Author: Momo Chan

1 The night before the National Robotics Championship, I took a hammer to my masterpiece and quit. The internet exploded—forums flooded with accusations of fraud, cowardice, hacks who couldn’t handle the spotlight. Only Greg Croft, the golden boy hailed as a tech prodigy, offered hollow support to the press: “I have complete faith in Leo’s abilities. He’s the only rival I’ve ever considered my equal. Whatever’s happened, I just hope he finds his way back and proves the genius he truly is.” In my last life, the robot I’d brought to the championship was a bolt-for-bolt replica of his. No matter how I tried to expose his theft, he played the magnanimous victim online: “It’s alright. Leo can have this one. I can always build better.” His fans descended like wolves. Fueled by rage, I rebuilt overnight—until a power failure triggered a catastrophic explosion. I woke in the ICU. The internet cheered my downfall. That same night, Seraphina signed my DNR. My last thought before darkness: How did he steal my data? How did he turn her against me? Then— I opened my eyes. Back to the day before the championship. “Leo, this dynamic humanoid design is absolutely insane! We’re going to crush it this year. First place is in the bag!” My best friend Matt’s excited voice snapped me back to the present. I stared at the six-foot-tall robot before me, a violent shiver running down my spine. “I’m uploading the final specs now! Then all we have to do is wait for the live demonstration tomorrow!” Matt was already at the computer, grinning from ear to ear. “Wait!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “Stop! I have a better idea.” My hands trembled as I took the laptop. I navigated to Greg’s public project feed, my heart pounding in my chest. There it was. A video demonstration and a full spec sheet. It was a perfect copy of my robot. “What the hell?” Matt leaned over my shoulder, his face a mask of disbelief. “How is this possible? I checked his feed this afternoon, and his bot looked nothing like ours! Where did that son of a bitch get our design?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Last time, I had made the same check in the afternoon. Seeing that his robot was different, I had relaxed, complacent. I only discovered his theft half an hour before the submission deadline. I had frantically reported him to the organizers and posted my entire design process online, but it was useless. They didn’t believe me. Greg’s fans tore me to shreds. “Leo the Leech, at it again. First, he copies Greg’s ideas, now he’s trying to frame him. Shameless!” “Greg posted his data first, you pathetic thief. How dare you claim his work as your own?” The abuse was relentless. I had tried to prove them wrong by building a new robot overnight for the competition floor. And somehow, Greg’s robot had changed again, perfectly matching my new one. I was humiliated in front of everyone. They threw water bottles at me. Desperate, I tried to demonstrate my unique dynamic humanoid system, but the moment I powered it on, the robot exploded. The blast left me critically injured, fighting for my life in the ICU. With me out of the picture, Greg coasted to victory. He won the two-million-dollar prize and was immediately taken under the wing of a titan of the tech industry. His future was secured. And me? I was lying in a hospital bed, hovering between life and death. To make matters worse, the competition officials announced they’d found traces of high explosives in my robot’s wreckage. They concluded I had been planning some kind of attack and had become a victim of my own malice. But I knew. I knew I hadn’t put anything like that in my machine. That announcement was my death sentence. I was expelled from the university. The online mob doxed my parents. They spray-painted “FATHER OF A MONSTER” on their garage door and left funeral wreaths on their lawn. They said my parents deserved to die for bringing someone like me into the world. The night I was admitted to the hospital, Seraphina signed the papers to take me off life support, telling the world I had succumbed to my injuries. The internet rejoiced. My parents, shattered by the news of my “death,” took their own lives. My soul watched it all, a helpless, screaming ghost, refusing to move on. And then, I woke up. Back on the day before it all went wrong. This time, I will uncover the truth. I will clear my name. And I will make Greg Croft pay for every last thing he stole from me. 2 “Leo, we can still modify it! We still have time!” Matt insisted, his face pale but determined. “This competition isn’t just about the two million bucks. The winner gets mentored by Dr. Aris Thorne himself! We can’t give up.” The organizers had already replied to our initial complaint, stating they found no evidence of wrongdoing on Greg’s part. “I’ll handle the modifications myself,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Matt, you keep hounding the event staff. Don’t let them off the hook.” I took a deep breath. A second chance meant I couldn’t trust anyone, not even my closest friend. In my last life, Seraphina had been by my side the entire time I was building and modifying my robots. The memory of seeing her, after my death, tucked into the crook of Greg’s arm… there was no doubt. She was the one who leaked my designs. But she didn’t understand the complex mechanics or the code. Even if she gave him the physical blueprints, she couldn’t have accessed the core operational programming. And Greg and I… we’d been rivals since freshman year. I was his shadow. Every brilliant idea I had, he somehow produced it first, leaving me to be mocked as a copycat. We avoided each other like the plague on campus; there was no way he could have ever gotten a direct look at my work. So how? How did his robot’s programming mirror mine down to the last line of code? Even with the gift of foresight, the question gnawed at me. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through my chest at the thought of Seraphina. Why would she betray me? We were childhood sweethearts, practically engaged. She was supposed to be my partner, yet at the most critical moment of my life, she’d been the one to push me into the abyss. Shaking my head, I slapped my own cheek, hard. Focus. The robot was all that mattered now. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I began disassembling the code and the machine. I’d already conceptualized an upgraded version of this robot, but I’d held back, opting for a more stable, conservative build for the competition. I was confident even the base model could win. I was always good at this, with a natural intuition for mechanics and programming that felt like a sixth sense. But caution was a luxury I could no longer afford. It was time to go all in. An hour later, I leaned back, letting out a ragged breath as I stared at the upgraded machine. This time, I had worked completely alone. Unless Greg Croft was literally a god, there was no way he could know the new specifications. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I was about to submit the new data to the organizers when Matt burst back into the lab. “Dude, you need to see this! Greg just posted an update!” My blood ran cold. I snatched the laptop from him and stared at the video. I couldn’t breathe. “No… it’s not possible!” The robot in Greg’s new video, the one he was showcasing with a smug grin, was my upgrade. Every last detail, every new line of code, was there on the screen. I scrolled down to see his post. His fans were already lavishing him with praise. Greg had written: “I felt my initial design was a winner, but in a competition of this caliber, you have to be willing to innovate. So, I decided to push the envelope with a significant upgrade. The performance isn’t perfectly stable yet, but if I can get some feedback from the judges, it’ll be worth the risk…” A cold dread washed over me. The core of the upgrade was a piece of programming that had come to me in a dream, a flash of pure inspiration. I treasured it like a divine gift, telling no one. Could he have hired a top-tier hacker? Was my workshop bugged? A terrifying theory began to form in my mind. “Leo, what do we do now?” Matt’s voice was a desperate whisper. “The forums… they’re tearing you apart.” 3 I stared at my phone, the screen a venomous stream of comments from Greg’s fans. “Tsk tsk, looks like the Leech ran out of material to steal.” “He’s been riding Greg’s coattails for years. Greg is a god, and Leo’s just a rat scurrying in his shadow.” … I took a deep, shuddering breath, the words blurring together. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I have another robot. I’ll use that one.” I was about to lock myself in the lab again when my phone buzzed. It was Seraphina. I had specifically told her to give me space before the competition. I stared at her name on the screen, a cold fury rising in my chest. I declined the call and blocked her number. “I don’t believe he can read my mind on this one too,” I said to Matt, my jaw set. “This animal-model robot… he can’t possibly know about it.” With the grim determination of a man on his last hope, I re-entered the workshop. This time, I cut the power to the router, severing all connection to the outside world. No hacker on earth could spy on me now. I carefully retrieved a hidden case from beneath my workbench. Inside was a project I’d poured my soul into for five years—a bio-mimicking drone. It was more powerful and versatile than any humanoid model, designed for reconnaissance in complex terrains. It was only a prototype, and I had never spoken a single word about it to anyone. Three hours later, the assembly and programming were complete. I stood back, my heart a mix of pride and anxiety, and looked at the spider-like machine. Its most unique feature was its adaptive structure; it could shift between eighteen different forms to navigate any environment. Greg could not know. He absolutely could not know. Taking a final, deep breath, I reconnected to the internet to upload the data. But the connection was lagging. The spinning loading icon on the screen felt like a harbinger of doom. My heart hammered against my ribs. The upload finally finished. I frantically pulled up Greg’s project page. His robot had changed again. It was my spider bot. My exact design. I scanned the parameters, my vision going blurry. They were identical to mine. And the timestamp on his upload was exactly one minute before mine. His latest post read: 【Hey everyone, I felt like the competition was getting crowded with humanoid bots. So, I thought I’d switch things up with this new arachnid-inspired model! If you guys like it, maybe I’ll do a giveaway of some miniatures…】 I looked at his smarmy, self-satisfied post and roared, sweeping everything off my workbench in a blind rage. “HOW? HOW IS THIS HAPPENING? WHY!” The raw, primal scream tore from my throat. Matt rushed in, saw the spider bot on my screen, and understood everything. “Could it be the organizers?” he stammered. “Are they feeding him your data?” It was the only logical explanation he could find for two identical, last-minute designs. I stood frozen in the center of the room, a dark, suffocating aura clinging to me. We had less than two hours until the final submission deadline. There was no time to build another new robot. “I’m calling them. Right now,” I snarled, pulling out my phone. As I did, I saw a text message notification. Seraphina had used someone else’s phone after finding she was blocked. 【Leo, I am in love with you. My love for you is like your shadow.】 【Where you are, I am. When you are gone, I cease to exist.】 The words flashed in my mind, sparking something, a fleeting connection I couldn’t quite grasp. I shook it off and dialed the organizers, my voice tight with fury as I laid out my accusation. 4 The official on the other end was cold and dismissive. “Mr. Vance, this championship is sponsored by the National Science Institute and overseen by two of its most distinguished fellows.” “It involves universities from across the country. We would never compromise our integrity for a single student. Besides…” His voice took on a mocking edge. “Your university isn’t exactly an Ivy League powerhouse with the pull to bribe a panel of national experts.” “Instead of making baseless accusations, maybe you should focus on improving your own skills.” He hung up. They wouldn’t take any more of my calls. “Leo! It’s getting worse online,” Matt said, his face ashen as he handed me his phone. The screen was filled with hate. 【So shameless. A blatant, last-minute copy. Get out of the competition!】 【Someone on Greg’s team must have been bribed. How else could this leech copy the newest design so fast?】 Greg himself had posted a reply, oozing false magnanimity. “It seems great minds think alike. Perhaps Leo and I just had a similar flash of inspiration. It’s no problem. Leo, you can have the design. I’ll compete with something else.” Beneath his comment, his fans praised his generosity. 【A true class act! So gracious, even to a thief!】 【LMAO, even if he’s given the stolen design, can he even operate it?】 【This is disgusting. Someone should report this parasite before he gets any more ambitious.】 I stared at the words, feeling the blood freeze in my veins. Why? Why was this happening? Was I doomed to repeat the past? To just give up? No. I refuse. There has to be something I’m missing. In the grip of that extreme, helpless rage, my mind suddenly became preternaturally clear. Memories of Greg flashed through my mind like a chaotic film reel. Before I met him, people called me a genius. But ever since he appeared, my light had been dimmed by his brighter star. He was always one step ahead, as if he could pluck my very thoughts from the air. A spark ignited in the darkness of my mind. “Matt,” I asked, my voice eerily calm. “Do you believe it’s possible for two people to have the exact same brainwaves?” He looked at me, bewildered. “What? No way. Not even identical twins are that in-sync.” “Okay,” I pressed on. “A robot you know inside and out. If you had all the parts, what’s the absolute fastest you could assemble a new one from scratch?” Matt considered it seriously. “Leo, I’m not on your level, but I’m no slouch either. With all the components ready, assembly and full diagnostics… minimum, half a day. These are precision instruments, not LEGOs. You can’t just snap them together.” His words were like a key turning in a lock. My eyes widened, and a slow, strange smile spread across my face. It grew into a laugh, wild and unrestrained. “You’re right,” I said, the sound echoing in the silent lab. “To build a machine like this from the ground up takes at least half a day. So how could two of them appear within a minute of each other?” “It’s not scientifically possible!” I stared at the two robots before me, my eyes gleaming with a terrifying, feverish light. I dragged the spider bot over to the industrial gravity press in the corner of the lab. My hand hovered over the activation button. “I’ve found it,” I whispered, a manic grin stretching across my face. “Your fatal flaw.”

