Author: Momo Chan

On Valentine’s Day, I literally ate myself to death. With five million followers watching my live stream, my stomach ruptured from extreme binge-eating. My blood vessels collapsed. My soul hovered, leaving that bloated, 250-pound body behind. That was when I saw my husband, Mario, holding hands with my skinny model bestie, Samantha, strolling down the street. In Samantha’s arms was a gorgeous bouquet of lisianthus—the exact flowers I had been begging Mario for. They kissed, they hugged, and they talked trash about me. “That fat whale,” Mario sneered. “I get sick just looking at her. Sitting in front of her webcam, she looks like a giant white pig.” Samantha giggled, leaning into his chest. “Well, she’s just your cash cow. I’m your real love. Just look at me, babe, don’t look at her.” In that second, a wave of pure, toxic hatred consumed my soul. The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes. I was back in the dressing room. Ten minutes before walking down the aisle. I looked down at the outdated, size-XXXXL wedding dress clinging to my body. I realized I had been reborn. I grabbed the hem of my dress and sprinted backstage. Just as the DJ announced, “And now, please welcome our beautiful bride!” I snatched the microphone from the coordinator and marched onto the stage. Samantha, wearing a frilly, white Lolita-style gown, “accidentally” stepped into the spotlight, spinning twice like a fairy to draw all eyes to herself. After finishing her little show, she realized I wasn’t standing at the entrance to be her ugly foil. She looked around in a panic. I switched on the microphone and spoke loud and clear: “As you can all see, the star of today’s show isn’t me. It’s Samantha!” “Look at how stunning she looks in that white gown. She’s the real princess today. I gladly step aside and let her be the bride!” The crowd went wild. Murmurs erupted instantly. People started pointing and whispering at Samantha, who was standing right in the spotlight. Dozens of guests pulled out their phones, recording her trying to upstage the bride at a wedding. Samantha stood frozen, her face turning bright red with sheer embarrassment. Mario rushed onto the stage and ripped the microphone from my hand. He hissed, “Betty, what the hell are you talking about?!” In my past life, when I walked through those doors, everyone laughed at how fat and ugly I looked in that dress. I had blinked back tears, only for the officiant to publicly joke that I looked like a prize-winning sow. And when it came to the kiss, Mario just leaned in, fake-kissed the air next to my cheek, and whispered: “You’re so fat. If a picture of me actually kissing you gets online, I’ll be the laughingstock of the city.” I looked at his twisted, angry face now. I snatched the microphone back and said, cold as ice, “This wedding is over. I. Am. Out.”

In the VIP holding room, thirteen of Mario’s relatives stood before me, glaring with fury. Only Samantha had tears in her eyes. She knelt at my feet, looking like a kicked puppy. “I’m so sorry, Betty. I didn’t expect you to gain forty pounds in just three months.” “I went to thirty bridal shops just to find a size XXXXL for you. I didn’t mean to ruin your day!” I pulled my foot back, giving her zero reaction. Mario slammed his suit jacket onto the floor. “Betty! You’re the one who stuffs your face and gets too fat to fit into a normal dress! How can you blame Samantha for trying to help? You are pathetic!” I ignored him. I pulled out my phone, went to my Mukbang profile page, transferred all my account balance to my PayPal, and hit “Delete Account.” Mario’s mother, Gloria, pointed her finger at my nose and shrieked: “Who do you think you are? Calling off the wedding just like that? You’ve humiliated our entire family!” My parents immediately started apologizing to them. They nudged me on the sofa, whispering anxiously: “Stop throwing a tantrum, Betty. Get back out there and finish the ceremony. Don’t make us a laughingstock!” Account successfully deleted. My Mukbang account—with 446k followers and 500 videos—was gone. I took a deep breath, feeling lighter than air, and stood up. I smiled at Gloria, pointing at Samantha, who was still crying on the floor. “Your actual daughter-in-law is sitting right there. I won’t be taking her spot.” Thank God I was reborn on the wedding day—exactly one day before we were supposed to sign the legal marriage papers. Leaving a chaotic screaming match behind me, I slammed the door and walked out.

Back at the apartment I bought with my own money, I called my former manager. Katelyn was shocked to hear my voice. “Betty? You vanished without a word. I couldn’t even reach you. I asked Samantha.” “She told me you wanted to quit modeling. Is that true?” Regret hit me like a physical blow. Tears welled up. “Katelyn, I was stupid. I want to come back to SKY Modeling.” After a long silence, Katelyn sighed. “Come back. You’re the most talented girl we’ve ever had. Since you left, we haven’t found anyone with your potential.” After hanging up, I put my phone on silent, blocking out the noise of the world. I stepped onto my dusty treadmill. Half an hour later, Mario was pounding on the front door like a zombie, screaming, “Betty! Open the damn door!” I grabbed the towel around my neck, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and ignored the deadbeat outside. I pressed the speed-up button on the treadmill. When I finally ran out of breath and sat on the floor, chugging water, Mario used his spare key to burst in. Seeing my flushed face and sweat-drenched clothes, he stared. “What the hell are you doing?” I took another sip of water. “Are you blind? I’m losing weight.” Mario took a step closer, a flicker of unease in his eyes. “Why are you losing weight all of a sudden?” I pulled up an old photo of my slim, high-fashion modeling days on my phone and thrust it in his face. “I’m a model. How am I supposed to work if I don’t lose weight?” Mario’s cheek twitched. He looked away guiltily. “Didn’t we agree you’d stick to Mukbang? A single sponsored video makes way more than your crappy modeling gigs.” Right. You brainwashed me into doing Mukbang, made me do sponsorships day and night, called me a giant white pig behind my back, and stole my money to spoil Samantha, didn’t you? I smiled. “Oh, I changed my mind. I deleted that account.”

“What?!” Mario went ballistic. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening. “Who gave you the right to delete that account? Do you have any idea how much the mortgage on this place is?” I used my free hand to slap him across the face. Hard. “This is my apartment,” I spat. “It has nothing to do with you!” Seeing that I wasn’t playing, Mario softened his tone, trying to hug me. “Stop being dramatic, babe. Samantha said she wore that dress by accident.” “She didn’t mean to upstage you. Don’t be so petty.” I pushed him off. Oh right, he didn’t know I already knew about their affair. I smirked. “Oh, really? I guess I misjudged her, then.” Seeing my attitude soften, Mario leaned in to hug me again. But his phone rang. He checked the screen, muttered something about an emergency at his new startup, and rushed out.

Mario was a nobody. His father died when he was two, and his mother raised him in a trailer park. But his ambition was limitless. Unfortunately, his wallet couldn’t support his grand dreams. So, he spent three years playing the perfect, devoted boyfriend to win me over. He washed my feet, ran through heavy rain at midnight to get me medicine, and took ten-hour bus rides just to see me for an hour. With those cheap, low-effort tactics, he won my heart. I fell hard, completely losing myself in the process. When I switched to Mukbang, ninety-five percent of my income went straight into funding his startup. The remaining five percent went to the mortgage and buying mountains of high-fat, high-sugar junk food that ruined my body. Three years into our relationship, I had ballooned into his “giant white pig,” while he used my hard-earned money to play the role of a hotshot CEO, cheating on me with Samantha. Well, Mario. Let’s see how you play the big shot now that your cash cow is gone.

That evening, I called a locksmith and changed the locks. I packed my bags, grabbed my property deed, and contacted an old classmate. He was a well-known, wealthy heir in Chicago. Without hesitation, he agreed to rent me a luxury townhouse in the city center for a mere $2,000 a month. The next day, Mario’s call came through. He sounded like a detective interrogating a criminal. “Betty! Where the hell are you? Why won’t my key work?!” “Do you know my startup is in desperate need of cash right now? If you don’t want that Mukbang account, just give it to me!” I chewed on a sweet baby carrot, amused. “It’s my apartment and my account. I do whatever the hell I want with them.” “And who do you think you are, talking to me in that tone, Mario?” In my past life, after we got together, I used my hard-earned money to buy him a closet full of Air Jordans. He never wore cheap, $10 t-shirts again; everything he wore was name-brand. On our engagement day, I bought him a $12,000 Rolex with the payout from my first major brand deal. I packaged him into a wealthy, successful gentleman. But he forgot. Without my money lifting him up, he was still just a loser whose entire outfit didn’t even cost fifty bucks. Then came Samantha’s texts, spamming my Snapchat: Betty, why can’t I find your Mukbang account anymore? I smiled, my eyes cold. Because I’m getting skinny and taking my throne back, bitch.

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The night I decided to get a divorce, a single social media post blew my entire world apart. I had just posted on Instagram when my phone screen started blowing up with fifty-six missed calls. I shut the phone down immediately, without a single shred of hesitation. Just a few hours ago, I had accidentally stumbled upon my husband Stockton’s private social media account. That was how I uncovered a fourteen-year-old lie. It was filled with his endless yearning for his first love, Olivia, and even proudly documented how he had adopted Olivia’s child. “Loving your child is just another way of loving you. Let our love flow through his veins.” Yet, I was the one who had managed the household, spent ten years raising this child by his side, and helped him through his hardest times. In the story of his life, I didn’t even exist. At first, when I saw that post, I actually scoffed. What kind of idiot would raise another woman’s child for her husband’s first love? I scrolled down a few pages. It was all diary entries and quotes about unrequited love. But the moment I looked closely at the handwriting in those quote images, I froze. That elegant cursive belonged to my husband, Stockton. He had studied under my father, a renowned literature professor, for twenty years, starting from when he was just a young student. My father always praised his handwriting; Stockton was his prized protégé. I still couldn’t believe it. I scrolled through his posts from the very beginning. The very first entry was dated June 10, 2010. It read: “High school is over, but our youth isn’t. To my dream girl, I wish I could protect you forever. I’m dedicating this account to my silent love for you.” It had been exactly fourteen years. And he had updated it every single day. In the morning, after we made love, he would whisper “I love you” to me. But then he would log onto that account and write: You are the blurry line between hopeless waiting and unwavering faith. At noon, he would text me to ask if I had eaten, reminding me not to forget the fresh fruit he had packed for me. But on that account, he wrote: Everyone has something they hold onto, even when they know it’s completely pointless. At night, he would hold me to sleep, a happy smile on his face, telling me tonight would bring sweet dreams. But his account read: You cannot be my poetry, just as I cannot be your dream. Our son, Julian’s smiling face was sprinkled throughout those posts, as if mocking my years of foolishness and wishful thinking. Julian’s loud voice calling out for dinner broke my train of thought. I heard Stockton leading him through the front door. After soothing the boy, Stockton walked into the kitchen to cook. When I walked out of the study, ten-year-old Julian looked at me in surprise. “Mom? You’re home? Why didn’t you cook? Dad and I thought you were out.” Stockton walked out carrying two plates of pasta and was startled to see me. “I didn’t know you were home, honey,” he said apologetically. “You and Julian go ahead and eat. I’ll whip up another plate for myself.” I stared at him for a long time, trying to find a crack in his eyes. There was nothing. Except for regret and warmth, I couldn’t find a single trace of negativity. He didn’t even show any impatience about having to heat up the kitchen again in the middle of a scorching summer. I shook my head, signaling I had no appetite. I was too disgusted to eat. I watched Stockton take a picture of Julian eating. Suddenly, I asked him, “You’re always taking pictures of Julian, but I never see you post them on Instagram. Where do you keep them?” Stockton’s back stiffened. A tiny crack finally appeared in his perfect facade. He forced a calm smile. “I don’t post them much. They’re all backed up on my cloud drive. They’re just for memories.” Julian piped up from the table. “Yeah, Dad shows them to me all the time! He writes these super cool captions for them. He’s way more detailed about my growth than you are, Mom!” With that, the two of them exchanged a knowing, playful look. Ah. It turned out father and son were cut from the same cloth. Neither was innocent.

That night, I created a burner account and immediately set Stockton’s private profile to ‘Favorites’. I took screenshots of every single post he had ever made. About ten minutes later, a notification popped up. Stockton had posted something new. It was a picture of Julian eating pasta. The caption read: Sharing a little secret with Julian today. It reminds me of the pink wish-paper we used to hide under the old oak tree. Like a masochist, I chewed on his words over and over again. They were dripping with his deep, desperate love for another woman. Because of his love for her, he showered Julian with unconditional, blatant affection. But what about me? Who was I? Who was the woman who had stayed by his side since they were teenagers, weathering every storm with him, only to not even deserve a whisper of acknowledgment? What did I do wrong? Why did he treat me like this? Why did they both treat me like this? I sat there for a long time, even starting to question if I had some fatal flaw as a partner, a wife, or a mother. There was no answer. I heard Stockton calling my name from outside the bathroom. When I opened the door, he turned around and smiled at me. All my emotions—anger, resentment, panic, helplessness, and humiliating exposure—swirled in my chest, threatening to tear me apart. Looking into his clear, innocent eyes, the confrontation was right on the tip of my tongue. Deep down, I knew I should just expose this trash bag of a man and walk away. I shouldn’t waste another second of my life on him. But I was so angry. I had poured so much time, money, and love into this marriage. How could I just quietly slink away like a loser? But if I dragged myself through this mud, what would I gain? Make him leave with nothing? I already had my own money. Make him realize his mistakes and love me? What would I do with his dirty, secondhand love? With that final thought, I walked out of the bathroom and stopped right in front of him. “Let’s get a divorce, Stockton.” The moment those words left my mouth, not only did he freeze, but I did too. I hadn’t expected to say it so easily. From the moment I saw that account until now, a suffocating weight had been crushing my chest. But now, saying “divorce” brought a strange wave of relief alongside the heartbreak. Stockton looked utterly bewildered. He stepped forward to hug me, but I stepped back. He stood there, completely lost. For a second, I was almost impressed by his acting skills. “Caroline, can I at least ask why?” “We’ve been together for fourteen years. We barely ever fight. Our only disagreements are about Julian’s school.” “Is this about Julian’s soccer sign-ups? Do you feel like I didn’t respect your opinion? We can talk about it!” “I will never agree to a divorce, Caroline. We have a child we raised together. We have a happy home.” I let out a mocking laugh. “A child?”

