Author: Momo Chan

“Freda’s father is a lost cause! Save Lily first!” I never thought the most twisted joke imaginable would play out right before my eyes. The words, spoken by my husband, were a bullet to my reviving heart. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing at Kyle’s shirt with all my strength, only for him to kick me away with brutal force. “You were unconscious for five whole minutes, Freda! Do you have any idea what that means?” he snarled, his face a mask of feigned righteousness. “Your dad was swept further downstream, but Lily is still struggling right here in the water!” His voice dripped with venom. “If you want to blame someone, blame your father! If he hadn’t insisted on coming, would the raft have capsized in the first place?” The way he stood there, so straight and certain, made my stomach churn with nausea. In my last life, I had trusted him completely. And what did it get me? It got me my father’s tragic death. It got me a hospital bed, where I fought for my life after nearly drowning, while he spent the entire night buying flowers to comfort my best friend, Lily. Reborn into this moment, I would not let it happen again. I swore it. 1 “Please, I’m begging you, save my father!” I screamed at the rescue team. “The woman in the water is my best friend, and she’s a strong swimmer!” My desperation only fueled Kyle’s rage. He swung his hand, and a sharp slap sent me sprawling to the ground. “Freda, this is not the time for your tantrums! Do not question my judgment!” he bellowed for all to hear. “Are you all insane? Are you going to ignore the person right in front of you to chase a lost cause? Do you want both of them to die? Who here is willing to take responsibility for that? Go! Save Lily! Save her now!” A ringing filled my ears. I cut through Kyle’s tirade, summoning every last bit of strength to scream over him. “If you don’t go save my father, I will die right here, right now, for all of you to see!” Finally, my threat registered. Two rescuers broke off and swam towards Lily, but the larger part of the team headed downstream, in search of my father. Kyle shot me a look of pure ice before rushing towards Lily’s position. Watching his desperate back, the last flicker of hope I held for him burned to ash. When I next saw my father, he was unconscious from the water he’d inhaled. He looked just as he had in my last life—pale and lifeless on a stretcher, a rescuer tirelessly performing CPR. My heart pounded with panic. I dialed 911 over and over until I heard a crackle from the rescue captain’s radio. “Is the ambulance here yet?” “We’ve got one. The second is stuck in traffic, it’s going to be delayed…” Before I could ask anything else, a shocked and furious voice cut through the air. It was Kyle. “Lily, you’re hurt!” He knelt, gently blowing on a scrape on Lily’s ankle, his eyes filled with a tenderness he never showed me. The way they looked at each other was so thick with intimacy it was almost tangible. I couldn’t believe I had been so blind to it in my past life. This time, I didn’t miss the triumphant glint in Lily’s eyes as she glanced at me. A bone-deep chill washed over me. In my last life, it was for a few pathetic scrapes like this that Kyle had let my father die. The wail of a siren grew closer. The ambulance was here. As a paramedic and I lifted my father’s stretcher, Kyle moved to block our path, his eyes darting around nervously. “Freda, let’s have Dad wait a bit. The second ambulance will be here soon!” he pleaded, trying to keep his voice low. “Lily’s leg is hurt badly. She needs to get to a hospital right away.” He physically blocked the ambulance doors, trying to keep us from being seen. “It’ll be fine! Dad has always been strong. He’s just unconscious!” he insisted. “But Lily, she’s so fragile, and her ankle is still bleeding!” “Get. Out. Of. My. Way!” I broke. The good-natured, patient Freda he knew was gone. I shoved him with a fury that stunned him. In his moment of shock, Lily limped over, her face a mask of theatrical sorrow. “Freda… after all our years as friends, how could you do this to me?” she whimpered, huge tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s not like we’re not going to save your dad. It’s just a small delay. Why are you being so difficult?” Kyle’s hand rose as if to wipe her tears, but catching my eye, he froze. One was the best friend I’d known since childhood. The other, the man I’d loved from high school prom to our wedding day. And right here, in front of me, they were performing a grand, heart-wrenching drama of forbidden love. The double betrayal was a physical pain in my chest. “Lily? What are you doing here?” A round-faced nurse hurried from the ambulance, her eyes lighting up in recognition. My heart leaped into my throat. The paramedic was one of Lily’s colleagues from the hospital. 2 “Jenna, my leg is injured! You have to get me in the ambulance first,” Lily said, her voice urgent. “I can’t do that,” the nurse, Jenna, replied firmly. “Hospital policy is clear. We prioritize critical patients.” I breathed a sigh of relief as the other medic and I loaded my father into the vehicle. Just before the doors closed, I saw Kyle talking to Jenna. He started to take off his watch, but she pushed his hand away. My focus was on my father’s still form. I didn’t think much of it, just urged the driver to go. The next second, the doors were flung open again. In the harsh sunlight, I heard Jenna’s disdainful voice. “If you don’t have money, why did you call an ambulance? The fee for a long-distance mountain call-out is expensive! Get him out of the vehicle, now!” My father’s stretcher was being pulled back out. “I have money! Let my father stay, I can pay!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Then prove you can pay,” Jenna said, her brow furrowed in suspicion. My phone was at the bottom of the river. I searched my pockets—not a single dollar in cash. Without thinking, I ripped the Patek Philippe from my wrist and held it out to her. “Take this watch as collateral! It’s more than enough to cover the fee. Just let my father go!” Jenna let out a derisive snort. “A Patek Philippe? Your husband already tried to fool me with a fake watch just now. You’re pulling the same trick?” A cold dread washed over me. Now I understood what Kyle had been doing. Lily’s voice dripped with scorn. “Pathetic. Acting rich when you’re broke.” Kyle grabbed my hand, playing his part in their little drama. “We didn’t mean to deceive anyone,” he said, his voice laced with false humility. “Please, just have a heart. Do a little charity work and take my father-in-law to the hospital.” I wrenched my hand free. “He’s lying! My watch is real! Give me your phone, I can log into my bank account and show you!” Jenna’s face hardened. “You have money for doctors but not to take care of your own family? Just take him home and let him rest. Stop wasting our time!” The medics continued to unload the stretcher. In the end, I was left on the roadside, watching helplessly as the ambulance sped away with Lily inside. I grabbed Kyle’s sleeve, my voice trembling with rage. “Why did you lie? I don’t even care that you’re sleeping with Lily! But my father needs a doctor!” “If anything happens to my father, I swear I will never let you go.” The rafting rescue team was still there, squatting by the road, watching the show. Seeing them, Kyle’s face flushed with anger. “Stop being so unreasonable! There’s nothing going on between me and Lily, so stop spouting nonsense!” he hissed. “Lily’s leg injury couldn’t wait! There’s another ambulance coming, what’s the big deal about your father waiting a little?” The disappointment was like a thick sludge, filling my lungs, making it hard to breathe. “In seven years of marriage,” I asked, the question that had haunted me for years finally escaping, “have you ever, for one second, considered my father your family?” Kyle’s lips pressed into a thin line, his face a canvas of guilt and discomfort. … Kyle and I were each other’s first love. To marry him, I had given up everything my family offered me. During our poorest years, I ate expired food with him and slept in a storage unit, my body covered in ant bites. One night, he walked for four hours in a downpour just to get me medicine from a pharmacy. As he applied the ointment, he swore with tears in his eyes, “I swear to God, I, Kyle Miller, will make Freda happy for the rest of her life. If I break this vow, may I die a horrible death!” Later, when his startup began to see success, my family finally relented. We walked hand in hand in the snow, dreaming of growing old together. First love was sweet. So sweet, I thought it would last a lifetime. That illusion shattered after we were married, when a media outlet dug up the fact that my father had been the primary investor in his company’s initial stock offering. The news was everywhere. The brilliant young CEO was branded a gold-digger, a man who got ahead by leeching off a woman. He never said a word, acting as considerate as always, but something between us had irrevocably changed. He smoked more, his silence filled with a volatile, brooding anger. One night, drunk and disoriented, he confessed his true feelings. “Do you know what I hate most in this world? Handouts,” he slurred. “Freda… I wish I had never met you.” 3 My thoughts snapped back to the present. I saw the tense line of Kyle’s jaw. “That’s not important,” he answered dismissively. The entire time, his feet were pointed in the direction Lily’s ambulance had disappeared. The irony was suffocating. His body was here, but his heart was long gone. When the second ambulance finally arrived, my father’s pulse was terrifyingly weak. Once we were inside, I ignored Kyle completely, my eyes glued to the heart monitor. Not long after we started moving, my father’s heart rate began to plummet, at one point dropping into the 30s. “Dad, please wake up…” I cried, my voice tearing from my throat. Kyle finished a phone call and stood up, speaking to the driver. “Can you go any faster? Don’t take the detour to the other hospital. Go to the nearest town clinic, now!” A few minutes later, miraculously, my father’s heart rate began to climb back up. I was crying with relief, so much so that even the sight of Kyle beside me wasn’t as repulsive. The ninety-minute drive took the driver less than thirty. We arrived at the clinic and were rushed through for an emergency examination. The CT results were bad. A cerebral hemorrhage, with significant bleeding. The doctor informed me that the local clinic wasn’t equipped to handle it; he needed to be transferred to a more specialized hospital. “Kyle, thank you for arranging for the ambulance to come to our hospital,” Lily said, pouting as she tugged on his arm. “I thought the equipment here would be enough. I had no idea Uncle was so seriously injured…” My body swayed. I stared at Kyle in disbelief. He pushed Lily away and took a step towards me, his face a picture of apology. “Freda, let me explain…” I turned my back on him without a word, following the paramedics as they loaded my father into yet another ambulance. As we drove, a part of my heart crumbled to dust. I knew, with absolute certainty, that there was no going back for us. When we reached the next hospital, the accompanying nurse quickly briefed the on-duty doctor. After a quick call to the relevant department, the doctor looked at me with a flicker of pity in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Our hospital’s only neurosurgeon is on leave today…” A roar filled my head. A wave of immense despair washed over me. We were at least six hours from the nearest major city hospital. Without a surgeon, who could save my father? The rain was relentless, splashing up from the open courtyard, soaking the cuffs of my pants. A figure slowly emerged from the downpour and stood before me, holding out a hand. “Freda, let’s take Dad home. Let’s be with him for his final moments.” It was Kyle. I recoiled in disgust, my mind racing, desperately trying to think of a solution. Suddenly, I saw Lily in the hospital courtyard, arguing with a strange man. What is she doing here? A sense of unease pricked at me, and I started walking towards them. Kyle caught up to me. “That’s Lily’s ex-boyfriend,” he explained, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “He’s from a poor family and has been harassing her for money since they broke up. Lily has always had a boyfriend, Freda. You need to stop being so suspicious…” The man arguing with Lily was dressed in worn-out clothes, his slippers so old they had holes in them. He looked exactly as Kyle described. I stopped. My father was dying. I couldn’t waste time on idle curiosity. But as I turned to walk back, passing Kyle, a single raindrop hit my forehead, and my mind cleared with shocking clarity. Wrong. Those weren’t worn-out slippers. They were surgical clogs. As Kyle watched in stunned confusion, I bolted through the rain like a madwoman. “Doctor! I’m Freda Sterling! My father has a cerebral hemorrhage and needs surgery…” I cried, grabbing the strange man’s sleeve. The man, Dr. Miller, frowned. “Are you with them? This other woman just told me you had decided against signing the consent form for surgery.” Kyle rushed over, his voice sharp with accusation. “Freda, what do you think you’re doing, grabbing onto another man like that?” He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away. SLAP! I hit him with all the force I could muster.

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My father watched me from the back of his Maybach as I picked through the trash on the street. He ignored the jeers and insults of my classmates standing beside him, his eyes filled with nothing but approval. A moment later, the luxury car sped away, leaving me in its wake. I was still staring after it when a sudden force shoved me to the grimy pavement. A devilish laugh rang out beside me. “Look at the little stray, dreaming of being a princess?” “That’s what you get for staring at a Maybach you’ll never touch.” 1 My father has always lived by a single, unwavering truth: what comes too easily is never cherished. Especially money. That single sentence defined the first six years of my life. I didn’t truly understand what it meant until my sixth birthday. I stood before a cake so tall I had to crane my neck to see the top, dressed in a designer princess gown that cost thousands. That was when he made his announcement. “From this day forward, you are responsible for yourself. I will no longer cover any of your living expenses.” He knelt, his voice deceptively gentle. “Don’t blame your father, Karen. Only by understanding how hard money is to come by will you have a chance to truly rise above.” I barely understood, blinking as I swallowed a mouthful of sweet cream. Looking back, I think that was the last piece of cake I ever ate. It was so sweet. So sweet that every time I remember it, a bitter taste floods my mouth. From that day on, my world was turned upside down. No more new, beautiful clothes and shoes; I had to cram my growing feet into old pairs that were painfully small. No more car waiting to pick me up from school; I walked the three miles home with our housekeeper every day. I didn’t even get new pencils or erasers, and the shame of wanting to borrow one from someone else always silenced me. I cried. I threw tantrums. I made threats. But in the end, I was forced to accept my new reality—the brilliant, celebrated entrepreneur on the covers of business magazines, my father, had no more money to spend on me. 2 I don’t know how I survived those six years of elementary school. The house provided no lunch, as that fell under the category of my “self-reliance.” My first-grade teacher, Ms. Gable, couldn’t bear to watch me sit in the classroom, stomach growling, day after day. She started giving me her own lunch. She tried to speak to my father privately. “Karen is at a critical age for her development. The school offers a lunch program, it’s not expensive. She can’t keep going hungry like this.” My father gave her a few dismissive platitudes and said nothing more. When I got home from school that day, he turned to me and asked, “How have you been getting lunch these days?” I suspected nothing. I sang my teacher’s praises. “Ms. Gable gives me her food! She’s the best teacher in the whole world!” My father’s face instantly darkened, his expression twisting into a mask of fury. He declared that Ms. Gable was obstructing my development. He claimed that hunger was the very crucible that had forged his success. He would not permit such a “stumbling block” to stand in my way. Not long after, my father, under his personal name, donated a new library wing to the school. The donation came with a subtle, yet unmissable, suggestion: the kind-hearted, soft-spined teacher had to go. The school administration, though baffled, complied. Ms. Gable, hounded and pressured, resigned a few weeks later. I cried until I couldn’t breathe that day, trapped in a vortex of guilt, regretting my innocent words. But the true despair came from the crushing realization that there was nothing I could do. At that age, with wings not yet grown, I was nothing but a pawn, moved by forces I couldn’t fight. My new teacher, having learned a valuable lesson, wouldn’t even give me a second glance. To fill my stomach, I had to find another way. I started secretly packing leftover breakfast to take to school. Our housekeeper discovered my scheme and, in a self-righteous tone, reported my “terrible misdeed” to my father over the phone. He rushed back from a business trip and made me stand in the corner all night. “This is cheating!” he thundered. “Have you resigned yourself to being a spoiled, useless brat?” I sobbed, arguing back. “I’m not! I’m just starving!” I clung to the sleeve of his expensive suit, begging him. “I just don’t want to be hungry anymore. Please, just give me two dollars a day. A dollar, even one dollar would be enough!” He slapped my hand away, his eyes cold steel. “Only those who grow strong in adversity are worthy of success. Stop looking for handouts. Instead of begging me, you should be using your own two hands to earn it.” “I’ve asked! But no one will hire a six-year-old!” He scoffed, a cruel smirk on his face, as if mocking a piece of rotten wood that could never be carved. “If no one will hire you, then collect cans. Sell scrap. You have a healthy body. Do I really need to think of ways for you to make money for you?” 3 I had no other choice. I did as he said. Slowly, a powerful sense of unreality and dissociation began to consume me. I lived in the most luxurious townhouse in the city but couldn’t afford a new workbook for class. I’d overhear my father discussing hundred-million-dollar projects while my mind was calculating whether the recycling center in the South End or the North End paid more per pound for aluminum. At night, I would dream of the enviable life I once had, only to wake up crying into my pillow. The cruelest torture isn’t never having something. It’s having it all, only to have it ripped away. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I used to be the center of attention in kindergarten, about the fleeting fatherly love I’d once felt. I remembered the other kids gathering around, admiring my shimmering dress, my brand-new backpack. I remembered my father lifting me high above his head, promising he would pour all his love into me. Then I’d open my eyes to the brutal present. I had become the withdrawn, sullen girl named Karen Murphy. In third grade, a boy from the class next door, Blake Vance, discovered I was collecting recyclables after school. He seized the opportunity to mock my ill-fitting clothes and the once-prized backpack that was now tattered and worn. In front of everyone, he snatched my bag and threw it down the hallway. “Someone birthed you, but no one’s raising you. You look like you stink,” he sneered. My face flushed with shame. “I have a dad! He raises me!” “Tsk,” Blake said, wiping his hands as if he’d touched something disgusting. “Then your dad must be a total loser.” A fire ignited in my chest. “He’s not a loser! He’s the CEO of a company! He’s a hundred times better than your dad!” Blake laughed, a loud, cruel sound. He loomed over me, pressing a hand on my shoulder. “Oh yeah? What’s his name?” I shrank back, my confidence wavering. “Marcus Murphy.” “You mean the Marcus Murphy? The one on TV?” “Yeah.” His grin turned even more malevolent. “Alright. Next week is the parent-teacher conference. If he shows up, I’ll believe you.” I gritted my teeth. “You’ve got a deal.” 4 Deep down, I knew the chances of my father showing up to a parent-teacher conference were close to zero. But I couldn’t swallow the insult. To my complete astonishment, my father brought it up himself. “I admit, I have been neglecting you,” he said, his voice surprisingly mild. “I’ll be at the conference on time. I want to see if you’ve managed to balance your academics while supporting yourself.” The carefully rehearsed speech I had prepared for hours was suddenly useless. It wasn’t just about some stupid bet; it was about the fact that for three years, my seat at these conferences had always been empty. So I nodded vigorously, my heart soaring with anticipation. On the afternoon of the conference, I scrubbed my desk until it shone, wanting to present my absolute best self. I stood by the classroom door, craning my neck, but the person who finally arrived was a stranger—a disheveled man in tattered, ill-fitting clothes. He pushed past me and bellowed from the doorway, “I’m Karen Murphy’s father. Where do I sit?” The few students who had stayed behind to help the teacher all snapped their heads in my direction. They’d all heard about my bet with Blake. Now, seeing this man, they concluded I had lied, and their faces filled with a mixture of pity and contempt. I was bewildered. “Who are you? You’re not my father.” The teacher, hearing my words, looked over, her expression wary. But then, as if remembering the invisible, powerful hand that loomed over me, she seemed to decide that minding her own business was the path of least resistance. After a moment of internal conflict, she stepped down from the front of the class. “Mr. Murphy, your seat is in the third row.” The man shuffled over, deliberately pulling a hole in his grimy jacket to the front. I was about to protest when Blake and his friends cornered me, pulling me aside. For the entire hour, they peppered me with questions, laughing and taunting, making it impossible for me to escape. Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. “Now you’re getting desperate!” one of them jeered. “Should’ve thought about that before you started lying. Blake’s family is powerful. You’ve really stepped in it now.” When I finally managed to squeeze out of their circle and get back to the classroom, the conference was over. I stood there, crestfallen, searching the emptying room for any sign of my father. I scanned every face, but eventually, I had to admit the crushing truth: he had lied to me. The lights in the classroom went out. I dragged my heavy feet toward the exit. Just as I stepped out of the school gates, the man who had claimed to be my father stopped me. He awkwardly fiddled with the hole in his jacket. “Alright, job’s done. Time to pay up.” I looked up, stunned. “Pay for what?” “My acting fee! Two hundred bucks. The guy who hired me said to get the cash from my ‘daughter.’” Acting fee? So, when my father said he would attend my conference, he meant he would hire a stranger to take his place? The man saw my silence and started patting down my pockets. “Come on, hurry up. I’ve got another gig to get to.” “I don’t have any money!” I backed away from him. “Then why’d you hire me? I had to buy this whole getup special for the part! I need to be reimbursed for that too!” He wouldn’t give up, wrestling with me for a moment before finding a single dime in my pocket. The sidewalk was bustling with people, so he didn’t dare get more aggressive. Finally, he gave up, muttering under his breath, “What a waste of time. I’ll just go find the guy who hired me myself. Seemed like a big shot, telling me to get money from a little kid. What a world.” 5 Even as a child, it didn’t take a genius to understand what he meant. My father had deliberately hired an actor, instructed him to dress in rags, and sent him to my school to pose as my father. He’d even made sure I would be the one to pay the actor’s fee. A firestorm of rage burned in my chest. When my father returned home, I confronted him, my face red with fury. “Don’t you want to be my father anymore? Are you trying to give me away?” He shot me a cool, dismissive glance. “Consider that two hundred dollars a loan. Karen, you need to reflect on your mistakes.” Before he could retreat to his study, I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “What mistakes? Tell me what I did wrong!” He rubbed his temples, his patience clearly wearing thin. “It’s been three years, and you haven’t shown an ounce of growth. You’re nine years old now. You should be able to understand what I mean by ‘self-reliance.’ “Why were you so eager to broadcast my name at school? What was your motive? It’s simple. You wanted your classmates to treat you differently, to admire you.” I was baffled. How did he know so much about what happened at school? But I had no time to dwell on that. “That wasn’t it at all! Besides, you are my father. Is that something I’m supposed to hide?” He didn’t answer, just stared me down with his usual intimidating presence. It was the judgment of a king, cold and absolute. Finally, he spoke. “I have gone to such lengths to forge your character. And still, you disappoint me. You’re just like your mother—vain, foolish, and utterly superficial.” His eyes narrowed into slits, a clear warning. “I never want to see you trying to use my status to your advantage again. From this day on, outside of this house, you will refer to me as Mr. Murphy. I need a worthy heir, not a shallow girl begging for the spotlight.” 6 I wanted to argue, but the words died in my throat. I knew it would be a waste of breath. Better to save my energy. Worse than my father’s misunderstanding was the ridicule from my classmates. After the parent-teacher conference, my life at school became a living hell. I earned a new nickname: “The Liar.” My classmates, whom I had known for three years, laughed with abandon, their taunts growing more merciless by the day. “Your dad is Marcus Murphy? Nice try, piggybacking on someone famous just because you share a last name.” “If you had even one other shirt to wear, we might have actually believed you for a second.” “Liar, that shirt of yours is so worn it’s shiny. Have you no shame?” Honestly, I never understood where all their malice came from. Maybe it was fear of Blake. Or maybe it was a desperate attempt to fit in with the crowd. Or perhaps, it was their righteous crusade against a “liar.” Blake, of course, led the charge. He had other kids draw humiliating cartoons of me and passed them around. He posted “guards” at the girls’ bathroom to block me from entering, proclaiming that someone with such “low morals” wasn’t allowed to use public school facilities. I was going to tell the teacher. I even made it to the staff room door, but I stopped when I overheard his voice. “You think you have it bad? I’m the one walking on eggshells here,” he sighed to another teacher. “I don’t even dare look at Karen Murphy, terrified I’ll end up like her last teacher. Her father is some kind of lunatic, I swear. I’m constantly worried I’ll lose my job because of her. Why did I have to get stuck with this class…” Someone replied, “But the poor girl… I heard she’s being targeted constantly. You should probably intervene a little.” “Intervene? Are you crazy?” he shot back. “I’m not touching that situation with a ten-foot pole. It’s a lose-lose. Besides, the kid tormenting her isn’t just anybody. His family has connections. I’m not getting dragged into that mess.” I stood silently outside the office for a long moment. I lowered the hand I had raised to knock and turned away. No one was going to hold an umbrella for me. Fine, I thought. I’ll just learn to grow in the rain. 7 I grew up in that suffocating climate of exclusion and isolation, and gradually, I became numb. By the time I started middle school, I was an expert at surviving by collecting cans and bottles, barely staving off hunger with cheap bread. Plastic bottles, aluminum cans, cardboard boxes—I took whatever I could find. But life felt like a cruel cycle, the same hardships replaying themselves over and over. Not long after the first semester of seventh grade began, I was caught in the act. I was at a barbecue stand, stomping an aluminum can flat under my shoe, when my father’s Maybach glided out of the darkness and pulled up to the curb. Before I could even process his presence, Jessica and a few other classmates materialized out of nowhere. She stood behind me, pointing. “See? I told you I wasn’t lying. I’ve never had a garbage-picker for a classmate before. It’s so embarrassing.” My hand, clutching a woven plastic bag, froze. I turned to look at her. A boy next to her smirked. “This isn’t my first time. The Liar was pretty famous back in elementary school. Right, Karen?” I followed the voice and my body went rigid. It was Blake Vance. How could it be him? I had specifically applied to a school as far away as possible to avoid him. My fists clenched, and I instinctively glanced toward the car. My father had to have heard them. A tiny sliver of hope flickered in my chest. Maybe this time, just this once, he would stand up for me. All the past incidents… I could forgive them if I told myself he just hadn’t trusted me. But this was different. The truth was happening right in front of his eyes. He couldn’t possibly turn a blind eye now. But he remained deaf to it all. His gaze fell on the crushed can at my feet and the tattered bag in my hand. A smile of pure approval spread across his face, as if to say, Good. You’re learning to cast aside your pride, to temper your spirit. I’m being bullied! Can’t you see that, Dad? The next second, the tinted window of the backseat began to rise, sealing him away from my view. Then, the luxury car sped off into the night. I was still staring after it, my heart a stone in my chest, when a sudden force shoved me to the grimy pavement. A devilish laugh rang out beside me. “Look at the little liar, dreaming of being a princess?” “Still dreaming your daddy is some rich tycoon? That’s what you get for staring at a Maybach you’ll never touch.” Sharp gravel bit into my palms, drawing blood. “So,” Blake drawled, “what should your punishment be this time?” I looked up at the circle of sneering faces, and a hot rage surged through me. For a split second, I wanted to take them all down with me. I ripped the cans from my bag and started hurling them, one by one. They scrambled to dodge the projectiles. I was like a wild animal, swinging the entire bag, sending a spray of stale beer and soda over their clothes and shoes. “What right do you have to laugh at me?” I screamed, my voice raw. “My life is harder than yours, yes, but my heart is a thousand times cleaner than any of yours! Being poor isn’t a crime, but having a filthy soul and a rotten character is! You’re the disgusting ones, the ones who should be ashamed! You don’t even deserve to be my classmates!” 8 But in the end, my strength was no match for theirs. As they closed in, kicking and punching, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Albright, appeared out of nowhere and pulled them off me. She called their parents and explained the situation. Jessica’s mother, without hesitation, slapped her daughter across the face. “Are you tired of the good life I’ve given you? Your grades are terrible, and now your character is turning rotten too! How did I raise a daughter like you? If you were half as responsible as Karen, I’d be content!” Jessica said nothing, just glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. Blake’s parents never showed up. They offered a lukewarm apology over the phone. I knew their type. They had connections. If I pushed for a real consequence, I’d probably end up in a worse position. So I swallowed my anger and let it go. After they had all left, Ms. Albright turned to me. “Is this how you get by?” I nodded. She didn’t press further. “Let me see your hands,” she said, gently examining my scrapes. “Okay, it’s not too bad. But let’s get you to a clinic, just to be safe.” I shook my head firmly. A clinic visit cost money, the one thing I never had. In all these years, I’d never once been to a doctor. When I got sick, I just had to fight it off. Seeing my resolve, Ms. Albright sighed. “Alright. Do you have a parent’s contact number? I’ll call them to come pick you up.” I didn’t know what to say. After a long pause, I mumbled, “Thank you, but… please, just pretend I don’t have any.” Ms. Albright’s expression grew serious. “No parents?” I looked down, scrambling to invent a plausible lie to satisfy her. But I never imagined she would find the housekeeper’s number on my school file. My father, in his quest to hide his identity, had listed our housekeeper as my official guardian. Ms. Albright called and proposed a home visit. The housekeeper, terrified of losing her job, immediately refused. That evening, my father did something unprecedented. He canceled his work and was waiting at home when I returned. He confronted me the moment I walked in. “Whose idea was it to have your teacher come for a home visit?” “…It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t know anything about it,” I answered truthfully. He clearly didn’t believe me, his eyes filled with disappointment. “All these years, and you still can’t let go of your petty schemes. Karen, must you always look for the easy way out? Must you always try to parade my status around at school?” For six years, I hadn’t relied on him for a single cent. And still, he insisted on assuming the worst of me. I didn’t understand. I was his only child, his biological daughter. He’d even forgone remarrying for my sake. Why was earning a shred of his fatherly love harder than climbing to the moon? I didn’t back down this time. “What makes you so certain it was my idea? I call you ‘Dad,’ and I admit you’re a successful man, but why is it so damn hard to be your daughter? For years, I’ve survived on stale bread, too poor to even afford a side of pickles. I can’t get sick, I can’t have hobbies, and still, you look down on me! Just like right now—I’m standing here, visibly hurt, and you haven’t asked about it once. Can’t you see?” The words tumbled out, and only then did I realize tears were streaming down my face. A tidal wave of grief crashed over me, filling my entire chest. My father remained motionless, a statue of disapproval. Only when my sobs subsided did he finally speak. “You are injured because you have failed to build positive relationships with your peers. You lack interpersonal skills, and it is only through such setbacks that you will grow. The business world is a treacherous place, filled with sharks. You need to learn how to turn enemies into allies on your own, not rely on my power to clear every obstacle for you. Just like today. You were clearly crying out for my help, but in reality, they hadn’t caused you any serious harm. Karen, you are too soft. I am doing this for your own good. Stop trying to fight me at every turn.” It was like punching a mountain of cotton. I laughed, a bitter, helpless sound. Even a bully like Blake had parents to protect him. I wasn’t even granted the basic right to be cared for by my own father. A thought suddenly struck me. If I had no father at all, my life couldn’t possibly be any worse.