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1 It was the seventh day since I’d faked my own death to escape the gilded cage of The Silk Sparrow pleasure house. To save my dying parents, I’d taken on a piece of dirty work: a Corpse-Right, a deathbed union with a fallen soldier to claim a widow’s stipend. The battlefield was a charnel house, the air thick with the iron tang of blood. I was shoved before a knight who had just breathed his last. “Get on with it,” the procurer, a grim man named Gris, snarled. “We need to consummate the union before he’s cold and stiff. If we can’t get his seed, we get nothing. And neither of us can afford that.” With that, he forced my head down toward the dead man’s groin. … The corpse reeked of stale sweat and old wounds, his armor and skin caked in a shell of dried blood. Gris was in a frenzy, pushing me into the dead man’s embrace. He clawed at my dress. “The union, now! You paid a pittance for this chance; be glad I found you a fresh one. Don’t you dare ruin this for me!” I felt the fabric of my bodice rip, exposing the curve of my shoulder as his hands fumbled to pull it lower. Panic seized me. “Wait! Please, wait! Let me do it myself!” I cried out, my voice thin and desperate. “Even on a battlefield… a union between a man and a woman deserves a moment of privacy, doesn’t it?” I scrambled for a better excuse. “Besides, at the Sparrow… I learned a certain art. A way to bring a man pleasure, even after death.” The brutal force on my dress lessened. Gris squinted at me, his eyes filled with suspicion. “What kind of art can please a dead man? Don’t play games with me, girl. Or have you forgotten about the Crown’s stipend? You’re no virtuous maiden to be hesitating now. Just a whore from a pleasure house.” His words branded me with shame. A hot, bitter tide of humiliation and rage swelled in my chest. But he wasn’t wrong. I had escaped a pleasure house. But I was not some wanton woman who reveled in being used. I had done it for money, to save my parents. When the matron tried to force me into the bed of a depraved lord—a true monster in the sheets—I chose to die. Or at least, to pretend to. The night I fled and returned home, my parents had wept as they held me. “Jenny, my child, forgive us,” my father had choked out, his body frail. “To have let you suffer so. I would rather die than see you debase yourself like this.” Four years ago, a plague had settled in my father’s lungs. We didn’t have a single coin for an apothecary, let alone the herbs he needed. So I went to the city, intending to sell myself into service at a lord’s manor. But on the way, a recruiter for the pleasure houses found me. A girl like me, he said, was worth ten silver pieces. More than I could earn in a year as a scullery maid. When I returned with the money, the apothecary and his tinctures in tow, my parents finally understood what I had done. They held me and cried until their eyes were raw and swollen. “Jenny, my life is not worth your future,” my father had pleaded then, just as he did the night I came home from the dead. “Run. Live for yourself.” I thought it was worth it. In those dark, suffocating moments at the Sparrow, when I had to force a smile for some fat, greasy merchant, the thought that my parents were out there, waiting for me, was the only warmth I had. When they took my hands and led me home, I accepted that my life would be lived in the shadows. It didn’t matter, as long as I could be with them. But the lord I had spurned would not let it go. My refusal was a stain on his pride. He sent his men to our small cottage. They burned it to the ground and stole the few coins my parents had saved over the years. I fell to my knees in the ashes and wept. It was the first time I truly understood: for people like us, there is no justice against the powerful. 2 Homeless and starving, my parents’ health failed again. Desperate, I was wandering the muddy streets of the war camp when a girl approached me. “Become a Corpse-Bride,” she’d told me. “Follow the army. When the soldiers fall, you perform the rite. Pleasing a dead man is no different than pleasing a living one, and you get the Crown’s stipend. Your parents will be safe for the rest of their days.” “Many women do it,” she’d added. “You’ll see.” And so I came. But I hadn’t expected this. I’d barely arrived when Gris dragged me onto the battlefield. After a brutal clash, the ground was littered with the gruesome, broken bodies of men. Some were still warm. Others were already cold, stiff, barely recognizable. This was my first union. My stomach churned with fear. I didn’t know any secret arts to please the dead; it was a lie to buy myself a few more seconds. Gris was the broker for these rites. He took a cut from us and a fee from the army command, who saw it as a tidy way to manage the affairs of their fallen men and distribute the Crown’s stipend. If a union was sealed, he got paid. That’s why he was so impatient. Seeing my hesitation, his face hardened. “If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will!” Panic flared. I grabbed his sleeve, forcing a placating smile. “No, no, please, don’t be angry. I’ll undress. I’ll do it now.” But as I moved closer to the body, the metallic smell of blood filled my lungs. I pictured maggots, rot… and I gagged, bile rising in my throat. Gris exploded. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. “You useless bitch!” he roared. “You dare waste time? The moment for the rite is passing! He’s getting cold, don’t you understand? You’re costing me my coin, damn you!” His hand cracked across my face. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth, my head ringing from the blow. I stumbled, my hand falling against the corpse. The flesh was no longer warm. It was cold, firming into the unyielding hardness of a true corpse. A fresh wave of terror washed over me. Gris kicked me hard in the chest and spat on the ground beside me. “Bad luck charm.” He left me there, a lone figure on a battlefield of the dead. As darkness bled into the sky, I clutched my bruised ribs and began the slow walk back to the camp. Suddenly, a sound drifted from nearby—a strange, rhythmic noise. The sound of a woman in the throes of something that was both pleasure and pain. I froze, turning my head in disbelief. Not far away, by the side of the dirt track, lay the body of a soldier, his torso wrapped in fresh linen bandages. A woman was on top of him, her skirts hitched up, her body rising and falling in a steady, practiced motion. Her face was a blank mask, her eyes empty and distant. From my angle, I could see the pale flash of her naked thighs. If I were any closer, I knew I would see everything, the point where living flesh met dead. A hot blush flooded my cheeks. I had serviced many men at the Sparrow, but always behind closed doors. Never like this, out in the open, under the dying light of the sky. The sight sent a shockwave through me.

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My fingers clawed desperately at the car door as he drove off, dragging me over ten meters across the pavement. Watching the exhaust fumes fade into the distance, my heart turned to ashes. I thought I would die on that frozen mountain, but fate intervened—a passing stranger saved me and, in doing so, restored eight years of lost memories. The first thing I did upon waking was erase my current identity. 1 “Ma’am, are you certain? Once the identity of ‘Jenna Hayden’ is legally dissolved, that person will, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist.” I nodded, my voice steady. “I’m certain.” My name was never Jenna, anyway. I am Elara Vaughn. Eight years ago, a plane crash stole my memories and left me stranded in Port Sterling. The Hayden family took me in, and eventually, I became their daughter-in-law. George and I… we were in love once. The golden couple, the one everyone in our circle envied. That all changed two years ago, when she came back. I glanced up at the massive screen dominating the city’s central square. It was broadcasting the final moments of the national piano championship. Unsurprisingly, with me out of the way, Lila Sinclair had clinched first place. In the post-win interview, George was beaming, his smile radiating a warmth I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. “Lila has always been number one in my heart. No one can touch her talent. As her agent, I couldn’t be prouder.” “Oh?” the host chimed in, a little flustered. “My apologies, I just assumed the number one spot in your heart belonged to your wife.” George let out a smooth laugh. “When it comes to my heart, of course, Jenna is my number one. But when it comes to pure talent? That has always been Lila.” Hearing that, a bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. I turned away and dialed a number. “Pierce. I need a pickup in Port Sterling. Seven days.” Leaving the noise of the city square behind me, I slipped into a tattoo parlor on a quiet side street. “Hey, looking for some ink? What did you have in mind?” the artist asked, gesturing to a chair. “I need something removed,” I said, pointing to my chest, just over my heart. “This name.” He leaned in. “G-E-O? Those letters must have meant something special.” I looked down, a sad, hollow laugh escaping me. “They used to.” Four hours later, I walked back into our house carrying a small, custom-ordered cake. George was already home, lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as I entered. “What’s the occasion? You bought me a cake?” The last embers of warmth in my heart flickered and died. It was my birthday. “It’s nothing important,” I said, my voice flat. “Just felt like it.” “Perfect timing,” he said, tossing his phone aside. The mention of Lila brought an unconscious, genuine smile to his face. “Lila won today. We’re having a celebration dinner later. I’ll take this along.” I was silent for a moment, then just nodded. I went to our room to change. George followed me in. “Elara, you should come to the party. You were the five-time champion before her. It would be good for you to show your support.” As he spoke, his eyes caught on something. “What happened to your chest? Why is it bandaged?” 2 “I got hurt when you dragged me with the car.” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was fleeting. “Well, at least it’s just an injury. That tattoo is the proof of our love. Make sure it doesn’t get damaged.” “Right,” I said, the word tasting like ash. “I know.” His expression softened, satisfied. “Good. Get ready. We’re leaving soon.” The moment I settled into the passenger seat, a small bear-shaped air freshener on the dash chirped in Lila’s sultry, sweet voice. “Kissy kissy, handsome. Have a beautiful day!” George’s face tensed. “It’s just a stupid gag gift she recorded. Don’t read into it.” “I’m not,” I said, my voice a monotone as I turned to stare out the window, remaining perfectly still. I had to. Because my foot had just brushed against a tube of lipstick wedged under the seat. Lila’s favorite brand. Her signature shade of crimson. But I wasn’t going to say a word. I just wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it. I was leaving soon; there was no point in starting another pointless fight. Halfway there, George started texting. He’d forgotten his messaging app was synced to the car’s display. LilaTheCat: When are you getting here, handsome? I’m starving. George: Again? I thought I fed you in the car just now, you greedy little thing. I stared at the screen, my mind numbly trying to picture them feeding each other snacks in the car. Then, like a switch flipping, another image burned into my mind. The lipstick under the seat… Fed you in the car… Oh god. They hadn’t been talking about food. They’d done it. Here. In this very seat. A wave of revulsion, deep and visceral, churned in my stomach. I, a notorious germaphobe, felt utterly defiled. “Stop the car,” I choked out. The moment it slowed, I shoved the door open and threw up on the side of the road. 3 “Can you hurry up?” George called out, his voice laced with impatience. “I’m on a schedule.” There was no way in hell I was getting back in that car. Seeing me dawdle, he slammed the passenger door shut. “Fine! Get in or don’t! I’m not your chauffeur!” By the time I arrived at the restaurant, the party was in full swing. George gestured for me to take the seat beside him. As I approached, I saw Lila’s leg draped casually over his, her hand pulling his own up, guiding it deep beneath the fabric of her skirt. George froze for a second, his eyes darting towards me. But Lila held his hand fast. He watched my face, and when he saw only a mask of indifference, he relaxed, a faint, flushed heat rising in his cheeks, mirroring the one on hers. Later, when the party moved on to drinks and games, George couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Elara,” he whispered, “could you run out and get me some ibuprofen? My stomach is killing me.” It was the perfect excuse to escape. I nodded and left the private room. Just as the elevator doors were closing, I realized I’d left my phone. As I walked back, I heard the muffled sounds of their friends talking through the door. “…the balcony? Damn, George and Lila are getting riskier.” “What choice do they have? There’s a pharmacy right downstairs. Elara will be back any minute. They have to be quick.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to stop my hands from shaking. So everyone knew. Everyone was in on their little secret, and I was the fool left in the dark. Then, I heard George’s voice, strained and breathless. “Hey… keep it down. If my wife hears you, you’ll all answer to me.” A round of mocking laughter followed. They knew I wasn’t there. They knew I wouldn’t hear. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned and fled, my retreat a clumsy, humiliating escape. When I returned with the medicine, they were all composed, sitting on the couches, playing a party game as if nothing had happened. Someone noticed me. “Hey, Elara was the last one here! You still haven’t given Lila a gift. Let’s all guess what our five-time champion is going to give the new winner!” In all my years as a Hayden, the finances were controlled entirely by George and his parents. I had almost no money to my name. Sensing my predicament, George leaned in and whispered, “Just give her some cash in an envelope. Put it on my tab.” I set the box of ibuprofen on the table. “The grand piano I’ve used for the last five years,” I announced, my voice clear and steady. “If you wouldn’t mind taking it.” A collective gasp filled the room. That piano was a one-of-a-kind instrument, handcrafted by the legendary Maestro Valerius himself. George had spent half a year convincing the Maestro to part with it. It had been his second-anniversary gift to me. Suddenly, the way everyone looked at me shifted, their gazes filled with a strange, calculating curiosity. After arranging for the movers, I was about to head to my room to rest when the door was thrown open. George stood there, his face a thundercloud. “What the hell was that?” he seethed. “Giving away the piano I gave you. What are you trying to say?” 4 I met his furious gaze. “You said it yourself. When it comes to talent, Lila is better. An instrument like that deserves a true artist.” His anger faltered. “How did you…?” “The broadcast was everywhere. I saw it on the screens in the city square.” They were his own words, thrown back in his face. He had no comeback. “But that doesn’t mean you just give it away! It was our anniversary gift!” I offered a thin, empty smile. “And?” He froze. “Jenna… what are you saying? Are you trying to leave me?” “I told you from the beginning,” I said softly. “If you ever fell in love with someone else, I would leave you forever.” He suddenly laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Go on, try it. Everything you are in this world, I gave you. Where could you possibly go without me? Don’t forget, Jenna. This marriage ends when I say it ends. You can’t divorce me without my consent.” But he was wrong. Because my name isn’t Jenna Hayden. My name is Elara Vaughn. And my marriage to him was never legally valid. “Don’t even think about leaving me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing command. “You stay here, in this house, and be a good little wife. I’ll give you everything you could ever want. Remember that.” I smiled. A real smile this time. We’ll see about that. For the next four days, I systematically erased every trace of myself from that house. The clothes in good condition were donated to charity. The old ones, I burned in a small, contained fire in the backyard. I closed every social media account associated with Jenna Hayden. I went to the records office and officially relinquished the identity. And George would never notice. He and Lila were gone, jetting off to Singapore to celebrate her victory. Singapore was like their second home; they flew there at the drop of a hat. Three days until my departure. Lila sent me a picture. It was of a little girl, happily eating a snack. Her daddy made her the biggest candy apple today, just because his little princess asked for it~ This wasn’t the first time she’d sent things like this, but I’d never understood the context. The girl… what was her connection to them? This time, however, the photo was a clear close-up. And my blood ran cold. The little girl was a perfect, miniature blend of George and Lila. She was their daughter. So that’s why he never wanted to have children with me. How utterly, pathetically laughable. Two days until my departure. George threw an eight-million-dollar fireworks show for Lila. Eight million dollars, just to see me smile, her message read. He said it was worth it. The display was beautiful, I’m sure. He’d once promised to watch fireworks with me, a promise he never kept. And now, he never would. One day left. This time, there was no picture, no text. Just an audio file. I pressed play. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the silence of the room—his low, sensual groans, her high, breathy moans. I listened to the whole thing, then just smiled faintly. I placed the phone on his desk, next to a sealed envelope. Slinging my only backpack over my shoulder, I walked out of the ‘home’ I had lived in for eight years, and I didn’t look back. My ride was already waiting, a line of men in sharp suits standing discreetly at the private terminal. Just as I was about to board the jet, my burner phone rang. It was George. Hey, honey. I’m back from my trip. I’m on my way to pick you up for dinner. He was back, all right. Standing not fifty feet from me, with Lila and their daughter in tow. I kept my voice even. Dinner isn’t for another hour. Can you make it? He was laughing, bending down to tie the little girl’s shoelaces. As he opened his mouth to reply, I saw Lila lean in and press a lingering kiss to his lips. “Honey,” she purred, “you promised you’d take Nina and me to the amusement park first. And we have to get her back to Singapore tonight. We’re running out of time.” “Daddy, please?” the little girl pleaded. “I wanna go to the park!” A moment later, a text from George came through. Elara, something came up at work. Let’s reschedule dinner for three days from now. A genuine, liberating smile spread across my face. I switched the phone off for good. Sliding on a pair of dark sunglasses, I walked towards the jet, my security detail flanking me. We brushed right past George. He paused, a flicker of confusion on his face as he turned to look at my retreating back. “That’s weird,” he murmured. “That woman… she looked a little like Elara.” Lila laughed, pulling at his arm. “Don’t be silly. Someone that important, with bodyguards? Since when is Jenna Hayden a VIP?” George chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re right.” He scooped up his daughter. “Alright, Nina, let’s go! To the amusement park!” As my plane taxied onto the runway, a calm, professional voice came over the cabin speakers, a sound I hadn’t heard in eight years but recognized instantly. Vaughn Jet-1, this is the tower. You are cleared for takeoff. Welcome home, Ms. Vaughn. Have a safe flight. 5 Upon landing on our family’s private island, I was met by a line of security staff, their stoic professionalism cracking as they saw me, their eyes red with emotion. “Welcome home, Miss Elara.” Eight years ago, after the crash, I was declared missing, presumed dead. My sudden return was a miracle they’d given up hoping for. My parents stood together, tears streaming down their faces as they watched me walk down the steps. My younger brother, Liam, broke from their side and ran to me, crushing me in a hug. “Elara,” he choked out. “I missed you so damn much.” I patted his back, my own eyes stinging. “It’s okay, Liam. I’m back now.” My parents hugged me next, their touch a mixture of relief and sorrow. To break the heavy mood, they immediately started teasing Liam. “Thank god you’re back. He’s been running the company into the ground while you were gone.” I knew it wasn’t true. Liam was more than capable, brilliant even. This was just my family’s way—now that I was home, they’d tear him down to build me up. It was a twisted tradition, but it was born from love. We all knew that. Back in the familiar comfort of our home, they asked where I had been, why I hadn’t contacted them. I’d intended to keep the details vague, but Pierce, the man who’d picked me up, had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He’d spent the last week digging up every sordid detail of my life as ‘Jenna Hayden’ and now recited it all to my horrified family. Liam slammed his fist on the table. “That son of a bitch! You pay for a hooker, for god’s sake! My sister was his indentured servant—giving him her heart, her body, and her goddamn talent for free, just to be thrown out in a snowstorm!” “Liam, what a way to describe your sister,” my father grumbled, though his face was tight with fury. “A ‘free hooker’?” “But Elara,” he said, his voice softening as he turned to me. “You’re home now. Let’s forget all that ugliness. This is a fresh start.” I nodded, my heart swelling with a gratitude so profound it hurt. “A fresh start.” 6 Meanwhile, back in Port Sterling, after dropping Nina off in Singapore, George tried calling me. The line was dead. A knot of anxiety began to form in his stomach. “She’s probably just pouting,” Lila said, trying to soothe him. “You know how dramatic she can be.” But George couldn’t shake a deep, creeping sense of dread. Three days later, they finally returned to Port Sterling. As they drove past a music store, George instinctively pulled over. He went inside and carefully selected a new grand piano. Lila, assuming it was for her, confidently gave the owner an address. “Please have it delivered to Apartment 102 at the Cypress Towers.” “No,” George corrected the owner. “Send it to the villa at Blackwood Manor.” Lila’s smile froze on her face. George looked away, a flash of shame in his eyes. “It’s for Elara. I know she’s mad about the competition… she didn’t say anything, but giving away her old piano like that… she’s hurt. I need to make it up to her.” But when he arrived at the house with the delivery crew, he found it silent and empty. He frowned, calling out her name. “Elara? Jenna?” Strange. She should be home at this time. He told the movers to bring the piano inside. But as they opened the door and he saw the interior, the hopeful smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look of stark horror. The house was terrifyingly empty. The potted plants she doted on were gone from the balcony. The elegant vase she always kept filled with fresh flowers was gone from the dining table. Her favorite set of fine china was missing from the cabinet. George’s face paled. He stormed through the house, throwing open the doors to the bedroom, the study… everything that was hers, every single trace of Jenna Hayden, was gone. All that remained was a single envelope on his desk. Inside was a note with two short, brutal sentences. I know about you and Lila. Thank you for taking care of me all these years. I’m gone. Don’t look for me. There was no signature. Because in Elara Vaughn’s world, George Hayden didn’t exist. He immediately tried her phone, only to hear it vibrate from inside the desk drawer. She’d left it behind. A wave of panic seized him, and he gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. “No… it’s not possible,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “Where could she go? Elara! ELARA!” He started calling their mutual friends, only to realize with a sickening jolt that Jenna had no friends of her own. In their circle, she was only ever seen as an extension of him, his quiet, unassuming wife. No one had any idea where she was. He was completely lost, his panic quickly curdling into rage. “You think you can just run away from me, Jenna Hayden?” he snarled at the empty room. “You think you can escape my grasp? If I want to find you, I will find you!” After twenty-four hours, he filed a missing person’s report with the police. 7 The result left him utterly dumbfounded. “Sir, we’ve run the name through every database. There is no legal record of a ‘Jenna Hayden’ ever existing.” He shoved their wedding certificate across the desk, but the officer was firm. No birth certificate, no social security number, no driver’s license. The woman he was married to did not exist. It was a sick joke. The woman he had shared a bed with for eight years, and they were telling him she was a ghost? George mobilized all his resources. Even his parents, sensing the gravity of the situation, pulled their strings. But it was no use. He discovered her social media had been wiped, too. It was as if the last eight years had been nothing but a dream. After two weeks of hitting nothing but dead ends, George finally broke. An all-consuming terror, the fear of losing control, washed over him. He paced her empty room, pulling at his hair, his mind racing. Finally, his eyes landed on her phone, the one she’d left behind. He picked it up. The lock screen was still the same picture she’d always used: her hand making a peace sign against a backdrop of a brilliant blue sky. It had always seemed so serene. Now it felt like a mockery. He opened her contacts. As always, it was empty save for his number and those of his family. Not even a contact for a pizza place. He checked her photo gallery. She had deleted every picture of them together. It was a barren wasteland of digital white space. With a trembling hand, he opened her private messages. And the world fell out from under him. The most recent chat was from Lila. The messages went back two years. Why don’t you just die already, Jenna? George and I have a child together. Don’t you feel any shame, still taking up his wife’s space? And Jenna’s only reply, sent just days ago: The space is yours. Just as you wished. He scrolled up, his heart pounding in his chest. Two years of vitriol. Two years of Lila sending her vulgar, taunting messages. Explicit descriptions of her trysts with George, intimate photos, even audio clips that made his stomach turn. And in all that time, Jenna had never once replied. Not until that final, devastating message. The space is yours. It was the only thing she had ever said to Lila. Staring at the screen, George’s hands began to shake violently. He sank to the floor, clutching his head. “No,” he whispered, the denial a raw, ragged sound. “No, it’s not possible.” “She loves me… She can’t live without me! She wouldn’t leave!” He repeated the words over and over, a desperate mantra to ward off the horrifying truth.