Thinking I was wavering because of Julian, he quickly added: “Yes! We’ve raised Julian for ten years. Ever since we brought him home from the orphanage as a baby, you said it was fate.” Seeing my guard slip slightly, he walked over and wrapped his arms around me, trying to soothe me the way he always did. In his embrace, a memory flashed in my mind. It was when Julian first came to our house. He was only three or four months old, and he wouldn’t sleep at night. Stockton and I took turns holding him, staying up all night. Stockton would hold Julian just like this, patting his back and softly singing lullabies to him. Back then, I thought he was the gentlest man in the world. I felt so incredibly lucky to be his wife. I wondered if he would be even happier if I could give him a biological child. But I couldn’t. Due to some health issues, my chances of getting pregnant were extremely low. For the first four years of our marriage, we never used protection, yet I never got pregnant. I used to feel so guilty and broken over it. But he had comforted me, saying, “It’s okay, Caroline. Having you and Julian is already the greatest blessing of my life.” I didn’t say anything else that night, and Stockton assumed he had successfully calmed me down. But he forgot one thing. I had always said I would never throw the word “divorce” around lightly. But once I said it, I would never look back. The next day, I packed my bags and moved back to my parents’ house, leaving the father and son in our marital home. Stockton didn’t object. He claimed I was just in a bad mood and that spending time with my parents would help clear my head. I played a song on repeat—a sad ballad about being the third wheel in one’s own relationship. I’m just a shadow in your perfect picture, always there but never seen. My finger slipped, and I accidentally shared the song to my public Instagram story. Five minutes later, I saw that Stockton had posted a quote on his private account: Some people aren’t meant to belong to you, but it was still nice meeting them. Ha. I had just provided him with fresh material for his tragic romance. He was really pushing my limits. On the third day of moving back, I sat in my father’s study, sorting through our marital assets. When Stockton married me, he had absolutely nothing. It was my father’s financial backing and professional connections that paved the way for his career to take off. I could accept that he fooled my heart—that was on my own stupidity. But he was not taking my money. When my dad pushed the door open to call me for dinner, Stockton’s voice drifted in. He was downstairs, chatting with my mother about the real estate market. He was always so smooth. He talked about art with my dad, business with my mom, and played the romantic hero with me. When I sat down at the dinner table, Stockton looked over with a warm smile. He mysteriously pulled a designer gift bag from behind his back. “The new seasonal bag. I picked it up for you the moment it hit the store. I also came to take you home.” I kept my head down and ate without saying a word. Sensing the tension, my dad playfully scolded me in front of Stockton for being stubborn. Watching Stockton act as if nothing had happened, I sighed inwardly. My mom asked, “Where’s Julian? Why didn’t he come to dinner?” “I sent him to my mother’s place for the weekend. Caroline and I had a little misunderstanding, so I’m taking her home for some quality couple time.” My mom laughed. “Stockton, you’re always so romantic. When Harrison makes me mad, he just tells me to calm down. He even made me angry yesterday!” Stockton pulled out another gift bag with a smile. “Then it looks like I bought the right gift. The associate said this style suits you perfectly, Mom. See if you like it.” My mom loved receiving gifts, and she was always the best hype-woman. She pulled the bag out, immediately draped it over her shoulder, and asked my dad, “How do I look, Harrison?” “Beautiful, beautiful! Anything Stockton buys looks good on you!” I rested my chin on my hand, watching the three of them. I felt like whatever I said right now would just ruin the perfect family picture. I almost regretted finding that private account. It had shattered a very comfortable illusion. Right then, Stockton’s phone rang. It was a custom ringtone he had set specifically for Julian. My mom hadn’t seen Julian in a while, so she gestured for Stockton to put it on speaker. But as soon as he picked up, Julian’s panicked voice screamed through the speaker: “Dad! Quickly go online! Mom got hurt on set!” Stockton’s smile instantly shattered. My parents froze in their tracks. Aside from me, my dad was the first to snap out of it. He frowned. “Julian has another mom?” Stockton’s face turned white, and he couldn’t speak. Hearing my dad’s voice, Julian realized his mistake, went quiet, and instantly hung up. Stockton had been my dad’s student for half his life. He sat there, stiff as a board, not daring to say a word. My dad turned his sharp gaze to me. “You suddenly moved back. You found out something, didn’t you? If he won’t talk, you tell me.”

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My fiancé, Manuel, was driving me up the mountain on his motorcycle when we ran into his first love, Hathaway. The former heiress of the bankrupt Miller family was at her absolute lowest, abandoned at the summit. Manuel’s eyes went red. A mocking smirk played on his lips as he taunted her for finally getting what she deserved. But in the middle of the night, I woke up freezing in the tent, only to find both Manuel and Hathaway gone. The biting night wind completely snapped me out of my illusions. I didn’t sleep a wink. It wasn’t until the following evening that I managed to hitch a ride home with a kind stranger. That was when I realized Manuel had never actually hated Hathaway. Confronted by my questions, he didn’t show a single shred of remorse: “Hathaway is different from you, Chloe. She’s never had to struggle.” I let out a soft laugh and slapped him right across the face. “And what about you? Have you ever felt real pain?” The freezing night wind whipped through the gaps of the tent. I gasped, waking up in pitch darkness. An inexplicable wave of panic washed over me, and I instinctively reached out for Manuel, who was supposed to be sleeping right beside me. But my hand met only the hard, cold ground. Another gust of wind blew in. I looked up and saw the tent flap fluttering loosely in the breeze. Outside, the stars were breathtakingly bright, but they only served to illuminate the empty space beside me. My heart instantly squeezed. Where was Manuel? I sat in the tent, completely lost. The entire world was dead silent, save for the howling wind that sent shivers down my spine. Steeling my nerves, I crawled out of the tent, trying to convince myself that maybe he had just gone to find a spot to pee. But the moment I stepped outside and saw the empty clearing under the faint starlight, reality hit me like a physical blow. Manuel’s motorcycle was gone. The man I had been dating for two years, the man I was about to marry, had abandoned me all alone on a deserted mountain.

Deep down, I had seen this coming. Yet, when it actually happened, I was completely unprepared. It felt as if someone had shot me straight through the chest. A dull, numbing pain radiated to my fingertips. Manuel was a motorcycle fanatic. We had been together for two years, and since both of our families highly approved of the match, our engagement had been smooth sailing. To celebrate, we had planned this mountain camping trip a week ago. Today, right on schedule, he rode his bike up here, packed with all our camping gear. What I never expected was that the moment we reached the summit, we would run into his first love, Hathaway. The second I saw Hathaway, every muscle in my body tensed. After all, the love Manuel once had for her had been loud, fierce, and destructive. Manuel was the ultimate bad-boy heir of New York high society, and Hathaway had been the city’s most dazzling “it girl.” Back when they were at their peak of young love, Manuel had gone so far as to sell off a dozen of his rare sports cars and custom bikes just to help the Miller family pay off their mounting debts. But even that couldn’t stop the Miller empire from crumbling. Once the Millers went bankrupt, Hathaway blamed Manuel. She claimed he was useless because he couldn’t drag her out of the abyss. They broke up, and rumor had it the split was incredibly toxic and messy. Later, Manuel met me through a mutual friend. It was love at first sight for me, though I knew a bit about his past with Hathaway. I had assumed Manuel wouldn’t want to get into another relationship anytime soon. But at that charity gala, he had walked up to me, taken my hand, and shared a near-perfect waltz with me. After that, everything fell into place. We dated, got engaged, and made it to where we were today. But even so, seeing Hathaway made my stomach drop. She was a mess. Her clothes were disheveled, but she still carried a sort of tragic, ruined beauty. Her eyes were red from crying, making her look like a startled, helpless rabbit. She was the classic damsel in distress, a fragile doll that men just couldn’t resist. Being the sensitive person I was, I instinctively reached out to hold Manuel’s hand. But in the next second, a cruel, mocking laugh escaped Manuel’s lips. “Well, well. Hathaway. What happened to you? Fallen on hard times?”

Manuel’s tone was incredibly harsh. Hathaway looked up, staring at him with wide, tearful eyes. She choked out his name in a trembling whisper: “Manuel…” The moment that name left her lips, I felt Manuel’s grip on my hand tighten painfully. He didn’t say another word, his face darkening as he glared at her. From start to finish, Hathaway never once looked at me. Her tear-filled eyes were locked entirely on Manuel. “Manuel… some people threw me out of their car and left me up here…” “Can you please drive me down?” Her voice was barely a whisper, her shoulders shaking violently. If I were Manuel, I probably would have felt a twinge of pity. But Manuel didn’t show any mercy. Instead, he sneered coldly, “So the great heiress of the Miller family has finally met her match? What, did you lose your legs? Can’t walk down yourself?” The sky had gone completely dark, and Manuel’s words were honestly borderline cruel. If he had spoken to any other girl like that, I would have scolded him. But the woman standing before us was Hathaway—the woman my fiancé had spent years in a passionate, toxic cycle with. Driven by selfish human nature, I chose to remain silent. Hathaway looked as if she might collapse at any moment. After a few agonizing seconds, she let out a shattered, hollow laugh. “You really hate me that much, don’t you…” Manuel’s expression flickered. He squeezed my hand so hard it felt like my bones were going to crush. I let out a soft gasp of pain, which finally jolted him back to the realization that I was still standing right next to him.

I knew for a fact that Manuel had abandoned me because of how much he coddled his motorcycle. When we were setting up the tent in the afternoon, he had parked his bike right in the middle of the clearing directly in front of us. After she uttered that dramatic line about him hating her, Hathaway had quietly walked over to a nearby pine tree, curling her legs up to her chest. Manuel didn’t say anything more. He quietly went about setting up the camp. He pitched the tent, set up the portable grill, and did all the heavy lifting without letting me lift a finger. He acted the part of the doting, deeply-in-love fiancé to perfection. But I could tell he was trying way too hard. It felt like a performance staged entirely for Hathaway’s benefit. A knot tightened in my chest, but since Manuel was doing everything perfectly, I could only swallow my unease and keep quiet. Manuel stayed inside the tent with me until dusk. By then, the wind had picked up, bringing a biting chill. I peeked out of the tent and saw Hathaway still huddled under the tree, shivering. This mountain wasn’t that massive. If she had started walking down earlier, she would have reached the base by now. The fact that she was still here meant she was waiting on purpose. Unable to watch any longer, I grabbed a spare jacket and some energy bars, stepped out of the tent, and walked over to her. “The wind gets really cold at night, Miss Miller. You shouldn’t freeze.” I held the items out to her. She merely spared them a dismissive glance, refusing to take them. Instead, she looked up at me with a provocative smirk. “Do you really think he hates me?” I choked on my words. She was right. Manuel didn’t hate her. If he did, I wouldn’t have been feeling this mounting dread ever since she showed up.

Manuel and I had our engagement party a month ago. That night, Manuel had gotten absolutely wasted. It was the first time I heard him say Hathaway’s name. We had been together for two years, and I had always known she existed. But the Millers were ruined. She was no longer a high-society princess. She, Manuel, and I were no longer from the same world. Besides, when she left him, she had said some incredibly nasty things to crush his pride. So, I had never viewed her as a threat. Until the party ended, the crowd dispersed, and I was helping a drunken Manuel back to his place when I heard him mumbling. At first, it was just a low slurring: “We’re engaged… we’re finally engaged.” I thought he was just overjoyed, so I gently ran my fingers through his hair with nothing but love in my heart. I asked him, “Are you really that happy to be engaged to me?” Manuel didn’t open his eyes, nor did he answer. He just grabbed my hand, pressing frantic, desperate kisses against my fingertips. But just as my heart was melting, he whispered her name. “Hathaway… we’re really over now, aren’t we…?” “Why… why did you have to do this to me…?” “Chloe is great… I’m going to marry her… Don’t you dare regret this…” Those whispered words felt like lightning striking my skull. My entire body went rigid. In our two years of dating, he had never once mentioned her name or his past. As his partner, I had always respected his boundaries and never pried, believing he had moved on. But it took him getting blackout drunk at our engagement party to finally spit out the truth. He hadn’t forgotten her. He had just buried her deep in his chest. I didn’t sleep at all that night. The next morning, Manuel woke up remembering absolutely nothing. After debating with myself, I decided to bury the incident. Firstly, we were already engaged. Over the last two years, the business ties between the Alexanders and my family had grown incredibly tight. A broken engagement would cause a massive, unnecessary PR disaster for both companies. Secondly, Hathaway was nobody now. Even if Manuel still had feelings for her, the chances of them getting back together were practically zero. But standing on this mountain, I realized how incredibly naive and foolish I had been. Their love hadn’t been erased by time. If anything, the distance had only made it more agonizingly poetic. Even when Manuel spat venom at her, she still held the ultimate power over his heart. And I, from beginning to end, was nothing but a rebound. A joke. The freezing midnight wind seemed to penetrate my very bones. I was completely alone on this massive, pitch-black mountain, surrounded by the eerie rustling of the pine trees. At that moment, my heart turned completely to stone.

I went back into the tent to grab my phone, only to find it had died. Fumbling around in the dark, I realized the tent was practically cleared out. Even the spare jacket I had offered Hathaway earlier was gone—Manuel must have taken it. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. No wonder Hathaway didn’t want my jacket. She was just waiting for Manuel to wrap his own around her shoulders. With nothing left in the tent, I used the faint moonlight to find a heavy, sharp rock nearby to keep with me for self-defense. This mountain was private property, belonging to some elusive billionaire. The billionaire was currently abroad, and since Manuel was a friend of his, he had gotten permission to bring me up here. Even though it was private property, there was no guaranteeing some creep wouldn’t wander up here. Aside from the chirping of insects and the rustling leaves, there was no other sound. I huddled in the corner of the tent, my entire body shaking from the cold. I hadn’t expected Manuel to be this heartless. He had left me with absolutely nothing but a hollow nylon tent. A cold chuckle escaped my lips. The last lingering thread of hope I had for Manuel snapped. Maybe I had been hurt too many times, because at this very moment, I felt strangely numb. Amidst the chaotic storm in my mind, only one thought became crystal clear: I was going to call off this engagement.

