashed with fury. “Don’t you ‘Mom’ me! Our lives would be peaceful if it weren’t for you! You’re a little storm that never stops raging! First the tantrums, then the destruction, always bullying your brother! Do you have any idea how good you have it?” Her voice cracked, and she covered her face, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. “We gave you everything. A roof over your head, food on the table, sent you to school. And what have you ever done for this family in return?” The live chat erupted. She sounds completely ungrateful. Her parents aren’t rich, but they’re providing for her. Seriously. Kids today are so entitled. She was born into a good home and doesn’t even know it. I stood frozen, the injustice a thick, bitter pill I couldn’t swallow. The words were there, lodged in my throat, but her accusations had stolen my breath. The approval rating for the transaction shot up to seventy percent. 4 A triumphant smile spread across my mother’s face. I couldn’t smile. It took every ounce of my strength to keep the tears from falling. It was a reflex, a survival mechanism honed over years. Mom hated it when I cried. So, no matter how deep the wound, I learned to hold it in. This time, however, my tear-filled eyes met only her cold, contemptuous stare. There was no pity, no flicker of compassion. She looked at me as if I were a stranger she despised. Then, a few different comments bubbled up in the live chat. Wait a second… if she’s so violent and angry, why hasn’t she said a single harsh word back to her mom this whole time? Good point. She’s just been standing there with her head down. Doesn’t seem like the type to trash a room. And those videos… they only show the aftermath. We never saw what actually happened. Feels like there’s a piece missing. Mom saw the comments, and her smile tightened. She turned to me, her voice deceptively calm. “Clara, tell them yourself. Was the dinner table overturned because of you? Was the room trashed because of you?” I looked up at her, my heart pounding. Her gaze wasn’t a question. It was a threat. A command. I dropped my eyes back to the floor, unable to bear the weight of her stare. It was her signature move. She didn’t have to raise her voice or a hand. Just that quiet, unrelenting pressure was enough to make me fold. It was a habit I couldn’t break, this desperate craving for her approval that made me betray myself again and again. But this time, I didn’t want to. I wanted to scream the truth. Yet my throat was tight, clogged with unspoken words. Seeing my silence, she pressed on, her voice ringing through the studio. “Was the table overturned because of you?” “Was the room trashed because of you?” Her calm, rhythmic questions felt like stones being dropped on my head, one by one. I couldn’t breathe. The second time she asked, my defenses crumbled. A tiny, defeated whisper escaped my lips. “It was because of me.” The poll instantly jumped to eighty percent. Mom and Leo exchanged a triumphant grin. The live chat was a waterfall of condemnation. See? Admitted it herself. Probably has Borderline Personality Disorder. Look at what she’s wearing. A tank top. She’s just looking for attention. Total train wreck. The ice cream is a better deal. The votes kept climbing, and the insults kept coming. I felt a coldness spread through me that had nothing to do with the studio’s air conditioning. Just as Mom and Leo were basking in their victory, the synthesized voice spoke again. “Switching perspectives. Now extracting memories from Clara’s file.”

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The first thing I smelled was the beast—a rank, feral odor of wet fur, pine, and decay that suffocated the air. From the roof of Mayor Thompson’s house, I saw it all. A brown bear, impossibly large, stood on its hind legs at our front gate, a creature torn from a nightmare. It dwarfed our small home, its jaws stretched in a silent roar as its claws tore splinters from the groaning wood. Inside the yard, my grandmother was a crumpled heap on the ground, her face a mask of pure terror. “Elara, you have to do something!” Mayor Thompson urged, his hand gripping my shoulder. “Your parents are rangers, they have rifles! Go get them!” His words were a shove, waking me from my shock. The scent of the bear mixed with the sudden, sharp memory of another life. A life where I had run. A life where I had saved them, only to be destroyed. Last time, I’d scrambled up that mountain in the dark, my heart hammering with a desperate need to be the hero. I found them helping my sister, Mila, track rabbits by moonlight. They came back, killed the bear, and the whole town celebrated. They were given medals, a new house in town. But Mila, who had thrown a tantrum and refused to leave the woods, was found in pieces, torn apart by wolves. They told everyone she was reckless, that it was her own fault. But on the anniversary of her death, they dragged me back to that same mountain, tied me to a tree, and left me for the starving pack. “You little monster,” my father had hissed, his face a cruel mask in the moonlight. “Don’t think we don’t know. You led that bear here on purpose.” “You murdered your sister,” my mother had whispered, her voice colder than the grave. “This is what you deserve.” Reborn into this moment, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time, I wouldn’t run to them. This time, Mila could have her fun on the mountain. But as the bear savaged our gate and my grandmother wept, my father’s words from this new life echoed in my ears. He’d refused to come down. He’d told the villagers I was lying, just trying to ruin Mila’s birthday. And now, while my parents celebrated her, a monster was tearing our world apart. “Mayor Thompson,” I said, my voice trembling as tears stung my eyes. “My parents… they hate me. They won’t believe a word I say.” A heavy