Author: Momo Chan

The Paris atelier delivered three limited-edition handmade lace gowns. The butler came to ask my godfather-fiancé how the dresses should be distributed between the lady of the house and Miss Ophelia. Silas was helping Ophelia try on a pigeon-blood ruby ring. “One goes into my private collection. The other two are for Ophelia—she can alternate them at next month’s family cocktail.” The butler hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Sir, the madam still doesn’t have a gown for the tenth anniversary.” Silas’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second, as if only now remembering I existed. “Cut a scrap of leftover lace from one of Ophelia’s skirts. Make her a veil or something.” A scrap of leftover fabric. That was the only dignity I’d been granted in ten years of marriage into House Costa. He blamed me for not giving up my spot in the Milan program all those years ago. Ophelia had missed what he called her springboard into the fashion world because of it. So he’d parked me in the farthest wing of the estate, like something too useless to keep but too much trouble to throw away. Later, he was shot in an ambush by a rival family. On his deathbed, he gripped my wrist and asked if I regretted all those years with him. Outside the hospital room, the season’s couture delivery arrived. As always—one piece for his vault, two for Ophelia. What they left me was a discarded ribbon the tailor had trimmed off. I closed my eyes and didn’t answer him. When I opened them again, I was back ten years in the past. House Costa’s engagement banquet—the one that shook the entire New York underground. The emcee held up the pigeon-blood ruby ring, gestured toward the dark, frozen lake, and smiled. “Whoever dives down and retrieves the key will become the future Mrs. Costa.” In my last life, I nearly drowned in that lake, all to make him look at me. This time, I stepped back half a pace and watched the ring sink silently into the abyss. As it dropped, the lake’s surface barely rippled—one faint dark ring, and nothing more. The cheering on the shore died instantly. The emcee stood with his microphone raised, smile frozen on his face, then turned toward the control booth. A woman’s voice leaked through the backup monitor feed. “Get her to move forward a little—the camera can’t catch her face.” The voice was soft. But the control booth was half a step behind me. I heard every word. Ophelia. In my last life, I hadn’t caught that line. All I’d heard was the crowd screaming. “Jump! Evelyn, you’ve chased him for years—don’t tell me you’re chickening out now!” That night the lake water flooded my nose and mouth. I clawed the key off the bottom and dragged myself ashore with three fingernails torn clean off. Silas draped his coat over Ophelia’s shoulders and said she’d been frightened. Now the wind cut across the ice toward me. I stood on the bank and didn’t move. Silas finally looked my way. Black three-piece suit. Silver cufflinks. Those cufflinks were the anniversary gift I’d given him last year. He’d called them too plain. Never worn them once. Tonight he’d put them on only because Ophelia had tossed out an offhand compliment—”Those actually suit you.” “Evelyn.” When he said my name, his tone was low and flat, like someone reminding a disobedient dog not to embarrass him in public. Ophelia stood wrapped in a white fur stole, the corners of her eyes reddened just so—perfectly calibrated distress. “Evelyn, are you afraid of water? If you are, it’s fine—Silas won’t blame you.” As she finished, her fingers settled lightly on Silas’s cuff. He didn’t pull away. He just looked at me with that detached indifference, voice as casual as if he were deciding tonight’s dinner. “It’s just a game. Don’t be a killjoy.” Just a game. A frozen lake, a key, a human life—all to prove whether I deserved to stand beside him. I stepped back half a pace. My heel crushed a thin shell of ice. The sound was barely there. The emcee scrambled to smooth things over. “Miss Evelyn, the divers are standing by—Silas just wanted to give you an unforgettable proposal.” Another sound leaked from the monitor. “Keep the divers back. It looks better if she gets it herself.” I turned toward the control booth. A backup camera sat there, its red recording light glowing, aimed squarely at the lakeshore. So in my last life, while I was thrashing in that water, someone onshore had already dialed in the focus. Silas glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.” Ophelia gave a delicate little cough. Silas immediately shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. I stood in the lake wind, shoulders bare, the hem of my gown soaked through with snowmelt, ankles numb with cold. A server approached with a blanket—and was stopped dead by a single look from Silas. “She chose this herself.” I’d heard that line for ten years. When I fell ill from the cold—I’d chosen it myself. When I took the blame meant for Ophelia—I’d chosen it myself. When I spent a decade waiting in an empty house—that was my choice too. This time, I turned and walked toward the banquet hall. Behind me, Silas’s voice finally carried a blade of frost. “Evelyn, if you walk out of here today, don’t come crawling back.” A server caught up to me, pressing a glass of hot mulled wine into my hands and whispering, “Ma’am, the master had the kitchen prepare this for you.” My fingers paused. The next moment, another server rushed past carrying a silver tray—hot mulled wine, a cashmere throw, a thermometer, a hand warmer. “Hurry. Miss Ophelia had a fright. The master wants to feed her the wine himself.” I looked down at the crystal glass in my hand. So even his concern came in tiers. I set the mulled wine back on the tray. I didn’t drink it. Outside the estate, the frozen lake lay dark and still. That diamond ring rested at the bottom, just like me in my last life. But this time around, no one could force me to dive down and fetch it.

The fireplace in the banquet hall was roaring. I’d barely sat down when Silas’s personal secretary appeared. “Ma’am, the master says the press and the family are all here. Would you please change into a gown? The group photo is in ten minutes.” My lap was damp with the soaked hem of my dress. My calves were stiff and aching. “Where’s my gown?” I asked. The secretary’s gaze flickered. She led me to the cloakroom. The door swung open onto two rows of garments. On the left—all Ophelia’s. Champagne, white, red, with backup wraps arranged by color palette. On the right hung a single black dress. The waistline had been re-tailored, the stitching hidden inside the lining where no one would notice. The secretary murmured, “The master said you’re not particular. This one should do for now.” I reached out and touched the waist. The measurements were exact—he remembered my size. He just remembered it and still gave me someone else’s castoff. Ophelia’s voice drifted from the doorway. “Evelyn, don’t blame Silas. I had someone alter that dress ahead of time—I was worried you wouldn’t have anything that fit on such short notice.” She walked in. The white gown she wore looked like fresh snow, its hem made from the very handmade lace the Paris atelier had produced only three of this year. “So the black one is what you passed over?” Ophelia’s face went pale for an instant, then the wounded expression resurfaced. “I just thought black was more dignified. More you.” Silas followed her in, brow furrowed. “Evelyn, Ophelia went out of her way to think of you. Drop the passive-aggressive act.” “I’m not wearing it.” The cloakroom fell silent. Silas stepped closer. His gaze landed on my wrists, which had gone blue-white with cold. He reached out and touched one. The gesture was light. “Just change into the dress. You’ll make yourself sick.” I caught the scent of cedarwood on him. I used to be intoxicated by that smell. In my last life, the moment he came even slightly closer, I could swallow every grievance whole and forget it ever existed. Ophelia laughed softly from beside us. “Silas, don’t go soft too soon. She hasn’t signed the statement yet. Once she’s feeling better, she’ll say we bullied her again.” Silas’s hand froze midair. I went rigid too. So that small show of warmth was meant to coax me into swallowing tonight’s humiliation and helping them save face. Silas turned his head, voice dropping. “Ophelia.” Ophelia immediately lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” But the words had already landed—a needle, puncturing the last membrane of hope inside me. “Take the photo without me.” Silas’s expression went cold. “Evelyn, don’t push your luck.” I pulled on my own coat and opened the cloakroom door. Outside, the reporters were already waiting. The family watched us. The lights hit me. Every lens swung in my direction. I didn’t flinch. A half-wet gown, a worn coat, a face white with cold—I walked step by step down the red-carpeted corridor. Behind me, Ophelia wore the couture dress that should have belonged to the evening’s bride-to-be, her arm linked through Silas’s. Camera flashes erupted like lightning. Someone whispered, “Who exactly is tonight’s leading lady?” Silas didn’t answer. I didn’t look back. The answer had been in front of everyone all along.

The next morning, a black sedan from House Costa pulled up outside my door. When Silas walked in, he was holding a document. He didn’t ask if my fever had broken. He simply placed the papers on the coffee table. “Sign.” My mother held a bowl of medicine, the porcelain spoon clinking against the rim—harsh and loud. “Silas, Evelyn’s fever hit thirty-nine degrees last night. Can’t this wait until she’s recovered?” Silas’s voice was level, without the slightest tremor. “I’m sorry, but this can’t be delayed. The joint project between House Roth and House Costa is already underway. I don’t want the media running with this any longer.” I picked up the statement. The ice-lake segment of the engagement banquet was a mutually agreed-upon interactive element. Miss Evelyn left early due to health reasons. Mr. Silas was attentive and caring throughout. Miss Ophelia was merely an invited guest. The public is asked not to engage in malicious speculation. “I have to clear her name?” Silas looked at me. “She’s innocent.” “And what about me?” He paused. “You didn’t go into the lake last night.” So I wasn’t innocent. Unless I’d followed their script and nearly died, I was the one who’d ruined everything. A soft knock at the door. Ophelia came in carrying a gift. She was dressed simply today, eyes red-rimmed, as though she hadn’t slept. “Evelyn, I came to apologize.” She opened the box. Inside lay a silk scarf. The same one she’d used to block the wind last night. She brought me something she’d already worn and expected gratitude. “I only wore this once. You have such fair skin—it would look even better on you.” Silas watched her, his voice softening. “You’re not well. Why make the trip?” Ophelia shook her head, her tone aggrieved. “Evelyn misunderstands me. It weighs on my heart.” My mother’s hand rested on the rim of the medicine bowl and didn’t let go for a long time. House Roth’s cash flow for the month was still pinned in the ledger on her desk. If House Costa pulled their three-billion investment, hundreds of names would be left dangling in the void. In my last life, it was this kind of silence that made me bow my head again and again. Every time House Costa stripped away another piece of my dignity, I told myself: House Roth still needs to survive. Silas pushed the pen toward me. “Sign it, and I’ll send the family physician over to check on you.” He could always stab the knife in and then offer a bandage, expecting me to feel grateful for his mercy. I picked up the pen. My mother gripped my wrist, eyes reddening. I patted her hand gently. I signed my name. The pen tip came down like a sentence—ten years of it, from a life already lived.

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My sister told me more than once that she wanted to find a boyfriend like my godfather’s fiancé. Then she fell in love—flew twenty-five hours straight just to celebrate some man’s birthday. I opened my mouth to talk her out of it, but she looked up at me and shook her head. “You don’t get it, sis. Every year, someone else is there for his birthday. Never me.” “This time, I want to be the one.” When her boyfriend found out over the phone, his voice dripped with contempt: “She flew internationally just to celebrate some guy’s birthday? Is she out of her mind?” The night after I dropped Anna at the airport, I was scrolling through her social media and saw the photo. A man’s back. Broad shoulders. A scar on the nape of his neck. The shape, the placement, the curve of that scar—identical to my fiancé’s. The caption was simple: Happy birthday. And the ring on his hand was the same as mine. That’s when it hit me. Anna’s boyfriend and mine were the same person. She’d gone to celebrate Damon’s birthday. … Today was Damon’s birthday. He’d told me not to bother—said he’d make it up to me when he got back, that it was all the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to celebrate. It was that someone was already celebrating with him. And that someone was my own sister. I didn’t hesitate long. Screenshot. Save. Send. The message sank like a stone. Damon didn’t reply. But my phone lit up. It was Anna. A photo—a cake centered in the frame, a man’s right hand accidentally caught at the edge. The ring on his fourth finger was even clearer now. It was the ring he’d worn when he proposed to me. Damon had gone abroad to personally negotiate an arms deal. Before he left, he’d knelt on one knee, slid the ring onto my finger, and said when he came back, we’d get married. I stared at my chat with Anna. Didn’t reply. What was I supposed to say? Why are you with your future brother-in-law? What exactly have I been waiting a year for? I’d always known Anna had someone in her heart. For a whole year, she’d been flying abroad two or three times a month. Every time she came back, she’d lock herself in her room. I assumed she was heartbroken over someone she couldn’t have. When I mentioned it to Damon once, he scoffed. His tone was pure disdain. He’d never had patience for Anna. So I never let my mind go there. Never considered that every single one of Anna’s flights landed in the exact city where Damon was stationed. Never questioned how their birthdays just happened to fall on the same day—that it was never just a coincidence. Never asked who was lying beside him on all those nights he refused to video-call me. My phone lit up again. Damon sent four words. [What’s that supposed to mean?] He wouldn’t admit the man in the photo was him. [The person in her photo—isn’t that you?] The phone rang. Damon spoke first. “Evelyn, let me explain when I get back.” My gaze drifted to the calendar on the table. The date of his return was circled in red marker, with a small heart drawn beside it. “Don’t go looking for her.” His voice dropped low. “Please?” That tone—it was pure protectiveness. My eyes burned suddenly, my throat clamping shut like something had closed around it. “Why?” I asked him. Silence on the other end. Then he sighed and said, “Evelyn, wait until I’m back. We’ll talk about everything when I’m back.” Before he even finished, a voice drifted through from his end of the line. “Damon, is that my sister calling?” Damon’s voice changed instantly. Soft. Gentle. Like he was soothing a startled cat. “No.” “Just a friend.”