I stayed awake the entire night. Without my phone, I had no concept of time until the horizon began to bleed with faint gold light. Just like the rising sun, my mind slowly cleared and settled. As the sun fully emerged, flooding the sky with brilliant light, I felt a strange sense of rebirth. Exhaling a long breath of cold air, I stood up and began my trek down the mountain. Since Manuel had driven off with Hathaway, I had zero expectations of him returning for me. The trail wasn’t particularly steep, but perhaps due to my lack of sleep and sheer exhaustion, it didn’t take long before I started feeling incredibly weak and lightheaded. The paved road wound down in endless, dizzying loops. My steps grew heavier with each turn, and hot, angry tears finally started pouring down my face. My family hadn’t always been wealthy, but my mother had never let me suffer or feel neglected. Manuel used to tell me he loved girls who were gentle, elegant, and composed. From that day on, I changed everything—my style, my speech, my manners—just to fit his ideal of a “perfect, elegant lady.” Whenever he looked at me with approval, I thought we were building a beautiful life together. But now I knew it was all a pathetic, one-sided delusion. He had never loved me. The only person he truly cared about was Hathaway. I didn’t know how long I had been walking. Dehydrated and starved, my body felt like lead. Gasping for air, I leaned against a tree trunk and slowly collapsed onto the dirt road. Just then, the low rumble of an engine caught my attention. A white SUV was driving up the winding road toward me. Desperate, I forced myself to stand up to wave for help. But the moment I stood, the entire world spun violently, and my vision went black.

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At eighteen, the year I won the international piano championship, an earthquake caused a devastating cave-in. To save Julian, my left hand was pierced by a steel bar, and my legs were crushed under heavy rocks. My dreams shattered, and I was on the brink of a mental breakdown. Julian spared no expense finding top specialists and sent me abroad for treatment. Back then, he said with gentle devotion: “Vivian, when you get back, let’s get married, okay?” But in just three years, he fell in love with my lookalike. When she threatened to break up with him, he begged for her forgiveness on his knees, drawing a clear line between him and me. He looked down at me coldly and said, “Vivian, I don’t love you anymore.” I smiled. Right in front of him, I kissed his bodyguard. “Too bad,” I said. “I don’t love you either.” When my flight landed in New York, I received a text from Julian. Exactly as expected. [Vivian, something came up. I sent my bodyguards to pick you up. They’ll keep you safe.] At the same time, a notification popped up on Instagram. It was a trending post about Julian. I tapped on it. #NewYorkBillionaireJulianSterlingDeclaresHisLove Attached was an interview clip. I knew both faces in the video: my fiancé, and the little songbird he kept—the rising actress, Hailey Caine. It was Hailey’s award acceptance video. I didn’t care about what she said, but Julian’s words cut like a knife. A reporter asked him about his relationship with Hailey. He smiled warmly at the camera, making no effort to hide it, and said directly, “Perhaps it will soon become a legally protected relationship.” I scoffed. And turned off my screen.

I discovered Julian’s affair a year ago, quite by accident. During that time, my mental state was extremely unstable. I couldn’t control my rage. I had screamed and thrashed like a lunatic, even holding a knife to my own throat to threaten Julian. Julian had no choice. He promised me he would cut all ties with Hailey. But it only lasted a month before he crawled back to her. Later, he confessed to my face: “I just can’t forget Hailey. I think about her every single night. It’s killing me.” The longing in his voice made me sick. Yet he also knew that our entire youth was tangled together. We were bound by our families’ wishes, destined for marriage. After that, no matter how much I threw tantrums, Julian only watched with cold indifference. In this relationship, I was the only one losing my mind. “Miss Vance,” a deep male voice called out. Sitting in my wheelchair, I looked up. Three bodyguards in black suits stood in front of me. The leader had sharp, striking features and a fierce, athletic build. He stood easily at six-foot-three. There was a band-aid over his brow and a slight bruise at the corner of his lip. He looked like he had just gotten into a fight. I recognized him. Silas Thorne. He had worked for me briefly before I fired him. He was too quiet, too rigid. When did he start working for Julian? “Do you know where Julian is?” I asked, looking away with a flat tone. “Yes.” “Take me to him.” Silas frowned. “You need to rest first.” “So, I should listen to you now?” I snapped back, displeased. My expression darkened. He still had that same stubborn, annoying attitude. Silas fell silent. The atmosphere instantly grew tense. The two junior bodyguards behind him panicked and quickly stepped forward. They smiled nervously. “Miss Vance, please don’t be angry.” “Our boss might have a bit of a temper, but he’s incredibly good at his job.” Silas still didn’t say a word. I let out a cold laugh and threw my handbag right at his chest. Silas let out a low grunt but caught the bag obediently. “If you have a bad temper, don’t work as a bodyguard. Get lost.” “Uh…” The two juniors looked at each other, awkward and unsure of what to say. Silas pushed them aside, walked over with a cold face, and dropped to one knee beside my wheelchair. He gently placed the bag back into my hands. His voice was stiff, but it carried a hint of softness. “My mistake.” “Please don’t be angry.” The two juniors exchanged another look of utter disbelief. I leaned forward, looking down at Silas. Then, I reached out and pinched his jaw tightly. He was tall, even while kneeling. His presence was intimidating. He stared at me. I could feel his body tensing up, the veins on his neck bulging slightly as if he were holding back with everything he had. I warned him coldly, “Let me tell you something. I don’t care whose man you are. If you make me uncomfortable, you’re gone.” “I don’t lack options, understand?” I lightly slapped his cheek. His body tensed even further. “I didn’t mean anything else. I was just worried you’d be unhappy.” “Your therapist told me not to let you get too triggered.” I froze for a few seconds. “What do you mean?” “To take better care of our clients, we make it our business to understand their condition.” I glanced up at the two juniors. They nodded furiously. “Yes, yes!” “Your safety and your mood are our top priorities.” I let out a cynical laugh, slowly drew my hand back, and fell silent.

Silas lifted me and placed me in the backseat of the car. His movements were incredibly smooth, as if he had practiced it a thousand times. As the car merged onto the highway, the passing trees and the familiar streets of the city I hadn’t seen in three years triggered a flood of memories. Julian and I grew up together. Our families had arranged our marriage before we were even born. Both of our families were known for producing musical prodigies. Since I was a child, my life revolved around playing the piano. I played tirelessly, and Julian was my only audience. At seven years old, my performance shocked the world, and I was hailed as a prodigy. Then came the world tours. Julian followed me across the globe, remaining my sole audience for ten years. He loved holding me close, whispering gently in my ear: “I want to be your audience for the rest of my life. I want to be the first one to give you flowers.” The promises back then were so simple. He loved me to his bones, giving me everything he had without reservation. He treated me like a precious child, even though he was only three years older than me. He used to read me bedtime stories. If anyone bullied me, he’d stand in front of me. When I was exhausted from practicing, he’d sneak me out to play. My entire past was him. Which was why, at eighteen, when danger struck, I pushed him out of the way without a second thought. I let myself get buried in the collapse. A steel bar pierced my left hand. I fell, and my legs were crushed under giant boulders. The only light from the exit was blocked. At that moment, I really thought I was going to die there, at eighteen. But I didn’t. Julian went mad trying to save me. He called the rescue team, dug through the rubble with his bare hands until his fingers were bloody raw. Back then, he loved me so fiercely. He was fearless. I thought that kind of love would last forever. I was wrong. I was in a coma for two weeks. When I woke up, I learned that I could never play the piano again. My parents, hearing the news, instantly discarded me like a broken chess piece. They immediately shifted their focus to grooming another prodigy. Overnight, I lost my parents’ affection and my lifelong dream. The despair was suffocating. It completely consumed me. Julian stayed by my side, crying, “I’m sorry, Vivian. It’s all my fault.” “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be the brightest star.” I couldn’t blame Julian. Saving him was my choice. But I couldn’t save myself, and I didn’t know what to do. Later, I developed severe depression and borderline personality traits. I was violent, self-destructive, and constantly on the edge. Time after time, Julian pulled me back from the brink of death. He sent me abroad for treatment. He said, “Vivian, when you get back, let’s get married, okay?” But after that, his visits to Europe grew rarer. The toll of my illness was breaking him, too. When I threw things, he threw things back. With bloodshot eyes, he knelt before me and roared, “Vivian, I didn’t beg you to save me!” “I’m trying my best to help you!” “What more do you want from me?!” And then, he cheated.

When I snapped out of my thoughts, I realized I was crying. Cold tears dripped onto the back of my hand, leaving me momentarily dazed. It had been a long time since I last recalled the past. Those once passionate memories had slowly been ground down to nothing. “Don’t cry for someone who isn’t worth it,” Silas said, handing me a tissue. My expression went numb as I took it, wiped my hand, and replied coldly, “You’re right. He isn’t.” Silas wheeled me into a club. The entire venue had been booked out. The music was deafeningly loud, the lights flashing in dizzying arrays. Hailey was on the dance floor in a seductive red dress, dancing with a crowd. Julian’s doting eyes were fixed entirely on her. Like he was admiring his most prized possession. Actually, the first time I saw a picture of Hailey, I was stunned. She looked about seventy percent like me. She liked bright colors, had long wavy hair, and possessed a seductive charm. Even the tiny mole on the bridge of her nose was in the exact same spot as mine. “Julian, come dance with me!” Hailey laughed, calling out to Julian from the VIP booth. Julian raised his glass with a smirk and started walking over. But before he reached the dance floor, he spotted me. His brow furrowed tightly as he looked at Silas behind me. “I told you to take Vivian home.” Silas said nothing. I smiled at Julian. “Are you not happy to see me?” At this point, Hailey noticed us too. She walked over and naturally wrapped her arm around Julian’s. When she looked at me, she froze. We had never met in person, but I guessed she was wondering why I looked so much like her. “Who is this?” “Hi, I’m Julian’s fiancée,” I introduced myself with a smile. Julian’s face darkened instantly. “Vivian, don’t start.” “Julian? Is she the fiancée you left abroad?” “You told me you drew a line with her! What am I to you then?” Hailey looked at Julian with an expression of utter betrayal, her entire body shaking with anger. Julian looked at me with irritation. “Vivian, did you come back just to make a scene?” “Does seeing me happy make you that miserable? Vivian, I don’t owe you anything!” With a violent kick, he knocked over a nearby trash can. The music in the club suddenly died down. The crowd held their breath, watching the drama unfold, unsure of what to do. “Julian, you were the one who said you wanted to marry me,” I said, my voice completely flat. Julian clenched his fists in rage. “That was the past!” Hailey’s tears fell like rain. “So, everything you said in the interview today was a lie? You never planned on marrying me?” “We’re done, Julian! I want a breakup!” She shoved Julian away to run, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her fiercely into his chest. His eyes were bloodshot as he begged her desperately, “I was wrong, Hailey. Please, don’t leave me.” “You’re the only one in my heart now.”

I watched Julian quietly. Suddenly, I remembered the day he confessed his love to me. In high school, he had written a love letter, mimicking what his classmates did, and slipped it into my textbook. During class, he kept stealing glances at me, terrified I’d miss it. He waited three days without a response. Finally, after school, he cornered me on the track field. “Vivian, are you rejecting me?” I looked at him in confusion, only then learning about the letter. Right there, he read the letter aloud, word by word, declaring his love with shameless pride. I laughed and said yes. He immediately scooped me up onto his back and ran around the track, lap after lap. His sweat and tears mingled, and his eyes shone with a light that belonged only to me. During the countless nights after I found out about his betrayal, these memories would replay. The real, raw love. The absolute devotion. The youth we could never get back. I didn’t know how to let it go.

My mind drifted. I only snapped back when Julian stood over me, looking down with cold disdain. “Vivian, the one I love now is Hailey. I admit we had a beautiful past.” “But people can’t live in memories. We have to move on.” I looked up, my face completely unreadable. He continued, “Let’s call off the engagement.” “Vivian, I don’t love you anymore.” He said it with utter seriousness. It was almost laughable. A gentle smile played on my lips. “Then, as you wish.” “I hope you remember those words.” I averted my eyes. Julian’s gaze darkened slightly. He thought he would feel relieved, but a flicker of confusion crossed his face instead. Every time he had brought up calling off the engagement before, I would throw a fit. We would both end up emotionally destroyed. But today, I gave him exactly what he wanted. My therapist always told me: “If something doesn’t belong to you, gripping it tighter won’t help.” “But what is truly yours will stay, even if you let go.” I believed him now. So, I chose to let go. When I went to leave, Julian stepped in front of me to stop me, but in the end, he couldn’t find a single word to say.

I sat in the backseat of the car, leaning my temple against my hand, staring out the window in absolute silence. The atmosphere in the car was suffocatingly tense. Silas’s two juniors frantically tried to make conversation, talking about fun spots in New York and telling bad jokes. It was noisy. I frowned slightly. “Are you two this loud when you’re with Julian?” The driver laughed awkwardly. “Miss Vance, we’ve never worked for Julian. We only follow our boss.” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, turning my gaze to Silas. He was resting with his eyes closed. Sensing my gaze, he slowly opened them. “We only took this as a temporary contract.” “I see.” The car fell silent again. My phone buzzed. Another notification. Hailey had just posted on Instagram. [Giving you both my award and myself. @JulianSterling] In an instant, the internet exploded. Congratulations flooded in, with endless comments about how perfect they were for each other. Silas reached out and tapped my screen, turning it off. “If it makes you uncomfortable, don’t look.” His voice was cold. I knit my brows. Silas was starting to get interesting. He seemed genuinely terrified of me being hurt by Julian’s actions. “What do you think of Hailey?” Silas froze, clearly not expecting the question. But he still answered, “She looks like you.” “And?” “But she isn’t you.” I let out a soft laugh, tracing the edge of my phone. Right. She looked like me. But she wasn’t me. He found a substitute, and then fell for the substitute. I couldn’t help but wonder—Julian, do you even know who you actually love? But he was right about one thing. Over these three years, his life had only gotten better, while I remained trapped in the abyss of the past, stagnant.