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On the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, Julian Hart, defying his own family, arrived with his true love in tow to break our engagement. “Eva may be of humble birth,” he declared, “but she is the love of my life. Do not cling to this, Seraphina. You’ll only tarnish your own name.” Fearing I would fall into despair, my parents sent me away to the city of Lyria for three years. When I finally returned to the capital, Julian and Eva had been married for two years. And at my own welcome banquet, Julian Hart—the man who had been willing to cast his family aside for Eva—pointed at his wife with a look of utter disgust and snarled. “Who allowed you to come out and embarrass me? Get back to the estate, now!” 1 Upon learning of my return to the capital, my dearest friend, Princess Isabelle, insisted on throwing a grand banquet in my honor. She was a royal princess, and we had been close for many years. When Julian had broken our engagement, she was the first to stand up for me. So, my carriage didn’t even stop at my own family’s estate; it drove straight through the gates of the princess’s manor. Isabelle grasped my hands, turning them over and over, her brow furrowed with concern. “Seraphina, you know Julian is the Marquis of Blackwood’s only son. As audacious as his actions were back then, he was still destined to inherit the title.” I had heard as much in Lyria. The old Marquis had forgiven Julian, and he was once again the celebrated and respected heir. “Are you still…” Isabelle began, her voice trailing off. She was worried I still held a grudge. With tensions rising on the border, the Emperor was relying heavily on the Marquis of Blackwood to maintain peace. For me to remain at odds with Julian was not a wise move. I simply smiled and shook my head. It no longer mattered to me. Besides, I had returned to the capital for a different reason entirely—my own betrothal. Many guests attended the banquet. Among them were the ladies of the court I was friendly with, and of course, those who came only to spectate and gossip. Everyone wore a pleasant smile, and on the surface, the atmosphere was one of harmonious celebration. Halfway through the feast, a servant’s voice rang out from the entrance. Julian Hart, the heir of Blackwood, had arrived. A sudden silence fell over the hall. Every head turned in my direction. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea, my face a mask of indifference, and glanced at the man stepping into the hall. He shrugged the snow from his shoulders, and a maidservant immediately scurried forward to remove his heavy cloak. When he looked up, his cool, distant eyes met mine. For a moment, we were both lost in the past. Three years ago, for the sake of the humbly-born Eva, he had caused a terrible scene, demanding our engagement be dissolved. I, a daughter of the most respected house in the capital, was to be cast aside. I remember trying to reason with him, aware of the prying eyes and wagging tongues. “An engagement is an alliance between families, arranged by our parents,” I had counseled him. “This is a matter for them to decide.” But Eva, hiding in Julian’s arms, had interjected, her voice laced with false vulnerability. “Sister, must you use my lack of parents to shame me? It is clear you have no intention of letting us go. You only use your parents as an excuse.” Eva was an orphan, living at the mercy of her brother and his wife. She was a commoner, a girl who could be trampled on by the daughter of a mere county bailiff. Marrying into a marquis’s house was a fantasy beyond her wildest dreams. Julian, of course, believed her. He was convinced I was merely feigning reason to prevent him from pursuing his one true love. “Seraphina de Valois, drop the hypocritical act,” he had sneered, his face a mask of disgust. “You say that only because you know my father will never agree!” His words grew uglier, designed to humiliate. “Even a beaten dog knows when to flee. Seraphina, have you no shame? Must I spell it out for you?” “Eva may be of humble birth, but she is the love of my life. Don’t think your noble status gives you the right to act so high and mighty!” As if that wasn’t enough, he looked me up and down and let out a cold, cruel laugh. “And you call yourself a highborn lady. This desperate, clinging act… you’re no better than a common harlot.” His words sent shockwaves through the assembly. And with them, he shattered the decades-long bond between the House of Blackwood and my own, the House of de Valois. On that day, he destroyed my coming-of-age ceremony and turned me into the laughingstock of the capital. 2 The Marquis of Blackwood himself had seized a ceremonial cane and, in front of everyone, had Julian held down and beaten twenty times to appease my family’s honor. Julian’s back was a bloody mess, but he clenched his teeth and didn’t make a sound. The hatred in his eyes, however, burned hot enough to turn me to ash. As if I were the one he should hate. In the end, it was Eva who fell to her knees at my feet, weeping. “It is my fault, my lady, all my fault! I will leave Lord Julian. From this day forward, I will never appear before you again!” she cried. “I beg you, Lady Seraphina, in your great mercy, please spare him!” She was always skilled at such theatrics. It was how she’d first truly caught his eye. Dressed in a simple white dress, looking fragile and helpless, she had appeared on the main road. Julian’s horse, moving at a gallop, could not stop in time. He had played the hero, leaping down to sweep her small, slender form into his arms. She had gazed up at him, her eyes wide and full of adoration, tears streaming down her face, before fainting. I saw it all. And through her pale, tear-streaked face, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of a smile. She was an expert at using her pitiable act to put me in an impossible position. Swallowing the bitterness in my heart, I maintained the dignity of a highborn lady and bowed to the Marquis. “I understand now that I am not worthy of the House of Blackwood. I am willing to step aside and allow the heir to find his own happiness.” Ultimately, our parents agreed to cancel the engagement. I didn’t want our families to become mortal enemies, and I still held onto some sliver of our past affection. So I brought healing salves to see Julian. He was lying face-down on his bed, a wretched sight, but when he looked at me, his eyes were filled with triumphant satisfaction. “You’re smarter than you look, Seraphina,” he rasped. “If you had dared to harm Eva then, I would have pursued you to the ends of the earth.” With that final, crushing humiliation, the bond of our childhood friendship was torn to shreds. My grace and composure had saved my family’s honor, but my own reputation was still damaged by Julian’s actions. His cronies even placed bets on how long it would be before I swallowed my pride and begged for the engagement to be reinstated. I stopped attending any banquets. I shut myself in my room for days on end, refusing invitations for spring outings and my friends’ birthday feasts. My parents saw my pain, and their hearts broke for me. Fearing I would succumb to melancholy, they sent me to my maternal grandparents’ home in the city of Lyria. I was gone for three years. 3 Looking at Julian now, he had lost the wild arrogance of his youth. The black brocade of his tunic made his handsome face seem almost pale, like carved jade. He didn’t resemble the gruff, burly Marquis; he favored his late mother. There was a time when I, too, had been captivated by his good looks, secretly thrilled by our betrothal. But that was a lifetime ago. Julian faltered for a second under my gaze, then a smile touched his lips. He strode towards me. I turned to Isabelle, whose expression was grim. I knew then that no invitation had been sent to the House of Blackwood. To arrive uninvited was a serious breach of etiquette. Julian first bowed to Isabelle, then turned to me, his tone intimate. “You’ve returned, and didn’t send a word? I would have ridden out to meet you. The snows have been heavy in the capital; the roads are treacherous.” He spoke with a familiar, complaining air, as if we were back in the old days, before a third person had ever come between us. I narrowed my eyes, a flicker of irritation rising within me. Julian knew better than anyone how crucial a lady’s reputation was. A woman whose engagement had been broken, even through no fault of her own, was subject to endless gossip and ridicule. For him to act now as if nothing had happened… I couldn’t help but question his motives. Seeing my prolonged silence, Julian gave a wry smile and cut to the chase. “I was too young then, too reckless. I hurt you, and it was all my fault.” “That is why I have shamelessly come here today. I only wish to beg for your forgiveness.” He waved a hand, and a servant hurried forward with a box containing a pair of magnificent Eastern pearls. They were a special reward from the Emperor to the Marquis for quelling a rebellion. As a gift, their value was immense. Julian held the pearls up, his eyes filled with hope. “Seraphina, we grew up together. All those years of affection… you will forgive me, won’t you?” I glanced around. People were beginning to whisper. A few young nobles, eager to curry favor with the House of Blackwood, stood up. “Lady Seraphina is hardly one to hold a grudge. The young Lord worries for nothing.” “Lord Julian is a man of talent and virtue, unrivaled in the capital. For him to humble himself so… surely Lady Seraphina’s anger has subsided.” “It’s been three years! Let bygones be bygones! Lady Seraphina, be generous and forgive our young lord.” Hearing the chorus of agreement, a smirk played on Julian’s lips. My eyes swept over each person who had spoken up for him. These were the same faces, the same mouths, that had mocked me for being jilted, that had laughed at my family for failing to raise a proper daughter, that had placed bets on when I would break down and storm the Blackwood estate… And now they were telling me to be generous! Why should I be generous? Why should I forgive? I suppressed the rage simmering in my heart and, meeting Julian’s expectant gaze, I bloomed into a radiant smile. “I thank the young Lord for his concern. I have heard that you and Lady Eva have been married for two years now, your greatest wish fulfilled. I was unable to send a gift for your wedding, so please, take these pearls back. Consider them a wedding present from me, by way of your own generosity.” 4 The smile froze on Julian’s face. At the mention of Eva’s name, he instinctively turned his head away, his breathing suddenly heavy. This reluctance to speak of her surprised me. She was supposed to be the woman he cherished above all else. For her, he had ruined his reputation, lost a powerful alliance, and even defied his own family. Why was he now so unwilling to even mention her name? I glanced at the group who had spoken up for him. They had all sunk back into their seats, their faces showing awkward, half-formed smiles. Isabelle gestured for a servant to lead Julian to an empty seat. He sat in silence, then raised his cup and drained it in one go. Isabelle snorted. “A little late for regrets.” I didn’t reply. Julian was a faded memory, no longer worthy of my attention. I turned to my friends and began talking about my time in Lyria. While not as grand as the capital, it possessed a freedom and vibrancy all its own. There was no nightly curfew; the markets remained open and alive all night, illuminated by thousands of lanterns. As I spoke with a smile, I noticed Julian listening intently. Suddenly, he cut in. “The southern air certainly suits you, Seraphina. You’re far more radiant and lively than before.” “In all those years we were together, you always maintained that prim and proper facade. It made a man want to tease you.” The undisguised intimacy in his tone brought the lively atmosphere to a halt once again. Under the weight of everyone’s speculative gazes, Julian seemed oblivious to his impropriety and continued reminiscing. “One year, on a spring outing, your kite got caught in a tree in my family’s garden. You could have reached it on your tiptoes, but instead you came running to me in tears…” Everyone’s eyes darted between Julian and me. I looked up and met his smiling gaze. A cold smirk touched my lips. I had no time for his sentimental recollections. “These are old stories, my lord. I’m afraid I don’t recall them. If you enjoy flying kites so much, perhaps you and your wife could go on an outing together. You could fly kites and whisper sweet nothings to each other.” I paused, letting the sting hang in the air. “Oh? Why didn’t you bring your lady wife today? You insisted on bringing her to my coming-of-age ceremony, yet now that you’re married, you hide her away? Are you afraid someone might steal her from you?” With that, I covered my mouth with my hand in a gesture of light laughter and turned to Isabelle. “What has the Lady of Blackwood become like? After captivating the young lord so completely three years ago, I imagine she must be even more beautiful and charming now.” Julian’s once-gentle expression instantly turned to ice. A chill fell over the room. But Isabelle, a royal princess, had no reason to fear him. She was clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Oh, she is quite a vision!” Isabelle declared. “It’s as if she’s tried to wear every last piece of gold and silver from the Blackwood vaults all at once.” A few of the ladies, remembering something, couldn’t help but let out a snicker. 5 At the mention of Eva, the gazes directed at Julian were no longer filled with envy and flattery, but with mockery and a hint of schadenfreude. Julian’s face darkened further. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain a nonchalant expression. “She… dislikes crowds. She is at the estate, practicing her embroidery…” He clearly wanted to change the subject, but he did so by once again aiming his words at me. “Speaking of embroidery, Seraphina, do you remember the sachet you gave me?” “‘A maiden’s hands weave threads of love, a fragrant pouch for her heart’s desire…’” he quoted, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, designed to spark imaginations. “I remember the depth of our feelings back then.” This time, he had truly infuriated me. A sachet was not a casual gift. After our engagement was set, he had pestered me relentlessly, begging me to embroider one for him so he could wear it every day. I had thought, since we were to be married, that making a sachet for my fiancé was only proper. When the engagement was broken, that sachet became a symbol of a promise that never was. What I couldn’t understand was why Julian was now so desperately trying to re-establish a connection with me. Naturally, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to admit to it in public. I slammed my teacup down on the table with a sharp crack. “Has the young Lord misremembered? The only one who would embroider a sachet for you is your wife. Or do you think my family is so easily bullied that you can provoke me time and time again?” The threat in my voice was unmistakable. Even a fool could see I was angry. But Julian seemed oblivious. He shot to his feet, pulled the sachet from his belt, and displayed it for all to see. “Look, Seraphina! Surely you recognize this? I’ve carried it with me always! The bamboo on it, you stitched it needle by needle. You said you hoped I would rise high and remain resilient—” Just as I was about to lose my temper completely, a wave of laughter erupted from the crowd. I looked closely at the sachet, and even I couldn’t suppress a smirk. There, stitched in fine red thread, were two crooked, clumsy characters spelling out the word: “Eva.” It was obvious who the artist was. Eva had spent her life under the thumb of her brother and his wife, doing hard, rough labor from dawn till dusk. She would have had no time for delicate work like embroidery. She must have learned those two characters after entering the Blackwood estate. Julian, still unaware of the mocking stares, was stroking the sachet, his gaze fixed on me with deep and focused affection. “Seraphina, now that you’re back, you won’t leave again, will you? All those years we had together… the truth is…” To prevent him from saying something even more compromising, I quickly cut him off. “The young Lord is mistaken. While I was taught needlework by my mother from a young age, in the face of such a masterpiece, I must concede defeat.” Isabelle was the first to clap, letting out a peal of laughter. Many others quickly joined in, creating a chorus of amusement. Even those who relied on the Blackwood’s patronage let out short, choked chuckles. Julian’s intimate words died in his throat. He looked around at the laughing crowd in confusion. Isabelle’s voice was just loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “The young Lord of Blackwood certainly has… unique taste. A sachet like that is truly not something an ordinary person could create. No wonder he is so devoted to his wife. It must be her particular… talent!” Someone immediately chimed in. “They say Lord Julian dotes on his wife. It seems the rumors are true.” “The stitchwork is certainly one-of-a-kind. Not something we common folk can appreciate.” “He must adore it, otherwise why would he wear it so proudly? My own wife’s embroidery is merely average, and I certainly don’t have the courage to display it for all to see. I am not as devoted a husband as the young lord, it seems.” The realization finally dawned on Julian. He brought the sachet up to his eyes. In an instant, his face went from red to ashen, then to a deep, dark fury. The hand holding the sachet began to tremble. “No, not this one. The one I always wore… it was clearly…” Clutching the sachet, Julian’s mouth opened, as if to explain. But before he could speak, another servant announced a new arrival. “The Lady of Blackwood has arrived—” The laughter died instantly. All eyes turned to the doorway. Even I felt a flicker of curiosity. A few moments later, a woman dripping in jewels and pearls, supported by a maidservant, walked in. 6 Eva’s head was a thicket of gold hairpins and gemstone ornaments. They flashed so brightly under the light that it was hard to keep one’s eyes open. It was as if a golden idol from the royal temple had come to life and walked into the room. I turned to Isabelle, finally understanding the strange amusement in her earlier smile. Eva was from a humble background, and having suddenly come into immense wealth, she seemed determined to wear every single piece of it on her body at once. She took a few steps forward, the ornaments on her head chiming with every move. The sheer weight of them made her shoulders tremble. Isabelle leaned in and whispered, “She made a fool of herself just like this at the Queen’s birthday banquet. And she’s wearing even more today than she did then. She must have done it specifically to show off for you!” I curled my lips into a slight smile, my gaze shifting to Julian. He was crushing the sachet in his fist, his eyes fixed on Eva with a look of pure loathing and fury. Eva didn’t dare meet his gaze. She gave her clanking gold and jade ornaments a little shake, offered Isabelle a stiff curtsy, and then turned to me with a forced smile. “Sister, you’ve returned! It’s been so long. You must come visit me at the Blackwood estate sometime.” At the mention of her new home, a flash of pride crossed her wide eyes. Looking at her now, the last vestiges of my own resentment melted away. This garish, insecure woman was not worth a moment of my anguish. I smiled and nodded at her, but my tone was anything but friendly. “The House of de Valois has but one daughter. I was not aware I had gained a sister.” “Has the etiquette tutor at the marquis’s estate been slacking? How could she allow the lady of the house to appear in public dressed in such a fashion?” A wave of muffled laughter rippled through the room. Eva bit her lip, retorting defensively, “The young lord favored me and caused you to lose face, sister. It is only right that you hold it against me now…” Before she could finish, Julian stormed over and seized her by the wrist. Eva cried out in pain, but instead of letting go, he squeezed harder. Veins bulged on his forehead as he fought to control his rage, a stark contrast to the calm composure he had shown upon entering. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to stay at the estate?” Eva was in too much pain to speak, tears welling in her eyes. I cut in, my voice cold. “This is a banquet hosted by the princess in my honor. If Lord Julian wishes to display his authority or discipline his wife, he should do so in the privacy of his own home.” Julian immediately released Eva and muttered an apology in my direction. But Eva was not grateful. She shot me a glare, then gently tugged on Julian’s sleeve, her voice placating. “I heard sister Seraphina had returned, and you were all here to welcome her. As it happens, the hot spring villa sent over some fresh pomegranates this morning. I thought I would bring some for everyone to try.” She held up a small, simple basket as if presenting a great treasure, a jarring contrast to her own opulent attire. “My brother said that pomegranates symbolize fertility and good fortune. He said we should hurry and have a little heir!” 7 At the mention of an “heir,” Eva shot another glance at me, her chin held high. But her triumph was short-lived. Julian snatched the basket from her hand and slammed it to the floor. The pomegranates rolled across the marble, and a few guests couldn’t contain their laughter. The heir to the Marquis of Blackwood, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, and his wife was parading around with a basket of fruit as if it were a rare delicacy. It was clear from the reactions that this kind of social blunder had happened many times in the three years I was gone. Julian, no longer caring about his image, finally exploded. “I told you not to leave the estate today! Are you deaf? Why must you always come out and embarrass me?” Eva looked utterly bewildered, as if she couldn’t understand what she had done wrong. She clutched at her dress, trying to defend herself. “I… I heard that husbands and wives could attend banquets together…” I remembered that after the marquis’s wife passed away, the estate had been managed by her former head lady-in-waiting. The lack of a new marchioness and the well-ordered household was one of the reasons my parents had approved of my match with Julian. But from the looks of it, Eva was now in charge. Had no one taught her how to manage such a responsibility? Listening to the open disdain and mockery directed at Eva, I glanced at Julian. He was completely unmoved by her distress and fear, as if the woman being ridiculed wasn’t the one he had fought so hard to marry. His eyes were filled with nothing but impatience and disgust. His face a thundercloud, Julian shoved Eva’s hand away and strode towards the door. After a few steps, he turned back, holding up the misshapen sachet, and demanded, “Where is my old sachet? Where did you hide it? Give it back to me!” Eva began to sob quietly. “I… I’ve been practicing my embroidery. If you don’t like this one, I can make you a better one.” A storm was brewing in Julian’s eyes. “I’m asking you about the old one!” Eva’s voice became a whisper. “It was so old… I… I burned it…” The sachet flew through the air and hit Eva in the face. Without another word, Julian turned and stormed out of the banquet hall. 8 After the banquet, I returned to my family’s estate. My parents were overjoyed to see me. Watching them secretly wipe away tears, my own animosity toward Julian resurfaced. If not for him, I would not have been separated from them for three years, causing them so much worry. After asking about my life with my grandparents, my mother dismissed my father and pulled me aside, her voice low and cautious. “My dearest, do you still think of that boy from the Blackwood estate?” I was so shocked my head nearly shook off my shoulders. “Mother, how could you ask such a thing? After the humiliation he put me through? My heart is not so vast as to forgive such an insult.” My mother hesitated, then finally told me what had happened after I left. After our engagement was broken, the Marquis had refused to allow Eva into the family. He had even threatened to disown Julian if he married her. But Julian, blinded by love, not only moved out of the estate but also swore he would never return until he could marry Eva. The rift between father and son was deep. Less than a month later, the Marquis was dispatched to the northern frontier. Although he won the battle, he was gravely injured. Upon his return to the capital, he and Julian finally sat down for a long talk. In the end, the Marquis relented and allowed Eva to marry into the family, on one condition: they must produce an heir as soon as possible. Julian thought his dream had come true, but he never imagined his wedding day would become the biggest joke in the capital. As she recounted this, even my impeccably mannered mother couldn’t hide a smirk of satisfaction. “Eva’s brother and sister-in-law, knowing their little sister had married into high society, brought their children and a whole horde of other relatives to the wedding feast.” Before the ceremony could even begin, they started demanding a larger betrothal gift. Julian had been generous, even giving Eva a priceless jade bracelet that had belonged to his late mother. The Marquis promised them a large three-courtyard house and a thousand silver pieces after the ceremony. But Eva’s greedy family wanted more, and they feared the Marquis would go back on his word. So, in front of all the guests, they threw themselves on the floor, wailing and rolling around. The wedding of the Blackwood heir was attended by the highest nobility in the land. None of them had ever witnessed such a spectacle. The Minister of Revenue’s youngest daughter was so frightened she fainted on the spot. The scene was utter chaos. And it didn’t end there.