I didn’t want to hear another word. Five years together. Vows we’d made before both our families. And in the end, to Damon, I was “just a friend.” I hung up. His message came through almost immediately. [Anna doesn’t really want me mentioning you around her. It makes her feel guilty.] I stared at that sentence for a long time. She felt guilty too? Then why go behind my back and be with my fiancé? That night, I saw another post from Anna. This time it was a photo of two hands, fingers interlaced, against the backdrop of candlelight and linen at an upscale restaurant. I noticed the ring on Damon’s hand had changed. It wasn’t our engagement ring anymore. And on Anna’s ring finger, there was a new one too. Matching Damon’s. Someone in the comments asked: [When did you get married?! You didn’t even say anything!] Anna replied quickly: [We’re not married lol, it was a proposal—he proposed on his birthday. I still haven’t recovered, it feels like a dream.] Followed by a string of happy emojis. I looked at it for a very long time. Then I liked the post. If it was a proposal, then our engagement was over. Five minutes later, Damon’s message came through: [She just wanted to know what it feels like to be proposed to. It wasn’t a real proposal. Don’t take it to heart.] [She’s been through enough already. Let’s put our stuff on hold for now.] I turned off my phone and went to the kitchen. When I opened the fridge to grab a bottle of wine, there was a custom magnet on the door. A photo of us. The normally stern godfather, looking at me with tenderness he couldn’t hide. When he’d confessed to me, he was holding a small bouquet of balloon flowers—their meaning: “eternal love.” My hands were shaking when I took them. He looked down at me and said: “I know this is a family arrangement. But I want to ask you first—do you want this?” Back then, I believed the arrangement was just how we met. Falling in love was the choice we made. I stared at that magnet for two seconds. Then I peeled it off and threw it in the trash without hesitation. The day Damon came back to the country, he came back with Anna. I was waiting at arrivals. He’d told me not to come, said he’d take a cab. But I came anyway. Not to pick him up—to see it with my own eyes. To see what they looked like standing together. Anna came out first. She wore a beige trench coat, her complexion rosy, her hair longer than before—golden waves freshly curled. She looked radiant. Like a flower someone had been tending with great care. She ran over and threw her arms around me, her voice sweet and bright. “Your fiancé happened to be flying back today too, so I just tagged along! Same route anyway.” My eyes dropped to Anna’s hand. That proposal ring. She was still wearing it. Then I looked at Damon. The matching ring—the one that went with Anna’s—was gone. He’d switched back to our engagement band. Anna looked at me with the most natural expression in the world. Not a trace of guilt. Not a hint of shame. As if nothing had ever happened. As if she and Damon had never been together. If she hadn’t been wearing that ring, I might have almost believed it. I took a step back. Anna’s expression stiffened for just a moment, then returned to normal. That’s when Damon spoke. “Anna’s just worried about you.” I almost laughed out loud. Worried? How could he even say that? “Oh really? If she’s so worried, then why did she—” “Evelyn.” Damon cut me off. I met his warning stare. I knew that look too well. It was how he looked when he was angry—eyes going dark, lips pressed into a hard line. That look used to be reserved for outsiders. For rival families. For anyone who dared touch what was his. Now it was aimed at me. He was afraid I’d say more. Afraid Anna would hear. Even the slightest mention made him this tense. “It’s late. Just stay here tonight—going back and forth is too exhausting.” Anna looked at me hesitantly. “Would that be… inconvenient?” She shook her head, stepping back half a pace. “Never mind, I’ll just go home.” Damon frowned. “It’s not safe going back this late. Leave tomorrow.” Anna stayed. No one asked my opinion. Damon made the decision, and I said nothing. I turned and went to the bedroom. Damon followed me in. Neither of us spoke first. He leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette, the ember glowing and fading in the dim light, smoke rising slowly, blurring his silhouette. When the cigarette was done, he crushed the butt into the ashtray on the windowsill and finally spoke, his voice raw. “It’s not what you think.” “Anna never expected anything real between us. She’s in pain too.” “She didn’t want this either.” I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. Silent. I looked at this man—this man I’d known for seven years, been with for five, waited an entire year for—and for the first time, he felt like a stranger. My sister. The one I’d grown up with. Together with my fiancé. And Damon was telling me she was in pain. “What about me?” I asked him. My voice was quiet. No tears. No shouting. Just a question. Damon was silent for a long time. Then he looked away. “Evelyn, give us a little more time.” “When did it start?” His expression shifted. He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn’t answer. “Seven months ago.” That was five months into his time abroad. During that period, Anna flew out two or three times a month. Every time she came back, she looked terrible—locked herself in her room for an entire day without coming out. I’d thought she was hurting over a failed pursuit. Now I understood. She was going to see him. And every time she came back, she shut herself away to digest her own guilt. Damon closed his eyes, then opened them and turned to face me. “At first I said no.” He paused. “But then…” He didn’t finish. “Evelyn, just one more month. At least give her some time. Okay?” I looked at him. “No.” My voice was barely there—quiet as a sigh. “Damon, if she’s suffering this much, just be with her.” I looked down and slowly twisted the ring off my fourth finger. A ring I’d worn for an entire year. When it came off, it left a faint imprint on the skin where it had sat. The skin had been pressed too long. It wouldn’t go back to the way it was—not right away. I placed the ring on the nightstand. Didn’t throw it. Didn’t slam it down. Just set it there gently. “Let’s break up.”

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After we got back together, Adrian Moretti stopped liking my Instagram posts. Because six months ago, I caught him cheating with my best friend Lily at a hotel. And I slit my wrists on the top floor of the Moretti Group building, making enough of a scene that the entire family found out. After that, even our mutual friends stopped paying attention to my posts. But my wedding to Adrian was getting close. I told myself it was just a small, meaningless change. Until a notification popped up on my phone screen. It was Lily’s X account. She was getting married. Her page was filled with wedding preparations. But under every single post, a very familiar profile picture had left a like. Adrian. The comments were full of faces I recognized too. “Ten years of love finally coming to fruition. Adrian, wishing you and your bride happiness forever!” “Adrian liked this diamond-studded wedding dress? He actually picked this one, haha, he really does know women.” “The venue’s already booked? We’ll definitely be there!” So that was it. People had stopped caring about my posts not because they were busy. They were all busy caring about Lily’s destination wedding. In that moment, I finally understood. Adrian hadn’t betrayed their world. I was the outsider who’d barged in. The one who should have left was never Lily. It was me. I kept scrolling through Lily’s page. Her wedding to Adrian was in Bali. My finger froze on the screen. I stared at their engagement photo, the two of them locked in a kiss, and all that was left on my lips was silence. That was the place I’d begged Adrian about for three years. I’d told him that if we ever got married, Bali was where I wanted it most. But Adrian turned me down every time. He said Moretti family weddings had to follow the rules. The ceremony could only be held locally. Moretti wasn’t an ordinary name. Every step had to be approved by the Don. That was the answer he gave me three years ago. But Lily’s engagement post was dated four years ago. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t say yes. He just hadn’t said yes to me. Even before Adrian and I were together, he and Lily were already engaged in Bali. It was so absurd I almost laughed. Because Lily wasn’t the other woman. I was. I sat in silence for a while, then kept scrolling through her posts. The earliest one went back over a decade. It was a childhood photo of the two of them together. A young Adrian had his arm around Lily, who was beaming with joy. Beneath the photo was a single line. “From childhood to forever, it’s always been you.” My friendship with Lily, over a decade of it, shattered in that moment. My chest felt tight, and nothing made sense anymore. Adrian was someone Lily had introduced to me. When Adrian and I got together, it was Lily who’d quietly pushed us toward each other behind the scenes. But now I knew they’d been engaged the whole time. So why? Why would she do this? I couldn’t find the answer anywhere in her posts. I stared at her grayed-out contact photo in my phone, full of questions, but all I could do was sit in silence. After I found out about them six months ago, Lily and I had a massive falling out and deleted each other’s contact information. The front door lock clicked. I turned off my phone and quietly walked out. Adrian was home from work. He came through the door in the black overcoat he always wore. On the shoe cabinet sat a small cake he’d brought me. He smiled when he saw me. “You actually came out to greet me today?” I didn’t give him the cold shoulder like I usually did. I walked up to him gently and took his coat. “I just worked through a few things in my head.” “Is that right? Ready to let me back in?” He stepped quickly behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His breath was warm against my ear, making it tingle. He murmured with a smile, “Not going to answer? What are you thinking about? Emma, we’re getting married soon. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? You should be happy. I brought your favorite cake. Want to try it?” The news that he was simultaneously planning an overseas wedding with Lily flashed through my mind. I gently pushed him away. As confusion slowly crept into his eyes, I turned to face him. “Did they say they’d come?” “Who?” “Our friends. And your parents.” “Emma, don’t put me in this position.” His tone turned uncomfortable. “I asked. But last time you… lost control, you lashed out at them. They’re not ready to be around you just yet.” “As for my parents, you know how they feel. They never approved of me marrying you. They want me to find a woman with the right background, someone who can hold the family alliance together. So we can only keep the wedding low-key, let alone…” “Adrian.” I said his name and cut him off. He frowned at me. I didn’t break down and make a scene the way I always did when this topic came up. I just wrapped my arms around him, gently. Around this man I’d loved for four years. His body went rigid, as if caught off guard. He seemed almost uncomfortable with my tenderness. “Emma?” Before he could react further, I let go and steadied myself. Then I said softly: “Let’s cancel the wedding.”