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My best friend had been desperately in love with a man for six whole years. She always told me he was her first love, the only one she could never let go of. During one of her many drunk crying fits, I wiped away her tears and said, “If you still love him, go get him back.” She pushed me away. “Chloe, you don’t understand.” I didn’t. Not until the night before my wedding. I was in a horrific car accident. I miscarried, and our baby was gone. The very next day, my best friend sent me a Snapchat: [Help me. He came back for me. I’m in so much pain.] Ignoring the tearing ache in my abdomen, I drove five hours through a blinding blizzard to her apartment. Standing under her building, I watched her sink into a man’s embrace. Serena’s familiar, choked voice echoed through the snowy air: “Ethan, I hate you! I was the one who dumped you six years ago. Why did you have to come back?!” At that exact moment, the blood in my veins turned colder than the snow around me. Because Ethan was the man I was supposed to marry tomorrow.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Just hours ago, Ethan was standing by my hospital bed, gently wiping the tears from my eyes. “Chloe, let me go home and make you some chicken soup, okay?” He had kissed the corner of my mouth, promising he’d be right back. So, this had to be a mistake. It was just someone who looked like him from behind. I hid behind a frozen utility pole, my fingers trembling as I sent Ethan a text: [Babe, where are you?] A minute passed. No reply. He had never made me wait for a reply before. Under the dim streetlamp, Serena tried to push him away. “Get away from me!” The yellow light illuminated his profile—his sharp nose, and the faint scar right between his brows. The scar he got from fighting to protect me. It really was Ethan. I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Ethan’s voice was freezing, completely unrecognizable. “Serena, stop flattering yourself.” “You want me to leave? Who was the one clinging to me and crying that she was scared just now? Six years have passed, and I’m still the first person you call when you’re in trouble. Is this all the dignity you have?” Serena looked up, her eyes incredibly red. “I’m flattering myself?” “Then why are you here? Ethan, why did you leave your fiancé, who just had a miscarriage, to run to me?!” She laughed bitterly, tears smearing her makeup. “Are you happy now seeing me like this? Do you feel vindicated? You think I’m finally getting my karma, don’t you?!” Ethan’s face tensed for a second. He didn’t answer. Serena wiped her face and turned to leave. Ethan grabbed her wrist. “Let go.” He didn’t. “Ethan, I said let go!” With a sudden pull, he dragged her back into his chest. She struggled, hitting his chest and kicking his shins, but he didn’t budge. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he muttered softly. Finally, she lost her strength. She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking violently. “Do you think I wanted to call you?” “Ethan, when that stalker blocked my way tonight, you were the only one I could think of. You used to hate seeing me suffer even a little bit.” “Do you really think I’ve had a great life these past six years without you?” He looked down, resting his chin on top of her head. “Serena, if you hadn’t left back then… in my plans, we would have had a child by now.” “But why… why did it have to be now?” The world around me fell dead silent. The icy wind crawled down my collar, numbing my limbs. My phone screen stayed dark. Ethan’s reply never came.

I slumped against the pole, completely drained of strength. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a pair of rusty pliers. So, Serena’s unforgettable first love was Ethan. The mysterious ex she always brought up whenever she got wasted. She used to brag about how much he loved her. How he clumsily wrote her a love letter every single day, how he set off a city-wide firework display for her, and how he gave up an Ivy League offer just to stay with her. I once asked her, “Then why did you break up?” She had slumped over the bar counter, her eyes bloodshot. “Because I was sick of being poor. I took a five-million-dollar check from his snobbish mother and ran. He literally knelt in the pouring rain for two days, begging me to stay, but I didn’t care.” “Love doesn’t pay the bills. I’m just a selfish, terrible person.” When I first introduced them, they acted like they couldn’t stand each other. They barely even made eye contact. After that, they never attended the same parties. I never could have guessed they shared such a passionate, toxic past. I was seventeen when I met Ethan. My teenage years weren’t filled with high school crushes or worries about grades. They were defined by Harold, my abusive stepfather, slamming on my bedroom door every night. That night, Harold was drunk and trying to break my door down. I jumped out of the first-floor window and ran. I ended up in a shady diner, sitting in a corner booth, shivering with my knees pulled to my chest. “You shouldn’t be here.” I looked up. Ethan was standing there, looking down at my oversized hoodie and tear-stained face. I stared at the mature, handsome college guy and whispered, “Why shouldn’t I be? Why are you here then?” He slid into the booth and pushed a cup of warm water toward me. “I got dumped,” he said dryly. “She promised forever, then threw me away like trash.” We talked for hours. After that night, meeting at that diner every Wednesday became our unspoken rule. The night Harold finally broke my door lock, Ethan was the one who kicked the front door open. He threw his jacket over my shoulders and pinned Harold to the floor, punching him until his own knuckles were bloody. Everyone in my family told me to stay quiet. He was my stepfather, after all. My biological dad even threatened me, saying if I called the police, he would cut me off completely. But Ethan told me, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” He hired a lawyer for me and put Harold behind bars. He moved me into his apartment and made sure I could focus on my college exams. That was the first time in my life I realized someone could actually protect me. During my freshman year, I gathered my courage and asked him, “Ethan, could you try loving me?” He froze. After a long pause, he asked, “What if one day, you find someone more important to you?” I stood on my tip-toes and kissed him. “You are the most important.” We got together, and he treated me like a princess. Whatever I didn’t know, he taught me patiently. Whatever I hadn’t experienced, he took me to see. He used to say, “Chloe, you don’t have to feel insecure. What you don’t know, I’ll teach you slowly.” Knowing I had nightmares, he called me every night to read me to sleep. Knowing I loved donuts, he would drive across the city just to get my favorite glaze. I thought no one in the world could ever love me more. I thought we would be happy forever. But now… He was standing right there, leaving me behind while I was still recovering from a miscarriage. Holding my best friend in his arms. He had taught me so much. How to solve math problems, how to protect myself, how to never trust strangers easily. But he never taught me what to do when I found out his heart belonged to someone else.

My mind was a chaotic mess. Images of him making soup for me clashed with him holding Serena. His promise of “I’ll be right back” clashed with his sigh of “Why did it have to be now?” I clutched my phone. I wanted to give our six years one last chance. Just in case. What if he was just trying to get closure? What if he was still the Ethan who risked everything for me? I dialed his number. On the third ring, he answered. “Chloe? What’s wrong?” I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry it burned. “Ethan. Where are you?” There was a second of silence on the other end. “A work emergency came up, and I had to leave in a rush. I had the housekeeper make some soup and send it to your room. Make sure you drink it, okay?” I stared at the man ten yards away. He held his phone to his ear, his back to me, his shoulders covered in white snow. “I can’t drink it without you here.” His voice softened. “Be good. I’ll be back as soon as I finish this. How is your body feeling? Does it still hurt?” “Chloe, once I’m done with this busy week, I’ll take you on a trip. Didn’t you always want to go to Miami? We can stay there for a few days. I’ll make it up to you.” While he said those sweet words, Serena looked up from his chest, her eyes red. He reached out and gently brushed the snow off her hair. “Ethan,” I called out. “Yeah?” “Where… where exactly is this business trip?” Serena pulled away from him, limping as she tried to walk. He immediately reached out to grab her, his voice turning anxious on the phone. “Chloe, I have to go, something urgent just came up. I’ll call you later, okay?” Before the screen went dark, I saw him grab Serena’s wrist again. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “You’re sweet-talking her on the phone while holding onto me?” “How can you do both at the same time?” Exactly, Ethan. How can you tell me you love me on the phone, and then turn around to embrace her? Serena pushed him away and kept limping forward. He chased after her and swept her up into his arms. “Your ankle is hurt. I’m taking you to the hospital.” She gasped, then started struggling. “Ethan, put me down!” He didn’t speak, just carried her toward his SUV. “You’re holding me while wearing her ring! It’s a constant reminder that you’re marrying someone else!” “How do you expect me to accept your kindness like this?!” He stopped. He looked down at his hand. On the day he proposed, he had knelt on one knee, holding that ring with a trembling hand. “Chloe.” “I will only propose once in my life, and I will only love this one person.” Under the sunset at Lake Tahoe, his sincerity had completely melted me. I had said yes. When he slipped the ring onto my finger, his eyes were wet. “Once it’s on, you’re never allowed to take it off.” “No matter what happens, don’t take it off.” That was the first time I had ever seen him cry. And he had never taken his off either. Until now. He bent his head, bit the ring with his teeth, and pulled it off his finger. “Stop fighting me, okay?” he whispered to Serena. She went completely still, letting him place her into the passenger seat. I stood frozen, unable to take a single step. As the SUV slowly rolled out of the driveway, it passed right by me. I was only two yards away from him. If he had just turned his head. He would have seen his fiancé, who had just lost their baby, standing behind a frozen pole in the freezing snow, shivering violently as she watched him. He would have seen the tears on my face, my frozen hands, and my phone with the text message he never replied to. But he never looked. I looked down at my own hand. The ring was still there. The exact same platinum band. The exact same initials engraved inside. Ethan. Over these past six years, was I just a replacement? A shadow you used to fill the void she left behind? Did you ever actually love me?

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My boyfriend, Tyler Vance, drugged me every single night. Then, he took me to the beds of his seven different wealthy friends. They made a crazy bet: “No protection. Whoever gets her pregnant in a month pays Tyler twenty million dollars.” One month later, I actually got pregnant. But the moment I held the positive pregnancy test, Tyler immediately booked an appointment at an abortion clinic for me. “Take care of this, and we’ll get married right away.” I slapped him hard across the face, shoving a marriage certificate in his face. “Get lost. Don’t ruin my wedding with my baby’s real father.” “Miss Davis, you don’t have a stomach bug. You’re pregnant.” The doctor’s words echoed in my head, making me dizzy. Pregnant? I wasn’t even married yet. I hadn’t even slept with a man. How on earth could I be pregnant? Holding the ultrasound sheet, my mind was a chaotic mess. I had no idea how to explain this to Tyler, since our wedding was scheduled for next month. Would he hate me? Would he call off the wedding immediately? My questions were answered when I stood outside a VIP lounge at the club and overheard Tyler talking to his seven friends. “It’s been a month. By now, Chloe should be pregnant, right?” “Yeah, the timing is just right. There’s no way none of the seven of us hit the jackpot.” Tyler was holding a cigarette, his new personal secretary, Amber Reed, sitting on his lap. “I’ll take her to the clinic for a checkup tomorrow,” Tyler said. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. What did they mean? Before I could even process their words, Tyler spoke again. “If she really is pregnant, you guys better get that twenty million dollars ready for me.” “Twenty million? You think any of us can’t afford that?” “Honestly, Tyler, you really know how to play. Other guys put their wives up as poker stakes, but you actually used your wife and the baby in her womb as a bet.” “You’re incredibly generous, man.” Tyler pinched Amber’s thigh under her skirt. “I had to. Life has been so boring lately. I just wanted to add some excitement to my life.” Amber let out a soft moan. “Mr. Vance, you wouldn’t put me on your friends’ beds tomorrow too, would you?” Tyler pinched her chin. “You? You’re not qualified to get on my friends’ beds.” His trashy friends raised their glasses in excitement. “Exactly. Who has a face and body like Chloe’s? Tyler, since you were willing to share her, we won’t treat you badly in the future.” “Right. It’s a deal. In the future, everyone’s wife has to be shared like this. Otherwise, you’re kicked out of our circle forever.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. My legs shook violently. These bastards actually used me as a bet. They used my unborn child as a toy. And the mastermind was my own fiancé. My hands clenched into tight fists. I was about to kick the door open and kill these monsters. Suddenly, a pair of large, warm hands covered my mouth and dragged me into the empty VIP suite next door. I struggled violently. “Let me go! Let me go right now! My fiancé is right next door!” “Are you sure he’s still your fiancé?” The man’s warm breath brushed against my earlobe, making me shudder. I froze. This man was one of Tyler’s seven friends. Alex Stone. I quickly spun around, backing against the wall. “Don’t come near me! Stay back!” He clicked a lighter, lit a cigarette, but then looked at my belly and immediately stubbed it out in the ashtray. “What? Surprised to hear that?” I wasn’t just surprised; I was consumed by a burning rage. Tyler and I had known each other for fifteen years and had been dating for five. When his family went bankrupt, I used my family’s resources to pull him back to the top. And our wedding was next month. Yet now, he was literally delivering me to other men’s beds. Seven of them! I forced myself to calm down. I couldn’t lose my head. I needed to find a breakthrough, and I had to start with Alex. I pinched my own arm hard to keep from crying, taking deep breaths. Finally, Alex, who was lounging on the sofa, spoke first. “What do you want to ask me?” I closed my eyes, not daring to look at him, but I forced the words out. “How did I end up in your beds? Why don’t I remember anything?” “Because Tyler drugged you every night. You were completely blacked out. He carried you to our beds himself, and then brought you back home before dawn.” “What kind of drug?” As soon as I asked, I regretted it. What else could it be? “Why are you telling me this?” I asked, staring at him. “Aren’t you afraid of ruining your friendship with Tyler?” He let out a cold laugh. “Him? My friend? He’s not on my level. And…” He slowly stood up, walked over, and pulled me onto his lap. “And there’s a very high chance that the baby in your belly is mine. So…” I slapped him hard across the face. “Get lost!” Instead of letting me go, he pinned my hands above my head. “Chloe, you didn’t feel anything the first few times. Do you want to try it today while you’re awake?” I didn’t let him finish. I brought my knee up hard straight into his crotch. Groaning in pain, he finally released me. But as I turned to leave, his low voice drifted from behind me. “Do you want to destroy Tyler Vance?”