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1 “The patient is bleeding out. She’s dying. Where the hell is her husband? Didn’t I tell you to keep him on standby?” I was about to make an excuse for Mark, to tell them he was a doctor, that he’d been called into the hospital for an emergency. Then my phone lit up with a notification. It was a wedding photo, sent by Anna, Mark’s closest friend. “Thanks for lending me Mark, sis ;)” “Best 30th birthday ever! Don’t worry, we won’t actually consummate the marriage, lol.” In the picture, Mark was kissing Anna’s cheek. Their entire tight-knit group of friends surrounded them, all of them beaming with pure joy. Meanwhile, I was hemorrhaging, in desperate need of a signature for emergency surgery, and Mark was unreachable. When I finally, miraculously, got through to his phone, his voice was a cold slap. “The baby’s born, can’t you just leave me alone for a second?” “It’s Anna’s 30th birthday. It’s important. Everyone is here. I can’t just leave.” “I promised her I’d be with her for her 30th.” “God, why do you have to be such a buzzkill!” Just before I lost consciousness, another picture came through from Anna. It was a king-sized bed in a lavish hotel room. Mark and Anna were on it, laughing, as their friends playfully tried to shove them under the covers, whooping and hollering. …“Blood oxygen is dropping. Patient is in shock. Get more blood from the central bank, now! I want every available specialist in this OR, stat!” A Code Blue alert blared through the hospital, the frantic, piercing sound echoing down the halls. Doctors and nurses flooded my room. I could feel my own life slipping away, my body growing so light it felt like it was about to float right off the bed. Through the haze, a nurse’s voice, gentle but urgent, kept calling to me. “You have to fight. Your baby was just born. He’s in the NICU. You haven’t even had a chance to hold him yet.” “Don’t give up. Please, don’t give up on yourself. We are doing everything we can to save you.” Her voice was thick with desperation, cracking with unshed tears. I had no strength to respond, but a single thought looped in my fading mind. That’s right. My baby. I have my baby. I can’t die. I can’t… The hospital was pulling out all the stops, assembling the city’s top OB/GYN specialists for an emergency consultation. They were scrambling to get every unit of my rare blood type from every hospital in the region. “Still can’t reach the patient’s family?” “What is her husband doing? His phone is off?” “The patient’s parents passed away a few years ago. The husband is all she has… We have no choice. We have to operate. The patient’s life is the priority.” The voices around me faded in and out. The moments of silence were terrifying. Were they giving up on me? Was I going to die on this table? Would I ever see my baby? No. I couldn’t die. Mark would never take proper care of our child. If I died, my baby’s life would be ruined. I willed my body to heal, to just be okay. But the only thing I heard was a nurse’s panicked cry. “Where is that blood? We’re losing her!” “Have you reached Dr. Hunter at Central General? He’s the authority in this field. If we had him here, her chances would be so much higher.” Dr. Hunter? Mark Hunter? I wanted so desperately to speak. To tell them that the unreachable Dr. Hunter was my husband. But I had no voice. Someone sighed in frustration. “Dr. Hunter’s not coming. He took a special seven-day leave. Said it was his honeymoon. He married his childhood best friend.” “I thought he was going to be a bachelor forever,” another voice chimed in. “Whenever anyone asked if he was married or dating, he’d always say he wasn’t interested. Turns out he was in love with his best friend all along.” So. He had never even told his colleagues he was married. No wonder he’d insisted I never go to his hospital for my prenatal check-ups. He’d said it was to avoid troubling his coworkers. The truth was, he was afraid they’d find out about his wife of seven years. “Forget Dr. Hunter. He’s busy with his new bride. Let’s focus on keeping this woman alive!” Their words were so clear, but the anesthesia kept me pinned down, a prisoner in my own body. It dulled the pain but didn’t grant me the mercy of unconsciousness. It was a special kind of torture. I could feel the cold steel of their instruments, sense their rising panic, and feel the profound, chilling cold seep into my very bones. Just as I felt myself slipping away for good, the head nurse shouted, “Dr. Hunter’s on the phone!” 2 But the voice on the other end wasn’t Mark’s. It was Anna’s. The sound of her voice was like a jolt of electricity to my brain, burning through the thin veil of anesthesia. A wave of agony pulsed through my chest. “Mark, you’d better thank me,” she chirped. “If I hadn’t told you to keep your work phone on, you would have missed this call.” “Quick, someone from your hospital needs you.” I heard Mark’s voice, thick with adoration. “Yes, yes, you’re the best. The smartest girl in the world.” When he took the phone, his tone became clipped and professional. “I’ve seen the patient’s chart you sent over. With her rare blood type and history of preeclampsia, the procedure is extremely high-risk. You need to contact her family immediately and inform them of the situation.” “Dr. Hunter, we can’t reach her family. His phone is off.” Mark’s voice was sharp with indignation. “His wife is giving birth and he won’t even answer the phone? What kind of monster is he?” “Dr. Hunter, can you come over right now?” Then, Anna’s whining voice in the background. “Go ahead, then… just leave me here to celebrate my birthday all alone.” “No, no, I’m not going,” Mark soothed her, then spoke back into the phone. “I’m sorry, I can’t make it. We’re about to board a flight for a little getaway. Here, let me give you the number of someone who can help.” He rattled off a name and hung up before they could protest further. It was only then that I realized he had a separate work phone, a whole other device I’d never even seen. A nurse standing beside me, monitoring my vitals, murmured to herself, “That’s strange. When Dr. Hunter was speaking, for a second I thought it was this patient’s husband. Their voices are identical.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” another nurse chided. “You heard his wife in the background.” At that moment, the blood units from the other hospitals finally arrived. And with them came another doctor. I heard a collective sigh of relief as a group of younger residents excitedly called him “Dr. Cole.” The first thing he did was have the anesthesiologist check my dosage and increase it. I slipped into a deep, dreamless state and survived the marathon surgery. When I woke up, a nursing intern was sitting by my bed, recording data. Seeing my eyes open, she immediately called for the doctors. “Are you feeling any discomfort?” I shook my head. The lead doctor, after checking my incision and vitals, looked at me with a stern expression. “Sienna, how long has it been since you graduated? Have you forgotten everything you learned?” I looked up, really looking at his face for the first time. It was Dr. Evan Cole, my mentor from my residency days. He seemed even more serious now than I remembered. He studied my chart for a long moment. “Your husband just sent a message to your phone. Do you want me to read it to you?” I managed a weak nod. He used my face to unlock the phone, and a notification immediately popped up. It was a credit card charge. For nearly two thousand dollars. The vendor was the “Seaside Hotel & Resort: Honeymoon Package.” Then, a text from Mark. “Hey babe, got called away on a work trip. I’ll be back in a week. Sorry, things are just so crazy right now.” He must have sent it just moments ago, because right after it came a message from Anna. 【Hey sis, this ocean view is just too beautiful not to share.】 The picture was of her and Mark, tangled together in a large bathtub overlooking the ocean. I could see the dark marks of his kisses on her skin. 【Isn’t it gorgeous? Mark said he’s going to bring you here for your anniversary. Same room, same bed.】 3 Everyone in the room saw the message. A heavy, awkward silence fell over us. Dr. Cole didn’t say a word. He just turned off my phone, handed it back, and quietly instructed the intern to keep a close eye on me. The intern nodded and said something I couldn’t quite hear. A few of the other staff chuckled, and Dr. Cole’s ears turned a little red before he quickly turned and left. My private room was a lonely place. The intern would pop in periodically, but for the most part, my only companions were the beeping machines. That’s how I spent my birthday. On my birthday, my condition took a turn for the worse. I was rushed back into surgery. The only contact from Mark was a ten-dollar Venmo transfer that morning with the message “hbd.” Then, silence. His social media profile was a blank line—he’d blocked me again. I spent the entire day in the ICU. Dr. Cole checked on me constantly, his face growing more weary with each visit. Later, when I was a little more lucid, I saw him standing outside the glass wall of my room. He was holding up a small cupcake with a single candle. I watched him mouth the words slowly, carefully, so I could understand. “Happy. Birthday. Sienna. When you’re better, you can have this.” I managed a faint smile and a determined nod. Finally, just before midnight, my condition stabilized and they moved me back to my room. Dr. Cole was there waiting, the candle on the cupcake lit. He asked me to make a wish. Without a moment’s hesitation, I mouthed the word. “Divorce.” He paused, then gently blew out the candle for me. “The universe says: wish granted,” he said softly. I never ate the cake, but the fact that he remembered was more than enough. The next day, feeling a bit stronger, I reached for my phone to call my office and arrange for my maternity leave. But there was another birthday message waiting for me. From Anna. It was a video. A spectacular fireworks display over the ocean, with drones spelling out “Happy Birthday To You” in the night sky. The caption read: “Oops, wrong person, sis! This was from when Mark threw me a birthday party. Isn’t it pretty?” She followed it up with a series of photos. They were from a private maternity photoshoot Mark had arranged for me. He had convinced me it was a beautiful way to commemorate my pregnancy, that the body was something to be celebrated. So I had agreed. Now, Anna had submitted those photos to a photography competition. And she hadn’t chosen the tasteful, discreet shots. She had chosen the most revealing ones, the ones where my face was clearly visible. “Sis, your photos won an award! A lot of people were saying your stretch marks are disgusting, though. They just don’t have an eye for art, I guess.” Then, as if by “accident,” she sent a voice message. It was Mark’s voice. “To be honest, the comments aren’t wrong. Sometimes I look at that belly full of stretch marks and I feel sick, too.” Anna not only won an award with my photos but also a hefty cash prize. Mark’s social media, which had been dark for days, was suddenly active again. His entire circle of friends was congratulating Anna, sharing the uncensored photos of me without a second thought. The moment I “liked” one of the posts, Mark finally contacted me. He said he was coming back soon to see me and the baby. Then he gave me an order: “It’s about time you were discharged anyway. You can go home and look after Anna’s cat for a few days.” I simply replied, “Ok.” A few days later, I contacted a divorce lawyer, had the papers drawn up, and sold the condo that was in my name, along with every single thing Mark had ever given me. I started a new social media account. My bio was simple: “The woman from the award-winning maternity photos.” I began posting old videos of Mark and me, telling my side of the story. It gained traction fast. The photography association even contacted me, inviting me to be a special guest at Anna’s award ceremony. As for Mark, he never even showed up for my discharge. The excuse was that he was too busy at the hospital. But Anna had already let it slip to their friends—he was helping her prepare for the ceremony. The day of the awards was a grand affair. My photos were projected on a massive screen, cycling on a loop. Mark sat in the front row, reserved for family, beaming at Anna with adoration. He was even wearing the tie I had given him. Anna held her trophy high. “I want to thank my dearest, most beloved friend, Mark Hunter,” she gushed. “Without his constant care and support, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” Mark walked onto the stage with a bouquet of flowers. They embraced, a deep, meaningful hug. And just as Mark leaned in to kiss the corner of her lips, the doors to the auditorium burst open. “Mr. Hunter, Ms. Vance,” a police officer said calmly. “Please come with us.”