“Cancel?” Adrian’s eyes filled with disbelief, though his voice dropped instantly. He looked at me, barely containing his anger. “Why? I need a reasonable explanation. You were the one who wanted to marry me no matter what, and now you’re the one saying cancel out of nowhere?” I lowered my eyes. Silent. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to explain. I just didn’t know how. Was I supposed to tell him I already knew about him and Lily? That they were the real engaged couple. That our friends weren’t skipping my wedding because they had a problem with me, but because they were attending his wedding with Lily. Before I knew the truth, I had made scenes over the way everyone froze me out. To be precise, before and after the reconciliation, I’d been making scenes the whole time. Because it wasn’t fair. Everyone was hiding his relationship with Lily from me. And even now, I was still the only one kept in the dark. But those unanswerable questions were never going to be resolved. Being deceived was humiliating. Being hysterical was humiliating. So I gave up. “Back then, my mother had just died. I needed someone. When I saw you fly all that way to help me handle her funeral, I begged you to stay. I wanted to use marriage to hold on to you.” “Even when you betrayed me, I could forgive you and take you back. But now I’ve calmed down. So there’s no need anymore.” For a split second, Adrian’s expression was pure disbelief. He hadn’t expected me to say all that so calmly. Back then, I was reeling from a breakup and had just lost the only family I had left in this world. Two devastations, piled on top of each other. Even now, I rarely left the bedroom. The anger in his eyes slowly faded. Before long, something like tenderness surfaced in them. “Emma, we can’t stop death from coming. But you still have me. I’ll always be here from now on. You don’t need to talk like this.” I really wanted to believe him. I even wished I’d never learned the truth. Then I could have kept fooling myself. Tears spilled out before I could stop them, landing on his arm. He startled and quickly grabbed a tissue to wipe my face. “Did I say something wrong? Emma, don’t cry. You have me. I’m right here.” One last shred of hope surfaced inside me. “Since no one’s coming to our wedding, forget the ceremony. Just come to the city clerk’s office with me tomorrow and sign the papers. Please?” Lily’s wedding was half a month before mine. If Adrian registered with me first, he couldn’t legally marry Lily. No matter what he was planning, as long as he was willing to register with me first, it would mean he was staying. Even if he lied to me for the rest of my life, I’d accept it. But all he did was move his lips, his voice stumbling. “I… Emma, you know how it is. I have meetings with clients. The company’s been swamped. Lily went abroad, you’ve been resting at home. The three of us used to hold the company together, and now it’s just me. I can’t step away right now.” He had all the reasons—work, duty, family. Just none that made me want to stay. I didn’t understand why he’d agreed to marry me while secretly continuing things with Lily. The light in my eyes went out. I stopped asking. I just nodded. “Yeah. I understand.” Adrian caught the defeat in my tone. His body went stiff, and he looked almost lost. Then his phone rang from his pocket. He seized on it like a lifeline, walking quickly to the balcony to take the call, glancing back at me. But I could see his screen before it went dark. The caller was Lily. This wasn’t the first time they’d been back in contact. When he begged me to take him back, he’d sworn up and down that he and Lily would never speak again. But not only had they never stopped—they were planning a wedding. I walked quietly back to the bedroom, crawled under the cold covers, and canceled tomorrow’s wedding photo shoot with Adrian. Then I booked a random flight.

The next morning, I was woken up by a call from customer service. The woman on the line asked me: “Ms. Bellini, may I ask why you’re canceling the shoot?” “We’ve already reserved the venue and wardrobe. Don Moretti personally confirmed every design detail.” “If you cancel now, we won’t be able to refund the deposit.” My head was pounding. I felt groggy and dazed. I answered, my voice hoarse: “Then don’t.” “Ms. Bellini? That’s fifty thousand dollars. Our team is top-tier. Don Moretti waited a long time to book…” “I said don’t bother.” A pause on the other end. Then, finally: “Understood.” “We’ll notify Don Moretti that the wedding shoot has been canceled.” I hung up. I found that Adrian had made me breakfast. But it had gone completely cold. I wasn’t feeling well, so I heated it up and ate it. Easier than making something else. Then Adrian texted me. “Emma, I got the notification that you canceled the shoot.” Before I could respond, he sent another message, sounding almost relieved. “Looks like you saw the note I left on the wall by the dining table. Thanks for understanding. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I turned and looked at the note stuck to the wall beside the table. “Overseas business hit a snag. Today’s engagement shoot needs to be canceled.” I didn’t bother explaining. Once my phone connected to the overseas network, I saw that Lily had posted something new. Their wedding had been moved up. That was the real reason Adrian had rushed abroad. The post showed a beautiful seaside restaurant. I could see Adrian’s parents. I could see all the friends we used to share. Moretti family bodyguards stood not far away, like a wall of black, shutting out the rest of the world. Adrian and Lily sat at the table, fingers laced together. It looked like a wonderful time. It hit me suddenly that none of these people had really changed. I was the only one who’d been left behind. In the empty apartment, I chewed on the cold breakfast. My phone chimed with a booking confirmation. Destination: New Zealand. Far away. Quiet. I’d never been. But it seemed like the right place for me. I started packing. Looking around the apartment we’d shared for three years, my vision blurred for a moment. I remembered when the three of us first started the security company and sat around that dining table with friends, drinking and making vows. Back then, we said we’d make it a legitimate business, break free from the family shadows, and finally stand on our own. They’d laughed and joked that when we made it big, they’d definitely come drink at my wedding to Adrian. Now the place was empty. No one left. Every item I packed dredged up an old memory. Red wine, champagne, mixtapes, videos of us dancing. They documented so many anniversaries Adrian and I had celebrated in this home. Looking back, yes, it had been sweet. But sweet was all it ever was. I threw it all in the trash and turned to pack my clothes. It took a long time. Most of it I threw away. What actually made it into the suitcase was barely anything. Adrian called me at some point. I didn’t pick up. It rang a few more times, then he stopped calling and just sent me a message. A photo and an update. In the photo, he was meeting with some foreign clients. The message read: “Just landed. Having dinner.” Thinking this might be the last message I’d ever send him, I kept things civil. I took a photo of my packed bags and sent it to him. His reply came fast. “What are you packing for?” “I’m leaving.” “…” He went quiet for a moment, then explained: “Emma, canceling the photo shoot doesn’t mean canceling our wedding.” “Don’t be upset. I really did run into some trouble, but I’ll be back soon. I’ve got a surprise for you. The wedding’s still on. Don’t do this.” I didn’t reply. This wasn’t some act I was putting on over a canceled photo shoot to get his attention. I was just tired. I knew Adrian’s habits. His surprises were never put together the same day. He’d always hide a gift somewhere in the house weeks, sometimes a full month, in advance, and wait for me to stumble across it without saying a word. He said it kept the anticipation alive for weeks. I went to the spot where he usually hid things. In an old trunk on the second level of the attic, I found a gold bracelet I’d once wanted badly. The style and weight were both perfect. This must have been the surprise he mentioned. But beside it, I found a diary he’d never once told me about. It was filled with my mother’s handwriting. I opened it. The first page had a single line. “Emma, this is the truth your mother is leaving for you.”

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The fifth time Julian missed our wedding, my best friend Mia sent me a message. Evie, I’m so sorry. Something urgent came up at the firm. I can’t make it as your maid of honor today. Next time, I promise! I was about to reply when a notification lit up my screen. Sunrise, cold air, and you. Perfect. We really are two romantic lunatics! The girl beaming in the photo was Mia. And the tall figure with his arm around her shoulders—that was unmistakably Julian. My fingers tightened around the skirt of my dress as I scrolled down through the account. So this was the truth—every day they’d left me behind—my birthday, my mother’s funeral, those last four weddings—they’d been together the whole time. Seven years of love with Julian. Ten years of friendship with Mia. And what it had bought me were five abandoned weddings, and a betrayal that had lasted for years. In that moment, something inside me went quiet and final. Under her post, I typed one line. Truly romantic. The wedding and the groom—they’re all yours. …… The post vanished almost instantly. The account went blank a second later. Mia’s messages came one after another. Evie, I can explain. It’s really not what you think. Please don’t do this. A moment later, Julian sent a message too. Evie, calm down. My fault for not telling you sooner. We really are working. Don’t overthink it. We’ll talk when I get back. We really are working. We’ll talk when I get back. A lie I’d heard countless times. I swiped their messages away, one by one. Explanations didn’t matter anymore. Soon, I’d be gone. I opened another thread and calmly typed a message. In seven days, I’ll bring the research portfolio you wanted and join your company in New York. Ethan Shaw replied almost immediately. I’ll be waiting. I stood, took off my veil, and looked around at the wedding venue we’d put together. My eyes stung. I could still hear Mia laughing the day she helped me decorate it. “God, Julian’s getting such a bargain. He gets to marry someone as beautiful as you. If I were a man, I’d have married you long before he ever got the chance.” Back then, she’d helped me arrange the venue and gone with me to try on gowns. In the end, she was the reason I’d been abandoned at the altar. Five times. Just then, the wedding planner walked over. “Ms. Hart, the ceremony time has passed. Should we reschedule, the same as before?” My nails dug into my palm. “No,” I said. “There won’t be a next time.” She hesitated. “Ms. Hart, you purchased our annual planning package. The fee is nonrefundable if you don’t hold the wedding. Are you sure you don’t want to think it over?” “You and Mr. Foster have been together for eight years. Whatever the problem is, I’m sure it can be worked out.” I lifted my right hand and looked at the cheap ring on my middle finger. Julian had told me once: “Evie, I don’t have much right now. But when I do, I’ll buy you the most beautiful diamond in the world.” But I’d seen the diamond he’d given Mia on her private account. A Cartier. Two hundred thousand dollars. He’d never given me anything close. Knockoff bracelets from street stalls. Discounted perfume. Cheap substitutes. Those were the gifts I’d gotten in exchange for eight years. I pulled the ring off and dropped it into the trash can by my feet. “The problem is him,” I said. “So I’m solving the problem by removing him.” The pale mark it left behind was all that remained of what we’d once been. Seeing how firm I was, the planner stopped trying to change my mind. I went back to my apartment and sank onto the couch. My chest felt sliced open, and the pain made it hard to breathe. At three in the morning, the front door swung open. Julian walked in, still wearing the matching hiking jacket from Mia’s post. A week earlier, Mia had asked me if I thought that jacket looked nice. Back then, I’d thought she meant to give me one. I’d stupidly said, “If we each wore one, we’d look great together.” She refused, smiling as she hooked her arm around my shoulder. “You’re not in great shape, Evie. You could never hike. I’ll just switch between the two.” I believed her. But it turned out Julian had given it to her. Two thousand dollars each. A famous couples’ brand. Julian saw me in the dim light, and his voice came out tired. “Mia was so upset she made me push work back and come home.” “Evie, what are you overthinking now? Can’t you give us a moment of peace?” I stood. “You had a business emergency on a mountaintop? Or do you think I’m stupid enough to keep pretending after ninety-nine flirty posts between the two of you?” Julian looked away. His voice softened as he reached for my wrist. “Evie, I went hiking with her because I didn’t want her going alone. The business trip was real. Stop being unreasonable.” The dull ache in my chest made it hard to breathe. I pulled my wrist free and looked into his eyes. “When I was seventeen and three thugs chased me for three blocks and I nearly died, you were working late. You told me not to make a scene. And now you’re telling me you were worried she wouldn’t be safe on a hike?” I shook my head and gave a bitter smile. “Julian Foster. Let’s break up.”