When I pushed open the door to Tyler’s VIP lounge, Amber quickly slid off his lap. Tyler’s pants were unzipped. Thankfully, the room was dark, and he quickly zipped them back up. The other bastards looked at me with weird, knowing smiles. “Whoa, Chloe. Are you here to keep Tyler on a leash?” “Don’t worry, we’re keeping a close eye on him for you. He’s behaving.” Thinking about what I had just heard, I walked straight up to Tyler and slapped him across the face. He got angry instantly. “What the hell are you doing?!” I shook my hand casually. “Nothing. There was a fly on your face.” Amber gasped, “Mr. Vance, does it hurt? I’ll get you some ice.” I turned around and slapped her face too. “Does it hurt? Feel it yourself.” She covered her cheek, her eyes welling with tears. “Miss Davis, how can you just assault people like this?” “Assault?” I smirked at her. “Do I look like I’m just hitting random people? My hands only hit trashy men and cheap girls.” She stamped her foot, whining to Tyler. “Mr. Vance, you have to stand up for me! I can’t just let her hit me for no reason!” Tyler shoved her away and gently grabbed my hand. “Does your hand hurt, babe?” “Not at all.” I slapped him twice more, left and right. In front of all his friends, his ego finally cracked. “Can you not be so jealous in public? My friends are all here. Do you have to embarrass me like this?” His friends had all slept with me, and he still cared about his “embarrassment”? “Tyler, life is just too boring and flat. I wanted to add some excitement to it too.” His expression changed. “What do you mean by that?” I smiled. “Nothing. Just talking.” Before I left, I walked up to every single one of his friends and slapped them too. “So sorry, guys. If you want to return the slap, do it to Tyler. After all, you guys are best friends.” Tyler ran out after me, apologizing to his friends along the way. “Chloe, what is wrong with you today? Is it because of Amber?” “Don’t worry about her. She’s just a plaything. All my friends do it, and if I don’t join in, I’ll be left out of their business circles. They won’t share their investment deals with me.” “You know my family went bankrupt once. Life was so hard back then, everyone looked down on me. I never want to go back to that.” “I can’t lose these friends who can make me rich.” He remembered his past struggle, but he completely forgot that I was the one who pulled him out of that quicksand. I desperately wanted to stab him right there, but I held back. I wanted him to fall from the absolute peak. After all, the higher you stand, the harder you crash. The next morning, he was standing at my front door. “Chloe, didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well yesterday? Let me take you to the hospital.” I didn’t reject him. I wanted to see him act. At the hospital, the doctor smiled and congratulated me. “You’re pregnant, four weeks along. Congratulations!” “Pregnant?!” The suppressed rage on Tyler’s face was so realistic, he deserved an Oscar. He dragged me into his car and locked the doors. “Tell me the truth! How did this happen? When did you cheat on me? Who is the man?!” I shook my head, crying. “I don’t know… I don’t know anything.” “How can you not know?!” He shook my shoulders violently. “Whose bed did you climb into? How can you not know?” “Chloe, I never knew you were such a shameless woman!” He got angrier and angrier. “Yesterday you threw a tantrum over Amber, and today you present me with a bastard child? Wow, Chloe. Just wow.” I kept crying. “Don’t ask me. I really don’t know who it is. It felt like… like there were many men, but my head was so foggy.” A flash of panic went through his eyes. “How many do you remember?” What a piece of trash. I shook my head. “I don’t know, I really don’t. Tyler, please don’t ask me anymore.” He clenched his fists, took several deep breaths, and then slowly hugged me tight. “It’s okay. We’ll abort this bastard child, and everything will go back to how it was.” “No!” I screamed, sobbing. “Tyler, I don’t deserve you anymore. I can’t marry you. Let’s cancel the wedding.” He panicked. “How can we cancel it? No! I told you, no matter what happens, no matter how badly you hurt me, I will forgive you.” “Chloe, as long as you get rid of this baby and transfer the Davis Enterprises shares your parents left you to my name, I will forgive you completely.” “I won’t tell anyone about this. You just need to quietly get the abortion.” “Really?” I asked timidly, wiping my tears. “You really won’t hold it against me?” “Only if you agree to my terms.” I immediately opened the car door. “Fine. Let’s go abort it right now.”

“No abortion!” Alex stood in front of us, with the other six bastards right behind him. “Tyler, your fiancée is pregnant with such a big blessing, and you didn’t even share the good news with us?” “Yeah, this is a massive celebration! Why would you abort it?” “Wait, is this baby not yours, Tyler? Chloe, did you cheat on him?” I hid behind Tyler, pretending to be terrified. “No, I didn’t! This baby is Tyler’s!” They burst out laughing. “Really? But we heard you guys hadn’t even slept together yet.” “Chloe, didn’t you always say you wanted to save yourself for the wedding night? And now you’re already pregnant?” Tyler’s face turned bright red. “Shut up, all of you! The baby is definitely mine. If you don’t believe me, we’ll do a DNA test in a month!” He turned to me. “Don’t worry, Chloe. I won’t let them ruin your reputation.” What a hypocrite. He knew damn well the baby wasn’t his. Just to keep me in his trap and win their bet, he wanted me to carry this baby until next month. He just wanted to humiliate me. That night, Alex sent me a Snapchat video. In the video, Amber was riding Tyler, her face flushed. Tyler gasped, saying, “One more month… this wait is killing me.” “But whoever’s baby it is, we’ll abort it anyway in the end.” Justin laughed and asked, “Tyler, if Chloe ever finds out the truth, how do you think she’ll take revenge on you?” “Revenge?” Tyler sneered. “What power does she have left to fight me? Besides the Davis Enterprises shares her parents left her, what other leverage does she have?” “Once I hold this cheating scandal over her head, she’ll sign over all her shares to me. What can she possibly do to me then?” “Man, Tyler, you are the absolute worst piece of trash I’ve ever met.” Tyler gasped loudly. “Oh, please. You guys didn’t complain when you were sleeping with her. I’m trash, but you guys aren’t?” “True, true. You’re the generous one. When are we doing another round? I’ve never tried a pregnant woman before. I heard they feel different.” Tyler’s face finally went cold. “Only once. That was the deal. Don’t ever bring it up again. If anyone leaks this, don’t blame me for ruining our friendship.” “You guys have to understand. Once I get the Davis trust fund, my net worth and status will be on a completely different level.” His trashy friends finally shut up, though one muttered, “Yeah, you’ll be back at the top. But still, you can’t beat Alex.” I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. I took a pair of scissors and shredded Tyler’s photos. Tyler, I’m going to give you a massive present at our wedding next month. A gift that you designed, but I will deliver right back to you. Just wait. You bastard. As for the baby, I would never abort it, because I had already found his real father.

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By a freak accident, I discovered I shared a sensory connection with my husband, Julian. I could feel everything. Not just the sharp pain of his wounds, but also the intense, toe-curling pleasure his body experienced when he did the things he enjoyed. Until one night, when he was livestreaming a high-altitude skydive in France. I watched him on screen, closely tangled up with his female diving partner. Suddenly, a wave of indescribable pleasure washed over my own body… Julian was an extreme sports junkie, especially obsessed with skydiving. I, on the other hand, was an interior designer. We were opposites, I was quiet, he was loud. It was a miracle we ever ended up together. Extreme sports meant he had to travel the world for competitions. Because of this, Julian and I spent more time apart than together. During a recent paragliding accident, Julian broke his leg. It was a rare stroke of luck that kept him quiet and locked in a hospital bed for a while. When I walked into his hospital room carrying a thermos of hot, homemade beef stew, he was glued to his iPad, completely absorbed. I leaned over his shoulder. The screen read: #The First Global “Starry Cup” Paragliding Challenge: Preliminaries Live# I sighed. “Julian, can we please stop with these dangerous sports?” Julian lived for skydiving and paragliding. He had dozens of steel pins in his body from past injuries. Yet, he had mastered the sport, even competing professionally in Europe. He jumped a little, startled by my voice, but quickly smiled and shook his head. “Eve, babe, I know you worry. But money can’t buy the thrill. The adrenaline rush I get from this is endless.” I stared at Julian’s handsome profile, slightly dazed. Extreme sports were a rich man’s game. To live without a 9-to-5 and still have millions to blow, Julian had to be a billionaire heir. And he was. Everyone envied me for landing a handsome, filthy-rich husband like Julian. Only I knew the loneliness of never having him around. Sometimes, I envied his teammates more than I loved being his wife. I fed him the beef stew spoon by spoon. He smiled warmly. “You’re the best, Eve. So sweet, so domestic. It makes me feel so safe leaving the house in your hands while I go out and conquer the world.” I stuffed a piece of beef into his mouth. “Shut up. Stop talking about ‘conquering the world’ from a hospital bed.” Julian rarely came home. Since we got married, I had been the one taking care of his massive estate and keeping his family life perfectly organized. He coughed on the soup, laughing mischievously. “You worry about me so much? I guess I need to put a baby in you soon. That way, you won’t miss me so much when I’m gone.” As we joked around, the door opened. A gorgeous woman walked in. She tapped on the doorframe and took off her designer sunglasses with a smirk. “Am I interrupting? I didn’t expect you two to be having a private moment.” The moment I saw Valerie Vance, my smile froze. I had seen her in countless photos on Julian’s Instagram. She was Julian’s paragliding partner of six years. She was a stunning, wealthy socialite who traveled the world with him, winning trophies together. Despite spending her life outdoors, her skin was flawlessly pale. She had a tiny waist, curves in all the right places, and legs that went on forever. She dressed boldly. Even in fifty-degree weather, she wore a low-cut halter top that left very little to the imagination. She walked straight to the bed, pulled back Julian’s blanket, and stared at his broken leg. “How did you manage this, loser? Crashing yourself into a cast?” I was stunned. Julian’s cast was fresh, and he was only wearing his boxers underneath the blanket. Valerie noticed my stiff expression and laughed loudly. “Oh, don’t worry, Eve. We’re professional partners and best friends. We’re practically brothers. You don’t mind, right?” Julian quickly pulled the blanket back over his lap. “She doesn’t mind, but I do! Give a guy some privacy!” As they laughed and teased each other, my eyes locked onto something else. Under the thin blanket, Julian’s boxers had a very visible tent. I wasn’t blind. The moment Valerie walked in, Julian got hard.

After Valerie left, the doctor came in to check on Julian’s leg. I stood in the corner. As the doctor adjusted the cast, Julian winced, his face twisting in pain. The very next second, a sharp, stabbing agony shot through my own left leg! The pain was so intense, so identical to his injury, that my knees buckled. I collapsed onto the floor. The doctor and Julian both gasped. “Eve! What’s wrong? I’m the one with the broken leg, why are you falling over?” I quickly pulled up my jeans to check my left leg. Weirdly, there wasn’t a scratch on it. And the moment the doctor finished touching Julian, my pain vanished. Did I… just share Julian’s physical sensation? I was deeply confused, but I shook my head and stood up. “I’m fine. Just haven’t been sleeping well lately. Seeing you in pain made my legs go weak.” Julian squeezed my hand guiltily. “I’m so sorry, babe. You’ve been working so hard, and then you have to run over here to take care of me. You’re exhausted.” Looking at Julian’s caring face, I brushed the thought away. I tucked him in, kissed him goodbye, and went back to work. The afternoon flew by, my mind consumed by emails and design mockups. On my drive home, my phone buzzed. It was Julian calling on FaceTime. His voice was deep, raspy, and incredibly sexy. “Eve… I miss you. Let’s make a baby the second I get out of here, okay?” We had been married for three years, but because of his travels, we didn’t have kids yet. Every time he came back, he was incredibly needy in bed. He had that specific tone in his voice. I knew exactly what he was doing. My face flushed. “You’re bad. You’re still in the hospital. Stop it.” “Who cares? It’s a private suite. The doors are locked.” Julian’s VIP room was soundproof, and the night nurses rarely bothered him unless called. “Come on, Eve. I can’t wait.” He begged me on screen. I sighed, propped my phone up, and did what he asked. Suddenly, I heard heavy breathing from his end. I was about to hang up out of embarrassment when it hit me. A wave of electricity shot through my spine. A strange, intense sensation flooded my entire body. Two minutes later, Julian let out a low groan and finished. He looked at me through the screen. My face was flushed, and I was panting. He smirked. “Wow, Eve. Talk about perfect timing. Looking at your face, were you doing the same thing as me?” My heart hammered against my ribs. That sensation… I had shared his climax. Over the next few weeks, I tested it. I realized that whenever Julian experienced an intense physical reaction, pleasure or pain, I felt it too. Julian often got bruised up during his trips and tried to hide it from me. I decided to keep this sensory link a secret, not wanting to freak him out. Shortly after he was discharged, he couldn’t help himself. He booked a flight to France for a paragliding championship. He told me that ordinary, materialistic pleasures couldn’t satisfy him anymore. He needed to merge with nature, to feel the ultimate ecstasy of body and soul at thousands of feet in the air. I sighed and pinched his arm hard at the airport. “Fine. Just don’t let them wheel you off the plane next time. Stay safe!” Julian laughed, pulling me into a passionate kiss. “Don’t worry, Eve! I’ll come back to you victorious.” My face warmed. Before he left, we had spent days tangled in bed without protection. He really wanted a baby. He promised me that once we had a child, he would retire from extreme sports and focus on our family. Calculating the time his flight would land in Nice, I sent him a FaceTime request. “Julian, did you guys arrive?” It was nighttime for me, but bright and sunny on his side. Valerie was the one who answered his phone. She smiled, wrapping an arm around Julian’s shoulder. “Relax, Eve. I’m taking great care of your hubby. Not a single scratch on him.” Seeing her hold my husband on the other side of the world, replacing my spot, made my stomach twist. They were competing in a tandem paragliding event. The race was being livestreamed. At 10:30 PM, I nervously opened the streaming app on my tablet. When it was finally Julian’s turn to fly, I felt my own heart begin to race. My chest pounded in sync with his excitement. The glider took off smoothly over the lush, green valleys of France. My heart was in my throat as the camera zoomed in on them. With the high-definition lens, I could see both of their faces clearly. They looked ecstatic, almost wild with thrill. I wondered, is this what extreme sports felt like? But then, a sudden, sharp wave of intense pleasure hit my lower body. My thighs clamped shut instantly.