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The boy who promised to marry me the day we graduated from college proposed to someone else at my graduation ceremony: the family changeling, Annabel Lee. And then Adrian Thorne—known in our circle as the Saint of Manhattan’s elite for his quiet, contemplative nature—made a spectacle of declaring his love for me right after her engagement party. For five years of marriage, he was the perfect husband: gentle, attentive, doting on my every whim. Until I overheard a conversation between him and a friend. “Adrian, Annabel is a famous artist now. Are you going to keep up this act with Kaia?” “It doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t have Annabel anyway. Besides, as long as I’m with her, Kaia can’t interfere with Annabel’s happiness.” Then I found his private book of meditations. Every single page was a prayer for Annabel Lee. May Annabel be freed from her obsessions. May she find peace in mind and body. May Annabel achieve all she desires, and may her heart know no sorrow. … Annabel, we were not meant for each other in this life. I only pray that in the next, I can hold your hand. A five-year fantasy, shattered in an instant. I arranged for a new identity and staged a drowning. From now on, for all of eternity, we would never have to see each other again. 1 After confirming the final arrangements for my “death,” I hung up the phone. In two days, I would grant them their wish and disappear forever. A faint scent of sandalwood, the same scent as his prayer beads, drifted in from the doorway. I looked up instinctively. It was Adrian. He wrapped his arms around me, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “Who was on the phone?” “No one important, just some business with the gallery,” I said, forcing a smile, trying to keep my voice from trembling. He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. “You’ve been so busy lately. I’ll make you something light for dinner tonight, something easy on your stomach.” For five years, Adrian had been the epitome of a devoted husband. Everyone said that when a man like him, a man seen as above worldly desires, finally falls in love, it’s for an eternity. I used to believe I had found that kind of happiness. But now I understood. This marriage wasn’t my salvation; it was his way of protecting Annabel. Adrian’s hand gently massaged my shoulder. “By the way,” he said, “the Lees are throwing a party tomorrow. Annabel is pregnant, and they’re also celebrating her acceptance into the International Art Exhibition. You don’t have to go. I’ll drop off a gift and come right back to be with you.” “What about the exhibition? I was also going to—” He cut me off, his tone gentle but firm. “You should sit this one out. You’ve been saying you want a child, haven’t you? This is the perfect time to rest and take care of yourself.” I lowered my gaze, hiding the storm of emotions swirling within me. We’d been married for years with no children. I’d thought it was just a matter of timing, but now I suspected he never wanted one with me at all. He wasn’t telling me to rest for my sake; he was clearing the path for Annabel. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, seemingly oblivious to the fact that my heart had just plunged into a bottomless abyss. “Your birthday is the day after tomorrow. I’ve already prepared a surprise for you. Wishing you a year of peace and joy.” A year of peace and joy for Annabel. The name echoed in his blessing. I repeated the words under my breath, the sound suddenly grating. For years, every blessing, every good wish he’d ever offered me, had contained some subtle, hidden nod to her name. Only now did I understand. None of those blessings were ever meant for me. “That sounds wonderful,” I said, looking up and forcing another bright smile. “I’ve planned a little something for my birthday, too. Make sure you clear your schedule to be with me.” He nodded. “Of course. Whatever my Kaia wants.” My Kaia. The hypocrisy was suffocating. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I carefully slid Adrian’s arm off my waist, but in doing so, I knocked the sandalwood prayer beads he always kept with him off the nightstand. As I picked them up, I felt a strange texture on the surface of the beads. Leaning into the sliver of moonlight from the window, I looked closer. Tiny letters were intricately carved into each and every bead. ANNA. In that moment, the last flickering ember of hope in my heart went out. 2 The next morning, I told Adrian, “Let’s go to the Lees’ together.” His expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into his usual calm. “Alright,” he said lightly. “But we’ll leave right after we drop off the gift.” I knew he didn’t want me there. He was afraid I’d upset Annabel. But I just wanted one last look at my family. After all, by the next day, I’d be gone for good. The Lee manor was packed. Guests swarmed around Annabel, celebrating her pregnancy and her spot in the prestigious exhibition. They fawned over her, predicting her entry would surely win the grand prize. They mentioned that the piece even featured an inscription by the mysterious, sought-after artist known only as ‘A.N.N.’, calling it a perfect marriage of painting and prose. When Annabel saw me walk in, her face fell, but she quickly composed herself. Her smile was polite, but her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look who it is. Don’t you have anything better to do, sister?” I ignored her, my eyes fixing on the painting displayed prominently in the center of the room. It was a piece so familiar it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. It was one of my own paintings, a deeply personal work I had finished years ago and kept hidden away in my private collection, never shown to anyone. How was my painting here? How had it become her competition entry? Annabel watched me, a smirk playing on her lips. She leaned in close, her voice a soft, venomous whisper. “You like it, sister?” I shot her a cold look. Just as I was about to speak, she let out a sharp cry. “No—!” Before I could even process what was happening, she threw herself backward, stumbling and clutching her stomach, her face contorted in a mask of pain. The room erupted. “What happened?!” “Annabel’s pregnant! Who pushed her?” “Someone call a doctor!” Through the chaos, one voice cut through the noise, sharp with a panic that was all too real. “Annabel!” Others might not have recognized it, but I did. It was Adrian. The raw, unguarded anguish in his eyes shattered my last illusion. He saw me looking, and his expression instantly reverted to one of calm control. He turned to me, his voice gentle but laced with reproach. “Kaia, regardless of anything else, she’s carrying a child. You shouldn’t have pushed her.” Just then, someone rushed in with news. The painting had not only been accepted but was now a finalist, with a strong chance of winning the gold medal. A wave of undisguised joy washed over his face, a look I hadn’t seen in five long years. “That painting,” I asked in a low voice, “why does it look exactly like mine?” He tensed but quickly feigned ignorance. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. Her style has always been similar to yours…” I let out a cold, bitter laugh and said no more. That painting was stored in my private gallery. Only a handful of people had a key. And the inscription… though signed with a pseudonym, the elegant script was identical to the handwriting in the countless meditations Adrian had copied out by hand. It was painfully obvious how the painting got here, and who was behind it. I had painted it as a gift for him, for our fifth anniversary. Now, I realized, even the anniversary itself was a lie. The painting was meaningless. I smiled, my voice so flat it was impossible to read any emotion in it. Adrian seemed to sense something was wrong. “Why don’t we leave now?” he offered, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “We can go somewhere to relax.” I looked up at him, the corners of my lips turning up in a slight, chilling curve. “Let’s take the yacht out. A night cruise. We can watch the sunrise tomorrow.” 3 Once we were in the car, he started talking about my birthday. “I have everything planned. And once things settle down, we can start seriously planning for a baby, okay?” I listened in silence, my gaze fixed on the city lights blurring past the window. The car had barely pulled away from the curb when his phone rang. He answered, his brow furrowing with a familiar, troubled expression. I turned to him, my voice calm. “If you have something to do, you should go.” He hesitated. “Kaia, I—” “It’s fine. I’ll wait for you on the yacht.” I didn’t see the caller ID, but I knew. There was only one person who could make him look like that. After boarding the yacht alone, I pulled out my phone and opened Annabel’s social media. A new photo had just been posted. The caption read: So wonderful to have someone by my side to celebrate my success. He brought me a late-night snack and stayed just to talk. Thank you for always taking care of me. The comments were a flood of praise. “Your husband is the best!” “Now that’s a man who worships his wife!” My eyes, however, were glued to the hand in the photo, the one resting near the takeout container. On the wrist was a string of sandalwood prayer beads. Adrian’s prayer beads.

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On the day of my difficult labor, my sister threw herself against a wall to induce a miscarriage—just to lure our mother, a renowned physician, away from my side. I begged my mother to stay, pleading that my child was the Duke’s heir. But my sister, bleeding and petulant, refused any other doctor and died crying for our mother. After her death, my family acted as if nothing happened. No blame, no resentment. Until the Duke became King. His first act was declaring my sister his ‘First Queen’—his one true love. I was cast aside, my marriage annulled, banished in disgrace. At my family’s estate, my mother forced poison down my throat. I writhed for seven days before dying. My father drowned my infant son in the fountain, snarling, “The spawn of Isadora’s killer doesn’t deserve to live.” They scattered my ashes over her grave, whispering, “We’ve avenged you.” Then—I woke back in the birthing bed. My mother stood over me, hands bloody. “Isadora is hemorrhaging. Your labor can wait.” 1 A sharp, violent pain tore through my abdomen. I instinctively grabbed my mother’s sleeve, the old, familiar plea rising in my throat. She shook me off, her face a mask of fury. “Isadora’s life is in danger! If you have a shred of decency, you will let me go right now.” Hearing those words, I knew. I had been reborn. I was back on the day my world had ended. In my last life, my baby was in a breech position, a dangerous and difficult birth. I had summoned my mother, the most celebrated physician in the capital, to ensure my safety. But my sister, Isadora, hearing of this, took her five-month pregnancy and hurled it against a stone wall, all to pull our mother away from me. I had begged my mother to stay, reminding her that my child was the Duke’s heir, whose birth would secure our family’s future. After a moment of hesitation, she had agreed. I delivered my son safely, but moments later, word came that Isadora, in a fit of pique, had refused all other medical aid and bled to death. My parents had collapsed from grief. But when they awoke, they never spoke of Isadora’s death again, treating me with the same cool affection as always. It was a lie, a long and patient performance of forgiveness. Until Duke Alistair became King. He named my dead sister his ‘First Queen,’ while I, the mother of his heir, received no title. I was nothing. Alistair himself had the royal guard hold me down while he personally severed the tendons in my wrists. “If it weren’t for you,” he’d spat, his voice thick with hatred, “Isadora and I would have been together forever.” He cast me out, sending me back to my parents for the final judgment. My mother brewed the poison herself, a special concoction designed not for a quick death, but for maximum suffering. As I lay convulsing on the stone floor, I watched my father drown my son, my beautiful boy. He threw the small, lifeless body at my feet. “This monster who killed my Isadora should never have been born! We let him live in luxury for years. That was mercy enough.” Trapped in a prison of agony and boundless hatred, I suffered for seven days and seven nights before I finally died. My last memory was of them at her grave, their voices mingling in a triumphant whisper. “She and the monster are dead, Isadora. You can rest now.” Remembering it all, this time, I let go of my mother’s sleeve. I let her go. As she rushed from the room, I forced my mind to focus, recalling the techniques my mother had used in my previous life to turn the baby. I called for the midwives. “Help me,” I gasped. “We have to turn him. Now.” Hours of excruciating effort followed. Finally, through a haze of pain, I gave birth to a son. The sound of his first cry was the sweetest I had ever heard. The breath I had been holding for two lifetimes finally escaped my lips. But my relief was short-lived. My father burst into the room, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t insisted your mother attend you, Isadora would never have hurt herself!” He started pulling me from the bed. “Her child is gone, and she won’t stop crying! You’re coming with me to her house. You will let her vent her anger on you until she is calm.” 2 Five months prior, Isadora had been married off to a minor court official and moved into a lavish new villa our mother had prepared for her. It was a half-hour’s ride from the ducal palace. It was early winter now. I had just given birth. To be dragged out into the cold would be a death sentence. The royal physician stepped forward. “My Lord, you mustn’t! Her Grace just endured a perilous birth. This could kill her!” he pleaded. “If she catches a chill now, she may never recover.” My father hesitated, but the thought of Isadora’s tears hardened his heart. “She has always been strong. A little cold won’t kill her. She can recover later. But Isadora is fragile. If she keeps crying, she’ll do herself a permanent injury.” The icy wind bit at my skin as he dragged me out the door. I shivered violently. “Go!” I hissed to my handmaiden. “Get the Duke! Now!” Her face was streaked with tears. “His Grace left with your mother for Lady Isadora’s villa hours ago! He hasn’t returned!” My father shoved me into a carriage. I was wearing nothing but a thin bed robe. When we arrived at Isadora’s villa, her room was warmed by underfloor heating. She was wrapped in a thick fox-fur blanket, nestled in the arms of Duke Alistair. My mother was patiently coaxing her to drink a tonic. “There’s a good girl. It’s not bitter. Just a few sips.” Isadora took two small sips and pushed the bowl away, burying her face in Alistair’s chest. “My love,” she sobbed, “our baby is gone. It’s not fair! Why does she get to have your son, when our child never even had a chance to be born?” In that single, devastating moment, I understood everything. The child in Isadora’s womb was Alistair’s. My father, my mother, Alistair—they all knew. I was the only one in the dark. The marriage to the official was a sham, a cover to legitimize the birth of the Duke’s bastard. Of course. Alistair had always preferred her. If the old Queen hadn’t forced his hand, insisted he marry me for political alliance, he would have chosen Isadora in a heartbeat. It was no surprise she had secretly conceived his child. A wave of profound desolation washed over me. A gust of wind made me cough, a small, weak sound. It was only then that my mother seemed to notice me standing in the doorway. “What are you doing just standing there?” she snapped. “This is your fault!” She rose, pulled a long, stiff peacock feather from a vase, and pressed it into Isadora’s hand. “Here, my love. Your sister is here. If you are angry, take it out on her. It is not good to hold in such feelings.” She turned back to me, her voice cold. “A woman’s recovery is paramount. We cannot have you falling ill from grief.” She tried to force me to my knees to apologize. I stood rigid, my neck stiff with defiance. “She threw herself against a wall. How is that my fault?” My words sent Isadora into a fresh paroxysm of tears. “How could I dare to be angry with my sister?” she wailed. “She is the Duchess, and I… I am nothing!” Her performance was flawless. My father, my mother, and Alistair all looked at her with heartbroken pity. My mother fell to her knees before the Duke. “Your Grace, Isadora has sacrificed so much for you! Will you let her suffer this indignity without a name, without honor? Even her own sister dares to bully her now!” Alistair’s voice was thick with self-reproach. “It is my fault. I was too cowardly to defy my mother. I have made you suffer for years.” He gathered Isadora into his arms, wrapping the furs tighter around her. “Come. We are returning to the palace. Tomorrow, I will go to the Queen. I will demand she grant you the title of Royal Consort!” 3 I was forced into the carriage with them. Isadora, cradled in Alistair’s arms, met my gaze. A triumphant smirk played on her lips. I turned away, staring out the window, my mind racing. I had to get to the Queen. Isadora let out a delicate cough. “It’s so stuffy in here,” she murmured weakly. “The air is… heavy. I feel I might faint.” Her words sent them into a panic. Alistair’s eyes scanned the carriage, landing on me. “You. Get out. I’ll send someone to fetch you later.” We were on the busiest thoroughfare in the capital. I was in my bedclothes, my hair a mess, and he was going to throw me out onto the street. I refused, clinging to the carriage door. My father saw my defiance. He heard Isadora’s coughing grow more frequent, and his face twisted with worry. Without another word, he kicked me. Hard. I tumbled out of the carriage and landed in a heap on the cobblestones, in full view of the entire city. The carriage sped away. A murmur went through the crowd. Who was this woman? Some nobleman’s discarded mistress? I was freezing. I huddled in a darkened alleyway, trying to block out the whispers, praying Alistair would remember me and send someone. I waited for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Helena? What are you doing here?” I looked up into a face that was almost a perfect mirror of Alistair’s. It was his twin brother, Prince Brigham. He stared at me, then his gaze dropped to my flat stomach. “When did you give birth? Why did my mother not say anything?” He took in my disheveled state. “And why are you here, dressed like this?” He saw me shivering and, without hesitation, removed his own heavy cloak and wrapped it around me. It was the first act of simple human kindness I had received in so long that I burst into tears. Sobbing, I told him everything. As he listened, a vein pulsed in his temple. He helped me onto his horse. “I’m taking you to the palace. We will have justice for this.” But a sudden, chilling thought struck me. My son. He was still at the palace. If my father was willing to drown my child to avenge Isadora in one life, he would surely do it again in this one. “No,” I begged Brigham, “take me back to the ducal palace. And please, go to the Queen. She is the only one who can help me now.” I rushed into the palace grounds, my heart pounding. I found them in the inner courtyard. My father’s hands were wrapped around my infant son’s neck. He was hesitating, his hands trembling. Isadora was weeping. “When I look at him, I think of my own lost child. If only my baby had lived, I wouldn’t feel this torment every time I see my sister’s son.” My mother’s voice was a venomous hiss. “If you cannot bring yourself to do it, then take him to the lake. We will say Helena’s labor was too difficult, that the child was stillborn. The Queen will have no reason to doubt us.” My father, weak and suggestible, agreed. They started walking towards the ornamental lake, my baby in their arms. I stumbled after them, my legs weak, my body screaming in protest. I caught up to them just as they reached the water’s edge. “He is my son!” I screamed, clawing at them, trying to snatch my baby back. “I am your daughter! This child is your grandson! Why are you so determined to destroy us? Isadora is human, but am I not? Is this child not?” My mother tried to wrestle the baby from me. We struggled, a frantic, desperate tangle of limbs. My father kicked me in the stomach, sending both me and my son tumbling into the icy water. The cold was a shock, a brutal embrace that stole my breath. But I could swim. Despite the weakness from childbirth, I fought my way to the surface, holding my son’s head above the water, and swam towards the small pavilion in the center of the lake. I prayed with every fiber of my being. Please, let the Queen come quickly. My mother saw where I was headed. “Fools!” she shrieked at the guards. “Get a boat! Bring the Duchess back here! She has clearly sent for the Queen. If her majesty hears her lies, who knows what will happen to us. We must kill them both before she arrives! We’ll say they both died from the difficult birth!” “With her gone,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “the way is clear for Isadora to become the Duchess.” They found a boat and began to pole their way towards me. Just as they were closing in, a proclamation echoed from the palace gates. “Her Majesty, the Queen, has arrived!”