He froze for a second. Then he laughed, half-dismissive. “Evie, quit it.” “Mia’s your best friend. Isn’t it perfectly normal for me to look out for her when you’re not around?” “We kept it from you because you’re too jealous. If you’re really that worked up about it, next time I’ll bring you on the trip. Happy?” He reached out, as if to ruffle my hair the way you’d humor a child. I stepped aside, looked him in the eye, and said, word by word: “Julian. I’m serious. We’re breaking up.” The smile on his face slowly froze over. His eyes turned cold. He let out a low, cold laugh. “Evelyn. You’re breaking up with me over something as stupid as me going hiking with Mia? Calling off the wedding?” “Your mother’s dead. Your father’s a drunk. With a family like yours, who else is going to marry you besides me? Or are you planning to grow old alone?” I stared at him in disbelief. My eyes burned. My lips trembled. When I was seventeen and my father nearly beat me to death in a drunken rage, Julian had stepped in front of me and taken the hit. He’d once promised: “As long as I’m here, no one hurts you.” The day my mother died, I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe in front of her headstone. He’d held me then, too. “I’m sorry I’m late, Evie. I’ll love you the way she did.” Now the same man was using my dead mother and my broken family as weapons to cut me. He saw my body stiffen and reached for my hand again. “I’m sorry. I was angry. I didn’t mean it.” I shook him off and forced my voice to steady. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Julian. I’m leaving—” Before I could finish, a slender figure rushed through the door. Julian dropped my hand instantly. Mia looked at him first, and only afterward turned to me, eyes shining with tears. “Evie, thank God you’re okay. I was so scared you’d do something stupid, so I rushed back.” “From the day you introduced me and Julian, the three of us have always been closest friends, right? Those posts were just friendship stuff.” “I hid that account from you because I didn’t want you overthinking.” When I stayed silent, she gave a small, careful laugh. “You don’t actually believe that whole ‘watch out for your best friend around your man’ thing, do you? That’s absurd. How could I possibly steal Julian from you?” Right. We were supposed to be closest friends. When we were kids, Mia and I had lived in the same run-down neighborhood, and she often had nothing hot to eat. I used to steal bread from home to bring her. I took my father’s beatings for it. She’d looked at the bruises on my body and cried. “Evie, thank you for being my friend. I’ll spend my whole life making it up to you.” I’d put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “From now on, I’ve got you.” But from the day I introduced her to Julian, she began to change. I was quietly pushed out of their world. When we went shopping, I always trailed behind them. When we ordered food, no one asked what I wanted. Even when a storm forced them to change our flight during a trip, no one bothered to tell me. And afterward, they’d always brush it off. “Evie, don’t be silly. We can’t pay attention to you every second. If something’s bothering you, just say so.” I had said so. Had anyone ever listened? “Whatever. I’m done with both of you.” My voice was soft, but Mia wouldn’t let it go. Her face crumpled into a look of hurt and grievance. Tears fell onto my palm. Once, I would’ve felt sorry for her—comforted her gently, taken her out, bought her whatever she wanted, done anything to make her happy. Not anymore. Mia’s voice trembled now, every word a small blade. “It’s my fault the wedding didn’t happen today. Let’s do it tomorrow. I’ll be there, I promise. Please don’t be angry.” I was done. Utterly. I threw her hand off, hard. “Enough! Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death!” She stumbled back two steps, staring at me, stunned, tears sliding down one after another. “Evie, I just forgot for a second—” Before she could finish, Julian shoved me aside and pulled her behind him. I slammed back into the shelf. The framed photo on the shelf toppled off. The glass shattered, and a flying shard sliced across my calf, drawing blood. Julian glanced at me once and said impatiently: “We’re busy. Forgetting is normal. Not everyone gets to sit around like you do. Was it really worth going on and on about this?” “Evelyn Hart, you look like a shrew. You want this wedding so badly you’ve lost your mind.” Julian stood right in front of me. But he felt very far away. “I—” Before I could speak, Mia threw out one line and pushed past him toward the door. “Fine. From start to finish, this is my fault. I’ll go. Don’t fight because of me!” Julian took a step after her, then stopped. He turned back to me.

“Bandage the cut on your leg first,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll go find her. It isn’t safe for her to be alone this late. You should calm down.” Something in my chest gave a dull thud. “Go, Julian. I’ll sell this apartment. You don’t need to come back.” I was calm. But anger flared in his eyes. “Evelyn, what the hell is wrong with you? I told you it isn’t what you think. What more do you want?” I wasn’t losing my mind. I just didn’t love him anymore. “I don’t want anything. This apartment was where we were supposed to live after the wedding. We’re broken up now. Why wouldn’t I sell it?” “You’re always so worried about her safety. Now you can move in with her and protect her every second of the day. Isn’t that what you want?” My calm and my acceptance came across as provocation to him. “Keep this up. I’ll wait and watch you come crawling back begging me to marry you.” He was furious. “You’re completely unreasonable.” “That won’t happen,” I said. “I’m leaving.” “Fine. If you’re getting the hell out this time, get out for good. I’m not in the mood to come looking.” Bang. The door slammed shut. I looked at his retreating back and felt nothing. In the past, whenever we fought, I’d deliberately run away from home. Really, I’d only hide near the apartment, because I knew he’d always come find me. Seven years of love. Seven years of fighting. But somewhere along the way, that stopped working. And it turned into this— “I’m already exhausted from work. Can you stop making trouble?” “Why can’t you be more like Mia? She can talk cases with me. She can travel with me for work. What can you do besides fight?” I bent down and picked up the broken glass with my bare hands. The photo had split along the frame—I was on the outside, and their half was still intact. I didn’t look at it again. I dropped the photo and the shards into the trash. The next day, I packed my things into a suitcase, carried a cardboard box out to the backyard, and set it on fire. The flames flickered in my eyes. Eight years of love. Ten years of friendship. All of it, over. Julian had just come back and happened to see it. He looked at the things burning in the pit, panic crossing his face. He tried to reach in and pull them out with his bare hands, but it was too late. His eyes reddened as he grabbed my arm. “Why would you burn them? Weren’t these your most precious things?” “They used to be. Not anymore.” The nine hundred and ninety-nine paper cranes Mia had folded to pray for my exam scores. The bracelet she’d bought me with her first paycheck. The ninety-nine love letters Julian had written me. The handmade ceramic ornament we’d made together. Once the love was gone, they were no different from trash by the roadside. Julian stared at me, trying to find some trace of change on my face. He found nothing. He let go, awkwardly. “Evie, you’re doing all this because you want an explanation, right?” “Fine. Everything I did with Mia was something friends do. You think we wronged you, but we never crossed a line.” A tear slid down my cheek. I hadn’t meant to cry. It just struck me as absurd. Did betrayal have to involve sex? No. Emotional betrayal was betrayal too. When we watched the snow together, he photographed it, turned away, and sent the picture to Mia. When we went to Disneyland and bought plush toys, he didn’t think about what I liked. He picked up another one and paid for it because he thought Mia would like it. His fiancée was standing right beside him, but the only one in his heart was Mia. “Enough,” I said. “You don’t need to explain. I’m leaving anyway. It doesn’t matter.” My phone screen was still lit on the patio table, showing the New York flight confirmation. Julian caught a glimpse of it and frowned. “You’re going to New York for work? Then we’ll talk about the next wedding date when you get back.” “I promise I won’t miss it this time. And stop using a breakup to threaten me.” He didn’t ask any further. I didn’t explain again. I just looked at him quietly. “What if I don’t come back?”

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My water breaks in a rush of heat and pain, but my Mafia husband is too busy polishing my best friend’s shoes. I grab Dante’s arm. “We need to go. Now.” He’s already on one knee, brush in hand, working a white heel like it’s the most important job in the world. Bianca stands barefoot in front of the mirror, finger-combing her hair. “Give me five minutes. I can’t show up as Mia’s godmother with greasy hair. The photos will be ruined.” The contraction hits me like a truck. I press my hand flat against the wall and breathe through it. My father is already on his way. He calls ahead on video, his face white. “The doctor is waiting. You need to leave right now.” I look at Dante. “I’m already dilating. If we don’t go now, we could both die in there.” He waves me off without looking up. “Labor takes hours. You’ll just sit there and wait. Stop being dramatic.” Dramatic. My water broke and he called me dramatic. I watch him blow on the toe of Bianca’s heel, check the shine, go back for another pass. Something in me just goes quiet. I pull out my phone. Open a contact I haven’t touched in years. You said you wanted both me and the baby. I’ve got maybe thirty minutes. Get here and you’re her father. The reply comes back in seconds. ? Then: Done. On my way. The shower runs. Dante doesn’t rush her. He finds her blow dryer, sets it to warm, lays it on the counter like he’s dressing a queen. I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor. The midwife kneels beside me. Her voice is steady but her eyes are scared. “Mr. Dante. The amniotic fluid is leaking. The baby can lose oxygen at any point. You have a thirty-minute window. You need to leave now.” My brother’s wife steps forward. “She hasn’t hit her due date. This is an emergency. Even if Elena can hold on, the baby can’t.” Every person in the room is staring at Dante. He doesn’t look up. He’s lining up Bianca’s skincare bottles on the bathroom shelf. “She’s just washing her hair. It’ll be fast.” Then he glances at me. Almost gentle. “We’ll do a C-section if it comes to that. You weren’t planning to go natural anyway.” I stare at him. “Do you understand how dangerous this is right now?” “Mm.” He turns back toward the bathroom. One syllable. Done with me. I take a breath and hurl a pillow at his back. “I said we could both die. I need to leave right now. Did you hear me?” He turns around and the look on his face isn’t fear. It’s irritation. “What is your problem? You’ve been pregnant for nine months and suddenly the whole world has to stop?” “She’s washing her hair. You’re the one who said she could be Mia’s godmother. You can’t wait ten minutes?” The blow dryer cuts off. Bianca appears in the doorway, hair half-wet, head tilted. “Come on. We agreed I’d be Mia’s godmother. This is my moment too. Just let me dry off a little. I’ll be so fast.” The blow dryer roars back to life. Dante takes it out of her hands. “You’re too slow. Let me do it.” I watch my husband carefully dry another woman’s hair while mine plasters cold and damp against my neck. During my third trimester I asked him once. Just help me dry my hair. He said he was tired from work. Another contraction. Harder. The midwife checks me and goes still. “The fluid is turning yellow. That means contamination. We leave right now.” She doesn’t wait. She walks to the outlet and yanks the plug. The blow dryer dies. Bianca spins around. “Excuse me? Who does this nurse think she is?” Dante’s jaw tightens. “Elena. Don’t be difficult. It’s just a few more minutes.” He plugs it back in. I drag myself upright. The hospital calls. “It’s 10:20. Where is the patient? The OR is prepped. You must arrive before eleven. Do not wait.” I reach over and pull the plug myself. “Eleven o’clock. I will be at that hospital.”

“Fine. Fine. Happy now? You don’t have to make a scene about everything.” Dante grabs the bag and follows us out. My parents and my brother are already downstairs, pale, ready, watching the clock. My father takes one look at me and his face drops. “Why are you still here? Move.” We almost make it to the door. Bianca touches her hair and freezes. “I forgot to curl it.” She looks genuinely distressed, like this is a real problem. “Just a few more minutes. I’ll be so quick.” My mother keeps her voice careful. “Why don’t you stay and get ready? We’ll take Elena ahead. You can meet us there.” Bianca is already plugging in the curling iron. “No, I want to be there from the start. I’m the godmother. I have to be first to hold her.” She catches my eye in the mirror and smiles. “Elena won’t mind. Right?” The pain is constant now. Not waves. Just pressure, building and not letting go. “Elena minds.” My brother’s voice cuts across the room. “Get in the car or stay home.” Bianca’s hand stills on the curling iron. Her lip wobbles. “Why are you yelling at me? I’m trying. You think I wanted this to happen today?” Her voice climbs. “I didn’t even get to prep properly. I’m not the bad guy here.” My mother stops trying. She takes my arm and steers me toward the elevator. My brother and father run ahead to pull the car around. Dante walks back into the living room. “Take your time. Don’t burn yourself.” My mother turns and looks at him. Long and slow. The kind of look that doesn’t need words. I lean against the wall and breathe. Mia kicks. Hard. Desperate. Like she knows. Another contraction folds me in half. Dante comes over and pushes me back down onto the sofa. “Stop performing. I know what you’re doing. You want me to drop everything and prove you come first.” His voice drops, almost soft. “Bianca’s almost done. Five more minutes.” I let the contraction pass. “The day we were supposed to make it official — you made us wait for her. She overslept. The window closed. We are still not legally bound, Dante.” “Our wedding — she showed up hungover and made us miss the whole window.” “And today.” I look at him. “So I’m asking you one time. Do you choose me and Mia? Or do we wait for Bianca?” His jaw locks. “You’re using our baby to score points?” Bianca gasps from across the room, one hand over her mouth. “Wow, Elena. I had no idea you kept score like that.” She sets down the curling iron and picks up a makeup brush. “Honestly, I feel bad. I’ll just finish my face real quick — two minutes — and we go. Deal?” I watch her. She said just a wash. Then a dry. Then a curl. Now foundation. I know this routine. Foundation. Liner. Then she’ll want a different outfit. We’ll be here another hour. It’s 10:40. Fresh fluid soaks through the pad the midwife gave me. It’s streaked with red. I stop looking at them. I bite down on my lip. I don’t make a sound. “Take your time,” I say quietly. “I’m done waiting.”