The commentator on screen was talking excitedly about how “synchronized and deeply connected” the two flyers were. My scalp went numb. That sensation… it was completely different from anything I had felt before. It was an overwhelming, electrifying rush. It felt like floating in heaven. But what terrified me was that Julian was in the middle of a live paragliding competition! How could he possibly have… that feeling right now? As the wave of pleasure finally receded, I sweat profusely, staring at the screen until they landed safely. They looked perfectly normal when they touched down. Their clothes were neat, and they calmly accepted the reporter’s interview. But a deep, dark suspicion had taken root in my mind. During the interview, Valerie’s voice carried a slight, trembling breathlessness that she couldn’t hide. “How was the flight, Valerie?” the reporter asked. “Oh… it was… incredible. So intense, so satisfying. I have to thank my partner. His positioning was perfect. It was a flight I’ll never forget.” Her voice shook slightly at the end, heavy with a lingering afterglow. I called Julian to congratulate him on passing the preliminaries. His voice sounded perfectly normal, confident and loud. “See that, babe? Crushed it. The championship is ours.” I swallowed the burning question in my throat. I couldn’t ask him yet. I didn’t want to alert them. After all, I had no physical proof. How could I prove they were having sex while flying in the sky? That night, I couldn’t sleep. I scrolled through the news and found a crazy article about a couple who hooked up on a hot air balloon. Because they got too wild, the man accidentally pushed the woman over the edge. She fell to her death, and the whole thing was caught on their GoPro. The man was charged with manslaughter. The comment section was wild: “People really lose their minds for adrenaline.” “Honestly, what a way to go.” “At least she died happy, literally at the peak of ecstasy.” Looking at the screen, the pit in my stomach grew deeper. Had Julian, my loving husband of three years, really betrayed me? To understand just how much freedom they had up there, I decided to book a flight to France myself. When I showed up at their training base, Julian’s jaw dropped. I acted completely oblivious, throwing my arms around his neck. “Julian! Did you miss me? I took some time off work to surprise you!” Valerie was standing nearby in a skin-tight black athletic suit that showed off her perfect body. She smirked, nudging Julian with her elbow. “Wow, Julian. Your little wife really can’t live without you. Crossing the ocean just to keep an eye on you.” There was no joy on Julian’s face. Instead, he looked annoyed that I had invaded his territory. “What are you doing here, Eve? If you’re bored, go back to the hotel. Treat this as a vacation.” I shook my head, my arms still looped around him. “No, I watched your stream and got super excited. I want to try paragliding too!” Julian froze. He finally noticed I was wearing professional gear. He grabbed my hand, his eyes darkening. “Eve, as a pro, I have to tell you. This is dangerous. Amateurs shouldn’t just jump into it.” I pulled my hand away, acting annoyed. “It’s fine. I’ve watched you do it for years, and I’ll have an instructor with me. What’s the big deal?” “I just want to see what’s so amazing about the view from thousands of feet up… and what kind of ‘thrill’ keeps you away from home for three years.” I really wanted to know. I paid a hefty fee to hire the most handsome instructor at the base, Marcus. He was tall, muscular, with abs practically tearing through his tight t-shirt. The weather was perfect. The wind was gentle, the sky crystal clear. Seeing he couldn’t stop me, Julian sighed. “Eve, these European instructors can be very… hands-on. Just be careful.” I ignored him. Marcus buckled me into the harness and went over the safety instructions. Then, he had me sit in front while he strapped himself directly behind me, wrapping his thick arms around me to control the glider. When the wind picked up, we ran down the grassy slope. “Hold on, beautiful, we’re taking off!” Marcus shouted near my ear. Before I could process his words, I felt something thick and warm press hard against my back. My mind went blank. Before I could react, our feet left the ground, and we soared into the valley.

Marcus’s grip was powerful. He quickly stabilized the glider, and we drifted into a smooth flight. At several hundred feet in the air, the sky looked much bluer than from the ground. Shaking with fear, I forced myself to open my eyes. The buildings and cars below shrank into tiny dots. The cliffs, the ocean, the clouds. It was a breathtaking, dizzying view. No wonder people got addicted to this. It was like flying. But because I was a beginner, we weren’t flying high or far. That didn’t stop Marcus. His hands began to wander. Luckily, I was wearing a thick, one-piece flight suit, and my parachute harness covered my back, so he couldn’t actually touch anything skin-to-skin. But knowing I was completely helpless in mid-air, Marcus got bolder. His hands slid along my waist and hips, squeezing places he shouldn’t have. My screams of fear only seemed to make him more excited. “Oh baby, has anyone ever told you how sexy you are?” he whispered huskily. I kept screaming to drown him out until we finally landed. My legs were like jelly. Julian was waiting at the landing zone. He rushed over. “How was it?” I panted, pretending to be utterly terrified. “It was… intense. But honestly, my mind went blank. I don’t remember a thing.” I played the scared, traumatized wife perfectly. Julian glanced at Marcus, then looked at my fully zipped flight suit and let out a sigh of relief. Valerie crossed her arms, letting out a mocking laugh. “Looks like someone doesn’t have the guts for our world. Julian is a pro, Eve. You need a different kind of stamina to keep up with him.” Julian laughed, lifting me up to carry me down the hill. “So, still want to try it again?” I didn’t answer. My mind was spinning with the realization of what I had just confirmed. This sport was full of dirty little secrets. If two experienced pros wanted to hook up in mid-air for the ultimate thrill, it was entirely possible. That night, back at our rental villa, I suddenly felt dizzy. I ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved into the toilet. Julian rushed in, looking tense. “Eve, is your period late?” I paused. “Actually… yeah. By almost two months. I thought it was just stress from worrying about you.” His eyes lit up. He immediately ran down to the nearest pharmacy and bought a pregnancy test. A minute later, two solid pink lines appeared. I was pregnant. “Oh my god, you’re pregnant?! We only did it a few times! I’m a genius!” “My parents are going to be thrilled! We finally have an heir for the family!” Julian was ecstatic. He cupped my face and kissed me deeply, then lifted me up and spun me around, ignoring my complaints of dizziness. Eventually, I threw up all over his expensive shirt. A few days later, Julian threw a massive party at his family’s luxury hotel in Miami to celebrate my pregnancy. His parents were there, and so was Valerie. Valerie wore a jaw-dropping, blood-red mermaid dress. She looked gorgeous, radiant, like a rose in full bloom. She didn’t come to celebrate. She came to outshine me. Because of my morning sickness, I wasn’t wearing any makeup and wore a simple, loose dress. The moment she walked in, she stole the spotlight. “Congrats, Eve,” she said, her smile flawless. “Now that you’re giving him a baby, you’ll be the perfect Mrs. Brooks. No one can ever take that away from you.” I smiled politely. “Thank you, Valerie. You’re an incredible athlete. I hope you keep reaching new heights in your career.” Julian’s parents were over the moon. Julian was an only child, and since he refused to run the family business, producing an heir was the only thing they cared about. While I was greeting guests, I kept an eye on Julian. He had already slipped away to chat with Valerie. They really were inseparable “partners.” Once the formal toasts were over and the room grew dark, I quietly slipped away and followed Julian. Sure enough, I pulled back a heavy velvet curtain to the terrace and found them wrapped around each other in the dark hallway, kissing passionately. Valerie’s tough-girl act was completely gone. Her dress was pulled down to her elbows as she whimpered. “Now that you’re going to be a dad, you’re going to spend all your time on your wife and kid. You’re going to forget about me.” Julian smirked, grabbing her chin roughly. She let out a soft gasp. “Babe, no matter how many kids I have, I’ll always be your daddy. You can call me that forever, not just in bed.” “Ugh, you’re so bad,” she giggled, kicking him playfully with her heel. “But I have to admit, this whole ‘family man’ vibe makes you even hotter.” They went back to devouring each other’s lips. I let go of the curtain, my hands shaking with rage. I forced myself to take deep, quiet breaths. They had been sleeping together for years. Valerie didn’t want kids to ruin her body, and Julian needed a wife to secure his family’s trust fund. So, they used me.

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I had just stepped out of the ER when a woman blocked my path. “You’re a doctor, right? My son scraped his knee. Get over here and treat him, now.” Before I could even explain, she grabbed the collar of my lab coat and snarled. “Isn’t it a doctor’s job to save lives? You have time to slack off, but no time to treat my son’s wound?” She violently yanked my collar, dragging me toward the wards. “Ma’am, please,” I gasped, trying to pull away. “I’m not a…” But she wasn’t listening. She swung her arm and slapped me right across the face. “Are you blind? Can’t you see my son is bleeding? You’d rather treat those poor losers than help my boy?” “If anything happens to my son, I will ruin you.” “On your knees and apologize to him right now. Or I’ll file a complaint and have your license revoked.” I winced, holding my throbbing cheek. In my five years in this profession, this was the very first time a living person had threatened to report me. “It’s not that I don’t want to treat him,” I muttered. “But I’m a forensic pathologist.”

I had just finished reviewing a deceased patient’s medical history. All I wanted was to get back to the breakroom and collapse onto the bed. But as I turned the corner of the corridor, a figure lunged at me, grabbing my arm in a death grip. I froze, startled by the sudden shriek. I looked up to see a woman in full glam, dripping in designer labels, standing right in front of me with her arms crossed. “You’re a doctor, right? My son scraped his knee, and he’s bleeding everywhere. Get over there and fix him up, now.” Without waiting for a response, she tried to drag me toward the treatment room. I had pulled an all-nighter doing an autopsy. I was completely exhausted. I just wanted to sleep. Besides, as a forensic pathologist, I didn’t treat living patients. I waved my hands, trying to calm her down. “Ma’am, I…” But she cut me off, her voice rising. “You’re wearing a white coat, aren’t you? That makes you a doctor.” “I saw you wandering around the lobby. You’re clearly slacking off!” “What, you have time to play on your phone, but no time to bandage my son?” She sneered, tugging hard at my lab coat. “Isn’t your whole job about saving people? My son is injured, and you’re just going to stand there and do nothing?” My mind went completely blank at her sheer audacity. “Ma’am, I understand you’re worried about your son, but his injury needs to be treated by a clinical doctor. I can’t do that for you.” I thought I was being polite enough, but her eyes flared with rage, and she shoved me hard. Caught off guard, I stumbled back a few steps, my back slamming heavily against the wall. “I don’t care! Treat my son right now!” I stabilized myself, a dull pain radiating from my chest. No matter how good my temper was, I was reaching my boiling point. “I cannot do that.” I flatly refused, pulling out my phone to contact Dr. Mitchell. My refusal lit a fire under Victoria Sterling. “What did you just say?!” She lunged forward, grabbing my collar and shaking me violently. “You’re wearing that coat! It is your duty to treat patients! How dare you pick and choose?!” With a loud rip, the top button of my coat popped off. In the struggle, my phone slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Before I could even react, Victoria raised her hand and delivered a stinging slap to my face. Smack! My cheek burned, and my ears rang. I stumbled, momentarily losing my balance. Victoria glared at me, holding my torn collar as she dragged me forward. “You little bitch, how dare you glare at me?!” “I asked you to wrap a simple wound, and you give me this attitude?!” Her screaming immediately caught the attention of the patient’s families in the hallway. “If my son’s treatment is delayed, can you even afford to compensate us?” “Let me tell you, by refusing to help my son, you have no medical ethics.” “A heartless doctor like you should be kicked out of this hospital.” Staring at her hysterical face, I touched my swollen cheek. I swallowed the humiliation and the stinging pain, slowly lifting my head. In my five years in this field, this was the first time a living person had filed a complaint against me. The fire I had been suppressing finally exploded. “Every single patient of mine is already dead! How do you want me to treat your son?!” Hearing this, Victoria went absolutely ballistic. “How dare you curse my son!” She grabbed my arm, dragging me forcefully toward the VIP ward. “On your knees and apologize to my boy! Otherwise, I’ll make sure you get fired, and you’ll never work in this city again!”