silence fell over the rooftop. Everyone in our small, isolated town knew it was true. I was Elara, the daughter they never wanted. The girl born instead of a son, the one they blamed for my mother’s weakened health, for every bad harvest, every stroke of misfortune. I was the family’s shadow. Mila, on the other hand, was their sun. The treasured one they’d take into the wolf-haunted woods at night just to catch a rabbit for her stew. The men on the roof exchanged uneasy glances. “She’s just a kid,” one of them finally muttered. “It’s not safe to send her.” “Alright,” the Mayor declared, his voice firm. “A few of you younger men, grab torches. We’re going ourselves.” As they slipped out the back, the rest of us on the roof started shouting and banging, trying to draw the bear’s attention. It worked, for a moment. The men vanished into the trees as the bear turned its massive head towards us, its dark eyes filled with a primal rage. But then, as if remembering its purpose, it turned back and slammed its body against the gate. My grandmother, Gran, had been chased all the way from the woods. Her strength was gone. She curled into a ball, hiding her face, a tiny, fragile thing against the looming specter of death. I watched the mountain path, praying the men would return with my parents, praying they could save the only person who had ever truly loved me. They returned near dusk, their faces grim with failure and disgust. “That Cole is a real piece of work,” one of them spat. “He said we were lying. Said Elara put us up to it, just to ruin Mila’s birthday!” A shard of ice pierced my heart. Mila and I shared a birthday. Every year, our parents would make her a special breakfast with two wild bird eggs. I got nothing. When I grew older, I was the one who had to cook it for her. I’d prepared that meal for years, but I’d never once dared to taste it. From the yard below, Gran must have heard. Trembling, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled into the kitchen. She emerged a moment later holding a small, cloth-wrapped bundle, which she carefully unfolded for me to see from the roof. “Don’t be sad, Elara,” she called out, her voice thin but clear. “They won’t give you anything, but Gran will.” Inside the cloth were white flour and two perfect, speckled eggs. My tears, hot and sudden, blinded me. In our house, where my parents rationed every scrap of food for Gran and me, this was a treasure. How long had she saved this, going hungry herself, just for me? A raw sob escaped my throat. I broke free from the Mayor’s grip and scrambled for the ladder. The villagers knew how close Gran and I were; they’d been holding me back, afraid I’d do something foolish. “Elara, stop!” someone shouted, grabbing my arm. “You’re a child! You can’t even kill a chicken. We can’t watch you go down there to die!” Gran heard them and shrieked, her voice a blade of panic. “Elara, no! I’m an old woman, it doesn’t matter if I die! Don’t you dare! Stay where you are!” My heart felt like it was being torn in two. “Gran,” I choked out, “I wouldn’t have survived without you. I won’t do anything stupid. Trust me!” I looked at the men holding me, my eyes pleading. “Let me go. I have to save her.” My desperation must have convinced them. I wasn’t just hysterical; I had a plan. “It was like this last time,” I explained, the words rushing out. “The bear… it didn’t attack anyone else on the road. It ignored them. It followed Gran right to our yard, and it won’t leave. There’s something in that house it wants.” The stark, terrifying logic settled over them. The gate was splintering. There was no more time. The Mayor made a decision. He would have the others create a diversion while I, small and fast, would circle around and slip through the old doggy door in the back fence. Hands lifted me over the wall. The moment my feet hit the dirt, I ran. A few of the farmhands followed with a ladder, their heavy boots thudding behind me. The bear, obsessed with the front gate, didn’t even notice. We reached the back of my house. I told the men to hide in the neighbor’s shed, then dropped to my hands and knees and crawled through the narrow opening. “You foolish child!” Gran sobbed, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Why did you come back?” “No time,” I gasped, pulling her towards the back fence. “Gran, you have to climb. Step on my shoulders. When you’re safe, I can get out.” She beat her chest in anguish, silent words of protest dying on her lips. A thunderous crash from the front told us the gate had finally given way. “Now, Gran, please!” I knelt, turning my back to the wall. “They’re waiting. If you don’t go, we’ll both die here!” With a shuddering breath, she placed a worn shoe on my shoulder. The weight made me buckle, but I grit my teeth and pushed myself up, shaking, until she could grab the top of the fence. Strong hands reached down from the other side, pulling her up and over to safety. Relieved, I immediately began searching the house. Something was drawing the bear here. But what? We were poor. The only meat we had was jerky from two years ago. It couldn’t be that. CRACK. The front door was splintering now. My heart hammered. I forced myself to be calm, scanning the yard. Where could something be hidden? From over the fence, Gran’s voice called out, filled with desperate hope. “Elara! They’re taking me up the mountain! You hide, sweetheart! I’ll be back with the rifles soon! Just hide!” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. As she left, a strange scratching sound came from the large ceramic pickling crock near the back door. My hands trembling, I lifted the heavy wooden lid. And froze. Curled at the bottom was a tiny bear cub. It was small, barely weaned, its dark eyes blinking up at me without a trace of aggression. My blood ran cold. Why was a bear cub in our pickling crock?