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I saved the Dragon King when he was beggar. He made me Duchess. But my father pinned me down and ripped the elven skin off my face. And gave it to my cousin Mira. He says: “You’re useless. Mira deserves that title more than you ever did.” “Now go take her place in the brothel.” Then my fiancé Dorian smiles. “Mira and I have been fucking for months. We’re getting married.” “But don’t worry. Once we’re settled, you can be our little fucktoy on the side.” I laugh. That title Mira just stole? She has no idea what hell she just traded for. ** Dorian looks at me like I’m the love of his life. “Just do what your father says.” “You’ve always been frigid anyway. At least in the brothel, you might finally learn how to be a good fuck.” I nod. “Fine.” I say yes so fast my father doesn’t even have time to react. He’s thrilled. He snaps his fingers, and servants rip the jewelry off me, pull the pins from my hair, shove me into rough peasant clothes. I stand still. I let them. “Don’t blame me,” my father sighs. “Mira’s mother’s family just got purged by the new King. Every woman in their house is being sent to the brothel.” “If anyone finds Thornwood belongings on a girl in the brothel, it’ll ruin our name.” “Once the glamour’s done, you’ll walk yourself to the brothel. Better than having the law come knocking.” “Father. Am I really your daughter?” He blinks. “What nonsense are you talking?” “Of course you’re mine. But Mira lost her mother young, and her own father despised her. She’s had it hard enough.” “And you’ll be a cum dump by then. But I’ll still fuck you sometimes. And Mira won’t mind sharing.” “See? Good days ahead.” Dorian grabs my arms and pins me to the chair. I thrash. My father pulls a blade from his belt and presses it to my hairline. Then he cuts. I scream. Dorian holds me tighter. “Shh,” he whispers against my ear. “Just bear it. It’s for Mira’s future.” He drags the blade down. Then he rips until there’s nothing left of my face but raw flesh. Blood runs into my mouth. I choke on it. My father doesn’t stop. Then he grabs my pointed, elven ears. He slices them off. The glamour mage steps in. New skin grows over the wound. Mira’s face. My father turns to the mage. “For Mira, use the painless method. The expensive one. I won’t have her hurt.” When it’s done, the mirror shows a stranger. Dorian claps his hands. “Guards, this woman is a wanted criminal. Throw her out.” He whispers to me, “We have to sell the act. Don’t blow it.” Two servants grab me and drag me toward the door. I take a deep breath and shout: “I’m Mira Ashford. I’ll walk myself!” My father and Dorian exchange a knowing smile. My father reaches out and strokes my freshly glamoured face, the one still burning with pain. “Good, Elara. You were always the obedient one. That’s why this works.” Dorian pulls a bundle from his coat. Inside: loose coins, healing salve, a book of bed tricks. Everything a whore might need in a brothel. He presses it into my arms. “I went to the brothel myself and asked what you’d need. I prepared all of this for you.” A tear drops from my eye. I walk toward the front gate. “Elara!” A scream from behind. My mother comes running, gasping for air, and throws her arms around me. “Elara, I heard you saved the Dragon King’s life. They made you Duchess?” “Oh, thank the gods. No one will ever hurt you again.” She pulls me into her arms and holds me tight. “You’ve suffered so much for my sake. Finally, it’s over.” I can’t hold it anymore. Tears pour down onto my mother’s neck. She panics, pulling back. “What’s wrong? What happened?” My father’s eyes dart away. Dorian keeps glancing at the gate. He pushes, “Hurry it up. If the law finds out, we’re done.” My mother frowns. “Finds out what?” My father says nothing. He waves for the servants to take me out. My mother’s suspicion grows. She grabs me and won’t let go. “How dare you! Elara is the Duchess of Ashgrove, named by the Dragon King himself!” A gate servant rushes in. “My lord, officers are coming this way!” My mother panics. “Officers? Why?” Dorian loses patience. He pries her fingers off me one by one. “She’s Mira now. Elara and Mira swapped faces. Look, it’s complicated, just get her out of here.” My mother screams and clutches me. She won’t let go. She looks at my father. Then at my bandaged face. She understands. She goes hysterical: “You bastard!” “It’s not enough that you never treated her like a daughter. Now you want your own child to take someone else’s place in a brothel?” “I will bash my head against this wall before I let you!” She grabs me, sobbing so hard she can barely breathe: “My sweet girl, you saved the Dragon King’s life. You earned this title with your own hands. Why would you give it away?” “Did you forget what you promised me?” I’m crying so hard I can’t speak. But I pull my hand free. I force a smile. “Mother, there are things more important than titles and reputation.” “My mind’s made up. I won’t regret this.” I push her away and stride toward the gate. She tries to follow, but the servants hold her back. Then she screams: “Elara Thornwood, if you take one more step out that gate, I’ll die right here in front of you.”

I see my mother pull a pin and press it against her own throat. My chest caves in. I force down everything I feel. I turn away from her. “You die, and you lose your title as lady of this house.” She cries harder. “”I spent years letting him walk all over me, terrified he’d divorce me. All of it was for your future. Now you’re headed to a brothel. What do I have left to fear?” I nod. “Then you don’t need to take his shit anymore. Ask for the divorce yourself.” My mother collapses to the ground. “Elara, what spell do they have on you?” My father storms over, throws a writ of divorce at her, and orders the servants to shove me out the gate. I clench my jaw and don’t look back. My mother’s wailing echoes in my ears. I tell myself: at least she’s divorced now. She’s free of the Thornwoods. Dorian doesn’t trust my mother to stay quiet. He rides in a carriage behind the officers escorting me to the brothel. He bribes the Madam with a bag of silver for a few minutes alone with me. She leaves. Then Dorian opens the door and lets three men in. “She’s supposed to be Mira Ashford,” he tells them. “Mira’s no virgin. Make it convincing.” He turns to me. His eyes are soft. “I’m sorry, Elara. It has to be real.” The three men smirk. One looks at my face and laughs. “This ugly thing? They’d better be paying double.” The first one shoves me onto the cot and rips my dress open. I scream. Something inside me snaps. Not just skin and flesh. Deeper. I feel my magic drain. The elven blood in me thrashes, then dims. The second one flips me over, grabs my hair, and slams my face into the mattress. I bite the mattress until my teeth crack. Another wave of power bleeds out of me. I want to beg. But who would I beg? My eyes find Dorian in the doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching like it’s a show. The third one is the roughest. He grabs my hips so hard I hear something crack. When it’s over, my underclothes are soaked in blood. My tongue tastes like iron. I used to be half-elf. Now I’m just half of nothing. The three men leave without a word. Dorian watches from the doorway the entire time. He pours me wine. I take a sip. It burns my bitten tongue and I cry out. Dorian kneels beside me, wiping my face with his sleeve. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” I can’t feel my legs. I slump in the chair. My voice is barely there. “What else do you want to say?” Dorian glances at the window. “Should be any moment now.” I blink. “What?” Before he finishes, someone bursts through the door in a hooded cloak. It’s Mira. She drops to her knees, tears in her eyes. “Oh, Elara, you’re willing to take my place in the brothel. I’ll repay you tenfold.” Dorian rushes to help her up. “You’re hurt. Why did you come so fast?” My numb heart cracks open again. “Blame yourself,” Mira murmurs, leaning into him. “You fucked me so hard I can barely walk.” She melts into Dorian’s arms. His hand slides over her waist, lingering. But he remembers to explain: “Elara, Mira’s only been close to me because she has to act like you now.” “Don’t worry. You’re the one I love.” I nod. “Very close indeed.” I force myself to stand. I open the door, call in the Madam’s people, and have them escorted out. The moment they’re gone, the Madam drags me to the punishment room. She says I need to see what happens to highborn girls who think they’re better than everyone else. Screams fill the air. The women being beaten blur together with the memory of my mother. In Thornwood Manor, my father beat my mother too. I remember what she used to say to me, bruised and broken. She told me: don’t be like me. No one in this world will be your shield. If you want a good life, you fight for it yourself. So I worked. I trained. Swordplay, lore, music, painting, poise, beauty. All of it. I wanted to claw my way to a future worth having. I wanted to save my mother. And today, all of it turned to dust. At the peak of my family’s power, I ended up in a brothel. My father’s betrayal. Dorian’s lies. Each one cuts like a blade. I want to cry. But I know crying won’t save me. “Mother,” I whisper. “Wait for me.” Next morning, I stand at the front door in see-through silk, calling to men like the other whores. The street is packed. Horns blaring, banners flying, a wedding procession. People whisper: “Is that the Duchess of Ashgrove marrying into House Hale?” “Yes. They say she saved the Dragon King’s life. Fed him, healed him, gave him coin when he was half-dead.” “A true heroine…” That’s my story. But it’s not mine anymore. Tears roll down. Someone in the crowd asks: “Didn’t Dorian Hale used to go boating with Lord Thornwood’s cousin? She’s in the brothel now. Why didn’t he save her?” Dorian’s face goes cold. “Watch your tongue. That woman threw herself at me shamelessly. I want nothing to do with her.” The crowd cheers. People pile on congratulations, one after another. “I hear you and the Duchess grew up together, Dorian! How many children are you planning?” Dorian turns. The wind catches the carriage curtain. Their eyes meet through the window, his and Mira’s, tender and deep.” I watch this perfect couple, and somewhere along the way, the sharp stabbing in my chest goes numb.

Soon enough, the night I go on sale comes. I haven’t fought back once. I’ve been good. Pouring wine, scrubbing floors, learning how to moan on command. The Madam is pleased. She arranges a proper auction for me. The night I step on stage, I look out and see my father, Dorian, and Mira sitting together in the crowd. When they spot me, all three breathe a sigh of relief. My first client is a lordling who tried to court me when I was still Lady Elara. I turned him down. Now He puts his filthy boot on my face. “Your cousin’s a Duchess, and you’re a whore. Funny how that works, isn’t it?” I smile my prettiest smile. “Being a whore’s not bad. Better than being a Duchess, even.” The lordling howls with laughter, eyes full of mockery. His friends poke me with their riding crops. “She’s trying so hard to save face.” “Still clinging to that little scrap of pride.” Another one spits: “Bastard-born bitch. Born to be trash.” Then a stumbling figure bursts through the door. She shoves the lordling aside and screams, voice cracking: “This is my daughter, Elara Thornwood! Not the criminal Mira Ashford!” “You’ve all got it wrong! All of you!” “She’s the Duchess. She’s the one who saved the Dragon King!” My mother looks terrible. Her skin that used to be so pale and smooth is now sunburnt and rough. Her lips tremble as she pulls my thin clothes closed over my chest, almost choking on her own sobs. “Elara. Why? Just tell me why.” “Please, come with me to the magistrate. We’ll tell them the truth.” I swallow my tears. I force myself to imitate Mira’s careless swagger. “You here for a good time too?” My mother freezes. Then cries even harder. She’s almost begging now. “Tell me the truth. Did your father threaten me to make you do this?” “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m a divorced woman now. Your father has no hold on me.” “I’m taking you to the magistrate right now. We’ll demand justice.” I look past her shoulder. “Here comes the law.” My father and Dorian rush in. My father grabs my mother by the throat and hurls her out of the brothel. Dorian bows to the lordling and his friends. “Gentlemen, this woman is my wife’s cousin. Do us a favor. Come back another night.” Through the the curtain, I see my mother thrown onto the street. She can’t get up for a long time. I swallow my tears and follow the Madam into the punishment room. She says I caused trouble. I need to be taught a lesson. After that, I’m moved to the back. Days hauling water and scrubbing pots. Nights sleeping on the floor. No one comes for me anymore. I hear my mother came back a few more times. I sent word. Told her to pretend I’m dead. The back is exhausting. But it’s quiet. That doesn’t last. The lead courtesan dies, and the Madam is short on girls. She drags me back to the front and puts me up again. This time, the one who picks me is someone I know.