“Stop this right now!” A booming voice echoed from behind us, drawing everyone’s eyes. A middle-aged man in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses came rushing down the hall. The moment Dr. Mitchell, the Chief of the Emergency Department, arrived, Victoria acted as if she had found her savior. She let go of me and threw herself toward him. “Dr. Mitchell! Thank God you’re here! Your doctor is trying to kill us!” “My son is bleeding all over his leg, and she refused to help him! She even cursed him to die!” Dr. Mitchell gently patted Victoria’s back to soothe her. But the moment his gaze shifted to me, all warmth vanished from his eyes. He pulled me to the side, his voice low but dripping with anger. He immediately put all the blame on me. “What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea who Mrs. Sterling is?” “Apologize to her right now! I don’t care what happened, you do not upset a patient’s family!” I stared at him, finding the entire situation laughable. My slapped cheek was still burning. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?” “For the hospital’s reputation!” Dr. Mitchell’s voice flared up before he quickly muffled it. “Mrs. Sterling is a major donor to this hospital! Do you think crossing her will do you any good?” “I was just stating a fact. I’m a forensic.” To him, my explanation was nothing but backtalk. He cut me off sharply. “Cut the crap! Just go and apologize!” Seeing that I didn’t budge, Dr. Mitchell’s face turned incredibly dark. He actually reached out, trying to physically force my head down to make me bow to Victoria. “Apologize to Mrs. Sterling, and we can make this go away!” I violently wrenched myself free from his grip and took a step back. The rage in my chest finally snapped my last thread of sanity. I turned to the crowd gathering in the corridor and shouted at the top of my lungs. “I am not a clinical doctor! I have no legal right to perform medical treatment!” My shout instantly drew the attention of every patient and visitor in the hallway. Dr. Mitchell, completely humiliated by my public defiance, pointed a finger at my face and roared. “I don’t care what kind of doctor you are! If a patient needs help, you do it!” “What department are you from? What’s your ID number? What is your name?!” I let out a cold laugh. “Who made the rule that anyone wearing a white coat works for your hospital?” Seeing the chaos, Victoria immediately started adding fuel to the fire. She covered her face, crying fake tears. “Dr. Mitchell, look at her! I saw her playing on her phone during work hours. But when I asked her to help my boy, she made up a hundred excuses!” “Why is your hospital still keeping a doctor with zero ethics?!” The whispers around us grew louder. “Yeah, I saw her walking around with her phone earlier. She was definitely slacking.” “Young doctors these days have no sense of responsibility.” “The kid was bleeding. How hard is it to put on a bandage?” The wave of accusations washed over me. Dr. Mitchell’s face was practically purple. He felt his authority being challenged like never before. “Fine. Great!” He laughed out of sheer anger and delivered his final threat. “I am reporting this to the board right now! You are fired!” “And I’m not done with you! I will make sure you can never find a job in the entire city of New York!” Victoria stood beside him, a triumphant, smug smirk plastered on her face. Watching their pathetic, self-righteous display, my heart grew cold. The fury and resentment boiled within me, but I forced myself to calm down. Suddenly, I smiled. An apology? That would be way too easy on them. If I didn’t blow this up today and make them lose face in front of everyone, I would be doing a disservice to the slap I just took. Under their bewildered stares, I straightened my torn collar and walked toward them step by step. “Fine,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was crystal clear. “I’ll treat him.”

Dr. Mitchell and Victoria froze. The murmurs in the hallway died down instantly. The smug grin on Victoria’s face stiffened. She probably hadn’t expected me to “submit” so quickly. “Smart move,” she scoffed, lifting her chin arrogantly as she led the way. Dr. Mitchell gave me a warning glare, as if saying, See? You should have done this from the start. I was brought into the VIP suite. The crowd of onlookers followed, crowding around the door to watch the drama unfold. The moment I walked in, I saw the “critically injured” child. He was lounging on the bed with his legs crossed, happily playing on his iPad. On his knee was a tiny, cartoon Band-Aid. There wasn’t a single trace of pain on his face. Seeing me look at her son, Victoria immediately went back into victim mode. She pointed at the Band-Aid and screamed at me. “Look! Look at how badly hurt my son is!” “He was bleeding so much! You heartless bitch, you almost made us miss the golden window for treatment!” Her voice was so tragic, you’d think her son had lost a leg rather than scraped his skin. Hearing his mother scream, the boy didn’t look scared at all. Instead, he jumped off the bed. He ran over to me and kicked my shin as hard as he could. A sharp pain shot up my leg. I frowned. “Bad lady! How dare you make my mommy mad!” he whined. “I’m gonna have my daddy kick you out of here!” Victoria didn’t stop him. Instead, she patted his head lovingly, her eyes full of pride. “Good boy. Look at you protecting Mommy.” Watching this absurd scene, the light in my eyes grew colder. I crouched down, grabbed the boy’s ankle, and said coldly, “Don’t move. Let me examine you.” Before my hand even brushed his skin, the kid jumped as if he had been electrocuted. He pulled his foot back and burst into a hysterical, earsplitting wail. “She hurt me! Mommy! She hurt me on purpose!” Victoria’s anger flared instantly. She rushed over like a madwoman and kicked me squarely in the chest, knocking me to the floor. “You bitch! How dare you take revenge on my son!” The back of my head hit the cold tile floor hard. For a second, my vision went black. The pain made it hard to breathe. Supporting myself against the floor, I slowly stood up and brushed the dust off my lab coat. I looked at the boy, who was still faking his tears, and let out a freezing laugh. “Mrs. Sterling, if I had come any later, I’m afraid your son’s wound would have already healed itself.” The moment those words left my mouth, Victoria exploded. “What do you mean by that?! You just don’t want to treat my son!” Dr. Mitchell’s face was as black as coal. He pointed at me, trembling with rage. Victoria pointed at my nose and cried to the crowd outside. “Everyone, look! This is the kind of doctor we have today! She refuses to help a child and makes excuses!” “She’s trying to hurt my son!” The crowd was completely swayed by her. They stared at me with pure condemnation. “Oh my god, how can a doctor put her hands on a child?” “Exactly. She made a mistake first, and now she’s taking it out on a kid!” Victoria smirked, walking up to me and looking down at me like a queen. “Let me tell you, you are treating him today, whether you like it or not!” “Bandage my son’s wound right now! Keep doing it until he is satisfied!” I looked at her triumphant look, and then at the disgusted looks of the crowd. Suddenly, I found the whole thing hilarious. Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my official ID case. Under everyone’s stunned gaze, I flipped it open. The black leather cover, the gold state seal, and the bold letters: Harper Vance, Forensic Pathologist, State Medical Examiner’s Office. “It’s not that I don’t want to treat your son,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it carried clearly in the silent VIP room. “But I am a forensic pathologist.” I paused, my gaze slowly sweeping over Victoria and her fake-crying son. “The only patients I handle are dead bodies.” “Are you sure you want me to treat your son?”

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Three months after my wife gave birth, I suddenly gained the ability to see the true owner of every object. The sofa was mine. The TV was mine. Even the potted plants on the balcony were mine. Excited, I looked at the baby crib my wife had just bought. There was a bold, floating label on it: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” Who the hell was Xavier Vance? I had never heard that name in my life. I tried to comfort myself. Maybe it was a secondhand purchase, and the seller on eBay forgot to peel off the label. But in the days that followed, more and more things belonging to Xavier Vance started showing up in my house. The luxury perfume my wife brought home, the extra matching toothbrush in the bathroom. Even the haute couture dress she wore to work every day had a label that read: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” That night, she came back from a business trip and leaned her exhausted head on my shoulder. “Leo, there’s really no place like home.” I stared at her. A massive, glowing label floated over her entire body: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” I gently patted her back. “Let’s not keep Xavier Vance’s things in this house anymore, okay?”

Sienna’s hand, which was wrapping around mine, froze mid-air. She still carried the chill of the outside air. Her shirt collar was slightly creased, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Before, if she came home like this, my heart would ache for her. I would make her hot soup. I would tell the nanny to take the baby to the nursery. I would whisper, “Go get some sleep, Sienna. I’ll handle Jonah.” But now, I could only stare at the words hovering over her chest. “Owner: Xavier Vance.” It wasn’t just her dress. It wasn’t just her watch. It was her entire person. Sienna slowly let go of me, her jaw tensing. “Who did you just say?” I looked her in the eye. “Xavier Vance.” The living room fell dead silent. From the nursery, our son Jonah let out a faint cry, and the nanny quietly hushed him. Sienna quickly forced a smile. But it was as dry as paper. “Are you just tired lately, Leo? I haven’t been sleeping well post-partum, and you’ve been stressing out with me. It’s easy to start overthinking when you’re exhausted.” She reached out to feel my forehead. I took a step back. Her hand froze in mid-air. I pointed toward the nursery. “Where did that crib come from?” “I bought it.” “Where’s the receipt?” Her brow furrowed. “It’s just a crib, Leo. Why are you checking receipts?” “I asked you, where is the receipt?” Her expression darkened. “Leo, the baby just fell asleep. Do you really have to start a fight in the middle of the night?” Her words almost made me laugh out of pure anger. It had been three months since Sienna gave birth. I was the one waking up multiple times every night. When her breasts were engorged and she had a high fever, I was the one who carried her to the hospital. She was always on business trips. She was always in meetings. She was always busy. And now, simply asking where a crib came from made me the one “picking a fight.” Sienna’s father, Mike, walked out of the guest room with a robe thrown over his shoulders. He looked highly annoyed. “What’s going on now? The baby is crying, and you two are still arguing?” Sienna rubbed her temples. “It’s nothing, Mike.” But Mike turned his glare on me. “Leo, I’m not trying to take sides here, but Sienna works incredibly hard to put food on the table. She just had a baby. You’re the one staying home, so you need to be more supportive. Stop being so paranoid.” I looked up at him. The diamond ring on his finger caught the light. Floating right above it were the words: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” Suddenly, I had nothing to say. So it wasn’t just Sienna. Even her father had accepted gifts from Xavier Vance. Mike grew uncomfortable under my gaze and quickly hid his hand behind his back. In that split second, I knew. He knew exactly who Xavier Vance was. I asked quietly, “Mike, that ring looks expensive. Who bought it for you?” Mike’s face flushed. “I bought it myself.” Sienna stepped in front of him. “Leo, don’t take your anger out on Mike.” I stared at her. “I’m just asking who Xavier Vance is.” This time, she didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause, she whispered, “He’s an investor in our company.” “He’s been helping me a lot lately, and he sent some gifts. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to overthink things.” How thoughtful. Even her lies were packaged as “protecting my feelings.” I walked to the nursery door. My son, Jonah, was lying in that light-wood crib. His tiny hands were balled into fists, and his face was red from crying. Above the headboard, those words floated silently: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” I turned back to Sienna. “Throw that crib out tomorrow.” Her brow twitched. “The baby is sleeping fine. Why do you have to make a scene?” “My son is not sleeping in another man’s things.” Mike immediately raised his voice. “Leo, are you insane? That’s an expensive, imported crib! You’re just going to throw it away?” I stared straight at Sienna, pronouncing every word clearly. “I’m not the one who’s insane.” “Xavier Vance’s things have crossed the line.” Just as she was about to speak, her phone rang. The screen lit up. Caller ID: Xavier Vance.

I stared at the name and let out a cold laugh. Sienna reached out to decline the call. But I snatched the phone first. “Answer it.” “Let me hear what kind of urgent, professional business an investor has with you in the middle of the night.” Sienna yanked the phone out of my hand. She didn’t use force, but she was fast. Fast enough to show how terrified she was that I might actually answer it. The call timed out. Mike immediately tried to smooth things over. “It’s business. You shouldn’t poke your nose into things you don’t understand.” I looked at him. “Mike, you seem to know so much. Did Xavier Vance teach you that?” Mike’s face stiffened. Sienna lowered her voice, warning, “Leo, that’s enough.” “Enough?” I looked around the house, seeing all the things that belonged to Xavier Vance. The crib, the perfume, Mike’s ring. Even the brand-new humidifier on the coffee table had Xavier Vance’s name floating over it. This house suddenly felt completely foreign to me. The next morning, Sienna personally dismantled the crib. She promised she would order a new one. Mike stood nearby, muttering about how dramatic and troublesome I was. I ignored him. Just as the wooden boards were being moved to the door, a delivery courier arrived. “Sienna? I have a local delivery from Mr. Vance.” The courier handed over a sleek, white gift box. Floating above it were the words: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” Sienna’s expression shifted. “Give it to me.” But I tore the packaging open before she could reach it. Inside was a set of baby silver bracelets. If you didn’t know where they came from, they would look like a very decent, elegant gift. But engraved on the inside were two words: Jonah. My son’s name. I had never made his name public. I looked up at Sienna. “How does he know our baby’s name is Jonah?” Mike quickly chimed in. “Sienna probably just mentioned it casually during business chats.” I stared at him. “Do you usually discuss your grandson’s name with corporate investors, Mike?” Mike shut his mouth. Sienna reached for the box. “I’ll handle this.” I didn’t let go. “Handle it how? By thanking him on my behalf? Telling him not to spend so much next time?” Her forehead creased with deep frustration. “Do you have to be this sarcastic and bitter?” Suddenly, I threw the silver bracelets onto the hardwood floor. A sharp, metallic clang echoed through the room. Mike roared, “Leo! You’re out of your mind!” The silver bracelets rolled to Sienna’s feet. She looked down at them but didn’t pick them up. I said coldly, “My son doesn’t wear things bought by outsiders.” Sienna closed her eyes. “Xavier Vance is not an outsider.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she froze. The living room became dead silent. I looked at her, my heart sinking inch by inch into a dark abyss. “Not an outsider?” She wanted to backpedal, but I didn’t want to hear it anymore. I turned, walked into the nursery, and scooped Jonah up into my arms. Sienna blocked the doorway. “Where are you going?” “Back to my parents’ house.” She stepped closer to block me. “The baby stays here.” I looked up, my eyes cold. “Say that again.” Her voice was tight and low. “He’s too small. Traveling is bad for him.” I looked down at Jonah. He was a tiny, soft bundle. There was no label hovering over him. He didn’t belong to anyone. He was his own person. But the new blanket wrapped around him had a glaring, painful line of text floating above it: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” A wave of icy chills washed over me. Xavier Vance’s reach had already wrapped itself around my son. That afternoon, while Mike was taking a nap, the nanny quietly slipped a business card into my hand. “Leo, I shouldn’t be saying this, but you need to be careful.” The card read: Aura Haven Premium Maternity & Infant Care Center. Managing Director: Xavier Vance. My fingers clenched around the card so hard they turned white. The nanny whispered, “I was sent here by that center. Sienna told me to only follow Mr. Vance’s instructions.” I looked at her. “Do you know who I am?” Her face flushed. “You… you are Sienna’s husband.” “Then why don’t you listen to me?” She looked down, unable to meet my eyes. “You weren’t the one who signed the contract.” I let out a bitter laugh. So in this house, I couldn’t even get the nanny to listen to me.