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Julian Croft demanded my kidney to save the woman he’d always loved—the ghost of a past he could never escape. He didn’t care that I was newly pregnant with his child. There, on the deck of his gleaming yacht, with the whole world watching, he destroyed me. “You were always just a stand-in,” he said, his voice cutting through the night air. “Your only purpose was her.” My hand instinctively flew to my belly, a desperate shield for the life he’d just condemned. A broken, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Loving you, Julian,” I said, my voice shaking with the force of my shattered heart, “was the greatest regret of my life.” And with his name as a curse on my tongue, I threw myself into the black, unforgiving sea. He wanted my kidney. He could dream on. Chapter 1 The crystal flutes of champagne on the grand yacht felt like ice against my feverish skin. Julian Croft, my Julian, had his arm locked around my waist, a possessive anchor in a sea of glittering philanthropists and corporate sharks. He led me to the small stage at the center of the deck, the Miami skyline a dazzling, indifferent backdrop against the night. His voice, amplified by the microphone, was the smooth, confident baritone that had first ensnared me three years ago. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. As the head of the Croft Corporation, it’s my honor to host this charity gala. But tonight, I have a more… personal announcement to make.” My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird against its cage. This is it, I thought, a dizzying wave of hope washing over me. After all the waiting, all the whispered promises in the dark. This is the moment it all becomes real. Julian turned to me. His eyes—usually a clear, piercing blue—were clouded with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. It looked terrifyingly like regret. “You all know Elara Vance,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the silent, expectant crowd. “For three years, she has been the quiet strength at my side, supporting my vision.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle like a shroud. “Tonight, she will demonstrate that selflessness once more.” I blinked, a knot of confusion tightening in my gut. Selflessness? What is he talking about? “An old and dear friend of mine, Miss Seraphina Thorne, is in dire need.” His voice was low, laced with a gravity that sent a chill through my very bones. “Her life is in jeopardy. She needs a kidney transplant. After extensive testing, we discovered a perfect match.” The world tilted on its axis. A roaring filled my ears, drowning out the gentle lap of the waves against the hull. I took an involuntary step back, the movement clumsy and graceless. “Julian… what are you saying?” My voice was a choked whisper. He ignored me, his focus entirely on his audience. “As the centerpiece of this evening’s charitable endeavors, I am proud to announce that Elara Vance has agreed to donate one of her kidneys to Miss Seraphina Thorne. The surgery is scheduled for this coming Monday.” A wave of applause erupted, a thunderous roar of approval for a sacrifice I had never agreed to make. The faces around me blurred into a kaleidoscope of polite smiles and admiring glances. I felt as though I’d been struck. “Julian, are you insane?” I hissed, grabbing his arm. “You want me to give my kidney to her?” His eyes finally met mine, and they were as cold and unforgiving as a winter sea. “This isn’t a discussion, Elara,” he said, his voice dropping so only I could hear. “It’s a notification.” “I won’t do it!” I shot back, my voice rising with panic and rage. “What gives you the right to make this decision for me?” His gaze sharpened, cutting through me like a shard of glass. “The right? The fact that you’re her stand-in, Elara. You exist for her. That was always the arrangement.” Chapter 2 The words weren’t just a knife; they were the deliberate, twisting turn of the blade in an open wound. I knew, of course, about the ghost in his past, the woman whose shadow fell over every corner of our lives. But to hear him say it so bluntly—that I was nothing more than a placeholder… the pain was a physical thing, a crushing weight on my chest. “So that’s all this was?” I whispered, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a hollow, cavernous ache. “Three years. Was I just a substitute?” He didn’t have to answer. His silence was a confession, more brutal than any words could ever be. Just then, a figure emerged from the crowd and glided onto the stage. Seraphina Thorne. She was exactly as I’d imagined—ethereal, fragile, with wide, doe-like eyes that radiated a practiced innocence. “Julian, darling, don’t be so harsh,” she said, her voice a soft, manipulative melody. She placed a delicate hand on his arm. “If Miss Vance is unwilling, it’s alright. I can wait for another donor.” I shot her a glare, my voice dripping with ice. “You don’t look like someone in desperate need of a transplant.” A flicker of panic crossed her features before being swiftly replaced by a mask of heartbreaking vulnerability. “The doctors… they say I