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In five years of marriage, my wife, Vivian, had cheated on me fifty-two times. I had endured it all in silence. Until the day I was laid up with an acute stomach ulcer. Vivian’s young assistant, Leo, had managed to piss off a major client, and to salvage the deal, she told me to go apologize, to smooth things over with drinks. I couldn’t believe it. “I’m sick, Viv,” I pleaded. “The doctor said I can’t drink. If I have even one…” She cut me off, her voice laced with impatience. “It’s just a few drinks, Brad. It’s not going to kill you.” Annoyed by my hesitation, she had someone force the liquor down my throat. The fiery spirit ripped through my stomach, triggering a massive hemorrhage. That day, while I fought for my life in the hospital, she abandoned me and our newborn son to spend the night with her assistant at a secluded villa in the countryside. When I finally woke up in that sterile white room, I looked at my mother-in-law. “Nelly,” I said, my voice a dry rasp, “you promised me. You said once she safely delivered the baby, you’d let me go. Can I leave now?” 1 My question hung in the air, and a storm of conflict and heartbreak washed over her face. “Brad, are you sure? You won’t give her even one more chance? She…” Before she could finish, Vivian’s face flashed across the television screen in the corner of the room. Another scandal. In the photo, she was draped in a man’s blazer, being carried out of a car by Leo, her assistant. She was nestled against his chest, her expression hazy, a feverish blush painting her cheeks. Though she was mostly covered, one photographer had caught a glimpse of her smooth, pale thigh, marred by the faint, tell-tale bruises of a lover’s passion. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d been doing in that car. “Vivian Sterling, CEO of Sterling Corp, photographed in an intimate moment with an unidentified man. Could wedding bells be on the horizon for the power couple?” the news anchor chirped. My mother-in-law stared at the screen, her chest heaving with rage. Her entire body trembled, consumed by a fury so pure it was terrifying. But when her eyes fell back on me, the anger melted away, replaced by an ocean of guilt and sorrow. Her eyes welled up. The words of protest died in her throat. After a long moment, she choked out, “Okay. I promise, Brad. I’ll handle the divorce.” Seeing her wipe away tears, a tight, painful knot formed in my own chest. But I couldn’t afford to be soft. Not anymore. “Thank you, Nelly.” Ever since Vivian had insisted on being induced just to get the pregnancy over with for her assistant’s sake, I hadn’t laid eyes on our premature son. All I knew was that he was a boy, four pounds and three ounces, fair-skinned, and that he looked like me. My mother-in-law, her voice thick with emotion, tried again, telling me the baby was perfectly healthy. He’d been brought home from the hospital yesterday. She urged me to go see him. I just shook my head. “No. It’s enough to know he’s healthy.” If I never saw him, I could never miss him. I knew myself. If I looked into his eyes just once, I’d never be able to leave. And I had to leave. I couldn’t stay in the Sterling family’s gilded cage a moment longer. Compared to a life on the run with me, rootless and uncertain, staying with them was the best thing for him. Lying in my hospital bed, I stared out the window, wondering where I could possibly go. I was abandoned at birth, raised in an orphanage. I had no family, no blood ties. No friends to lean on. I was a lone boat adrift on the ocean, with no harbor to call home. My mother-in-law’s heart ached for me, her anger at Vivian growing with every passing second. She pulled out her phone, dialing her daughter again and again, trying to get her to come to the hospital. But each time, she was met with the cold, robotic voice of an answering machine. Finally, on her last attempt, someone picked up. It was a man. “Mrs. Sterling, Vivian is in a meeting. Could you call back later…” Before he could finish, a soft, breathy moan echoed through the phone. My mother-in-law was no fool. She knew exactly what kind of “meeting” was happening. Her face turned ashen. “You tell Vivian,” she roared into the phone, “that if she still considers me her mother, she will get her ass to this hospital right now! Otherwise, she can consider herself an orphan!” She slammed the phone down, tears finally spilling from her eyes. She gripped my hand, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Brad. This is all my fault. I never should have forced you to stay with her. I never should have let you suffer so much…” 2 Our marriage had been Nelly’s creation from the start. She arranged for us to meet right after I graduated from college, telling Vivian that I, and only I, was worthy of being her husband. Vivian had screamed, fought, and thrown tantrums, but in the end, her mother’s will was iron. She agreed to the wedding. In the beginning, I thought I’d finally found the warm, loving home I’d always dreamed of. I was filled with such hope for our future. I threw myself into being the perfect husband, attending to her every need, making her the center of my universe. When my colleagues would go out for drinks after work, I’d always decline, worried she wouldn’t eat properly if she were home alone. After a while, they just stopped asking. My world had shrunk to contain only her, and I didn’t care. I thought if I gave her my whole heart, she would eventually give me hers in return. I was a fool. Not long after we were married, Vivian started staying out all night. I told myself it was work, that she was busy. I’d use my lunch breaks to cook nutritious meals and bring them to her office, just so she’d remember to take care of herself. Then one day, at a gala, a man in a bespoke suit swaggered over to me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Mr. Hayes,” he drawled, “your cooking is quite something. I guess a kept man has to be good at something, right? Must’ve taken a lot of practice.” That’s when I learned that the meals I’d poured my heart into were ending up in another man’s stomach. We had our first real fight that night. Or rather, I had a fight. I raged, I yelled, I let out all my pain and frustration. She just stood there, watching me with a calm, detached expression, as if I were some madman having a fit. When I had finally exhausted myself, she spoke, her voice cool and even. “Brad, have you ever considered that your ‘self-sacrifice’ is just you feeling sorry for yourself?” That one sentence shattered my world. All my efforts, all my love… it meant nothing to her. She was just a spectator in my life, watching my devotion with cold amusement before delivering her casual, devastating critique. How utterly pathetic. I didn’t know how to face her after that, how to face our future. So I retreated. I stopped trying. Soon after, the tabloid headlines started. Yesterday, she was at a fashion show with a male model. Today, lunch with a flight attendant. Tomorrow, checking into a hotel with a business partner. The news broke me. I wanted a divorce. But Nelly pleaded with me. “It’s all for show, Brad, it doesn’t mean anything. She loves you, she really does, she just doesn’t know how to show it. Please, for my sake, just try a little longer.” She had been my sponsor since I was five, the reason I’d had a safe and comfortable childhood in the orphanage. I owed her everything. So, for her, I stayed. Over time, the pain of her infidelities dulled into a familiar, hollow ache. I grew numb. Then, last year, Nelly found the bottle of sleeping pills I needed just to get through the night. That’s when she finally relented. “As soon as Vivian gives you a child,” she promised, her voice heavy with regret, “boy or girl, I will grant you your divorce.” For the sake of that freedom, I forced myself back to life, taking supplements, trying to get healthy. But Vivian wouldn’t let me near her. She started sleeping at her office just to avoid me. So, Nelly took matters into her own hands. She… arranged things. A drugged bottle of wine, a locked bedroom door. And it worked. Vivian got pregnant. She delivered the baby. I was finally going to be free. 3 It didn’t take long for Vivian to show up at the hospital, her face a mask of cold fury. When a nurse mentioned that my ulcer had caused severe internal bleeding, a flicker of shock crossed her features before she quickly composed herself. “He bled out and he’s still not dead?” she muttered. Her mother, who had just stepped back into the hallway, overheard her. Her face went pale with rage. “Vivian Sterling! Brad is in the hospital because of you, and that’s what you have to say? Are you even human?” Realizing she’d pushed her mother too far, Vivian quickly backpedaled. “I was just kidding.” I heard her too. But I wasn’t angry. She’d been wishing me dead for years. I’d told her once I would divorce her. She hadn’t believed me. So I’d stopped talking about it. Nelly ushered her into my room and then left, giving us space. Vivian stood by the door, keeping her distance, looking at me as if I were a stranger she’d been forced to visit. I didn’t care. The silence in the room was thick and heavy. Finally, she walked a little closer, her voice still sharp. “It’s your own fault for not taking care of yourself. You being in the hospital has nothing to do with me.” As she spoke, she watched my face, trying to gauge my reaction. I just offered a faint smile. “You’re right. It was my fault. I won’t put you in such a difficult position again.” My response seemed to displease her. She frowned. “Mom brought the baby home. You’re the ones who wanted him, so don’t expect me to raise him.” “Don’t worry,” I said, cutting her off gently. “Nelly has already hired a top-of-the-line maternity nurse. She’ll handle everything. You won’t have to lift a finger.” My placid acceptance was not what she expected. Her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. She was silent. I knew she was remembering what I’d told her when we first married: that if we ever had a child, I would give him the complete family I never had, shower him with the love of a father and a mother that was stolen from me. Now, I expected nothing from her. She opened her mouth to say something, but her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the caller ID, then back at me, before turning and stepping out of the room. Even through the door, I could hear the excited voice on the other end. “You had their damn kid, so you’re done. Forget it. I got tickets to your idol’s concert. Let’s go, right now…” She left to take the call and never came back. A moment later, an older man shuffled past my door, supported by his wife. “Honestly,” the woman scolded gently, “if you can’t handle your liquor, you shouldn’t drink. Is a little money worth more than your health? What would the kids and I do if something happened to you?” Her words were a complaint, but her voice was filled with love. Her husband just grinned sheepishly, nodding along. A wave of pure, unadulterated envy washed over me. To be loved like that. What would that feel like? Just then, my phone chimed on the nightstand. A notification. “You have received a payment of $50,000.” I picked it up. The transfer description simply read: Medical Expenses. I stared at it for a moment, then closed the app. I didn’t send it back. After all she’d put me through, I’d earned it. After a few more days in the hospital, Nelly arranged for me to be brought home to recover. She promised me that the day of the baby’s one-month party would be the day our divorce was finalized. With her word, the restless, wandering part of my soul finally found a place to rest. I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known in years. That night, I got a call from the head of my old orphanage. She’d found my birth parents. They had passed away a long time ago, but they’d left a letter for me, and a key. I had to go to the police station in their old hometown to retrieve it. I jotted down the address, and as I was tucking the note into my phone case, I heard the bedroom door open. Vivian. A thick cloud of alcohol followed her into the room. Before I could say a word, she collapsed onto the bed beside me. “You’re a clever one,” she slurred, her eyes closed. “My mother actually told me to try and make things work with you.”