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After the miscarriage, I walked down the sterile hospital corridor and accidentally overheard my husband, Toby, speaking to the doctor. “Find an opportunity to drug my wife,” he said, his voice a low, cold command. “Then I want her uterus removed. I want to make sure she can never get pregnant again.” A moment later, he placed a gentle hand on another woman’s stomach. “Design the best possible prenatal care plan for her. I want her child to be the heir to Lockwood Industries.” I recognized the woman. Skylar. A popular streamer from Toby’s company. Then he added a final, chilling instruction to the doctor. “And one more thing. Make sure my wife has a perfect recovery. If she suffers any long-term complications from this surgery, none of you will have a job.” My heart stuttered in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. Toby, the man who had always worshipped the ground I walked on, was cheating on me. And so, I left a signed divorce agreement on the table and walked away, leaving them to their perfect love story… 1 The walk back to my room was a blur. My mind was a broken record, playing that horrifying scene on a loop. My husband, the man who treated me like a precious jewel, who loved me to the bone, was having an affair and had just ordered a surgeon to mutilate my body. And he knew. He knew that more than anything in this world, I wanted a child. A young nurse passing by gave me an envious smile. “Your husband is just the best,” she gushed. “He booked this entire floor just so you could rest without being disturbed. He hired a private nursing staff to look after you around the clock. And even with all that, he refuses to leave your side for a second. Talk about being head over heels in love.” Another nurse chimed in. “His eyes were swollen shut from crying when you were brought in. I’ve never seen a man care so much. I heard they were college sweethearts, and he moved his entire family’s business empire to this city just to marry her. He even put his fortune in her name.” If I had heard this yesterday, I would have felt like the luckiest woman alive. Now, it felt like I’d swallowed ash. Just then, Toby’s furious voice erupted from my room down the hall. “A bunch of useless idiots! You can’t even watch one person! If anything happens to Christy, I’ll kill every single one of you!” Toby rarely lost his temper. The last time was when I was diagnosed with a rare illness that no hospital seemed able to cure. He’d been so frantic he’d nearly torn the hospital apart, even vowing he’d die with me if they couldn’t save me. I watched the veins bulge on his forehead, but this time, his rage didn’t touch my heart. “Toby,” I said calmly. “I’m right here.” His head snapped toward me, and his eyes lit up. He rushed over, pulling me into his arms. “Christy, where did you go? You didn’t tell anyone. I thought something had happened to you.” His voice trembled with what sounded like genuine fear. There was no trace of falsehood in it. I subtly pushed him away. “It was stuffy in the room. I just went out for some air.” He breathed a sigh of relief, though his grip on my hand remained tight. He then took a bowl of dark, bitter-smelling liquid from a nurse and brought it to my lips with a tender smile. “Darling, it’s time for your medicine.” I stared at the brown concoction, a chill running down my spine as the scene I’d just witnessed flashed through my mind. “It’s too bitter. I don’t want to drink it.” Toby had never, ever denied me anything. But this time, he was strangely insistent. “You won’t get better if you don’t take it. And you won’t be able to have our baby. Don’t you want to give me a child?” He knew the baby was my weak spot. He was certain that dangling it in front of me would make me obey. But I didn’t trust him anymore. I slapped the bowl out of his hand. “I said, I’m not drinking it.” Toby’s gentle expression froze, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. I thought I had won, that I had escaped. But in the next second, the world went black. When I woke up, it was morning. A terrible premonition washed over me. I threw back the covers. There it was. A fresh surgical scar sliced across my lower abdomen. My world came crashing down. I wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation, but he was already speaking, his voice full of concern. “Darling, you fainted last night. The doctors ran some tests and… they found cancerous cells in your uterus. I had them remove it immediately.” As if anticipating my disbelief, he produced a pathology report. And there it was, in black and white: uterine cancer. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have fallen for his lie. I stared at the hideous scar, my heart feeling like it had been ripped in two. There was nothing left but a vast, empty despair. Toby pulled me into a hug, his voice soft with sympathy. “Christy, I know how much you wanted a child, but your health is what matters most. I can’t lose you. We can always adopt, darling. It’ll be okay.” 2 I opened my mouth to speak, but the door swung open and Skylar walked in, carrying a basket of fruit. “So sorry to interrupt,” she said with a bright, professional smile. “I’m here on behalf of the company to wish Mrs. Lockwood a speedy recovery.” Skylar was the new star streamer for Lockwood Entertainment. She was gorgeous, with a perfect figure and a captivating personality that earned the company millions with every broadcast. No wonder Toby was taken with her. Toby’s expression didn’t change. He gave Skylar a curt nod before turning his full attention back to me. But I knew that beneath the calm surface, a storm was raging. I turned my back to them, burying my face in the pillow. “I’m tired,” I mumbled. “I want to rest.” I expected Skylar to leave, but she stayed, taking a seat and keeping a silent vigil with Toby. He sat on the edge of the bed, gently massaging my legs, the picture of a doting husband. Skylar sat quietly nearby, a model of decorum. It was a scene of perfect domestic harmony. But no one could see what was happening beneath the sheets. No one could see Skylar’s leg, slyly, rhythmically, brushing against Toby’s. He didn’t pull away. He let her, his face a mask of placid concern. Only when her movements became more brazen did he reach down and place a firm hand on her thigh, a silent command to stop. But Skylar wasn’t deterred. She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling against his back like a cat. Toby’s eyes flicked to me. He checked my breathing, saw my closed eyes, and assumed I was asleep. Emboldened, he spun around, pushed Skylar against the nearby table, and kissed her, his hand gripping her throat. He broke away quickly, his eyes cold, a warning for her to behave. She met his gaze without fear and wound herself around him again. Toby’s resolve crumbled. After one last glance at me, he took her hand and led her out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, I opened my eyes. Toby would never know that every single one of their sordid movements was perfectly reflected in the glass partition, playing out for me like a silent, horrifying movie. I slipped out of bed and followed them to a secluded corner of the hallway. Hiding behind a pillar, I peeked out. Toby had Skylar pinned against the wall, his hand once again at her throat. “I warned you to behave in front of Christy,” he hissed, his voice laced with fury. Skylar wasn’t afraid. She rubbed against his arm coquettishly. “That’s only because you’ve been spending all your time with her. The baby misses you.” She hooked her arms around his neck, her voice a seductive purr. “Toby, darling, haven’t you always wanted to try it somewhere… adventurous? Let’s do it here. There are no cameras on this floor, and your wife is fast asleep. No one will ever find out.” Before he could answer, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Toby froze for a second, then his hands went to the back of her head, deepening the kiss with a raw hunger. “Toby, be gentle,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m worried about the baby…” “Shut up,” he growled. “I know what I’m doing.” I couldn’t watch anymore. I fled, their moans and whispers chasing me down the hall. My heart felt like it was being physically torn apart, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. The man who swore he would only ever love me, who promised to cherish me for a lifetime, was having a secret, sordid affair. A wave of shame so powerful it threatened to drown me washed over me. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor in a pathetic, laughable heap. 3 A passing nurse saw me and rushed over to help. Seeing the tears streaming down my face, she assumed I’d hurt myself in the fall. “Oh, Mrs. Lockwood, please don’t cry,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. “Mr. Lockwood would be devastated if he saw you like this.” Looking at her concerned face, I could no longer contain my grief. The sobs wracked my body until I was empty and exhausted. I finally managed to drag myself back to my room and fall into a fitful sleep. When I woke up, Toby wasn’t back yet, but Skylar was standing at the foot of my bed, her face a mask of contempt. The polite deference was gone. “You saw everything, didn’t you?” she sneered. “He loves me. And I’m carrying his child.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “How long?” I whispered, my voice trembling. Skylar held up three fingers, her smile triumphant. “Three years. He met me at a business dinner and fell for me instantly. We spent the whole first night together. When he went home, he felt so guilty that he transferred his entire fortune into your name. All of that was supposed to be for me and my baby. You’re the one who stole it from us.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting the urge to lunge at her. Seeing my restraint, she grew bolder. “You think he really loves you? Every single night, after you fall asleep, he comes to me. Even now that I’m pregnant, he can’t get enough. And just so you know, the day you had your miscarriage? He wasn’t at a ‘business dinner.’ He was in my bed. He can’t live without me now. If you have any sense, you’ll divorce him and get out of the way.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered that day. The pain had been so intense I’d passed out multiple times. I was losing so much blood. The doctor had called Toby ten times, but he never answered. Eventually, his phone was just off. When he finally came back the next day, he knelt by my bed for hours, telling me he was at a crucial meeting, hating himself for not being there, slapping his own face in punishment. While I was dying, he was with her. The last flicker of hope I had cherished died in that moment, leaving only cold, dead ash in its place. Skylar saw the defeat in my eyes and her smile widened. “He’s throwing me a wedding tomorrow,” she declared, her hands on her hips. “It’s going to be even grander than yours was. Make sure you come.” With that, she strutted out of the room like a victorious hen. A sharp pain shot through my chest, and the world went dark again. When I came to, it was the next morning. Toby was by my side, his eyes red and swollen. He pulled me into a fierce hug, his voice choked with emotion. “Christy, you’re finally awake. You scared the hell out of me.” The image of him with Skylar in the hallway flashed in my mind. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I pushed him away. “I’m fine.” Toby froze, a look of hurt in his eyes. I looked at his tear-filled face and finally asked the question that had been weighing on my heart for days. “Do you remember what I told you before we got married?” I had told him that if he ever fell in love with someone else, he had to tell me. I would step aside. But if he lied, if he deceived me, I would disappear from his life forever. He nodded without hesitation. “Of course I do. Why are you suddenly asking about this? Did I do something to upset you?” He stood up, his expression serious, and turned to the nurses behind him. “Get me a list of every woman I’ve had contact with recently. Bring them all here. Now.” A short while later, my room was filled with more than a dozen women—nurses, maids, and among them, Skylar. She stood with one hand on her belly, her eyes full of triumphant mockery. Toby stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “Tell my wife,” he commanded, his voice sharp, “exactly what contact you’ve had with me. Be specific.” One by one, they reported. “Ma’am, the last time I spoke with Mr. Lockwood was to submit your new dietary plan.” “Ma’am, he only called me to bring your aromatherapy diffuser from the house.” “Ma’am, he saw your IV was running low and called me to change it.” Everything was about me. The women looked at me with open envy. When it was Skylar’s turn, she spoke calmly. “After I delivered the fruit basket yesterday, I had no further contact with Mr. Lockwood. You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Lockwood. You’re the only one in his heart.” 4 Her words were meant to be reassuring, but they dripped with sarcasm. I let out a small, self-deprecating laugh and waved them all away. With his name seemingly cleared, Toby relaxed and sat on the edge of the bed, taking my hand. “Christy,” he said, his voice earnest. “You know I only love you. I would never be interested in another woman.” “Mm-hmm,” I said, pulling my hand from his, ignoring the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He seemed to remember something. “Oh, Christy, I have a business trip tomorrow, so I won’t be here. But my phone will be on for you 24/7. Call me if you miss me.” His declaration of love was flawless. Not a hint of deception. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and nodded. “Be safe.” I saw the guilt flash in his eyes before he put on a pout. “But I’ll miss you so much. It’s only for a day, but I don’t want to be away from you for a single second.” He sighed dramatically. “When we adopt our child, I’ll just hand the company over to him. Then I won’t have to travel so much and be away from you.” If I didn’t know he was actually leaving to marry Skylar, I might have been moved by his performance. Finally, with one last, lingering kiss on my forehead, Toby left the room. The moment he was gone, I checked myself out of the hospital. I went home, packed a single bag, placed the signed divorce agreement on the living room table, and took a taxi to the airport. Before boarding the plane to Switzerland, I blocked his number and deleted him from every app. It was a final goodbye. As the plane took off, I watched through the window as the city I had called home for thirty years shrank below me. And for the first time in weeks, the crushing weight on my chest began to lift. Toby, goodbye forever.

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I hadn’t been living with my biological parents for long when their mansion went up in flames. The servants and I scrambled out, choking on the thick, acrid smoke that clawed at our lungs. The heat was a physical presence, pressing in on us from all sides. Our maid, Anna, her face smeared with soot, grabbed my arm. Her voice was a panicked squeak. “Miss Sophie! Quick, call your father! He can send people to put it out!” But the housekeeper, Martha, a stern woman who had been with the family for decades, pulled me in the opposite direction. “His Lordship is celebrating Miss Kaley’s birthday tonight. He is not to be disturbed!” she snapped, her voice firm despite the chaos. “The young miss and I will handle the fire.” Anna shook her head, her coughing fits wracking her small frame. “What can you two possibly do? You have to call him!” The searing heat on my skin was a brutal reminder. I was back. I had been reborn. 1 In my last life, it had played out just like this. I’d been recently brought back from the foster system, a stranger in my own home. The mansion caught fire on the same day as the birthday of Kaley, the daughter my parents had raised by mistake. Anna and Martha had the exact same argument in front of me. Last time, I listened to Anna. I called my father. This time, I was dialing 911. This time, my fate was in my own hands. I covered my mouth and nose, ready to bolt outside to make the call, but Martha lunged, blocking my path. “And where do you think you’re going, Miss Sophie?” I ignored her, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the three digits. The call connected instantly. “911, what’s your emergency—” In the next second, Martha’s hand shot out and slapped the phone from my grasp. It clattered to the marble floor, the call abruptly ending. “What are you doing, calling 911?” she hissed, her face contorted with a strange fury. “Mr. Cooper is a man in the public eye. What would this do to his reputation? Having a house fire splashed all over the news?” She loomed over me. “And what if he comes back to deal with this? What about Kaley’s birthday? We will handle this ourselves. Come, we’ll use buckets.” Before I could react, her fingers dug into my arm like a vise, and she started dragging me back toward the inferno. I struggled, but Martha was a large, strong woman. The crackling roar of the fire grew louder, the smoke thicker. I was forced into a violent coughing fit, tears streaming from my stinging eyes. Martha shoved a metal bucket into my hands, her gaze sharp and cold. “Today is Miss Kaley’s eighteenth birthday, young lady. Nothing is more important than that.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t think a little drama like this will help you win their favor. Miss Kaley has been raised by Mr. and Mrs. Cooper for eighteen years. You can’t compete with that.” Even in the short time I’d been here, I’d noticed Martha’s fierce, almost fanatical devotion to Kaley. She saw me, the true daughter, as nothing more than an intruder, a threat to Kaley’s happiness. But I never imagined she’d take it this far, accusing me of vying for attention while the house burned down around us. The bucket was already warm in my hands, the metal growing hot from the ambient heat. I couldn’t stay here. This fire was beyond our control. If I didn’t get out now, I would die. 2 The moment she sensed my intention to flee, Martha’s grip on my arm tightened, and she yanked me deeper into the smoke-filled corridor. A chilling realization washed over me: Martha had started this fire. If I died here, I would be the perfect scapegoat, and Kaley’s only rival would be permanently removed. Was I doomed to repeat my fate, to die in a fire no matter what? In my past life, I had escaped this first fire, only to perish in another. I had listened to Anna and called my father. He had rushed back with a team, and they had managed to extinguish the blaze. But Kaley, waiting for her parents at The Pinnacle, the city’s most exclusive rooftop restaurant, had jumped from the 82nd floor when they didn’t show up. She was shattered beyond recognition. My parents, Richard and Eleanor, were unnervingly calm during her lavish funeral. But that night, as they performed the ritual of burning her belongings, my father suddenly set the entire memorial hall ablaze. As guests screamed and ran for the exits, they found my mother had locked the doors from the outside. Amidst the spreading flames, my father’s laughter was demonic. “I want every single one of you to join my Kaley in death!” he shrieked. He seized me, his grip like iron, and dragged me toward the pyre, forcing my face closer and closer to the flames. “It was just a fire!” he roared, his face a mask of grief-stricken madness. “Why did you have to call me? You knew it was Kaley’s birthday! You knew I was in the middle of a live-streamed keynote speech! Calling me forced my hand—I had to come back!” His voice broke. “If it weren’t for you, how could my precious daughter have died on her eighteenth birthday? You should have been the one to die!” My skin sizzled, an agony so intense it made my entire body tremble. I could barely force the words out. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you were giving a speech. I was just scared.” “And I didn’t know a birthday was so important…” I had grown up in the system; birthdays were just another day. How could I have known she valued it more than her own life? How could I have known my father would want us all to burn with her? He shoved me toward the roaring fire. My hair and clothes caught instantly, the pain all-consuming. “You lying bitch!” he spat, his voice thick with hate. “Still making excuses! Kaley is dead, and you will pay for it!” He grabbed a can of gasoline and doused me with it. The fire exploded around me, silencing my screams forever. All their apologies when they first found me, all their promises that they loved both me and Kaley as their daughters—they were all lies. I had been a fool to believe that blood meant love. Back in the present, I forced myself to be calm. The fire was intensifying, and the heat was becoming unbearable for both of us. As Martha coughed, distracted for a split second, I wrenched my arm free and ran. Adrenaline surged through me, a primal need to survive overriding everything else. I burst out of the mansion’s front doors and collapsed onto the manicured lawn. As I gasped for the cool, fresh air, tears of relief and terror streamed down my face. This time, I would live. No matter what. I scrambled to my feet and spotted my phone lying on the flagstones where it had fallen. I snatched it up, ready to dial again. But in the next instant, a hand clamped around my ankle, and I was dragged back down to the ground. 3 Martha was pulling me back toward the burning house. The other servants, huddled at a safe distance on the lawn, stared in shock. “Miss Sophie! Why are you still in there? Did you call 911?” one of them shouted. “Martha, what are you doing?” The servants weren’t allowed to carry phones during their shifts. I was the only one who could call for help. With all my remaining strength, I hurled my phone toward them. It landed in the soft grass. “Martha’s trying to kill me!” I screamed. “Help me! Call 911! She has explosives on her! We’ll all die if you don’t call now!” The part about explosives was a lie, a desperate gamble to sow panic. It worked. One of the maids snatched up my phone while others started to scatter. “Explosives? I’m calling the police!” “Run! Everybody run!” “Martha, have you gone mad? What have Mr. and Mrs. Cooper ever done to you but be kind?” Seeing her plan unravel, Martha finally let go of my ankle. “What explosives? Don’t listen to her lies!” she yelled, her voice frantic. “She’s just jealous of Miss Kaley! She’s trying to make a scene so Mr. Cooper will come back for her instead of celebrating with his real daughter!” She tried to sound convincing. “Don’t you dare call the police! The fire isn’t even that bad! If I had explosives, would I be standing right here?” Her words hit their mark. The maid holding my phone hesitated, her hand lowering. “So it’s just a rivalry.” “Maybe Miss Sophie started the fire herself!” “Why would she even try to compete with Miss Kaley? She’s been part of this family for eighteen years.” “If I were Mr. Cooper, I’d prefer Kaley too. She’s so much prettier, more elegant—more like a true heiress than Sophie ever will be.” I watched them, a wave of despair washing over me. Our mansion was in the hills, isolated from our neighbors. If no one called for help, no one would know until it was too late. Just then, a loud BOOM erupted from inside the house. 4 Something had exploded. It wasn’t massive, but it was enough to send another wave of fear through me. I tried to crawl further away, but Martha lunged and grabbed me again. I locked eyes with the servants on the lawn. “The house is exploding!” I cried out. “It’s a smart home, full of electronics and batteries! If you don’t call for help now, the whole place could go up like a bomb!” My voice cracked with desperation. “I’m not trying to compete with Kaley! Please, just call 911! The fire is what matters!” Martha tightened her grip, dragging me again. “So a battery exploded? Big deal! Get back in there with me, Miss Sophie. You don’t want your father to come home and find you did nothing, do you?” The other servants just watched us, their faces blank. My heart sank. They wouldn’t help. Not when it meant choosing a side. And Martha was dead set on me dying in this fire. Suddenly, a high-pitched buzzing sound cut through the roar of the flames. A drone! Someone flying it for landscape shots must have seen the smoke! I threw my hand up, waving frantically at the small machine hovering in the sky. “HELP ME!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “PLEASE, CALL THE POLICE! SHE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!” I prayed it had a microphone, prayed its owner could hear me. Before I could say more, Martha clamped a hand over my mouth and swatted at the drone with her other hand. It nimbly ascended, just out of her reach. The owner had to have seen that. Would they help? Martha released my mouth, her hand pressing into the small of my back as she whispered menacingly in my ear. “What nonsense are you spouting, young lady?” A sick, triumphant smile spread across her face. “No one is trying to kill you. You’ll simply die a hero, trying to save the house. They might even give you a medal for it.” Her voice was pure venom. “It doesn’t matter what you say now. Those fools on the lawn will believe anything. You’re going to die, and when you do, Miss Kaley will be the one and only daughter of this house. You’ll never compete with her again.” She admitted it. A tremor ran through my body. She was doing this for Kaley. But why? She was a well-paid housekeeper. My father had helped her son get a job, even bought him a house. Why would she risk everything for Kaley? Just then, my phone, still lying on the grass, began to ring. The maid who had it shouted, “Miss Sophie, it’s your father!” He must have finished his speech. I didn’t care anymore if Kaley jumped off a building. I couldn’t die like this. “Answer it!” I yelled. Martha forgot about me, lunging for the phone. I scrambled to my feet and ran for it too, finally free. In the struggle, the phone tumbled to the ground, and somehow, the call connected. “Hello?” My father’s voice crackled through the speaker. It was a voice I now recognized as being laced with a faint, but permanent, thread of annoyance. “Sophie. We’re celebrating your sister’s eighteenth birthday tonight. You’ll have to eat dinner by yourself.” I was about to scream for help, but Martha beat me to it, snatching the phone. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Cooper. We’re taking good care of the young miss.” “Good,” he said dismissively, ready to hang up. Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the mansion behind us. “What was that?” my father’s voice shot back, sharp with alarm.