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My sister Cassie forwarded a video to the family group chat. The title read: “I’m 25, and I’ve finally decided to move out.” Before I could even tap on it, the chat had already exploded. Ethan sent a beaming emoji: “My little sister’s finally seen the light! First month’s deposit is on me.” Mom followed with a string of hearts: “Every girl needs her own space. Independence is what real confidence is built on. Mom’s got your back.” Dad chimed in right after: “Whatever place you’ve got your eye on, your mother and I will cover the deposit. Don’t worry about money.” Thrilled, I forwarded a listing I’d been saving for months. The lively chat went dead silent. Half an hour passed before anyone remembered I existed. Then Mom dropped a link to a rental market article: “Rents are outrageous these days. Not a great time to sign a lease. Don’t you still have student loans to pay off? Don’t put too much on your plate.” Dad replied with a thumbs-up: “Your mother’s right.” Ethan added: “Come on, just find yourself a rich boyfriend and let him foot the bill. Problem solved.” I stared at the screen, my fingertips slowly going cold. I thought of the folding cot in the basement. The window nailed shut. The ceiling barely six-foot-three. Cold as an icebox in winter. Meanwhile Cassie lived in the south-facing master bedroom on the second floor. Ensuite bath. Walk-in closet. A view of the apple tree in the backyard. The year she started college, Mom and Dad paid her tuition in full. I’d been out of school for four years, and I was still carrying sixty-eight thousand dollars in student loans. Five minutes later, Cassie posted another funny video. The chat came alive again. As if I’d never said a word. I quit the group chat and opened my email. The offer letter sat quietly in my inbox. Signing bonus: eighteen thousand dollars. Two thousand miles from home. Start date: three weeks out. I stared at the screen, and clicked Accept. … At dinner, Mom asked in an offhand tone. “Molly, that listing you forwarded—did you actually look at it carefully?” The table was loaded with food. All of it was Ethan and Cassie’s favorites. “Yeah. I looked. One bedroom, one bath, close to the office. Pretty nice.” She frowned, tore a drumstick off the roast chicken, and dropped it into Cassie’s bowl. “How much a month?” “Eleven hundred.” “That expensive?” Ethan spooned more mashed potatoes onto Cassie’s plate, then turned to me with a solemn air. “You’re still young. You don’t understand how the rental market works. You can’t just decide something like that on a whim.” Dad didn’t even look up. “How much do you make in a month? You’ve got someone cooking for you at home. Don’t stir up trouble. There’s a house here—why waste money renting?” I paused, and looked up toward my “room.” The basement. Under a hundred and fifty square feet, packed to the walls with Dad’s fishing boat, Mom’s Christmas decorations, and Ethan’s old suitcases. A folding cot was crammed into the corner, surrounded by piles of off-season clothes and old books. It wasn’t even a room. Just a storage closet converted into a makeshift crash pad. Cassie had been in this family for fifteen years. I’d lived in that environment for fifteen years too—and been overlooked for fifteen years by everyone in it. Just like now. Cassie only had to set down her fork to draw every eye in the room. “My paycheck isn’t much to begin with. My car payments are already coming out of Mom and Dad’s pocket. If I have to add rent on top of that, how am I supposed to buy handbags? How am I supposed to eat anywhere nice?” The day Cassie graduated, Mom and Dad bought her a white Jeep. “For a safe, easy commute,” they said. I’d been working a year longer than Cassie, and I was still driving a beat-up used Corolla. The back door didn’t always open. I chewed through the last piece of roasted potato without tasting a thing. Mom took Cassie’s hand and said, earnestly: “Cassie, honey, don’t worry about the money. You’ve got me and Dad, don’t you?” “And your sister can chip in too. She lives here rent-free—she’s getting the good end of the deal. She ought to pull her weight.” My jaw stopped mid-bite. I couldn’t swallow. Seeing I didn’t respond, Dad smoothed things over. “We’re family. No need to talk about who pulls what weight.” He steered the conversation elsewhere. I sat at the corner of the table, listening to them debate neighborhoods and floor plans. It was as if two worlds separated us. Nobody brought up the listing I’d shared. Nobody noticed the tear that fell onto my plate. After dinner, I cleared the table and washed the dishes alone. Cassie’s laughter drifted in from the living room. She was unboxing the computer and accessories Ethan had bought her—a whole month of his salary, the newest MacBook Pro. “Thank you, my absolute favorite big brother!” “Anything to make my little sister happy.” Dishes clinked against each other. It struck me suddenly that Ethan had given me things too. Just—used-up earbuds. Worn-out hoodies. Cast-off phones… Before Cassie came, Ethan used to love me. I used to ride along with him to every dialysis appointment. I’d make him laugh, and he’d buy me a strawberry lollipop. I used to think, aside from Mom and Dad, he and I were the closest people in the world to each other. Then Ethan finally got better. The kidney donor was Cassie’s father. Nobody expected it—Ethan recovered, but Cassie’s father never got up from that hospital bed. So the day Cassie was brought home, when she hit me in a fit of rage, all Mom did was hold her and cry and say, “From now on, you’re my own daughter. I will never let anyone hurt you.” I understood my parents. It was a grief no one could get past. So I was good. I was reasonable. I tried to think of Cassie as a real sister. But the day she found out about my grades, she fell apart. She said she didn’t deserve to be in this family. I still remember the disappointment in Dad’s eyes. “Molly, I’ve taught you better than this. There’s nothing worse in a person than vanity.” Cassie ran away from home that night. Mom hit me for the first time in my life. Every certificate and trophy on my wall was dumped in the trash. That was when I started to understand: my good grades didn’t earn me praise from my parents. They earned me contempt. So I learned to hold back. To dial down my scores. Until my senior year of high school, when I refused to sacrifice my own future any longer. I stopped holding back. Predictably, my scores soared. And the day my college acceptance letter arrived, Cassie slit her wrists. “Are you trying to kill her?” Ethan—who used to hold my hand, who used to buy me candy—looked at me with pure disgust for the first time. “You have to fight for everything. How do I have a sister like you?” “I wish Cassie were my real sister.” The acceptance letter in my hand felt like a verdict, snuffing out whatever patience my family had left for me. The living room still rang with the family’s laughter. The dishes were done, and I stood there, not knowing where to go. Of the two-thousand-square-foot house, all that was mine was that folding cot wedged between a fishing boat and a stack of old boxes. After Cassie came, my bedroom became Cassie’s. The second bedroom was converted into Cassie’s walk-in closet. Later, when there was no place left for my things, I tried to move a few of Cassie’s items aside. Dad said: “Molly, put that down. Your sister’s clothes are expensive—they’re a pain to clean. You’re the older sister. Show some sense.” Mom’s tone made it clear there was no arguing. “Don’t compete with your sister over every little thing. I’ve cleaned out the basement for you. The window’s nailed shut, but it blocks the light beautifully. Warm in winter, cool in summer.” The room that had once been mine was locked away from me. I drifted back down to the basement and lay on that folding cot. The fluorescent bulb flickered twice. I stared at the ceiling and felt my heart teetering on the edge of collapse. I opened my phone. The offer letter from San Francisco. Two years ago, I’d stupidly turned down a high-paying job just to be close to home—just to be near my parents. This time, I told no one. Of course, no one cared. Move date: three weeks out. In three weeks, I would disappear from this cramped basement for good.

Two days later, on the weekend, Mom dragged the whole family up early. “Come on. We’re going with Cassie to look at apartments.” My mood on the ride over was complicated. Four years out of school. Sixty-eight thousand dollars in debt. But once the signing bonus hit, I could wipe out at least half of it. Maybe this time I could talk to Mom and Dad about it. Borrow a little to clear the loan, then pay them back slowly. But the thin thread of hope I’d carried in vanished the moment we walked into the sales office. “My daughter’s the one moving in. Of course we listen to her.” Turns out the “daughter” in Mom’s mouth didn’t include me. Dad nodded and instructed the agent: “One bedroom’s too cramped. My daughter lives alone, but she needs at least two bedrooms. South-facing, plenty of light. Open kitchen. The living room needs to fit that new sofa of hers…” Ethan pulled out a credit card and ruffled Cassie’s hair with a smile: “Pick whatever you like. Anything over budget, big brother’s got it.” The four of them wandered through the model unit, discussing floor plans and orientations. To anyone watching, they looked like a picture-perfect family of four. A family that didn’t need a fifth person. And in that moment, the one who didn’t fit was me. “Sis, come look, tell me what you think.” Mom and Dad remembered me at last. “Don’t just stand there. Help your sister pick. Once she moves out, we’ll need to clean out the basement. Toss those old suitcases and make room for Dad’s fishing boat.” My chest tightened. They hadn’t even discussed it with me. They’d already decided the basement’s new use. Dad fished twice a month. His boat needed a home. And the place where I’d lived for fifteen years, in his eyes, was just a “storage room.” As if he could read my mind, Ethan spoke calmly: “Mom and Dad are ordinary folks. They can only do so much. Cassie’s just started working. Her salary’s low. It’s only right we help her out. Weren’t you already independent?” He paused. “Besides, those student loans of yours—you’re the one who signed for them.” Mom nodded in agreement. “Molly, you’ve always been the reasonable one. Stop comparing yourself to your sister.” Always the reasonable one. That was true. I really was. Reasonable enough that in front of relatives, Mom bragged about me most. “Molly’s the easy one. Never asked for anything at school. She was happy in Ethan’s hand-me-down hoodies.” “When there’s one last carton of ice cream in the house, Molly never touches it. She always leaves it for her sister.” “Ethan’s off gaming, Cassie’s at piano lessons, and Molly’s home helping with dinner, washing up. Her cookies are the best.” I wanted to laugh. I was reasonable because I felt sorry for them. Dad’s business had been struggling for years. Mom worked night shifts at the hospital until her back gave out. I wanted to share the burden. And they thought I was useful. Looking at the four of them chatting and laughing, backs turned to me, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and walked out. Ten minutes later, my phone chimed. Ethan: Where’d you go? Not looking at the place? Cassie says there’s no one to take her pictures now, and she’s got nothing to post to her Insta story. I stared at the screen, and a bitter laugh escaped me. So that was what I existed for. To take her pictures. I choked back tears and stared out the window, my chest heaving. “Sweetie, breakups are just small stuff. Always remember, family is your last line of defense.” The driver handed me a tissue through the rearview mirror. I paused, caught off guard. After a long moment, I forced out a thank-you and buried my face in the crook of my arm. I stayed out all day. Not a single person called. That evening, I got one message from Mom. Come home. Cassie’s laundry needs to go in the dryer. She’s out with friends tonight and can’t wait around. I wiped my eyes and laughed out loud. What was I still hoping for? I went home planning to start packing. Three weeks and I’d be gone. But when I walked in, Mom was standing at the top of the basement stairs, her expression off.

“Molly, come with me.” No hint of concern. Mom’s face was dark as she walked into her bedroom and yanked open the nightstand drawer. “The pearl earrings I had in here—did you touch them?” My mind went blank with a low hum. Pearl earrings. In a flash it came back to me: they were the Christmas gift I’d bought her two years ago, with my very first real paycheck. “Mom—you think I took them?” “Ethan said you were in here this morning mopping…” The words caught in my throat. “Have you forgotten? I’m the one who bought them for you!” Mom looked a little uncomfortable, but the suspicion in her eyes didn’t fade in the slightest. “That’s right, Molly, you gave them to me. So why would you take them back?” She paused before the word take. What Mom really wanted to say was steal. I couldn’t speak. Suddenly nothing in front of me felt real. It was absurd. Everyone in the living room had drifted in, drawn by the noise. Once Dad figured out what was going on, he finally muttered hoarsely: “Never mind. Let’s just say I lost them.” Ethan sighed, patted my shoulder, and spoke with a hint of disappointment. “Molly, you’re still my sister. If you really needed money, why didn’t you just come to me?” They all sounded like they were defending me. But every one of them assumed I’d taken them. “Is that what you all think of me?” I couldn’t hold it back. My voice trembled, and my fingertips went white where I dug them into my palm. Why? Why, every time I thought this had to be the last blow, did they land another one? Just two nights ago, I’d been thinking about each of them. Thinking that in three weeks I’d be gone, and I should leave something behind for each of them. Mom’s back was bad—I’d ordered her a heated massage pad online. Dad’s fishing rod was over ten years old—I’d bought him a full St. Croix set. I’d even written Ethan a check. I knew he was saving up to trade in his car, and I thought it might help. And this was what I got in return? Mom folded her arms across her chest, her expression darkening. “Don’t think I couldn’t tell. At the sales office today, watching Cassie pick out her apartment—you were eaten up with jealousy!” I froze. She knew. She had known all along. I glanced around, closed my eyes, and every ounce of strength drained out of me. “Fine. Then call the police—” “Mom! These earrings are so pretty—they’re exactly my size!” Cassie’s coy voice floated in. The missing pearl earrings were now in her ears. Oblivious, she stood in front of the vanity mirror, admiring them. “I love these. Mom, can I borrow them for a few days?” “Sweetheart, you took them without saying anything?” “Pearls are too grown-up for you anyway. If you like them, keep them. I’ll get you a pair more your age in a few days.” Ethan waved a hand. “All right, all right. Big misunderstanding. Earrings are found. Everybody’s happy.” The TV in the living room clicked on. They settled in, same as always, watching Cassie’s favorite Netflix reality show. As if everything that had just happened had been a hallucination of mine. No one apologized to me. I stood there like a ghost, forgotten in place.