I called my father. The moment the call connected, Mike barged into the room and snatched the phone right out of my hand. “Are you trying to run to your daddy and complain again?” I stood up. “Give me my phone back.” Mike hid the phone behind his back. “Even if the kid has your last name, he is still a part of our family. You can’t just run off to your parents’ place every time you throw a tantrum.” I reached out to grab it. He stepped back aggressively. I was a grown man, but he was an elder, so I couldn’t use brute force. In the scuffle, my foot caught on something. I tripped and slammed hard into the bedframe. The sharp pain made my vision go black for a second. Jonah woke up from the impact, and his loud, startled cries instantly filled the room. Sienna walked through the front door just in time to see me clutching the bedframe in pain, while Mike held my phone. Her expression changed. “Mike! What are you doing?” Mike immediately played the victim. “What did I do? He wanted to take the baby away, and I was just trying to stop him! Is that a crime now?” Sienna walked over to support me. “Where did you get hurt?” I shoved her hand away. “Give me my phone.” She took it from Mike but didn’t hand it over to me right away. “Leo, we need to talk.” I stared at her. “Talk about Xavier Vance?” Her face darkened. “Do you have to drag him into literally everything?” “Am I the one dragging him in?” I pointed toward the nursery, my voice shaking with rage. “The crib is his. The blanket is his. The nanny is his. The ring on your father’s finger is his. Even you belong to him!” “Sienna, tell me. What else in this house doesn’t belong to him?” A flash of panic finally crossed her eyes. It wasn’t out of guilt. It was because I had hit the nail right on the head. That night, she was on the phone in her study. The door wasn’t fully closed. Holding Jonah, I stood in the hallway and heard her lowered, hushed voice. “Keep the evaluation report on hold. Don’t let him find out.” I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying. Sienna interrupted irritably, “Xavier, don’t push me.” “I told you, I will handle the baby’s situation.” My entire body went rigid. Jonah shifted in my arms, and I instinctively covered his ears. In the study, she spoke again. “The guardianship agreement is just a backup plan. I don’t actually plan on executing it.” Backup plan. Those words felt like a needle stabbing straight into my throat. I took a step back, and my heel bumped against a storage bin. The study door swung open instantly. Sienna stood in the doorway, her face turning pale in a second. I stared at her. “What evaluation report?” “And who is the baby you’re planning to ‘handle’?” She took a step toward me. “Leo, it’s not what you think.” I backed away. “Then what is it?” Her jaw clenched. “The company is facing a massive crisis. Xavier invested a lot of money to save it. He is a control freak; he likes to arrange everything in advance.” “And?” “I never wanted to hurt you.” I burst out laughing. “You guys are doing a psychological evaluation on me. A stay-at-home dad taking care of our baby. You are secretly evaluating me. You placed a spy nanny to watch my every move, and you are preparing a guardianship transfer agreement.” “Sienna, and you have the audacity to call that ‘not wanting to hurt me’?” Her face was white as a sheet. At 3:00 AM, while she was deep asleep, I quietly took the keys from her coat pocket. I unlocked the safe. Inside, there was only a single manila envelope. Floating over the envelope were the words: “Owner: Xavier Vance.” I tore it open. The first document was an equity pledge agreement. The second was a personal loan contract. The title of the third document made my blood boil. Pre-Divorce Child Custody and Settlement Plan. The clauses were written with absolute precision. After the divorce, our son Jonah would be placed in the sole custody of his mother, Sienna. Leo is suffering from emotional instability and is deemed unfit to care for an infant independently. And at the very bottom, there was a handwritten note. As the sole sponsor of Jonah’s growth trust fund, Mr. Xavier Vance reserves the right to participate in the child’s education, healthcare, and lifestyle arrangements. My fingers trembled so violently I could barely hold the paper. He didn’t just want Sienna. He wanted my son.

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My brother’s heart stopped. I called my billionaire husband twenty-seven times. He picked up on the last one. “A hundred thirty-six grand? I’m not a charity. That’s not what my money’s for.” “Grant, please. The doctor says any longer and there’s brain damage. I’ll pay it all back.” He laughed. “Your brother’s been a money pit for years. Figure it out yourself.” Behind me, someone in the OR shouted, “Defib ready.” My knees almost gave out. “He’s twenty-two years old. I’m begging you.” “Begging doesn’t change facts. Adults need to learn to carry their own weight.” He hung up. A few seconds later, a GoFundMe setup link appeared in my messages. Then a notification. Donor: Grant Elliston. $10. Comment: Adults need to learn to carry their own weight. I stared at the ten dollars on my screen and crouched outside the OR, shaking so hard I couldn’t feel my legs. At two-thirty in the morning, I went back to the Elliston penthouse to grab Ethan’s old medical records. No lights on. But Grant’s voice drifted out from his study. Soft. Warm. A tone I hadn’t heard directed at me in years. “Order a Panamera for Lena. The pink one. Four hundred K. Put it on the company card.” A pause. “She rode one of those rental bikes today and fell off. Scraped her knee a little.” Another pause. “Girls shouldn’t have scars. Get her a driver from now on. That car picks her up and drops her off every day.” Lena Harper. An intern who’d been at his company for seventeen days. Then, still on the phone, his voice dropped even softer. “The Swiss rehab center. Skip the waitlist, pay for the VIP fast-track. Her ankle got a little scratch. Book the scar treatment too while we’re at it.” He hung up. Turned. Saw me standing in the hallway. He didn’t flinch. He smiled. “See? That’s how it’s done. Adults handle their own problems.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, showed me. “I donated to your GoFundMe too. Ten bucks. You’re my wife, so I figured I’d throw in some support.” I looked at him. “Ten dollars?” He shrugged. “It’s not about the amount. It’s the thought that counts.” Ten dollars. The thought that counts. I asked quietly, “And Lena? She scraped her ankle. You booked her a Swiss rehab spot and a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car.” His eyes went cold. “Lena is different. Her sister saved my life. I owe the Harpers everything.” “So Ethan’s life has to make way for her scraped knee?” His voice turned sharp. “Stop dragging Ethan into everything. Nora Harper died in that fire. Can your family stop using sickness to bleed me dry?” The words landed like a punch to the chest. He must have noticed something on my face because he pulled out the first-aid kit, peeled off a bandage, and pressed it over my cracked fingernail. “Pain is pain. Don’t turn it into an excuse to take from people.” Years ago, Elliston Corp nearly went bankrupt. Grant collapsed with a stomach hemorrhage. I sat beside his hospital bed for three days and three nights. My phone buzzed nonstop. Creditors. Every single one. I called everyone I knew. Begged every favor I could. Wired money piece by piece while he lay unconscious. When he woke up, he held my hand and said, “Vivian, I owe you for the rest of my life.” But later, he gave his guilt to the Harpers. His patience to Lena. All I got were lectures about being a responsible adult. I pulled my hand away. Went into the bedroom. Came back with the divorce papers. This agreement I’d drafted months ago. Revised again and again. Since the first time he ditched me for Lena’s birthday dinner. Since the first time he called Ethan “a long-term liability.” Tonight, the line snapped. I signed my name. Vivian Ashford. My hand didn’t shake.

The next morning, I didn’t go home. I went to the law firm on the ground floor of the Elliston Corp building. Mr. Holden flipped through the documents. “You’re sure you want to file in court?” “Yes. Mediation is fine too, but I’m not dragging this out.” At ten-forty, Grant texted. [Lena has her ankle evaluation today. She’s emotional. Stop making trouble. We’ll talk tonight at home.] I stared at it for a while. Then typed back. [Talk about the divorce. Contact my lawyer.] He called immediately. I declined and turned off my phone. At the hospital, Ethan was awake. Oxygen mask over his face. He saw me and his eyes lit up. “Sis.” I leaned in. “Does it hurt?” He shook his head. “Did Grant come?” I tucked the blanket around him. “He’s busy.” The light in Ethan’s eyes dimmed. Then he smiled again, quick as reflex. “He’s a big deal. Busy makes sense.” My throat closed up. Ethan always liked Grant. He used to say Grant was like a lighthouse. That as long as you could see even a little bit of light, you could hold on. But I know now. That’s not a lighthouse. It’s a spotlight. It reaches the Harpers. It reaches the boardroom. It reaches everyone worth being seen with. It just never reaches us. That afternoon, the hospital called about the remaining balance. I went to a pawnshop. Laid everything on the counter. My mother’s necklace. My father’s old pocket watch. The diamond ring Grant gave me on our wedding day. The owner looked at me. “Emergency?” “Life or death.” He quoted low. I didn’t negotiate. When I swiped the payment, my phone buzzed. A bank alert. [Your supplementary card has been restricted. Transaction categories blocked: medical institutions, pawn services, large transfers.] A few minutes later, Grant’s assistant called. “Mrs. Elliston, Mr. Elliston believes you’ve been emotionally unstable lately and may make impulsive purchases. He’s placed a temporary spending restriction for your protection.” “He says you need to learn financial planning.” I gripped my phone. “Tell him I’ll be forwarding this to my lawyer.” Half an hour later, my GoFundMe went down. Platform notice: Your campaign has been flagged for exaggerating medical conditions and leveraging a public figure’s name for traffic. Under review. Customer service said a verified corporate account filed the complaint. Reason: I was exploiting my status as Mrs. Elliston to manipulate public sympathy and damage company reputation. I stared at that ten-dollar donation still sitting in the account. Grant wouldn’t save me. And he wouldn’t let anyone else save me either. That evening, he showed up at the hospital. A medical loan packet in his hand. “Good terms. Sign it and the money hits your account today.” He set it on the table. “And delete the GoFundMe.” “Why?” “You’re Mrs. Elliston. Public fundraising makes the company look bad.” “Ethan is dying and you care about how it looks?” His jaw tightened. “I care about you not turning yourself into a beggar. Pawnshops, loans, crowdfunding. Any of those work. Why do you always have to come to me?” “Because you’re my husband.” He scoffed. “A husband isn’t an ATM.” “And a wife isn’t a line item you get to freeze.” His face went cold. “You’ve gotten real mouthy lately, Vivian.” I said quietly, “I used to think if I just held it in long enough, you’d feel bad for me. Turns out all it did was make you more comfortable.” I picked up the loan packet. Tore it apart. Page by page. “I’ll figure it out myself.” Grant stared at me. “Then remember this. Don’t call me at two a.m. crying and begging again.” He left. A while later, Ethan woke up. He looked at the shredded paper in the trash can, then spoke. “Sis.” “The fire. Six years ago.” His voice was barely there. “The one who ran in and pulled him out. It wasn’t Nora Harper.” “It was me.”

The water cup slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. “What did you just say?” Ethan’s voice was thin. “Six years ago. The one who went into that fire and pulled him out. It was me.” I couldn’t move. After that fire, everyone said Nora Harper saved Grant’s life. Nora died. Grant took the Harper family as his lifelong debt. And Ethan came home with a fever that wouldn’t break. Coughing blood. His heart damaged. He told me it was just smoke inhalation. He told me not to tell Grant. I grabbed his hand. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He smiled, faint and tired. “Sis, you’d just married him.” “If I said something, it would’ve looked like blackmail.” “Nora was dead. You can’t argue with a dead person.” My throat burned. “So you kept it secret for six years?” “Wasn’t planning on forever.” He stared at the ceiling. “Just feels like it’s too late now.” I pressed my hand over his mouth. “Shut up.” He smiled with his eyes. “Sis. I want some juice.” I went to the nurses’ station to get him something. Right as I turned the corner, a voice called out behind me. “Vivian.” Lena Harper stood by the elevator. A tiny piece of gauze on her ankle. A VIP rehab center bag in her hand. I stared at that little square of gauze, and something bitter rose in my throat. Ethan was lying in a regular ward waiting for surgery funds. She had a paper cut on her ankle and was taking up a VIP rehab spot. I stopped. Looked at her. “Six years ago. The warehouse fire. Did Nora actually go in?” Lena’s face shifted for a split second. Then she bit her lip. “Vivian, my sister Nora is dead. Don’t talk about her like that.” Her voice wasn’t loud. But it was just loud enough for the people nearby to hear. Grant’s call came right on cue. Lena picked up. Her voice trembled, soft and wounded. “Mr. Elliston, I’m fine. Vivian just asked me something about Nora.” A few seconds later, she held the phone out to me. Grant’s voice cut through like a blade. “Vivian, you went after Lena?” “I asked about the fire. What really happened that day.” “I warned you. Don’t touch Nora’s name. She’s dead. Do you really have to drag a dead woman into your scheming?” Scheming. Always scheming. I suddenly didn’t feel like explaining anymore. “Grant. If one day you find out you’ve been kneeling at the wrong grave this whole time. Repaying the wrong debt. Protecting the wrong person. What would you do?” He scoffed. “That day won’t come. I know what I know. Nora saved me.” He hung up. Lena took her phone back. Tears still on her face, but her eyes were steady now. No fear in them at all. “Vivian, some things just aren’t yours to take. You should accept that.” I looked at her. “Things that are taken always burn eventually.” That night, I went back to the penthouse to get my documents. Lena was on the couch, her foot propped up on a cushion. Grant crouched in front of her, carefully peeling off the gauze. The moment she saw me, Lena pulled her foot back. “Vivian, don’t get the wrong idea. Mr. Elliston just said the hospital ointment wasn’t good enough.” Grant didn’t correct her. I walked past them into the bedroom. Took out my marriage certificate, the prenup file, and the copy of the contract from when I mortgaged my parents’ house to bail out Elliston Corp years ago. Grant followed me in. Shut the door behind him. “You’re really taking this to court?” “Yes.” He grabbed my wrist. “Ethan is still in the hospital. You blow things up with me now, who’s going to back you up?” I looked up at him. “I don’t need your safety net. I just need you to stop stepping on me.” From the living room, Lena’s voice floated in. Soft. Helpless. “Mr. Elliston, I think my ankle hurts again.” Grant let go of my wrist. Almost like reflex. And in that moment, the last sound inside me went quiet. I went back to the hospital that night. There was a note on Ethan’s pillow. His handwriting shaky and uneven. [Sis, if I don’t make it, don’t beg him again.] [I just want you to be okay.] I crumpled the paper in my fist and sat there until morning.

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