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1 Inside the Maybach, Ted was lost in Aurora’s kiss. The hazy glow of the city lights blurred past the tinted windows as he leaned back into the plush leather, the intoxicating scent of her perfume clouding his senses. She was a whirlwind of controlled passion, her lips claiming his with a fierce possessiveness that left him breathless. Aurora pulled back just enough to whisper against his ear, her voice a low, husky murmur. “The partition is up, Ted. The driver can’t hear a thing. What are you so shy about?” He watched her, the woman who was always so composed, now moving with a raw intensity that made his face flush. He wrapped his arms around her, surrendering completely to the tidal wave of sensation she was building within him. It was climbing, cresting, about to peak when the shrill ring of her phone shattered the moment. Aurora frowned, annoyed by the interruption, but a glance at the caller ID made her answer. Ted, still catching his breath, saw the name on the screen: Yara, her best friend. “Aurora, are you crazy—?” Aurora cut her off, switching seamlessly to flawless Italian. “It’s not convenient. Speak Italian.” There was a sharp inhale on the other end, then Yara’s voice, now a torrent of angry Italian. “You really married Simon Shen? What were you thinking? You went blind saving him, and he abandoned you at the lowest point of your life! He ran off with another woman and nearly destroyed you. And now you’re back with him?!” The foreign words clicked into place in Ted’s mind, translating automatically. By the time he processed the meaning, a chill that had nothing to do with the car’s air conditioning seized him. It felt like falling into an ice cellar. Aurora, oblivious, replied calmly in Italian, “If I don’t marry him, the Shen family will force him to marry some old hag. I can’t bear to see him suffer like that.” “And what about Ted?” Yara shot back, her voice tight with fury. “He was the only one there for you when you were blind! He’s spent years loving you, practically tearing his own heart out for you. All of us see it!” “I’ll keep it from him,” Aurora said, her tone still cool and detached. “He’ll never know.” “How long can you hide it? A lifetime? Doesn’t Ted want to marry you?” The questions seemed to chip away at Aurora’s composure. Her voice grew clipped. “Just make sure the news of my marriage to Simon doesn’t get out. Tell no one. In a while, I’ll have a fake marriage certificate made for Ted.” She hung up, cutting off whatever else Yara had to say. Dropping the phone, she turned her attention back to Ted, her body moving against his once more. But the spell was broken. Ted’s body was trembling uncontrollably. As the moment passed and they began to straighten their clothes, he opened his mouth to speak, but her phone pinged again. A notification from a “favorite” contact. Aurora glanced at it, and her expression changed. “Stop the car,” she told the driver. She turned to Ted, her voice soft. “Darling, something’s come up at the office. I need you to get out here and grab a cab home, okay?” He said nothing, just gave a numb nod and opened the door. The black Maybach shot away like a bolt of lightning, leaving him standing on the pavement. He stared into the river of headlights, the city’s roar a dull hum in his ears. The dam of his composure finally broke, and tears streamed down his face. No one knew he had secretly learned Italian years ago, just to feel closer to her world. He had understood every single word. Each syllable echoed in his mind, a thousand tiny blades plunging into his heart, dredging up memories he’d long since buried. Aurora Murray was the untouchable heiress, and he was the housekeeper’s son. He remembered the first time he saw her, a sun-drenched angel at a grand piano in the Murray family’s magnificent villa. He had never heard music so beautiful, nor seen a girl so radiant. In that single glance, her name was carved into his soul. He never told anyone, knowing the chasm between their worlds was too vast. Besides, her heart already belonged to someone else: Simon Shen, her childhood friend. She had loved him openly, fiercely. At seventeen, she’d thrown herself in front of a car to save him, losing her sight in the accident. But from that day on, Simon vanished. He never visited, got a new girlfriend, and left Aurora to navigate her new, dark world alone. The busy Murray family had little time for a blind daughter, and she was relegated to the old family estate, forgotten. It was Ted who requested a transfer to the old house. For seven years, he was her world. Her hands, her eyes, her shadow. When she turned twenty-three, he knelt outside the home of a world-renowned surgeon for three days and three nights, begging until the doctor agreed to take her case. The surgery was a success. Her light, once dimmed, blazed back brighter than ever. In just one year, she reclaimed her position, becoming the heir to the Murray Corporation. He was the one who had stayed with her through every season, from the deepest night to the break of dawn. He was the one who held her, kissed her, made love to her. And the first thing she did with her reclaimed power was marry the man who had abandoned her. For years, he had worked tirelessly to close the gap between them, to become worthy. But Aurora’s parents only ever saw the housekeeper’s son. They tried to pay him off, again and again. Aurora always fought for him, and for her, he had never once considered leaving. Until today. Ted wiped his tears, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number. “Mrs. Murray,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll accept your fifty million. I’ll leave Aurora forever.” 2 A thrill of victory shot through Mrs. Murray’s voice. “You’ve finally come to your senses? It’s about time. A housekeeper’s son has no place with the heir to the Murray fortune. Where are you? Come sign the contract now.” An address popped up on his screen. With a bitter laugh, Ted hailed a cab. At the café, Mrs. Murray interrogated him, her questions sharp and clinical. Satisfied with his answers, she slid a contract across the table. “Black and white. No regrets once you sign. You’ll get half the money now, and the other half the day you leave the country. You are to ensure you never, ever appear in front of my daughter again. Understood?” Ted’s gaze fell on the astronomical sum listed in the agreement. His lashes fluttered. He would never appear again. Not in this life, not in the next. He picked up the pen and signed his name with a clean, decisive stroke. Mrs. Murray let out a relieved sigh, tucking the agreement away. “I’m giving you two weeks. Disappear. Change your name, move abroad, I don’t care how. Just make sure Aurora can never find you.” “I understand, Mrs. Murray. Don’t worry.” He watched her leave, then headed home. Making himself invisible to Aurora would be simple. The Murray family’s deep-rooted political history meant they were barred from leaving the country for three generations. If he emigrated, she would never be able to follow. After a long night of research, he settled on Australia. As he picked up his phone to check the time, a new social media notification caught his eye. It was Simon. A nine-photo grid. Three selfies of him holding roses, three photos of a marriage certificate in the center, and three of their hands, fingers intertwined. Ted knew Aurora would never have allowed this post. Simon must have set the visibility to “Ted only.” A deliberate, triumphant jab. Ted calmly liked the post. A moment later, a message from Aurora came through. “Darling, I have to go on a business trip. I won’t be back for a few days.” He replied with a simple “Okay” and went to wash his face. The next few days were a blur of logistics. He applied for an expedited visa, filed his resignation, and packed his life into boxes. Each day brought a new, poisoned post from Simon: touring a new villa in South Bay, trying on wedding suits with a diamond sparkling on his finger, posing in front of a massive wedding portrait in their new home. Ted liked every single one. He methodically purged his apartment of Aurora. Every gift she’d ever given him, the matching toothbrushes, the framed photos—all of it went into the trash. He was about to turn off the lights late one night when she suddenly returned. She froze in the doorway, her brow furrowing at the sparsely decorated room. “Why is so much stuff missing?” “I didn’t like it anymore,” he said calmly. “Threw it out. We can buy new things.” She nodded, tossing her coat on the sofa. Then her eyes landed on the packed boxes. “You quit your job?” She spotted his official documents on the coffee table. “Why is your passport out?” “I was tired, wanted to take a break,” he explained, tucking the documents into his bag. “And I needed it for some paperwork.” His placid demeanor seemed to satisfy her. She curled into his arms, her voice soft. “I know I’ve been busy. Your birthday is in a couple of days. How about I take you to the auction house tomorrow? You can pick out any gift you want.” He didn’t refuse. The next day, they had just taken their seats at the auction when Simon appeared, striding over with an arrogant swagger and sitting right next to Aurora. Throughout the evening, Aurora kept her head turned towards Ted, ignoring Simon completely. After the auction, she grabbed Ted’s hand and led him downstairs. Ted excused himself to the restroom. When he came out, he saw Simon cornered in the stairwell by a group of rowdy socialites. “Well, well, if it isn’t our dear Simon,” one of them sneered. “Abandoned the great Aurora Murray and now look at you. Isn’t this what you call karma?” “I hear your father is marrying you off to some rich old crone. You’re pretty enough. Why not come with us instead? We’ll be sure to take very good care of you…” The lewd suggestion was cut short. Aurora appeared at the top of the stairs, her face a mask of cold fury. She descended like a storm, kicking one of the women so hard she stumbled back. 3 With chilling efficiency, she slammed the ringleader to the ground, raining down punches until the women were a bloody, pleading mess. “We’re sorry, Ms. Murray! Please, forgive us!” “Get out!” she snarled. “If I ever see you near him again, you’ll regret it.” The terrified group scrambled away. A crowd had gathered, but Aurora ignored their stares. She helped Simon to his feet. “Are you hurt?” He collapsed into her arms, sobbing theatrically. “My ankle… I think it’s sprained. It hurts so much.” Aurora’s expression hardened. She supported him, pushing through the crowd. In her haste to shield him, she shoved past Ted, knocking him off balance. His head cracked against the hard edge of a step. A searing pain shot through his skull, and warm blood trickled down his temple. The onlookers gasped. “He’s bleeding! Someone call an ambulance!” Pain contorted Ted’s face as a cold sweat broke out over his body. The blood dripped onto his eyelashes, each drop feeling as heavy as lead. He watched Aurora disappear down the stairs without a backward glance, a bitter taste filling his mouth. He remembered a time he’d cut his finger while making soup for her. She had fussed over him for an hour, terrified it would scar. She had kissed his hand, murmuring, “Ted, you’re the most precious thing to me. When you’re hurt, I hurt more. Your hands will wear the ring I give you one day. They have to be perfect.” Now, he was bleeding on the floor, and she didn’t even see him. And the ring she’d promised was on another man’s hand. An ambulance took him to the hospital. He navigated the bureaucracy alone—registration, examination, prescription—and got home late into the night, the pain in his head making sleep impossible. Aurora never came home. The next morning, he dragged his exhausted body out of bed to change his dressing and saw Simon’s latest post: a video of Aurora kneeling on the floor, gently massaging Simon’s ankle and applying medicine. Ted watched it over and over, his eyes burning, until he finally drifted into a restless sleep. When he woke, it was dark again. His phone was vibrating. It was Aurora. “The Pavilion, Suite 703. Come now.” He hesitated, then pulled himself from bed and went. Pushing open the door to the private room, the first person he saw was Simon, looking like a wronged, innocent rabbit. Aurora sat opposite, her expression unreadable and severe. The silence stretched until Ted finally broke it. “Why did you call me here?” Aurora sat up straight, her posture radiating authority. “Ted. Those thugs yesterday… did you send them to harass him?” Ted froze. He glanced at Simon and caught the fleeting glint of triumph in the other man’s eyes. He understood instantly. This was all a performance, directed by Simon. A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “No. I don’t know them, and I have no interest in such games.” His denial did nothing to soften Aurora’s expression. “Ted,” she said, her voice dangerously calm, “the moment Simon chose to abandon me, I let him go. We’ve been together for seven years. You should know who is in my heart now. The Shen family is in ruins; anyone can kick them while they’re down. But that person shouldn’t be you. You don’t need to attack him on my behalf.” Her words were a physical blow. He remembered her screaming into her pillow at night, the frantic trips to doctors, the crushing despair when she was misdiagnosed as permanently blind… Seven years of hell, now dismissed as if they were nothing. He thought of the marriage certificate with Simon’s name on it, and tears pricked his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed grief. “Seven years. And only now do I truly understand who is in your heart.” Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” He shook his head, the mocking smile returning. “It means I’m just a housekeeper’s son. What power or connections could I possibly have to hire thugs to bully a young master?” Even with the truth laid bare, she didn’t believe him. He was tired. So tired. “Since you don’t believe me, just tell me. What do you want me to do?” She pressed her temples. “Apologize, Ted. When you do something wrong, you say you’re sorry.” At that moment, Simon, who had been playing the victim, finally spoke. “An apology isn’t necessary. If you’re truly sorry, you can just drink these.” 4 On the table sat a row of glasses filled with amber whiskey. Ted’s gaze lifted to Aurora, searching her face for an answer. In the dim light, her expression was a shadow. The silence in the room was suffocating. He felt a desperate need for air, his mind flashing back. When he first came to the estate, the blind Aurora would drink herself into a stupor every day. He’d pleaded with her to stop, worried for her health. One night, drunk and bitter, she’d shoved several bottles in front of him. “Even a housekeeper’s son dares to control me now? Fine. You drink these, and I’ll listen to you.” He was allergic to alcohol. But to save her from herself, he hadn’t hesitated. He’d chugged every bottle and ended up in the hospital. He’d woken up to see her sitting by his bed, her face grim. “I’m the one who’s drunk, not you! Why would you play with your life when you know you’re allergic?” He’d only said one thing. “Because I worry about you, Miss. Your eyes will get better. And even if they don’t, I’ll be with you forever. So please, don’t give up.” From that day on, she never touched another drop of alcohol. The memory brought a smile to Ted’s lips, but his eyes glistened with tears. He didn’t argue. He reached for a glass, then another, and another, draining them one by one. The fiery liquid burned a path down his throat, a bitter fire spreading through his stomach, scorching the heart it could never reach. On the seventh glass, Aurora finally snapped. “Enough!” Ted looked at the dozen or so glasses left and laughed, a broken sound. “Enough? Is my apology accepted? Is your beloved satisfied?” Aurora shot to her feet, her face, usually so placid, now dark with fury. She grabbed his hand. “You know that’s not what I mean! Ted, I told you, Simon and I are over. My family disapproves of you, and if you do something so reckless, they’ll use it against you. I’m trying to protect you from their judgment!” Her words were so logical, so reasonable. And so utterly false. He laughed again, a raw, painful sound. Her family disapproved of the housekeeper’s son, but they’d welcome the man who had betrayed her? It was all just an excuse. He wasn’t the one she was willing to fight for. He wrenched his hand away and turned to leave. He made it to the door before his body gave out, and the world went black. “Ted!” Aurora’s heart seized. She rushed forward, sweeping him into her arms. But Simon grabbed her sleeve, his voice a pathetic whimper. “Aurora… I feel dizzy.” She paused. But only for a second. Then she strode out of the room, her voice trailing behind her. “I’m taking Ted to the hospital. Call your assistant.”