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December 23rd. The day my girlfriend, Chloe, and I were supposed to get our marriage license. I waited at City Hall until the clerks started packing up for the holiday, but she never showed. Just as I was about to call, a message from her lit up my phone. “Hey honey, something came up. Can we do this another day?” Something came up? My eyes fell to the post she’d just made on her private social media account. “A lifetime with you, Mr. Cole.” The picture was a sweet, close-up shot of Chloe and her high school sweetheart, holding a freshly issued marriage certificate. My world turned to ash. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I threw the ring in the trash, canceled the wedding venue, and went home to pack, methodically erasing every trace of myself from the apartment we shared. Later, she called, sobbing and indignant. “You promised you’d love me no matter what I did! Why are you breaking your promise?” “Leaving without a word like this… does it mean you don’t love me anymore?” The day I left for good, she chased my car down the street, a frantic bride in a white wedding dress, crying and begging me to marry her. 1 The main hall of City Hall was a sea of festive red decorations. Couples were everywhere, clutching their new marriage certificates, hugging, kissing, and snapping photos to announce their new status to the world. I was lost in a daze, staring at the pictures on my phone, when my own documents—my ID and a photo of Chloe and me—slipped from my numb fingers and scattered on the floor. I bent to pick them up, but another hand got there first. A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. I looked up. It was a stranger, his own new bride smiling at his side. He handed me my things with a friendly grin. “Hey man, you here to tie the knot, too?” I nodded, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. Chloe was off living her happily ever after with Cole. Why would she be here with me? The man glanced around. “So… where’s your fiancée? It’s a zoo in here today. You don’t want to lose her. She might get mad and call the whole thing off.” He and his wife exchanged a look, their happiness a tangible thing. A pang of nostalgia hit me, sharp and painful. Chloe and I used to be just like that. At sixteen, Chloe’s skin was so pale it was almost translucent in the sun. When she looked at me, her eyes were filled with stars, and her voice was like a melody. “Lucas,” she’d said, “when I grow up, can I be your wife?” It felt like yesterday. But the image on my phone—the two of them, so blissfully happy—dragged me back to the brutal present. I shoved my phone into my pocket, forcing a grim smile. “Her? Oh, she’s getting married to someone else.” Without waiting to see the shock on his face, I turned and walked away, terrified I was about to fall apart. I collapsed into the driver’s seat of my car. The ceiling was a collage of photos of Chloe and me, and memories washed over me like a tidal wave. A month ago, at my birthday party, Chloe had appeared in a flowing white wedding dress, a bouquet in her hands, walking towards me through a crowd of our childhood friends. “Mr. Hayes,” she’d said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m twenty-seven now. Will you… will you finally marry me?” My eyes burned. I took the flowers from her, dropped to one knee, and pulled out the ring I’d been carrying for years. As I slid it onto her finger, my own voice shook. “Miss Collins… I… I will.” The joy of that moment, the culmination of eleven years of love, had been so overwhelming I couldn’t sleep that night. I remembered every anniversary, every birthday, planning for days in advance just to see her happy. I picked her up from work every single day, and we’d go to the supermarket together, choosing groceries, planning our meals. Her colleagues were green with envy. “Wow, Chloe, your boyfriend is perfect!” “You must have saved the galaxy in a past life to find a guy that thoughtful.” Whenever she heard that, she’d blush, and the look she gave me was pure, syrupy sweetness. “Mr. Hayes,” she’d whispered that night, her lips brushing against mine amidst the cheers of our friends, “here’s to the rest of our lives.” I thought our eleven-year marathon had finally reached its perfect finish line. I never imagined it would all turn to smoke. A profound sadness bloomed in my chest. I had to see her. This had to be some kind of mistake. A lifetime of shared memories couldn’t possibly lose to some ghost from a decade ago. I pulled up to our apartment and saw the door was ajar. Through the crack, I could see Chloe talking to her best friend, Zoe. “Zoe,” she said, her voice a strange mix of tears and triumph, “I did it. I married Cole.” A hammer blow slammed into my chest, stealing my breath. On the drive over, I’d clung to the fantasy that this was all some elaborate, cruel prank. But it was real. I was the one fooling myself. Inside, Zoe’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “Chloe, are you insane? Why in God’s name would you marry Cole?” Chloe’s reply was choked with sobs, yet strangely defiant. “He’s back, Zoe. He has terminal cancer. He only has three months to live. We were in love, back in high school. If my parents hadn’t interfered, I would have been with him all along. Lucas would have never even been in the picture.” “I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!” “So, yes, I am perfectly calm. I’m going to have a wedding with him. I’m going to be his wife. Because… I love him!” It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into my skin. The pain was so intense, so all-encompassing, that my whole body started to shake. Twenty-seven years of friendship. Eleven years of love. All of it erased by a fleeting, teenage crush. “Chloe!” Zoe’s voice was a raw, furious roar. “Even if you wanted to give him some peace, you could have done it secretly! Why did you have to broadcast it to the entire world?” “Don’t you see what a horrible person you’re being?” I thought, maybe, Chloe would finally see the enormity of her mistake. That she would break down, consumed by guilt. But what she said next ripped my heart to shreds. “Do it secretly? Are you kidding me? That would be an insult to the pure, true love Cole and I share! Our love transcends time and space! The whole world should be moved to tears by our story. What have I done that’s so wrong?” My fist clenched. I slammed it into the concrete wall beside me. Your love is pure and true. Your grand, tragic romance. Then what were our eleven years? What the hell was I? Zoe stamped her foot in frustration. “You love Cole?! What about Lucas? He’s the one who’s been with you your entire life! You’ve been together for eleven years!” “How could you do this to him?” I slowly raised my head, feeling as if I could see Chloe right through the door. Her voice was full of arrogant certainty. “How is this hurting him? I’m only marrying Cole. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him or have his children. My body, my heart… they’ll always be Lucas’s. I’m not cheating.” “Besides, Lucas swore he’d never marry anyone but me. A man can’t go back on his word, can he?” “So, even though I married Cole, I know he’ll still marry me. If he doesn’t, then he was lying when he said he loved me.” 2 I don’t know how I managed to leave that place. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and lit a cigarette. The sharp, minty scent of the capsule I’d crushed filled the small space. I closed my eyes and laughed, a bitter, broken sound. I don’t even like smoking. But the acrid smoke stung my eyes, giving me an excuse for the tears that streamed down my face. Chloe’s words echoed in my head. “I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!” “I’m going to be his wife. I love him!” Chloe and I were born in the same hospital, just hours apart. We were the definition of childhood sweethearts. Our fathers co-founded what is now the country’s largest electronics corporation. She was the one person I had always, unabashedly, adored. If the story had ended there, it would have been a perfect happy ending. But then, in high school, Cole appeared. He was a transfer student with bleached-blond hair and a swaggering, devil-may-care attitude. To Chloe, who had always been a rule-follower, he was an irresistible anomaly. He was the first boy to ever make her blush when he told her he liked her. Her grades plummeted. Just as she was about to fall completely under his spell, her father found out. He gave Cole’s family a substantial sum of money to send him abroad, and just like that, my story with Chloe was back on track. But who could have guessed that a ghost from a decade ago could reappear and shatter our eleven-year love story so completely? Three months ago, during a meteor shower, I had shouted at the heavens, “I, Lucas Hayes, will never marry anyone but Chloe Collins!” And she had shouted back, “I, Chloe Collins, will never marry anyone but Lucas Hayes!” That night, we made promises under a blanket of stars, pledging our lives to each other. I never thought the person I loved most in the world would be the one to drive a knife into my heart. Over and over again, like a slow, deliberate execution. I was down to my last cigarette. I got out of the car to walk to a convenience store just as a light rain began to fall. The street was full of couples in matching red outfits, holding hands and laughing as they ran for cover. They were soaked, but they were happy. I didn’t run. I had no home to run to anymore. My phone rang. Chloe. I rejected the call without a second thought. She called again. I rejected it again. Finally, I just turned the phone off. I didn’t know how to face her. Should I yell? Accuse her? The weight of twenty-seven years of memories paralyzed me. After what felt like an eternity, a soft voice broke through my stupor. “It’s raining so hard. You should find some shelter. You’ll catch a cold.” I flinched. The rain wasn’t hitting me anymore. I slowly looked up. Chloe was standing beside me, holding an umbrella over my head. I instinctively took a step back. I would rather feel the icy sting of the autumn rain than accept the warmth of her pity. She followed me, keeping the umbrella over me. Her eyes were red, full of a painful tenderness. She gently took the cigarette from my fingers and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “You should smoke less. It’s bad for you.” “What’s it to you? Who are you to me?” I moved away again. I took out another cigarette, but she snatched it away before I could light it. “Do you want me to die of a broken heart?” she whispered, taking off her own jacket and draping it over my shoulders. Our eyes met, and for a dizzying moment, I was lost. How I wished none of this had ever happened. “Have you eaten?” I shook my head, numb, still clinging to the ghost of her tenderness. Back at the apartment, she immediately ladled a bowl of hot soup and handed it to me. “Here, drink this. Warm yourself up before you get sick.” I didn’t take it. I just stared at the girl I had cherished my entire life, the girl I had devoted my past to. A storm of emotions churned inside me, and I could barely control it. After a long moment, I managed to steady my voice, my heart a frozen lake. “Chloe, let’s break up.” Her hand jerked. Hot soup splashed onto her skin. Before, I would have rushed to get a napkin, to soothe the burn. This time, I just sat there, motionless. Finally, her lips began to tremble. Her voice was a choked, tearful whisper. “Lucas, are you still mad about me and Cole getting the license today?” “Please don’t be mad, okay? He only has three months left. After three months, as long as we still love each other…” “Don’t say another word!” I wrenched my hand away, my face a cold mask. “Miss Collins, you are now legally married to another man. You are his wife. So please,” I said, my voice dripping with ice, “have some self-respect.” 3 “…Lucas.” A complex emotion flickered in Chloe’s eyes, and she swallowed whatever she was about to say. Her eyes grew redder, and fat tears began to roll down her cheeks like pearls. My entire life, I had done everything in my power to make her happy, to never let her shed a single tear. I believed that to love someone was to strive for their happiness, no matter the personal sacrifice. But now, I watched her cry without a flicker of emotion, my heart turned to stone. “Miss Collins, if you didn’t hear me clearly, I can repeat myself. We are over.” I turned and went to my room to pack my clothes. Chloe snatched the clothes from my hands and threw her arms around me, holding on so tightly it felt like she was trying to merge our bodies into one. Her voice was a hoarse, panicked whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Lucas, I’m so sorry.” I was so tired of hearing ‘sorry.’ I just wanted to be done right by. “Lucas, I’m begging you, please don’t leave me. You know I love you. I love you so, so much.” “Didn’t you promise my grandmother on her deathbed that you would take care of me for the rest of your life, that you would never leave me?” “Just wait for me for three months. After three months, I’ll be yours again, okay?” She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with tears, the picture of pitiable beauty. Without hesitation, I pried her hands off me. As her eyes widened in panic, I slowly shook my head. “Chloe, you say you love me, but you married Cole. So why should I wait for you?” “Is it because you’re so sure that I love you that you feel you can do whatever you want?” She froze, then shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, it’s not like that…” Just then, her phone rang. She saw Cole’s name on the screen and quickly wiped her tears, forcing a smile. “Hey, sweetie. What’s wrong? You don’t like the suit for the groom?” “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there to help you pick one out. For the wedding tomorrow, you’re going to be the most handsome groom in the world.” “I love you, Cole!” She hung up. She looked at me again, her eyes pleading. “Lucas, you used to always go along with whatever I wanted.” “Why have you become so fragile? You can’t handle even a little bit of hardship?” “Besides, even though I’m marrying him, I will never sleep with him. I’ll keep myself pure for you. After he’s gone, I’ll spend the next few decades with you, have your children. Isn’t that enough?” “Lucas, I love him, but I love you, too! Please don’t make this so hard for me, okay?” It was so absurd I almost laughed. She claimed it was hard, but she had made her choice without a moment’s hesitation, and now she was trying to justify it. I wanted a love that was exclusive. Even an emotional affair was a betrayal. It was just as dirty. “You have to come to the wedding tomorrow!” she said. “I want you to see me at my most beautiful.” “Our wedding can be just like this, okay?” Without waiting for my answer, she rushed out the door to find Cole. The moment the door closed, I took the photo of us from my wallet, flicked open a lighter, and held the flame to the corner. Eleven years of love, as fragile as this photograph. It went up in flames in an instant. I let go, watching our youth turn to ash, and let her fly free. Sitting on the floor, I lit another cigarette and looked at the anonymous text that had just come through on my phone. “Don’t forget to come to my wedding with Chloe, Lucas. Even though I’m dying, I still won.” It had to be Cole. The old me would have flown into a rage. Now, I just stared at the screen, my face blank, and typed a single word in reply. “Okay.”