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1 At my twenty-fourth birthday gala, I searched for Marcus to start the dance. Outside the VIP lounge, I heard him tell Nate he’d spent five years humiliating me because he lost a bet to his childhood friend Melody. They agreed to make me a fool for six years running. Today marked the sixth. Next year, he’d propose, he said. He fingered the deep blue tie I’d embroidered through sleepless nights, smiling. “I’ll give this to Melody’s golden retriever, Duke. It’ll make her laugh.” Nate gaped. Marcus shrugged, voice thick with indulgence. “If I don’t humor her, our little princess throws tantrums.” I walked away. Grandfather’s warning echoed: a Kingsley heir gets five chances at love’s weakness. This was year six. The tie meant for my fiancé would hang on a dog’s collar. The engagement was over. … Ten minutes later, the gala began. I stood at the top of the grand spiral staircase, the moonlight-white gown hugging my curves. Marcus sat at the head table, flanked by Melody, who wore a striking, attention-grabbing red dress. A golden retriever trotted excitedly around their feet. “Here, Duke,” Marcus called, snapping his fingers. The dog trotted over, wagging its tail. Under the watchful eyes of the entire room, Marcus untied the deep blue silk from his neck and fastened it around the golden retriever’s neck, tying a neat Windsor knot. Everyone in the ballroom recognized that tie. It was our engagement token, the silk bearing the patterns I had painstakingly stitched by hand. “He looks beautiful,” Melody giggled, leaning her head onto Marcus’s shoulder. “Marcus, doesn’t he look like a proper little gentleman now?” “He does,” Marcus murmured, patting the dog’s head with a soft smile. Then, his gaze drifted up, cutting through the crowd to land on me. In the past, clueless of the truth, I would have thrown a fit and demanded answers from Melody. Marcus would then scold me in front of everyone for being immature, and the night would end with me swallowing my pride and apologizing. But now that I knew who the real puppet master was, the anger vanished. I stared at the blue tie. Taking a deep breath, I gathered the train of my gown and stepped down the stairs, the sharp clicks of my heels echoing off the marble floor. The crowd parted, carving a path for me. I walked straight up to Marcus. Melody shrank back, playing the terrified victim as she hid behind him. Marcus frowned immediately, shifting his weight forward to shield her. “Vivian, it’s your birthday. Don’t make a scene,” he warned, his voice low and threatening. I ignored him entirely, my eyes lingering on the golden retriever. “That color suits him,” I remarked, my voice smooth and level. “It matches his coat perfectly.” Marcus froze. Melody’s smug smile stiffened on her face. “What did you say?” Marcus growled. “I said it looks good on him.” I reached out, lifting a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray. I raised it toward him in a mock toast. “Since you have such unique tastes, Marcus, consider the tie my official gift to the dog.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward the VIP table. Behind me, a chair scraped violently against the floor. “Vivian! Stop right there!” Marcus roared. I didn’t even pause. I had already exhausted every ounce of patience my grandfather had allowed me. He had thrown my six-year token to a beast. And with that, our six-year engagement was dead. After the gala, I returned to the downtown penthouse where Marcus lived. It was a property my family had bought as our future marital home, but he had been staying there rent-free. I began gathering my files scattered on the coffee table, preparing to move out. The heavy front door swung open. Marcus stormed in, reeking of alcohol and the cloying gardenia perfume that Melody always wore. His face was a mask of fury. Ripping open his collar, he threw his jacket onto the sofa. “What the hell was that attitude at the party tonight?” he demanded, stepping into my space and blocking the light from the chandelier. I slipped the last folder into my leather briefcase and clicked the brass locks shut. “No attitude. Just stating the obvious.” “Stating the obvious?” he sneered. “Melody was just having some harmless fun. She thought the dog looked cute. Did you really have to humiliate her in front of everyone?” He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. “Do you have any idea how long she cried tonight? She blames herself. She thinks she ruined your birthday.” I looked up at him. “Marcus, it was my birthday.” “So what?” He blew a cloud of smoke into my face. “You’re the Kingsley heiress. You have everything. Melody has no one but me. I was just trying to put a smile on her face, and you couldn’t even tolerate that?” Melody slipped through the door, wearing one of Marcus’s oversized button-down shirts. Her eyes were red and watery. “Marcus, please don’t fight with Vivian because of me,” she whispered, tugging gently on his sleeve. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have said the tie was pretty. I’ve just never seen anything so beautiful before. I got carried away.” Marcus immediately clasped her hand, his eyes turning frigid as he glared at me. “Do you hear her, Vivian? Even now, she’s thinking of you.” I stared at their intertwined fingers. Six years of devotion, reduced to a cheap farce. “There’s a dozen more of those ties in the hallway cabinet,” I said quietly. “Take them all. In fact, you can keep the penthouse, too. Consider it your new home.” Marcus blinked, then let out a harsh laugh. “Are we playing the runaway game again, Vivian? Let me remind you, the last time you packed your bags, you came back crying, begging me to take you back.” Melody bowed her head, a triumphant smirk slipping onto her lips where Marcus couldn’t see. “Vivian, please don’t be mad. I’ll leave right now…” She made a show of rushing toward the door, deliberately clipping her hip against the corner of the heavy wooden coffee table as she passed. “Ah!” she cried out in pain, collapsing perfectly into Marcus’s waiting arms. He caught her, whirling around to bark at me, “Why did you pull the table so far out? Did you do that on purpose?” That mahogany table hadn’t been moved an inch since the day we bought it. I didn’t bother correcting him. Marcus carefully carried Melody to the sofa, rolling up her pant leg to examine her knee. There was barely a faint pink mark. “I’ll grab some ointment,” he said, pushing past me. As he went, his shoulder slammed hard into mine. The impact was violent. Balanced on thin heels, my ankle buckled, throwing me off balance. I crashed sideways into the sharp edge of the display cabinet. A white-hot flash of pain shot through my skull. Something warm and wet began to trickle down my temple, blurring my vision with red. Crimson droplets splattered against the hardwood floor. Marcus paused and glanced back, his brow furrowing. “Stop being so dramatic,” he scoffed. “It was a tiny nudge. You expect me to believe you’re bleeding? Go get Melody an ice pack. Her leg is more important.” I cupped my forehead, feeling the hot blood seep through my fingers. Over on the couch, Melody watched me, her eyes gleaming with unspoken triumph. I gripped the cabinet to steady my trembling legs and stood up. I didn’t look at either of them. Grabbing my briefcase, I walked out into the night. The freezing midnight wind whipped against my face. He had no idea that with that blow, he had severed the last thread connecting him to the Kingsley family. The next morning, I sat at the head of the boardroom table on the top floor of the Kingsley headquarters, a clean white bandage taped over my temple. The heavy double doors swung open, and Marcus strolled in, followed closely by Melody, who clutched a stack of folders. Marcus was the general manager of our subsidiary branch, and Melody was his personal assistant. Seeing the bandage on my head, he hesitated for a fraction of a second. “What happened to you?” he asked, irritation clipping his words. I flipped open the quarterly report in front of me. “Let’s begin, Marcus. Everyone’s time is valuable.” His expression darkened, but he took his seat across from me. Ten minutes into the presentation, Melody stepped forward to hand Marcus a fresh cup of coffee. Her hand slipped, and the scalding liquid splashed across the original financial audits resting on the table. “I’m so sorry, Marcus! It was an accident…” she squeaked, grabbing napkins as tears welled in her eyes. Marcus caught her wrist, his voice softening instantly. “It’s fine. It’s just paper. Don’t burn yourself.” He turned to me, his tone turning demanding. “Vivian, have your assistant print another copy.” I clicked my pen shut, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Marcus, that document was finalized by three different departments and bears the physical signatures of our international partners. It is the only legally binding copy we have. Digital backups exist, but they cannot replace the raw legal authority of the signed original.” Marcus dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “Then have the team run the process again! Melody stayed up until midnight helping me compile these figures. She made a minor mistake. Show some understanding.” The executives around the table kept their heads down, holding their breath. I leaned back, looking him dead in the eye. “Marcus, this is a corporate boardroom. Keep your personal life out of it.” “Are you seriously targeting Melody again, Vivian?” Marcus slammed his hand onto the stained paper. “It’s a single report. As my fiancée, can’t you show a little grace?” Melody sniffled, stepping forward with her head hung low. “Ma’am, it’s my fault. Please don’t blame Marcus… I’ll redo the files right now.” She bent down to pick up the scattered papers, her body swaying as if she were about to faint. Marcus caught her by the waist, glaring at me with raw venom. “That is enough! Look at yourself, Vivian. Where is the elegance of a Kingsley heiress? Melody’s health is delicate. If you stress her into an episode, you won’t hear the end of it!” I reached out and pressed the intercom button. “Security to the executive boardroom, immediately.” Marcus blinked, caught off guard. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Melody is being terminated immediately for gross negligence and destruction of vital corporate property,” I said as two burly security guards walked in. Then, my eyes locked onto Marcus. “As for you, Marcus, you have consistently failed to separate your personal interests from your professional duties. Effective immediately, you are suspended from all duties. Pack your things.” Marcus let out a bitter, mocking laugh, pointing a finger at me. “Is this how low you’ll go to force me to apologize, Vivian? Fine. I’m leaving. Let’s see how your precious Southside development project moves forward without me!” He grabbed Melody’s wrist. “Let’s go.” Melody glanced back over her shoulder, a tiny, venomous smile playing on her lips. At the doorway, Marcus paused, throwing a cold warning back at me. “When you finally learn how to be a proper fiancée, you can beg me to come back.” The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind them. A dull ache throbbed beneath my bandage. I picked up the ruined documents and fed them into the paper shredder, the low hum filling the tense room. I flipped to the next item on the agenda. “Let’s proceed with the meeting.” Three days later, I stood in the sterile hallway of the municipal hospital’s VIP wing. My grandfather’s chief cardiologist looked at me with a grim expression. “Ms. Kingsley, your grandfather’s heart is failing. He needs emergency bypass surgery immediately. However, Dr. Harrison, the only specialist capable of this procedure, is currently attending a secure, military-sponsored medical conference upstate. All normal communications are blocked. The only way to get him here in time is via Marcus’s private jet, which already has pre-approved flight clearances for that restricted airspace.” I pulled out my phone, my fingers shaking violently as I dialed Marcus’s number. The first call went straight to voicemail. The second rang out. On the third attempt, he finally answered. The background was filled with loud music and roaring crowds. “What do you want?” Marcus snapped, his voice tight with irritation. “Marcus, my grandfather is in cardiac arrest. He’s in the operating room right now,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I need your jet to fly Dr. Harrison back. I am begging you, please authorize it now.” The line went quiet for a second. Then, Melody’s whiny voice echoed in the background. “Marcus, who is that? You promised we were going to watch the meteor shower tonight. If you let someone take the jet, we can’t go… I’ve never seen a shooting star in my life.” Marcus’s voice softened as he whispered back, “Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s fine.” When he spoke to me again, his voice was cold. “Vivian, stop it. This is getting pathetic.” “I am not lying! He is in the ICU!” I cried, my composure fracturing. “The ICU? Last month you said his blood pressure was high. Last week you claimed you cut your hand slicing fruit just to get me to visit. You’ve used up your crying-wolf cards, Vivian.” Marcus chuckled dryly. “I’m sick of your little dramas. Melody has never been on a private plane, and she’s never seen a meteor shower. I gave her my word I’d take her tonight. I’m not breaking a promise to her.” “Marcus, a man is dying!” I screamed into the receiver. “That’s enough,” he cut me off. “If you want me to come home, just say so. Don’t use your grandfather’s health as a sick bargaining chip. I’m busy. I don’t have time for your games.” The line went dead.