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My mother asked me which of the Levitans I would marry. This time, I didn’t choose Joe. I chose his uncle, Julian Levitan. A flicker of confusion crossed my mother’s face. After all, the entire elite of New York knew I’d been chasing Joe Levitan since we were children. For ten years, I was his shadow, his loyal puppy, and I’d loudly proclaimed I would marry no one else. A bitter smile touched my lips. I remembered my last life. After I married Joe, a chasm of ice existed between us in the marriage bed. He never touched me. I’d assumed he suffered from some private affliction, a condition too humiliating to admit, and I dedicated myself to protecting his secret. It wasn’t until our fiftieth wedding anniversary that I stumbled into the darkroom he kept locked, a sanctuary no one was ever allowed to enter. The walls were a haunting gallery, covered from floor to ceiling with photographs of my cousin, Kristen. The truth struck me like a physical blow. He wasn’t cold or incapable of passion. He just didn’t love me. So, in this new life, I’ve chosen to grant them their wish. I’ve set them free. But later, as I walked down the aisle in a gown of my own design, toward his uncle, the color drained from Joe’s face. And in that moment, he began to unravel. 1 Three days after the marriage alliance was finalized, I ran into Joe at a party. His friends spotted me first, their faces splitting into smug, mocking grins. “Hey, Joe, look what the cat dragged in. Your little shadow is here to play.” “Eleanor, honey, you’ve already locked down the Levitan name. Don’t you think you’re clinging a little tight? Can’t even let the guy have one night out with his friends?” When Joe saw me, his irritation was a palpable force. “Eleanor, are you that desperate?” he snapped, his voice low and sharp. “Forcing our families’ hands without even talking to me? Now the whole city thinks we’re engaged. You’ve really got some nerve.” His look of pure disgust was a familiar knife in my heart, but after a moment, I found my voice, calm and steady. “Your permission was never required. The man I’m marrying… it isn’t you.” A beat of silence, then the room erupted in laughter. Joe’s friends howled, clutching their sides. “Whoa, Joe, you better smooth things over with your little fiancée! Looks like she’s trying a new tactic to get your attention!” Joe’s brow furrowed. “So now we’re playing hard to get, Eleanor? Is that the new game?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Who else in my family would you possibly marry? You’ve been screaming from the rooftops that you’d only marry me since we were kids. Everyone in this city already sees you as my woman.” He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “I’ll let the engagement announcement slide. But you need to understand something. I can give you a grand wedding, the event of the season… but the marriage license? That is reserved for the woman I truly want to marry.” My eyes shot up to his, wide with shock. In my last life, at this exact moment, Joe had dutifully followed his family’s orders, marrying me without protest. Could it be? Had he been reborn, too? Before I could read the answer in his expression, my cousin, Kristen Croft, arrived. The moment she saw Joe and me standing together, tears welled in her eyes and began to stream down her cheeks. “Ellie… Joe… I heard… I heard you’re getting married soon. I… I don’t have a gift, but I just wanted to wish you… a lifetime of happiness…” Her voice broke, and she turned and fled, sobbing. “Look what you’ve done,” Joe hissed, glaring at me before chasing after her without a second glance back. 2 When they returned, their fingers were intertwined. Kristen’s lips were swollen and bruised from kissing, and a stark, fresh love bite bloomed on the column of Joe’s throat. Every eye in the room swiveled to me, hungry for the drama, waiting for the inevitable explosion. In the past, any girl who got this close to Joe would have been met with a storm of my tears and accusations, a desperate plea for him to turn his attention back to me. Joe protectively pulled Kristen behind him, his own expression a strange mix of defiance and anticipation. But minutes ticked by, and I remained silent. Motionless. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a cold sneer. “Well, look at you. Finally learning to act your age instead of throwing a tantrum.” When the party wound down, Joe caught my arm as I was leaving. “It’s late. I’ll give you a ride.” A free ride was a free ride. I didn’t refuse. I moved toward the back door of the car, but Joe blocked me, opening the front passenger door instead. “You sit in the back,” he commanded, then gently guided Kristen into the front seat. “Sorry, Ellie,” Kristen said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Joe’s just worried about me. I get so carsick, you know…” I said nothing, sliding into the back seat where I’d intended to sit all along. The entire drive, Joe and Kristen flirted and laughed in the front, their voices a low murmur. At a red light, Kristen pouted, asking him to apply her lip balm. Their eyes met, the space between them shrinking until their breath mingled, heavy and charged. Suddenly, Joe’s gaze shot to the rearview mirror, as if just remembering I was there. When he saw me staring impassively out the window, a strange, dark expression clouded his face. He stomped on the gas the second the light turned green. When we arrived at my brownstone, he got out and stopped me again, a break from his usual routine. He pressed a small, velvet box into my hand. His tone was one of magnanimous charity. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop with the ‘I don’t care’ act. It’s cheap,” he said. “Consider this an engagement gift.” “As long as you behave,” he continued, “you’ll get your wedding. At least in name. Everyone in New York will know you as my wife.” I looked up at him. “And the woman who gets the marriage license? Who is she? Kristen?” His face contorted with a flash of fury, but beneath it, I saw a dark, triumphant satisfaction. “I knew it. I knew you were pretending. Listen to me, and listen carefully. You will not breathe a word of this to our parents.” “What Kristen and I have… it’s not something you could ever understand! She’s kind and fragile, not like you with all your petty schemes and manipulations. If you dare hurt her, don’t blame me if I call off the wedding entirely.” I almost laughed. His own cowardice, his inability to stand up to his family, was now somehow my fault. I turned and walked away without another word. The moment I stepped inside, my phone buzzed. It was a video from Kristen. In it, Joe was carefully fastening a necklace around her neck. I recognized the designer. It was then I realized the bracelet in my hand was the cheap, complimentary gift that came with the purchase of the necklace. Their bodies were close, and in the next second, they were kissing, a deep, wet sound that echoed unnervingly in the confines of the car. A text followed. [Ellie, honey. I’m sure Joe already told you, right? After his little wedding with you, he’s going to legally marry me.] [You know, a marriage that isn’t recognized by law has no claim to the family fortune. I guess it’s finally my turn to be Mrs. Levitan for real.] 3 Kristen. She was reborn, too. It all made sense now. In our past life, she and Joe had kept their distance publicly. This time, they were inseparable, their affair on flagrant display. They must have found each other, confessed everything, and decided to live out the grand romance they were denied before. I looked down at my hands, remembering. After I married into the Levitan family last time, their corporation, Levitan Industries, suddenly flourished. Contracts and orders poured in, their assets skyrocketed, and soon they were the wealthiest family in the city. The elders all said I was their good luck charm, that I brought prosperity to the family. They adored me for it. And so, despite Joe’s perpetual coldness, I had believed I was happy. Until I saw those photographs… My mother entered my room, her expression soft. “Julian will be back from Europe in five days,” she told me. I was surprised. In my previous life, Joe’s enigmatic uncle had never married. I hadn’t expected our alliance to proceed so smoothly. All I remembered of him was a kind, older presence from my childhood. Marrying him felt safer, more reassuring, than marrying anyone else. The next day, I was at my design studio early, ready to alter my wedding gown. I had been designing it since I started fashion school, dreaming of the day I would wear it. Back then, the man I was designing it for was Joe. Every stitch, every bead, was chosen to please him. He’d forbidden any of the floral embroidery I loved, calling it old-fashioned. This time, I could finally wear the dress I wanted, for a man who wasn’t him. A few days later, after finishing the final alterations, I took a break in the lounge. Scrolling through my phone, I froze. It was Kristen’s latest post. There she was, wearing my dress. Or what was left of it. The bottom half had been hacked off, turning my elegant gown into a vulgar micro-mini. In the photo, she was grinding against Joe on a dance floor. The caption read: [Joe knew I needed something to wear tonight, so he brought me this! It feels so good to be spoiled!] Disbelief propelled me to the fifth-floor ballroom. The scene was just as the picture depicted. Kristen and Joe were lost in a frenzied dance, her hips pressed tight against him. “That’s my wedding dress,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “How could you give it to her? How could you let her destroy it like this?” Kristen saw me and immediately dissolved into tears, her face a mask of terrified innocence. “Joe… did I do something wrong? Why does Ellie look so angry? Sob…” Joe pulled her behind him. “Eleanor, it’s just a dress!” “You were going to wear it for me anyway, so what’s the big deal if Kristen borrows it for a dance?” he snapped. “Besides, I never liked that style. It’s stuffy. Just make a new one! Stop making a scene over nothing!” His shamelessness was breathtaking. “Who said this was for you to see? This is for my wedding!” Joe just shook his head, a dismissive sneer on his face. “Give it a rest, Eleanor. Your wedding, my wedding, it’s the same thing. I already agreed to marry you. This little drama act is getting old.” My eyes scanned the room and landed on a pair of fabric shears on a nearby table. I snatched them up, strode toward Kristen, and with one vicious snip, sliced through the trailing silk ribbons at her thigh. “Since you’re so confident, Joe, watch closely,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “I don’t keep things that have been sullied. And I certainly don’t keep men who are.” Joe’s face went slack, a flicker of genuine shock in his eyes. He’d never seen this fire in me, this final, cutting edge. My past tantrums had always been childish pleas for attention; this was a declaration of war. He reached for me instinctively, but just then, Kristen let out a theatrical sob. “Joe, my leg… I think it’s bleeding… Oh, but it’s okay, don’t worry about me, you should go after Eleanor… It’s all my fault…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze torn between my retreating back and her crocodile tears. Then, his face hardened. “Let her go,” he snarled, his voice laced with a cold fury. “A woman consumed by jealousy like that needs to be taught a lesson. Let her stew in it.” 4 I stared at the silk threads still clinging to my hand. Wiping away a tear I refused to let fall, I mourned the loss of my creation. Still, sacrificing one dress to see a man’s true colors… it was a worthy trade. Tonight was the family dinner where I would formally meet Julian. First impressions were everything. After composing myself and redoing my makeup, I headed down to the garage. As I approached my car, I saw another vehicle parked in the shadows, rocking gently on its suspension. It was Joe’s Maserati. Through the half-open driver’s side window, I could see him, with Kristen straddling his lap, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her body moving in a steady, urgent rhythm. Even knowing he didn’t love me, the sight was a punch to the gut, a visceral, sickening jolt. Joe’s eyes fluttered open and met mine. A flicker of panic, nothing more. Then, as if to spite me, he brushed Kristen’s hair from her face and pulled her into a deep, bruising kiss. He increased his pace, and Kristen’s breathy moans echoed through the concrete space. I lowered my gaze, turned on my heel, and got into my own car, driving away toward the Levitan family estate. On the way, I stopped to pick up the tie I’d bought as a gift for Julian. I arrived at the estate at the exact same time as Joe. As he opened his car door, I caught a glimpse of used condom wrappers scattered on the passenger seat. His eyes landed on the gift bag in my hand, and the flicker of embarrassment on his face vanished, replaced by a familiar, smug certainty. “A present for me? Let me see.” Fearing he’d snatch it, I quickly hid it behind my back. “It’s not for you!” He let out a low, condescending chuckle, as if my defiance was a cute but tiresome game. He lit a cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke into the cool night air. “You saw what was happening in the garage.” “I know you love me, Eleanor. I know you can’t live without me.” “But I was clear before. The wedding is for you, the marriage license is for Kristen. If anything, she’s the one making a sacrifice here.” “She will be my legal wife. What we do… it’s normal. She’ll probably stay over at our house sometimes. You’ll have to get used to it. I’m telling you this for your own good.” Even though I had no intention of marrying him, the sheer, unvarnished audacity of his words shocked me. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm again. “My uncle Julian is coming tonight. The entire family relies on him, so this dinner is important. I’m giving you a lot of face by even being here with you. When we go inside, if the elders ask about the marriage license, you tell them we’ve already filed the papers.” “And one more thing,” he added, his grip tightening. “After dinner, you are going to apologize to Kristen for what you did to her this afternoon.” “Don’t forget, until that wedding happens, I can change my mind at any time.” With his ultimatum delivered, he strode into the house and took his seat at the dining table. I took a deep breath. It’s okay. He’ll find out soon enough who I’m really here to marry. I entered the dining room. Julian hadn’t arrived yet, but the rest of the family was seated. I deliberately avoided Joe, choosing a seat that left an empty chair next to me for Julian. Joe saw me, and with a frown, he got up and moved to the seat right beside me. “Stop being so dramatic,” he muttered. “I saved you a seat. There’s no need for all this.” I scowled, about to tell him that the seat was for his uncle, when a tall, commanding figure appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a bespoke suit, Julian Levitan walked in, his presence filling the room with an effortless, quiet power. 5 I hadn’t seen him in years. Julian was even more handsome than I remembered, matured into a man who radiated an unmistakable aura of worldly success and refined confidence. Everyone in the room stood up. In his years abroad, Julian had built an empire of his own, one that now propped up the entire Levitan family enterprise back in New York. All eyes were on him, but his gaze found and held only mine. When he saw Joe standing beside me, a shadow, dark and unreadable, passed through his eyes. I opened my mouth to explain, but at that exact moment, Joe’s phone rang. He excused himself, saying he had to go greet someone. I glanced at Julian, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. But he was already moving, striding across the room and taking the very seat Joe had just vacated, right next to me. “I hope I haven’t kept you all waiting too long,” he said, his voice a warm baritone. “Please, let’s eat.” He gestured for me to sit, and then, to my astonishment, he began to peel a shrimp for me. “It was Joe,” I started, trying to explain. “He just sat there on his own—” “It’s alright,” he said, his focus entirely on the task at hand. “Let’s eat first.” He filled my plate with all my favorite dishes, an assortment of meats and perfectly cooked vegetables. A small mountain of shrimp shells quickly grew on my side plate. He deftly deboned a piece of fish for me, his care and attention to detail so thorough it was almost overwhelming. My cheeks were puffed with food when the dining room door opened again, and Kristen’s overly cheerful voice rang out. “Hello, everyone! Good evening!” The Levitan family’s expressions soured. Kristen was my uncle’s illegitimate daughter, a permanent black mark on our family’s reputation, and she was generally scorned by the city’s upper crust. If not for my family’s influence, she wouldn’t have even been allowed in the door. Joe’s father, the family patriarch, slammed his glass down. “Joe! What is the meaning of this? Bringing an outsider to a private family dinner!” Kristen’s eyes immediately reddened, and she scurried behind Joe like a frightened mouse. Joe, full of righteous indignation, shielded her. “Kristen is Eleanor’s cousin, which makes her my family too. There’s no reason she can’t be here.” His defiant gaze then fell upon Julian, who was now seated beside me. Joe’s face froze, but he didn’t dare say a word. As he watched Julian place another piece of food on my plate and refill my soup bowl, his expression grew darker and darker. My phone buzzed with a text from him. [What the hell do you think you’re doing? Just because I brought Kristen, you’re going to use my uncle to make me jealous? Is that it?!] I flipped my phone over, ignoring it. Across the table, Joe seethed, his glare so intense it felt like it could burn a hole through me. Just then, Mr. Levitan raised his glass. “As you all know, we have wonderful news to celebrate, something the whole city is talking about.” “This dinner tonight is to make it all official.” “We’ll be discussing the timeline for filing the license and planning the wedding. Everything will be settled tonight…” Before he could finish, Joe jumped in. “Dad, don’t worry. We’ve pretty much handled the license already. We’ll take care of it ourselves, you and Mom don’t need to stress about it.” He looked at me, his eyes wide with meaning. “Right, Eleanor?” I kept my eyes down, refusing to meet his gaze. It wasn’t my wedding he was talking about. There was nothing for me to say. Joe’s face went rigid with anger and disapproval. My phone buzzed again. [SAY SOMETHING! If you keep this up, I swear to God I will cancel the wedding!] [Eleanor, do not test me.] Annoyed, I opened my phone and blocked his number. When he realized what I’d done, his eyes widened in disbelief, the veins on his hands standing out in sharp relief. At that moment, under the table, Julian’s hand gently found mine. His voice, calm and steady, cut through the tension. “For all the arrangements, I will respect Eleanor’s wishes completely. Whatever she decides, we will do.” The warmth of his palm spread through me, and my heart skipped a beat. Hearing this, Joe nodded eagerly. “Yes! Exactly! Uncle Julian is right! Mom, Dad, Eleanor and I have it all figured out. You two just get ready to come to our wedding!” The other family members looked at him, baffled. Finally, his father’s patience snapped. “We are discussing your uncle’s marriage! Why do you keep interrupting!”