might not have more than a month.” Julian squeezed her hand, his protective gaze fixed on her before turning back to me, his expression hard as granite. “Elara, you have no choice. Pack a bag. You’ll be at the hospital tomorrow for pre-operative tests.” I looked directly into his cold, unfeeling eyes and played my final card. “I can’t have the surgery,” I said, my voice clear and steady despite the tremor in my soul. “I’m pregnant.” A hush fell over the gala. Every eye was on us. Julian’s face went rigid. For a single, fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes—shock? Fear? It was gone as quickly as it came. After a beat of suffocating silence, he spoke. “Then it’s for the best. That child should never have existed in the first place.” That was it. The last, fragile thread of hope I’d been clinging to snapped. Three years of my life, my love, my devotion… all for this. For nothing. “You’re a monster, Julian,” I choked out. Spinning on my heel, I shoved through the stunned guests, ignoring their gasps and murmurs. I ran, my only thought to escape the suffocating weight of his cruelty. I fled toward the yacht’s railing, toward the vast, dark emptiness of the ocean. “Elara, get back here!” Julian’s furious roar followed me, along with the sound of panicked commotion. I scrambled onto the railing, the wind whipping my gown around me. I turned to face him as he skidded to a halt. A bitter, broken smile touched my lips. “Tell me, Julian,” I asked, my voice cutting through the wind. “Did you ever, for even a moment, love me?” His composure finally cracked. A flicker of turmoil crossed his face before the mask of indifference slammed back into place. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice strained. “Your purpose was always for Seraphina.” I laughed, a sound raw and despairing. Seraphina drifted closer, her face a perfect portrait of concern. “Miss Vance, please don’t do something foolish. Julian is just worried about me. Come down.” “Shut up!” I screamed, the venom in my voice making her flinch. “You think I can’t see your pathetic act? You’re not sick. You’ve never been sick, have you?” Her face paled. She shot a panicked look at Julian. “Julian, she’s lost her mind.” He took a cautious step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Elara, stop this.” Looking at him then, at his cold, handsome face, I felt a sudden, chilling clarity. It was all so laughable. Three years of my life, wasted on a man who couldn’t see past the ghost of a manipulative woman playing pretend. I took a deep breath, the salt spray cool on my face. “Julian Croft,” I said, my voice ringing with a devastating finality, “the greatest regret of my life is that I ever loved you.” And with that, I let go. I tilted backward, surrendering myself to the black, churning water below. “NO!” A guttural, soul-shattering roar tore from Julian’s throat. He lunged, his fingers grasping at empty air as I fell. As the icy shock of the Atlantic consumed me, a single, burning vow formed in my mind. If I survive this, I will make them pay. I will make them both pay for everything. Chapter 3 I didn’t die. I was pulled from the merciless grip of the ocean by Damian Kade, the enigmatic CEO of Kade Pharmaceuticals, whose boat had been passing nearby. Five years. Five years is a long time. Long enough for a broken woman named Elara Vance to perish and for Eris, one of the world’s most celebrated jewelry designers, to be born from her ashes. Now, it was time for my encore. I stood at the entrance to the International Business Summit Gala, my hand resting on Damian’s arm. The deep red of my gown was the color of vengeance. “Ready?” Damian murmured, his voice a low vibration beside my ear. I inclined my head, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across my lips. “Five years in the making, Damian. The curtain is finally going up.” We entered the ballroom, a grand space teeming with the world’s financial elite. My eyes scanned the crowd until they found him. Julian Croft. He stood in a small circle of men, looking older, harder, but just as commanding. I plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and began to move in his direction, my path casual, indirect. As I drew near, I “accidentally” caught my heel on the hem of my dress, stumbling with a small, theatrical gasp. A server nearby steadied me. “Ma’am, are you alright?” The small commotion was enough. It drew the attention of those nearby, including Julian. I straightened up, offering a polite smile. “Thank you, I’m fine.” The moment Julian’s eyes landed on my face, I saw it. The fractional widening of his pupils. The sudden tension in his jaw. The wine glass in his hand trembled. He excused himself and moved toward me, his gaze locked on mine. The hatred that surged through me was a cold, pure fire. I banked it, forcing a serene, slightly curious smile. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “Have we met?” “Julian Croft,” he managed, his voice rough. His eyes searched my face, desperately looking for a trace of the woman he had destroyed. But five years, a new country, and a subtle surgeon had changed me. I was a ghost wearing a familiar-ish face. My smile widened. “Mr. Croft. A pleasure. I’ve heard of your work. I’m Eris.” Just then, Damian arrived at my side. I looped my arm through his, leaning against him with an air of easy intimacy. “And this is my husband, Damian Kade.” Damian extended a hand, his expression coolly polite. “Mr. Croft. A pleasure.” Julian looked from Damian to me, his eyes now glacial. As their hands met, I saw a faint tremor in Julian’s. A flicker of satisfaction warmed me. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Croft,” I said, “we have some people to see.” As Damian and I turned to leave, Julian’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around my wrist. The touch was like a brand. “Miss Eris,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Is there another name you’ve gone by? Perhaps… Elara?” Chapter 4 I gently extricated my wrist from his grasp, my expression one of polite confusion. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else, Mr. Croft,” I said smoothly. “I’ve lived in Europe my entire life. This month is my first time back in the States.” Without giving him a chance to press further, I turned and walked away, Damian’s hand a steady presence at the small of my back. For the rest of the evening, I felt Julian’s eyes on me, a relentless, burning gaze. I made sure to give him a good show, laughing intimately with Damian, touching his arm, projecting the perfect image of a happily married woman. As the gala began to wind down, the side doors of the ballroom burst open. A small boy, no older than four, came running in, his dark hair flying. He made a beeline straight for me. “Mommy!” he cried, his voice clear and bright. I knelt, catching him in my arms as Julian watched from across the room, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. A small, triumphant smile played on my lips, hidden by the boy’s embrace. Later, as Damian drove us away, a figure emerged from the shadows. Julian. He ran to the car, rapping his knuckles sharply on the tinted window. “Eris! We need to talk!” His voice was ragged, desperate. The window slid down silently, revealing my impassive profile. “Is there a problem, Mr. Croft?” His eyes darted from me to the child in the backseat. “That boy,” he began, his voice cracking. “Is he…” Damian cut him off, his tone laced with steel. “You seem to have a great deal of interest in my son, Croft.” Julian’s face darkened. A smirk touched my lips. “If that’s all, Mr. Croft, we really must be going.” The window glided up, sealing him out. The black sedan pulled away, leaving Julian standing alone in the cool night air, looking like a man who had seen a ghost. Damian glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “The plan is working perfectly. He’s already questioning Leo’s parentage.” I looked down, stroking my son’s soft hair as he slept. “Yes,” I said softly. “So perfectly it’s almost unsettling.” “Don’t worry,” Damian’s voice was a warm, steady anchor. “Whatever happens, I’m with you.” I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the plush leather. The gears of my revenge were turning. The agony Julian Croft had inflicted upon me would be returned to him, piece by agonizing piece. Chapter 5 To confirm his suspicions, Julian invested in my jewelry brand. At the signing ceremony, I extended my hand, my smile a carefully constructed work of art. “Mr. Croft, I had no idea you had an interest in haute couture jewelry.” His hand closed over mine, the contact brief but charged with a nervous energy I could feel. His pale eyes held a practiced smile. “Miss Eris, I’m particularly fascinated by the philosophy behind your ‘Rebirth’ collection.” My own smile tightened for a fraction of a second. “The ‘Rebirth’ collection was born from a period of significant personal upheaval,” I explained coolly. “It explores the relationship between destruction and new beginnings.” He leaned forward, his curiosity a palpable force. “Could you elaborate on this… upheaval?” I offered him a polite, distant smile. “My apologies, but that’s a private matter.” For the next half hour, we discussed business, but I felt his gaze drift repeatedly to my right wrist. He was looking for the faint, silvery scar from a childhood accident—a scar I’d had a plastic surgeon erase two years ago. After the contracts were signed, he asked, “Miss Eris, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?” “I’m sorry,” I replied, my tone professionally apologetic. “I have to pick up my son from preschool. Perhaps another time.” At the mention of my son, Julian’s expression shifted. “How old is he?” I paused as if calculating. “He’s four.” As I left, I saw his face in profile. His eyes were downcast, his features etched with a profound and complicated sorrow. The next morning, while I was sketching in my studio, Damian burst in. “He did it,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Julian went to Leo’s preschool. He had someone retrieve a straw Leo used.” I put down my charcoal pencil. “The fish has taken the bait,” I said calmly. “Is everything arranged?” Damian nodded, a grim smile on his face.

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