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My wife gave my $600,000 mattress to her intern, Will. Will immediately posted a picture on his social media, a blatant, gloating display. “Thanks to Carol for looking out for me! No more sleepless nights. I’m going to sleep so soundly.” The moment I saw it, I sent a message directly to my wife. “Explain to me why my mattress has mysteriously appeared in another man’s bed.” Carol called me instantly, her tone breezy and dismissive. “It’s just a mattress, Nolan. Do you really have to be so petty?” “If you like it that much, I’ll have someone buy you a new one. Is that so hard?” I fought down the rage simmering in my gut, my voice dropping to an icy calm. “You have ten minutes. I want my property back. Now.” Half an hour later, Sterling Corporation’s stock had plummeted by ten points. If she wouldn’t listen to reason, I’d have to use a language she understood. 1 Sterling Corp’s stock was in a freefall, but the first people to call me were my parents-in-law. “Nolan, dear, have you and Carol had a disagreement?” “We’re so sorry on her behalf. Please, have mercy on us. Let the Sterling family off the hook this once.” I felt no sympathy, but I maintained a polite tone. “This is between me and Carol. Have her call me to explain.” “Otherwise, I’m not stopping.” They knew my temper. They knew further pleading was useless. “Find that wretched girl if you have to dig up the entire city!” I heard my father-in-law roar before hanging up. She didn’t respond to my messages, and I didn’t bother contacting her again. If she refused to do what I asked, someone else would make her. Sure enough, not five minutes later, my phone began to vibrate. I ignored it. I let it buzz again and again, letting the caller’s anxiety build with each unanswered ring. Finally, I answered. A furious shriek assaulted my eardrum. “Nolan Thorne! Are you insane? It’s a mattress! Are you really going to do all this over a damn mattress?” “I told you I’d buy you a new one! Did you have to orchestrate this attack on my family’s company?” “If my parents change their minds about me being the successor, you’ll lose out too!” She was threatening me. I hadn’t realized the sweet, pliable woman I thought I married had fangs she was willing to bare for another man. But she seemed to have forgotten why the Sterling family had chosen her as their heir in the first place. I toyed with the jade stone in my hand, its cool surface soothing my irritation. “That mattress was a bespoke, one-of-a-kind creation. There is only one in the entire world.” “Furthermore, you gave away my private property without my consent. To a man. Do you think that’s appropriate?” “You have ten minutes. Get my mattress back here, professionally cleaned, and in perfect condition.” “Or Sterling Corporation will lose a lot more.” There was a long silence on the other end, then a single word, bitten out through clenched teeth. “Fine.” In the past, whenever she was upset, I would have rushed to comfort her, cooked her favorite meal, bought her a limited-edition handbag just to see her smile. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. Ours was a marriage of convenience, a business alliance. I never expected undying love, but I did expect a baseline of mutual respect. Since she couldn’t even manage that, I saw no reason to indulge her any longer. The mattress was returned shortly after, meticulously cleaned. I didn’t coddle her. I walked to her closet, took several of her most expensive handbags, threw them in the trash, and sent her a picture. “Consider this a lesson.” She didn’t reply. She didn’t come home that night. It was a silent protest. And I couldn’t have cared less. 2 Thorne Industries provides the capital; Sterling Corp provides the proposal. In the conference room, as Will prattled on, I saw several of our shareholders begin to frown. I couldn’t believe Carol would entrust such a critical project entirely to this intern, only for him to make a complete mess of it. Our investors had only agreed to partner with Sterling Corp on this venture as a favor to me, to Thorne Industries. If this proposal failed, it wasn’t just Sterling Corp that would look incompetent. It would be a reflection on me. I stopped the meeting immediately and demanded that Sterling Corp replace the project lead. Not long after, Carol stormed into my office with Will in tow. She was radiating a fury I had never seen before. “Nolan Thorne, you are a manipulative, treacherous snake! How dare you sabotage Will like this!” “Do you have any idea how disgusting you look, using your power for petty revenge?” She didn’t even bother to get the facts, just pointed a finger at my nose and started screaming. I was baffled. We had only been married a year. How could she have changed so dramatically? Or was her past sweetness all just an act? Several of my secretaries rushed in, trying to block her and Will. “Please, ma’am, you can’t shout in here!” Carol, enraged, raised her hand to strike one of them, but a security guard intercepted her arm. “How dare you touch me! Do you have any idea who I am?” she shrieked. “I am the wife of the heir to Thorne Industries! Your future boss!” The guard glanced at me. I gave a subtle nod, and he released her. I had no intention of lowering myself to her level. I simply asked, my voice dangerously quiet, “You remember you’re my wife? From the way you’re acting, I thought you were a business rival.” “I suggest you ascertain whether Will is actually competent enough to lead this project before you come in here making accusations.” “Let’s talk about who’s mixing business with pleasure, shall we?” She was stunned into silence. A look of belated regret flickered across her face as she calmed down. I turned to Will. “Tell me your perspective on the Southern New City development project.” Will stammered, unable to produce a single coherent word. I then asked one of my secretaries the same question. As my secretary delivered a clear, concise, and insightful analysis, Carol’s face went from white to red, then to a mottled purple. It was quite a spectacle. Carol tried to save face. “Will is leading a project for the first time. He’s just nervous. He’s not usually like this. He’s very capable.” “Why don’t you give him another chance, for my sake?” I almost laughed. “If you insist on using him, then this partnership is suspended. Effective immediately.” The color drained from Carol’s face. She knew how important this deal was. The Sterling stock had already taken a massive hit because of her. If she lost the Thorne partnership on top of that, her position as heir would be untenable. As she hesitated, Will put on a pained expression, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Carol, it’s all my fault. I’m always being targeted. I’ve dragged you into this.” “I’ll just quit. It’s better that way. I won’t let you be put in a difficult position. Don’t worry about me.” Any lingering resentment Carol felt towards him evaporated, replaced by a wave of protective sympathy. I had no more time to waste on their melodrama. I had them escorted out. As she was leaving, Carol shot me a look of pure hatred, as if I were the one who had ruined everything. A sharp pain pierced my chest. For another man, she was truly ready to become my enemy. 3 Because of Will, I refused to cooperate with Sterling Corp. Left with no choice, Carol had to remove him as the project lead. But to make it up to him, she decided to buy him a gift. After browsing for some time, they ended up in the Vacheron Constantin boutique. Will stood transfixed before a custom, one-of-a-kind timepiece, his eyes gleaming with greed. “Carol, this watch is magnificent!” “The man who wears this must be incredibly distinguished. It’s probably not for me, though. Let’s forget it.” He said to forget it, but his feet were planted to the floor. “If you like it, it’s yours,” Carol said, puffing him up. “You are brilliant. You don’t need to be envious of anyone.” The sales associate glanced over, looking apologetic. “I’m terribly sorry, but that timepiece belongs to Mr. Thorne. It’s here for final adjustments. Perhaps you’d like to see something else.” “Nolan Thorne?” Will blurted out. “That would be me.” I hadn’t expected to run into them here. I had just come to pick up my watch. When Will saw me, he looked startled, and a flash of malice crossed his eyes before he quickly rearranged his face into a mask of pathetic humility. “Carol, how could a small fry like me ever compare to a man as distinguished as Mr. Thorne?” “No matter how hard I work, I’ll always be at the bottom, while Mr. Thorne was born in Rome.” “I’m not worthy of that watch. Let’s just go.”

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I am the dedicated stan photographer for the celebrity actress, Rosalind Jones. But more than that, I am her husband of four years, a secret hidden from the world. Her life was a whirlwind of scandals, but I knew it was all part of a carefully crafted persona, an expensive image her company had built for her. I never let it bother me. Until the day her first love, Caden, returned to the country. It was our fourth wedding anniversary, and for the first time, she stood me up. As I left our meeting spot, I tossed the diamond necklace I had bought for her into a trash can. I pulled out my phone and booked the next available flight. With my camera in hand, I flew away. At first, Rosalind thought I was just throwing a tantrum, angry that she’d missed our date. I sighed and forwarded her the photos a friend in the paparazzi had just sent me. In the picture, she and Caden were locked in a passionate kiss. In our home. A few minutes later, my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. I let out another long sigh. And sent one last message: “Let’s get a divorce.” 1 A fine mist was falling from the sky, the cold droplets trickling down my neck and making me shiver. I stood in the middle of the open-air plaza, not bothering to seek shelter from the rain. I was only worried she wouldn’t be able to find me. Half an hour ago, Rosalind had called to say something urgent had come up and she’d be late. Every year, no matter how busy we were, we spent our anniversary together. But now, as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of her. I couldn’t resist pulling out my phone. “Did you see the news? Rosalind has a new scandal with some hot young thing! She’s my idol, seriously. Never gets involved with anyone over twenty-five,” a girl nearby gushed to her friend, her face a mask of admiration and envy. I looked up from my phone and smiled grimly. In the entertainment world, Rosalind was known as the Unsinkable Rose, a flower that thrived in the ruins. She was audacious and beautiful, possessed of a reckless courage. She was always at the center of some new gossip, and it seemed every billionaire, top-tier idol, and rising star had at one point or another fallen for her charms. Her dating advice had become gospel for countless women. “Finding a man is like sending out résumés. If one doesn’t work out, move on to the next. Be bold, don’t be afraid. One of them is bound to stick.” “Be brave and express your love. Make the first move. If he doesn’t say no, keep going. If he seems uncomfortable, apologize immediately and then make one last, outrageous request: ‘Can I have a hug before I go?’” I thought back on it. The girl was right. None of Rosalind’s rumored flings had ever been over twenty-five. I fell silent. I just turned twenty-six this year. I searched for the latest scandal the girl had mentioned. A photo from the airport immediately popped up, showing two people locking eyes across a crowded terminal. One was Rosalind, stunning in a trench coat and red lipstick. The other was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a black windbreaker and sneakers. The young fans around them were snapping pictures, ecstatic about the fresh gossip. But they didn’t know what I knew. Rosalind had never looked at any of her rumored lovers with such a tender, surprised gaze. I knew this man. Rosalind had told me he was like a younger brother to her. But he had once sent me a message, claiming to be her first love. What their relationship truly was didn’t matter anymore. The look in her eyes said it all. I glanced at the time the article was published. So, her “urgent business” was picking Caden up from the airport. Then I noticed something else. Pinned to the collar of Caden’s jacket was a small, pink peach-shaped brooch. I froze. No wonder she had switched things up this morning, spritzing on a peach-scented perfume. It wasn’t a mistake made in a rush. She had completely forgotten that I was allergic to peaches. 2 I ripped off my damp mask and threw it into the nearby trash can, along with the gift box. Suddenly, I could breathe again. The world felt fresher. Just as I was about to leave, a small, fluffy dog nudged against my leg. I looked down. It was an adorable little thing, its round eyes staring up at me. It seemed to sense my mood, its gaze a mixture of comfort and affection. I knelt and stroked its curly fur, a genuine smile finally breaking through my gloom. This little dog didn’t understand my pain, but it offered a pure, uncomplicated comfort. It was more than I could say for the woman who was supposed to be my wife. “Grape Cooper?” It was named after my favorite fruit. Interesting. I let go of the name tag on its collar, my smile widening. “Grape! Oh, I’m so sorry!” A young woman wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a hat—dressed like she was about to rob a bank—bowed apologetically. She scooped up the dog and fled as if she were a thief. I stood there for a moment, stunned. My hand was still holding what she had pressed into it. I opened my palm. It was allergy medication. I stared after her retreating figure, a strange feeling blooming in my chest. I pulled out my phone, opened a travel app, and, without even looking at the destination, booked the next available flight. I have no family, no real friends. For all these years, Rosalind has been my only tie to this world. Now, even that was gone. I was finally, completely free. Before boarding the plane, I let Rosalind’s calls go to voicemail, one after another. I listened to each ring, a silent farewell to the past six years of my life. When the last call ended, I blocked her number and deleted all her contact information. 3 It was only after she had dropped Caden off at his hotel that Rosalind remembered Julian. Today was their wedding anniversary. They were supposed to celebrate together. But Caden had called her unexpectedly, telling her he was on his way back to the country. He had been a rising star a few years ago, but at a crossroads in his career, he had chosen to go abroad to study. His years overseas had not been kind to him. Netizens mocked him for turning his back on his home country, jeering: Guess the foreign dream didn’t work out, huh? Rosalind had been worried about him. She decided to go to the airport to meet him. With her star power, she figured, no one would dare say anything nasty to his face. With everything going on, her anniversary plans with Julian had completely slipped her mind. She pulled out her phone, which she’d been too busy to check earlier. There wasn’t a single missed call from him. She glanced at the puddles on the street. She knew she was in the wrong, so she decided to be the bigger person and call him. The call went straight to voicemail. Rosalind frowned for a moment, then her expression cleared. “Miss Jones, where to now?” the driver asked. “Times Square.” No matter how late she was, as long as she showed up, Julian would never stay mad. That was the lesson of the past six years. Julian loved her, adored her. The weather was bad, and it was late, but it didn’t matter. Rosalind checked her reflection in a small mirror, fluffing her hair with a confident smile. If he was angry, she’d hug him. If that didn’t work, she’d kiss him. Julian always forgave her. She bought a cup of hot ginger tea on the way. The weather was unusually cold today, and she shivered as soon as she stepped out of the car. A flicker of concern for Julian sparked within her. She set the tea aside and checked the time. She hadn’t realized it was almost eleven o’clock. She’d thought it was seven or eight at the latest. A sudden, uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She told the driver to hurry. Her calls to Julian still went unanswered. She frowned. He was really taking it too far this time. So she stood him up. Did he have to make her worry like this, deliberately avoiding her calls? When they arrived, the normally bustling Times Square was deserted and quiet. Rosalind jumped out of the car, her eyes scanning the empty plaza. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Her face darkened instantly. Julian hadn’t waited for her. In six years, that had never happened before. A sanitation worker walked over to a nearby trash can and began rummaging through it. Suddenly, the woman let out an excited cry. Rosalind looked over and saw her holding up a delicate diamond necklace. It was very familiar. It was the anniversary gift she had seen when she snooped through Julian’s phone a few weeks ago. He had actually thrown it away. A cold, mirthless smile touched Rosalind’s lips. She decided then and there that this time, it wouldn’t be her coaxing and coddling him. This time, he would be the one begging her for forgiveness. 4 On the plane, I opened my camera out of boredom. It was still filled with the photos I had taken of Rosalind at her shoot this morning. Flicking through them one by one, I had to admit, she had a face that could captivate any man. With that face, she had conquered the entertainment industry. And with her carefully crafted “man-eater” persona, she had tapped into the rebellious desires of countless young women, turning them into her most fervent fans. In this business, a female fanbase was everything. Rosalind’s value skyrocketed. I suddenly remembered when she had first entered the industry. She had a gambling-addicted father who, after racking up massive debts, had killed himself, unable to face the pressure. But his death didn’t erase his debts. Rosalind, his only remaining family, became the target of his creditors. When a woman has nothing but her beauty, that beauty becomes a dangerous poison. The creditors, the directors, they all saw her as prey. I never doubted that Rosalind would eventually become a huge star. But whether she would get there through clean means or by wading through murky waters, I didn’t know. She was my girlfriend. I had to protect her. So, I used all my talent to shoot a special series of photos for her. That stunning portfolio went viral online, and soon, clients were lining up to hire her as a model. Naturally, with her unique ability to attract fans with a single glance, she was signed by the country’s top entertainment agency. She became an actress. Later, she had told me, in that sweet, coquettish way of hers, that she loved herself most through the lens of my camera. So, I turned down all the lucrative job offers that came my way and became her exclusive photographer. Looking now at the photos I had taken—in freezing winters and scorching summers, pushed to the edge of rowdy crowds just to get the perfect shot—I felt like a fool. 5 As I deleted the last photo of her from my camera, the plane began its descent. The signal returned, and several new messages popped up on my phone. I was surprised. I had blocked Rosalind. Who else would be messaging me? I opened the messages. “This is Caden. Rosalind said you might have left because of me, so she asked me to explain.” “Rosalind and I are just like brother and sister.” “She was just worried something might happen to me when I got back today, that’s why she was late for your date.” “She went to find you as soon as she remembered, but you were already gone. She’s really angry. You should come back and calm her down.” “She’s at my place, throwing a fit and smashing things.” “Julian, you’re being really immature. If it were me, I would never let her get this upset.”