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1 I gave up a multimillion-dollar inheritance and spent ten years of my life supporting Liam, a simple college athlete, through grueling day-and-night training. I did it all because he promised he’d propose the moment he won a world championship. So, on the day of his gold medal press conference, I arrived full of hope, wearing a wedding gown, with all our friends and family in tow to witness the world champion’s proposal. But he acted as if I wasn’t even there. His gaze was fixed on a girl in the front row, cheering her heart out. A reporter sensed the story and asked if the girl was his girlfriend. I expected him to deny it. Instead, he just offered a sweet, bashful smile and said nothing. As a chorus of “Aww, I ship it!” rippled through the room, I tore off my veil and slipped out of the conference hall. Then I went home and purged every trace of him from my life. He had begged me not to come, claiming a recent injury meant he couldn’t win and he was afraid of embarrassing me. It was all a lie to bring another woman. A man like that? Someone else can have him. I’m done. … The first thing I did when I got home was shove my wedding dress into the fireplace. I watched the flames lick at the pristine white fabric, turning it black, then to ash—a perfect metaphor for the love I’d shared with Liam for ten years, now reduced to nothing. I called my family’s lawyer and instructed him to sell the downtown aquatic center. I had built that facility for Liam. Using the prize money from my graduate design project, I had created a top-tier training center, with every detail meticulously replicating international competition standards. I even hired a world-renowned swimming coach to create a custom training regimen just for him. But back then, Liam was fresh out of college, proud and full of ambition. He didn’t want to be known as a “kept man” living off a rich girlfriend. To protect his fragile ego, I agreed to live with him in a cramped walk-up apartment behind his old athletic school. I’d spend my days watching him train and my nights drafting designs to pay our bills. Now that I was leaving him, there was no reason to keep the facility open. After settling the final severance payments for the staff, the lawyer began the transfer process. Seeing the withdrawal notifications flood my phone gave me a dark thrill. Spending money was this much fun? And I had spent years scrimping and saving, living like a pauper when I could have been enjoying my life as an heiress. I had turned myself into a glorified housemaid for a man who wasn’t worth it. I was packing the last of Liam’s belongings, ready to throw them out, when he came home. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t come to the press conference today! My fans saw you in the wedding dress!” he fumed. “You just had to try and force my hand in public, didn’t you? Are you happy now that you’ve nearly ruined my career?” He spoke as if I’d committed some unforgivable crime. If I hadn’t seen him exchanging loving glances with Margo, if I hadn’t seen him implicitly confirm she was his girlfriend, I might have actually believed that going public with our relationship would end his athletic career. “What’s wrong? Afraid I’d see you and Margo making your big announcement?” I shot back. “Liam, I was blind, but I see clearly now. Let’s go our separate ways. Take your things and get out of my house.” I shoved his bags out the door, my eyes cold and devoid of any lingering affection. Liam’s face hardened. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside. “Sophia, what is this now? How many times do I have to tell you? Margo is just a junior training partner. What kind of nonsense do you fill your head with all day?” He continued, oblivious. “By the way, next month, Margo and I are representing the team at a training camp in Bali. You have a villa there, right? Call your property manager and let them know we’re coming. Do that, and I’ll forget about the whole wedding dress stunt this morning.” He spoke as if it were a done deal, completely missing the news report rolling on the TV behind him. The headline blared: Swimming Champion Protectively Shields His New Love. On screen, reporters were swarming Margo, asking about her relationship with Liam. The footage showed Liam rushing forward without a second thought, pulling her into a fierce, protective embrace. Seeing him shield her like that felt like a thousand frozen shards of glass exploding in my chest. I had kept that villa empty for a decade, saving it for our honeymoon. Now, he wanted to take another woman there. My gaze flickered to the television. Liam seemed to realize his mistake, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. 2 He immediately lunged for the TV and yanked the plug from the wall, turning back to me with a sheepish grin. “Sophie, that’s all fake. You know how the media is. They’ll do anything for ratings.” “You’ve always wanted a fairy-tale wedding, right? I promise you, just one more gold medal at a world event, and I will propose. I swear.” “Now, hurry up and arrange the villa. I don’t want any drama when we get there.” I couldn’t help it. A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. So that was it. I had been wondering why the ever-arrogant Liam was suddenly trying so hard to placate me, even bringing up marriage. It was all for Margo. He wanted a free flight and a luxury villa for his little getaway. I pushed him toward the door, my patience gone. “Sophia, that’s enough,” he snapped, his temper flaring. He shoved my shoulder. “I already said I’d marry you, what more do you want? Don’t push your luck!” I used to let him get away with this, which made him think he could control me. I sidestepped his hand. “Liam,” I said with a calm, shallow smile. “We’re done. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other.” I slammed the door in his face and locked it, ignoring the frantic pounding from the other side. “Sophia, don’t you come crying to me when you regret this!” he bellowed. Finally, he left. Just as the silence settled, my phone rang. “Ms. Wright, there’s a situation at the aquatic center. I think you should come down here.” I clutched the phone, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. Although Liam had refused to train at the facility, he’d insisted it shouldn’t lose money. He said he’d have a “trusted friend” manage it, so I rarely got involved. My heart sank. I jumped in my car and sped over. As expected, the moment I walked into the lobby, my lawyer, Mr. Chen, rushed toward me like a man seeing a lifeboat. “Ms. Wright, there’s a woman here causing a scene. She’s accusing me of being a fraud and threatening to call the police, claiming we’re trying to seize her property!” He gestured helplessly toward the pool area. I walked past him, confused. And then I saw her. Margo, lounging casually in a designer swimsuit, looking as if she owned the place. My world went white. Liam had said he was training with Margo… here. In the very facility I had custom-built for him. The place he had publicly refused to use out of “pride,” he had been secretly using all along, carrying on an affair right under my nose, nurturing his little mistress. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. Before I could say a word, Margo spoke first. “You must be the new cleaning lady Liam hired,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Be careful with those tiles, they’re imported. You can’t afford to replace them.” I slapped her pointing hand away. “This facility has been sold,” I managed to choke out. “Please leave immediately.” Margo looked at me as if I’d just told the world’s greatest joke. She stood up, her eyes raking over my simple clothes with contempt. “Wow, the economy really must be in the toilet!” she announced to the room. “Even the cleaning staff are pretending to be business owners now! Everyone, come look! This lady says she owns the place!” A crowd of onlookers gathered. “Give me a break. She must be desperate for money. Everyone knows this pool was Liam’s birthday gift to Ms. Margo. It’s been ten years!” “Exactly! I’ve been a member for a decade. We all know Ms. Margo was here with Liam, day and night, for ten years straight!” “Did you see the press conference this morning? It’s official. Liam is so protective of her. This old hag is probably just some crazy person trying to cash in!” The whispers and accusations washed over me. I suppressed my rage and pulled the corporate ownership documents from my bag. “I’ll say it one more time. This is my aquatic center, and it has been sold. We are closing for the transition. Please leave now, or I will call the police.” Margo didn’t even glance at the papers. She snatched them from my hand and tossed them into the pool. Then, she gave a subtle nod to her assistant behind her. 3 A moment later, the huge LCD screen in the aquatic center flickered to life, showing a livestream. After the morning’s press conference, Margo had gained over a million followers in just a few hours, becoming the nation’s “perfect girlfriend.” “Ma’am,” she said to the camera, her sharp tone instantly replaced by a soft, vulnerable one. “If you’re having financial trouble, just say so. We’re happy to help. But claiming this place is yours… that’s going too far. Everyone knows this was a gift of love from Liam.” I was stunned by the sudden livestream. I reached out to knock the phone away, but someone shoved me hard. I stumbled back, teetering on the edge of the pool. Online, viewers who knew nothing of the situation were crucifying me. A sharp-eyed user even posted the photo of me in the wedding dress at the press conference. The livestream chat exploded. 【It’s that psycho stalker fan! First, she tries to force a proposal, now she’s ambushing them at their private pool? Disgusting!】 【She saw our ‘Chliam’ go official this morning and now she’s trying to steal their property. She’s obsessed!】 【Let’s go! I’m heading there right now to deal with this shameless old hag myself!】 The screen filled with hateful comments. My face burned with humiliation, my chest so tight with rage I thought I would explode. Seeing me clutch my chest in silence, Margo pushed the camera closer. I stared daggers at the woman who had stolen my life, and my furious expression on screen only fueled another wave of attacks. Mr. Chen, realizing my predicament, quickly produced his backup copies of the tax and ownership documents. “Everyone, please,” he tried to explain to the crowd. “All of this proves that the legal owner of this establishment is my client, Ms. Soph—” He was cut off by a figure rushing through the doors. It was Liam. Just as I thought the truth would finally come out, Margo did something insane. She grabbed my hand and threw herself backward, pulling me with her into the pool. Before I could even process what was happening, we hit the water with a loud splash. The livestream cut out. I flailed in the water, choking, and cried out to Liam for help. For a fleeting, foolish moment, when I saw him dive into the pool without hesitation, a flicker of warmth ignited in my heart. But that warmth turned to ice when he swam right past me, scooped Margo into his arms, and carried her to the side, wrapping her in a thick blanket. He wasn’t saving me. By the time a lifeguard pulled me out, I wasn’t met with Liam’s concern, but with a mob of rabid “couple” fans who had stormed the facility and were now screaming at me. I collapsed onto a nearby chair, helpless, as tears streamed down my face. So, this is what it felt like. Even when the love was gone, the pain was still real. “It’s you, isn’t it? Take a look at yourself! You think you’re worthy of being his wife?” “Seriously, a toad trying to eat swan meat!” Liam’s female fans pointed and jeered. One of them even tried to shove me back into the pool. Margo, seeing her chance, rose from Liam’s embrace, her voice trembling with fake tears as she pointed at me. “Liam, it was her! She came here to cause trouble and pushed me into the pool! If you hadn’t arrived when you did, who knows what would have happened!”

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Only when they saw Aethelgard’s corpse-strewn fields and Lady Agnes’s head on the Crimson Covenant’s gates did they believe me. They turned on Seraphina, voices raw. “You said Caden was jealous! You made us celebrate Lysander’s birthday! How could this happen?” Seraphina trembled. Last life, when the Covenant attacked, Seraphina had led our best mages to celebrate novice Lysander’s birthday. I’d raced back to help repel the attack—but too late for Lysander. The cultists tortured him to death, dismembered him, and hung his remains on their gates. Seraphina alone retrieved his body. After three months secluded, she emerged—and ran me through with her sword. “If you hadn’t conspired with them,” she hissed, “Lysander would live. You never should have existed.” 1 When I opened my eyes, I was back. It was the day of the attack. I scrambled out of my chambers. Lady Agnes and a handful of junior disciples were at the main gate, desperately pouring their aether into the Great Ward. In the distance, a horde of Covenant cultists watched like wolves, launching fireball after fireball at the shimmering barrier, trying to batter their way through. I began my own incantation, adding my aether to the Ward. Sensing my presence, Lady Agnes turned. “Caden! Go to the rear mountain! Find Seraphina and bring the others back, quickly!” It pained me, but I had to tell her the truth. “My Lady, they aren’t at the rear mountain. They’ve gone down to the village to celebrate Lysander’s birthday.” Ever since the Shadow Lord of the Covenant was captured and imprisoned within Aethelgard, a new rule had been established: no Adept-rank mage was to leave the Citadel without the Grandmaster’s explicit permission. And the dozen mages who had left with Seraphina were the Order’s strongest. “Those irresponsible fools!” Lady Agnes cursed. “Use the Vox Crystal! Tell them to return at once!” I hesitated. “My Lady, perhaps we shouldn’t. If we interrupt Lysander’s birthday, Seraphina will be furious.” “Caden, have you lost all sense? A birthday party or the fate of Aethelgard? Which do you think is more important?” Before I could answer, she had already activated the Vox Crystal herself, her voice ringing with urgency. “Seraphina! The Crimson Covenant is at the gates! Bring your brothers and sisters back now!” Lady Agnes was her mother. In the past, Seraphina had always been the most obedient of daughters. But this time, a cold, dismissive laugh came through the crystal. “Mother, please, spare me the theatrics.” Lady Agnes frowned. “What are you talking about?” “I know you’ve never been fond of Lysander, but you shouldn’t stoop to conspiring with Caden to trick me back with such a ridiculous lie. I made inquiries this morning. The Covenant’s high priest is getting married today. The entire cult is celebrating. They have no time to attack Aethelgard. Today is Lysander’s birthday—the first one he’s ever truly celebrated. We promised him we would spend the entire day with him. So please, you and Caden, just behave yourselves and don’t bother us.” The connection was severed. Lady Agnes’s face was a mask of fury. “That boy, Lysander! What potion has he fed my daughter that she no longer trusts her own mother’s word?” Suddenly, the entire mountain shuddered. She whipped her head around, her face draining of color. “Sky-Breaker… How do they have the Sky-Breaker Axe?” At the head of the enemy horde, two hulking figures were swinging a colossal axe, each blow sending spiderweb cracks across the surface of the Great Ward. Sky-Breaker was the legendary weapon of our Order’s first Grandmaster. Upon his Ascension, he had left it behind as the Citadel’s ultimate defense. “They stole it,” Lady Agnes whispered in horror. “No wonder they could bypass the lower wards.” She turned to me, her eyes filled with desperate resolve. “Caden, I will hold the Ward here. You must go to your master.” “But the Grandmaster is in seclusion!” I protested. “To disturb him now could cause his aether to run wild, it could kill him!” Three years ago, after subduing the Shadow Lord, our master had been gravely wounded. He’d been meditating in the sealed Grotto of Sorrows ever since, leaving the Order in Seraphina’s care—which was precisely why she’d been able to lead so many adepts away. “Caden,” Lady Agnes said, her voice stern and unyielding. “Do you know what lies south of this mountain? The mortal realms. The Covenant first grew its power by devouring mortal souls. The First Grandmaster founded this Order here to protect those people, to beat the darkness back. We bear a responsibility not just to contain the Covenant, but to shield the innocent.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Compared to the lives of all those people, what is your master’s life? What is mine?” Her words struck me like a tolling bell. I clenched my fists. “Then you go to the Grandmaster. I will defend the Ward.” “No.” She shoved me back. “My power is greater than yours. I can hold them for half an hour. Go! You must return with him before then!” With tears in my eyes, I nodded, and launched myself into the air, flying toward the Grotto of Sorrows. But as I reached the foot of the sealed mountain, a flash of light slammed into me, sending me crashing to the ground. I thought the Covenant had found me. But when I looked up, it was my junior sister, Rhea, standing over me. My eyes widened. “Rhea! What are you doing here?” “I was waiting for you.” 2 Rhea’s expression was strange, unreadable. I didn’t have time for this. “The Covenant is at the gates! Rhea, you have to help Lady Agnes! I’m going to get the Grandmaster.” Rhea was the most gifted prodigy in our Order. With her help, they could surely hold on longer. I tried to take flight again, but a hand grabbed the back of my tunic. In one smooth motion, Rhea twisted and threw me over her shoulder, slamming me hard onto the packed earth. “Oh, cut the act, Caden. Don’t play these games with me.” Her words were almost identical to Seraphina’s. My mind went blank. “What are you talking about?” “You’re just jealous that Seraphina organized a party for Lysander, aren’t you? Is it really necessary to bother the Grandmaster over something so petty? He’s at a critical point in his healing. If you disturb him over this, he’ll never forgive you.” “Rhea, I’m not jealous!” I scrambled to explain. “The Covenant is really here!” “Don’t lie to me,” she scoffed. “Seraphina told us this morning. She said you were upset about her and Lysander and would definitely cause a scene. She even took us down the mountain to reinforce the lower wards herself. Even if the Shadow Lord himself escaped, he couldn’t break through them.” I sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “They stole the Sky-Breaker Axe. Rhea, I swear on my life, everything I’m saying is true.” Perhaps the desperation in my voice gave her pause. She seemed to hesitate. But then a small, pitying smile touched her lips. “You really are a terrible liar, Caden. Sky-Breaker is locked in the Grandmaster’s private chambers. How could they possibly have stolen it?” No matter how I tried to explain, she was convinced I was lying. I couldn’t waste any more time. I twisted out of her grip. “Fine, don’t believe me! But I have to get to the Grandmaster, or all of Aethelgard will be lost!” “Don’t run!” The next moment, Rhea produced a set of silver chains. With a single word of power, they flew through the air and wrapped around me, binding me tight. I struggled on the ground, helpless. “Rhea, let me go! There’s no time! Lady Agnes is still at the gate! If you won’t save her, are you going to stop anyone else from trying?” She shook her head. “Stop shouting, Caden. To be honest, Seraphina told me to wait here specifically to catch you. I’ve been here for a while, and I haven’t seen a single cultist.” She looked at me with genuine confusion. “I just don’t get it. Seraphina and Lysander are perfect for each other, a match made in the heavens. Why do you have to be so conniving and try to ruin their happiness?” I knew. They all thought I was a scheming, petty villain. And Lysander, their precious Lysander, was a true gentleman. A year ago, Seraphina had found him, an orphan with no discernible aether, and brought him back to the Citadel. She had insisted on taking him as her personal apprentice, a position of incredible honor. I had argued with her, pointing out how unfair it was to the other, more talented disciples. It broke all our traditions. It was a clear abuse of her authority. I was trying to stand up for fairness, but somehow, I was branded as being jealous of Lysander. From that day on, my relationship with Seraphina had grown colder and more distant. When Lysander’s training wand broke, she accused me of sabotaging it. When he “tripped” and fell down a flight of stairs, she accused me of pushing him. When he had a manic episode and was found scrubbing the floors in the middle of the night, she said I had bullied him into it. It wasn’t just her. As Lysander’s “misfortunes” piled up, everyone began to see me as the villain, jealous of his closeness to Seraphina. They all seemed to have forgotten that I was the one betrothed to her. Worried the chains weren’t enough, Rhea placed a paralysis sigil on my chest. She dusted off her hands. “There. Don’t be so upset, Caden. I’ll keep you company today.” I was so frantic I could have wept. “Rhea, I’ll stay with you, I promise! Just… just go back to the Citadel and look! Please! If you’re too late, it won’t just be Aethelgard that falls, the mortal realms will be plunged into chaos!” Despite my repeated, desperate pleas, she stood firm. “No. Seraphina said she’s planning a firework display from the top of the Citadel for Lysander tonight. I have to take you somewhere else.” As the words left her mouth, the jade pendants we all wore at our waists began to chime violently. Clang, clang, clang! The color drained from Rhea’s face. The Citadel Jade trembles for only one reason. The Great Ward of Aethelgard, the unbreakable shield of the Order, had been shattered.

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