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For every surge of love my husband felt for me, the System answered with a jolt of electricity. He’d been shocked nine hundred and ninety million times, and still, he never regretted a moment of our love. I was just about to tell him I was finally pregnant with our child when they came for me. I was taken by a terrorist cell, thrown into a dark room, and handed over to ten of their men. In my deepest despair, I heard a voice in my head—a link I didn’t know was open. It was my husband, Liam, speaking with the System. “Host, how could you make a deal with these animals? How could you let them treat your wife this way?” Liam’s voice was a shard of ice. “Grace has plot armor. A hundred men couldn’t kill her. But Fay can die. Once Grace has taken Fay’s bullet, I’ll make it up to her.” The words sliced through me, and my heart bled out on the floor of my soul. As the men lunged, I simply gave up. “Damn, this one’s a real prize,” one of them grunted, and the small, suffocating room was suddenly packed with bodies. Long nails had been driven through my wrists and ankles, pinning me to the bed. The slightest tremor sent fire racing up my limbs, but now the whole frame was shaking violently. The stench of unwashed men and stale sweat flooded my senses, a choking cloud of grunts and heavy, ragged breaths. Through the haze of pain, I heard Liam’s voice again, crackling in my mind. “How many?” The System’s synthesized voice wavered. “That was the eighth, Host. Grace’s condition is… unstable. Perhaps you should tell them to stop.” “No,” Liam snapped, his voice a bomb detonating in my ear. “In the book, Fay was violated ten times. If Grace is to take her place, she will suffer all of it. Not one less.” His words plunged me into an abyss of ice. Two months ago, a terrifying virus had torn through a war-torn nation in the Middle East. The infection rate was staggering, the mortality rate near-total; no one survived past the third day. As an infectious disease specialist, I was sent to provide medical aid. Liam had insisted on coming with me, claiming he couldn’t bear the thought of me being in danger. I’d actually believed he was worried about me. Now I knew the truth. He’d been planning this for two months. Another man entered. I was numb, a spectator to my own violation. Suddenly, a sharp, clenching pain ripped through my lower abdomen, a new agony that eclipsed everything else. Before I could even process it, the man on top of me cursed. “The hell? What is this?” Another leaned over. “It’s… a baby.” “God have mercy. She’s pregnant.” The room fell silent. The man scrambled off me. Even these beasts, it seemed, had a line they wouldn’t cross. My mind went blank. The words ‘the baby’ echoed in the sudden quiet, and tears began to stream from my eyes, hot and silent. As a doctor, of course, I knew. How could I not? Liam and I had been married for three years. He wanted me every night. Whenever I was too exhausted, he’d wrap his arms around my waist and plead softly, telling me how he’d grown up an orphan, how his greatest dream was to have a wife and a child of his own. He had the wife; now, he only had one dream left. For him, I had meticulously prepared my body, nurturing it into the perfect state to conceive. Three months ago, it had happened. But I never got the chance to tell him. “Host, that was nine. No one else will touch her,” the System’s voice cut through my daze. The connection was still open. “Why?” Liam demanded. The System’s mechanical tone was now tinged with something like pity. “Because during the ninth… Grace… she…” “Don’t tell me the details!” Liam roared. “I can’t bear it!” “I can only say her condition is critical.” Liam was silent. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought he might feel a flicker of remorse. Then his voice, colder than ever, shattered my heart for the last time. “If no man will touch her, then find me a dog.” The System’s internal fans whirred, a sound like a sharp intake of breath. “Host, this is too much. Grace has done nothing wrong. Why must she suffer this for Fay?” “You think she’s the only one suffering? My heart is being torn apart,” Liam’s voice was thick with a pain that felt like a performance. “But what choice do I have? If Fay doesn’t survive, I cease to exist in this world.” “One last time,” he whispered, his voice a ghost fading in my mind. “After this last violation, they’ll inject her with the virus, and then I can go in and save her.” The door creaked open. A massive, snarling dog was led inside. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the final wave of despair. Everything unfolded just as Liam had planned. When the weight was finally gone, the room returned to a fragile quiet. I forced my broken body to move, to look at the tiny, blood-streaked form on the filthy sheets. I crawled toward it, a shattered thing reaching for the only piece of my soul that was left. My child. This was my child. A tidal wave of grief crashed over me, threatening to drown me completely. Just then, a man entered holding a syringe. The needle pierced my skin, and as the fluid flooded my veins, a chilling cold spread through me. I knew what it was. I had been studying it for three months. It was the pure, concentrated viral strain, likely drawn from a corpse. At this concentration, I would be dead in 24 hours without the cure. The cure I had just finished developing. The cure we hadn’t announced to the world yet. I had always assumed the terrorists wanted me for the cure. Now I saw how naive I’d been. This was all Liam. All for Fay. He had told me, long ago, that he came to this world to save Fay. Only if she lived could he stay. That’s why, after we were married, he was always helping her, always trying to alter her fate. I’d fought with him over it, so many times. And every time, he’d hold me and sigh. “Grace, darling, I don’t have feelings for her. I’m just doing what I have to for us.” I never imagined he could do something like this. He hadn’t just helped her. He’d fed me to the wolves in her place. The pain in my chest was so immense it turned to numbness. The moment the injection was done, the door was kicked open. In the next second, I was swept into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of Liam’s cologne filled the air—a scent that once meant safety, but now only smelled of my own personal monster. He was trembling. “Grace, I’m here,” he choked out. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry they put you through this.” I let him hold me, my eyes fixed on the empty space ahead, my heart a frozen stone of hatred. It took all my strength to make my voice sound remotely normal. “Liam,” I said, my voice a raw whisper. “You have the System. What took you so long to find me?” His body went rigid. “The System glitched. It’s all my fault, Grace. But listen to me, I don’t care what they did to you. You’re not dirty to me. I’ll get you healed. We’re going to the hospital right now.” He draped his suit jacket over my ravaged body, lifted me into his arms, and growled an order over his shoulder. “Leave no one alive.” At the hospital, my colleagues rushed to my side. Even these seasoned professionals, accustomed to the horrors of this place, drew sharp breaths when they saw the state I was in. They pulled more than twenty long, rusted nails from my flesh. After surgery, I was moved to a private room. I have a high tolerance for anesthetics, so I wasn’t asleep. But I couldn’t bear to look at Liam, so I kept my eyes closed. I heard a nurse recount the details of my injuries to him. Liam’s voice was thick with manufactured pain as he stroked my face. “Grace, my love. I’ll never let you suffer like this again.” Before, those words would have made me weep with relief. Now, they just made me sick. Soon, the door opened again. A voice I never wanted to hear again chirped, “Liam, I’m here.” Fay. “Give her the injection now,” Liam said to her, his tone urgent. “The jet is ready. You can be back home in two hours.” “Liam,” Fay purred, grabbing his hand. “Come back with me.” “I need to stay here and take care of Grace.” “But I’ll be scared,” she whined. “It’s so chaotic here.” Liam hesitated for only a second before agreeing. He never said no to Fay. He always told me he had no feelings for her, yet he never refused her anything, always speaking to her with that gentle tone he reserved just for her… and for me. I used to tell myself it was just part of his ‘mission.’ I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Liam stepped out to finalize the flight plans, leaving Fay and me alone. She walked to my bedside and jabbed a finger directly into one of my surgical wounds. “Stop pretending,” she hissed. My eyes snapped open. Fay smirked, her voice dripping with scorn. “Look at the state of you. I heard ten men had their fun with you. Honestly, I’m surprised you still have the nerve to be alive.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Even so, Liam won’t divorce me to marry you.” I knew she was in love with him, desperate to be his wife. As expected, her face twisted in fury. “So what? He’s disgusted by you now. Do you know why he sent me in here?” she leaned in close. “He knows you’re resistant to normal sedatives. He had me bring a special sleeping drug, something to knock you out cold. That way, when my team announces that we developed the cure, you won’t be able to say a word.” “What?” I was stunned. That cure was the culmination of two months of sleepless work by my twenty-person team. It was a world-changing breakthrough. It was supposed to be the achievement that would launch the careers of so many brilliant, unknown doctors on my staff. How could Liam just give it to her? “You can’t steal our work!” I tried to push myself up, but Fay had already pulled a syringe from her purse. She plunged it into my IV line without another word. “From now on, Grace, everything that was yours is mine,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Including Liam.” Fay’s drug didn’t work as intended. Less than an hour later, I woke up, burning with a fever. Liam and Fay were gone. My colleague, Maya, was by my side. “They’ve already left for the airport,” she told me. I nodded, then managed a weak smile at her full-body protective gear. “What’s with the getup? Is the virus making a comeback?” Maya bit her lip, her expression grim. “Dr. Grace… we just got your test results. You’ve been infected.” I knew. I had assumed they’d given me the cure immediately upon my arrival. It seemed Liam had ‘forgotten.’ “The terrorists injected me,” I said, my voice steady. “Just give me a dose of the cure now. There’s still time.” Her face fell. “There’s no cure left in the hospital.” After our last patient had been cleared, the entire stock had been packaged and shipped to the next outbreak zone. There wasn’t a single dose left. The world went white. Without the cure, I was going to die. But there was a sliver of hope. Someone found a flight leaving in an hour for the city where the cure was. A few colleagues bundled me into a car. At the airport, however, officials took one look at my condition and refused to let me board. They wouldn’t take the risk. As despair began to set in, Maya spotted Liam. She knew he had a private jet. She ran to him, quickly explaining the situation, begging him to fly me to the neighboring city for the life-saving injection. Liam glanced over at me, his face an unreadable mask. “I’m taking Fay home now. I don’t have time.” Maya was stunned. “But… her life is on the line! Without the cure, she will die! Liam, she’s your wife!” He scowled. “Stop the drama. I had Fay give her the cure at the hospital.” He looked past the crowd, his eyes meeting mine. “Grace, I know you’re jealous, but this isn’t the time for games. I’ll come back for you after I get Fay home. Just wait for me.” With that, he turned and walked toward his jet with Fay in tow. His retreating back was a blade in my heart. He thought this was a game. He thought I was faking. But I wasn’t. I was really going to die. A primal need for survival forced my mouth open. “Liam!” I screamed his name. He turned back. “Please,” I sobbed, tears blurring his distant figure. “Please, just take me with you. I want to live. I don’t want to die.” For a second, I saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. He took two involuntary steps toward me. Then, Fay shrieked and collapsed to the ground. Liam’s body moved before his brain could. In a flash, he had scooped her into his arms and was sprinting up the stairs of the jet. The last words I heard from him were, “You won’t die, Grace! I promise I’ll be back!” I don’t want you to come back. I want to live. Please, I want to live. The plane took off, and with it, my last sliver of hope vanished into the sky.

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