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1 We upgraded from our cramped sedan to a seven-seater SUV, and I smiled packing for our road trip. With six of us, I thought my days curled in the trunk were over. I was wrong. At the car, the only empty seat held my younger brother Finn’s Golden Retriever. Finn grinned, scratching the dog. “VIP seat, Peanut.” My voice chilled. “Where do I sit?” Finn shook my arm. “Peanut gets anxious. He barks all trip if he’s uncomfortable. You’ve ridden the trunk for years. You’re used to it. Don’t fight the dog.” Grandparents agreed from the back. “Peanut’s temper means no peace if locked in.” “For the dog’s good and our sanity. Five hours, Ralph. Close your eyes.” Mom rolled her window down, tone sharp. “Get in the trunk. You’re delaying us.” I looked at Dad. He gripped the wheel, staring ahead, silent. In this family, even the dog had a place. I did not. Nothing left to hold. Silence stretched between us. … “Ralph, what are you zoning out for? Get in the car!” Dad finally snapped his head toward me, irritation written all over his face. “All the relatives are waiting back in Oakridge. They’ve been setting up Finn’s graduation party all morning. If we’re late, people are going to talk.” I stood my ground, my feet planted like concrete. Four years ago, I got accepted into Columbia University. Full ride. An Ivy League. I foolishly thought my parents would be bursting with pride, that they would throw a massive backyard barbecue to celebrate. They didn’t even mention it. When I finally gathered the courage to ask why I wasn’t getting a party, Mom brushed me off. “You need to learn humility, Ralph. Do you seriously think everyone out there is happy for your success? People hate it when others do better than them. They’ll get jealous, and who knows what kind of bad luck they’ll wish upon this family. Once you enter the real world, you’ll realize that the smarter you are, the more you need to keep your head down.” Fast forward to today. Finn barely scraped by and got accepted into Oakhaven College, an overpriced, low-tier private school with a near-perfect acceptance rate. Yet, my parents had spent weeks calling every aunt, uncle, and family friend to invite them to a massive catered celebration in our hometown. That realization was a fault line cracking straight through my chest, severing me from this family once and for all. Mom must have sensed my sour mood. She had tried to do some damage control the night before. “Look, we’ve handed out so many graduation gifts over the years. We need to throw a party to recoup some of that cash. Plus, Finn is only going to a state-level private school. No one is going to be jealous of him. It’s just a little confidence boost to keep him motivated.” What she didn’t know was that I had overheard her talking to Dad in the kitchen later that night. Dad had said, “Ralph got into a top-tier Ivy League, and we didn’t celebrate him at all. Now Finn gets into Oakhaven, and we’re throwing a massive bash. People are going to gossip.” Mom had scoffed, entirely unbothered. “Let them gossip. The tradition back home is that a family only throws one major graduation party, regardless of how many kids they have. I’m giving that opportunity to Finn! The older brother is supposed to yield to the younger one. Ralph has been stepping aside for Finn since they were kids. Giving up this party is exactly what he should do.” That was the exact moment I realized a mother’s love wasn’t a universal given. It was a rigged scale, and the heavy weights were always stacked on Finn’s side. “Ralph! Seriously, what is your problem today?” Mom’s agitated voice snapped me back to the driveway. In the past, I would have climbed into the trunk before they even had to ask. But this time, because I didn’t obediently curl up in the dark, I was met with instant hostility. “I’m not getting in the trunk,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ve laid back there for over a decade. I’ve compromised for over a decade. It’s Finn’s turn.” I knew they wouldn’t agree. I only said it to get the poison out of my system, knowing full well it wouldn’t change a damn thing. “Bro! It… it’s not that I don’t want to! But the trunk is so claustrophobic.” Finn’s eyes went wide. He grabbed my wrist, shaking it again. “You know how I get in tight spaces. I can’t breathe. It literally feels like I’m dying. Please, Ralph! You’re the one who spoils me the most!” Even though he was practically an adult, he still weaponized his whining perfectly. One pout, and the whole house bent to his will. He wasn’t wrong. I used to spoil him rotten. I gave up everything for him. The last slice of pizza, the bigger bedroom, my own allowance. Whenever we argued, he just had to put on a sulky face and I would be the one apologizing. I gave in so many times that it became his reality. He genuinely believed he was entitled to my sacrifices. I stared him dead in the eyes. “I’ve spoiled you your whole life, and you haven’t looked out for me once. You’d rather let a dog sit in a comfortable seat than your own brother. Do you even see me as family?” Finn froze. He looked entirely blindsided that I was actually pushing back. His lower lip quivered, playing the absolute victim. “Bro, don’t be mad. I… fine. I’ll get in the trunk.” He made a weak, dramatic motion toward the car door, but his feet stayed glued to the pavement. “Ralph Bennett!” Mom shrieked, leaning out the window. “Look at the time! How old are you, picking a fight with your little brother over a seat?” Dad’s tone was downright venomous. “You’re breaking your brother’s heart over nothing! The trunk is tiny. How is he supposed to fit back there? You know his condition! Stop being so dramatic!” A bitter, broken smile touched my lips. So Dad knew the trunk was tiny. He knew I was six-foot-two and Finn was only five-foot-nine. Yet he never once cared how agonizing it was for me to fold my body into a dark, metal box for hours on end. Before I could say another word, a voice called out from the driveway next door. “Robert! Are you folks out of seats? Let Ralph ride with us. We’re heading the same way.” Mom instantly leaned halfway out the passenger window, her scowl melting into a sickeningly sweet smile. “Oh, Mrs. Gable! That would be wonderful, thank you so much. Go on, Ralph. Get in Mrs. Gable’s car.” The suffocating tension broke. Mrs. Gable smiled warmly, gesturing for me to follow her. Sitting in the backseat of the neighbor’s car, I realized for the first time how luxurious a normal seat actually was. My legs weren’t cramped. My limbs weren’t going numb. There was no overwhelming smell of exhaust, no suffocating darkness pressing against my chest. I pulled out my phone and opened my messages. I found the thread with the corporate recruiter in London. “I apologize for the sudden change of heart. I am formally rescinding my decision from two hours ago. After careful consideration, I would like to accept the position, provided the offer is still on the table.” Just two hours earlier, I had rejected a $300,000 tech job in the UK. I had been terrified that moving across the Atlantic would break my parents’ hearts. I was fully prepared to take a massive pay cut and settle for a local corporate job just to stay close to them. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. The company was thrilled. My talent visa was pre-approved. They were ready for me. If there was no room for me in this family, then I would cross an ocean. The world was massive. I would find my own seat at the table. I was never swallowing my pride for them again. When we finally arrived at Oakridge, the backyard was swarming with relatives. In this rural town, throwing a party meant everyone pitched in to cook and decorate. It was louder and cheaper than renting a venue. When I walked through the gate, Mom was holding Finn’s hand, parading him around the patio like a prized stallion. An aunt caught sight of me. “Oh, Ralph! You graduated this year too, right? How’s the job hunt?” Mom didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, he found something local,” she said, her voice dripping with casual dismissal. “Nothing special. With his degree, he’s basically just making enough to keep the lights on and buy groceries.” I used to believe she said those things to “keep a low profile.” But after hearing her tear me down time and time again while elevating Finn to the heavens, the truth was obvious. She was genuinely ashamed of me. Mom spotted me standing there and shoved a leather leash into my chest. “Ralph, you’re not doing anything useful. Go walk the dog.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. I needed the fresh air anyway. But before I even made it to the sidewalk, I heard Mom’s voice carrying over the crowd, bragging to her sisters. “Finn didn’t even try his hardest on the exams, but Oakhaven is a fantastic school! His major is practically a guaranteed pipeline to a cushy executive job. Way better prospects than his brother. Finn was born lucky. He’s going to cruise through life.” The emotions I had been swallowing for years swelled in my throat like drowning water. When a parent truly loves a child, they could spin pure garbage into gold. Crossing the lawn, I passed a group of uncles smoking near the grill. Dad was holding court, giving his unsolicited parenting advice. “A young man needs cash in his pocket, especially at college,” Dad declared, puffing his chest out. “Martha and I are setting Finn up with a $3,000 monthly allowance. I don’t want him looking broke when he starts taking girls out. A man can’t look cheap in front of women.” My chest physically ached, like my ribs were cracking open. My college allowance was exactly $150 a month. I survived entirely on scholarships and working brutal night shifts as a dishwasher just to keep my ribs from showing through my shirts. I vividly remembered the day Mom handed me those crumpled dollar bills before I left for New York. Tears had streamed down her face as she squeezed my hands. “Ralph, this is all we can scrape together. The well is dry. Finn’s high school entrance exams are coming up. His grades are terrible. If we don’t get him private tutors, he’ll be a high school dropout. His life will be over. You’re our sensible boy. You understand, right?” And I had understood. I had watched her hire private tutors at $80 an hour to drag Finn across the finish line. He had four sessions a week. A single week of his tutoring cost more than my entire food budget for a month. Just because he was the baby of the family. Just because Mom cried poverty. I took the scraps without a single complaint. For four years, they never once texted to ask if I had enough to eat, or if I could afford winter boots. The only reason I survived Columbia was because of my full academic ride. If I hadn’t been flawless on paper, I would have starved in the streets. Dad kept laughing with his brothers, entirely oblivious to me standing mere feet away. Or maybe he saw me and simply didn’t care. When dinner was finally served, I tied the Golden Retriever to an oak tree near the driveway. I walked back to the patio. Every single rented table was packed. People were already eating. Nobody had told me dinner was ready. Nobody had saved me a seat. The hosts were always supposed to eat at the final table. If there was no seat for me there, it meant I wasn’t eating tonight. Mom looked up, feigning utter shock. “Ralph? You haven’t eaten yet? I thought you already grabbed a plate! You’re always hiding in corners playing on your phone. You must have lost track of time!” A cold, bitter laugh echoed in my head. She always found a way to twist her blatant neglect into my personal failure. An older uncle waved me over. “Come on, we can squeeze together! Let’s make some room for Ralph.” “No need for that,” Mom interrupted smoothly. “The chairs are perfectly calculated. One per person.” She grabbed a half-empty paper plate from the center of the table, scooped a spoonful of lukewarm leftovers onto it, and shoved it toward me. “Take this and eat out on the lawn.” Like I was a beggar off the street. “Bro, keep an eye on Peanut while you’re out there.” Finn didn’t even look up from his phone, giving orders like a trust fund kid talking to the hired help. My face was devoid of emotion. I didn’t reach for the plate of scraps. Dad must have noticed the dangerous shift in the atmosphere. He took the paper plate from Mom’s hand, stepped away from the table, and pulled me aside. “Today is the most important day of your brother’s life,” Dad hissed under his breath. “Do not throw a tantrum and embarrass us. You’re going to ruin Finn’s mood. Honestly, eating outside is better anyway. You don’t have to talk to anyone. The dog is probably hungry too. Go feed him.” He tried to force the greasy paper plate into my hands. When I didn’t open my fingers, he physically tried to pry my hands apart to make me hold it. I yanked my arm back. The anger finally boiled over. “Am I a dog to you people?” I didn’t wait for Dad to answer. A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. “No. I don’t even rank that high. In this family, the dog gets a seat in the car. I don’t.” Dad’s eyebrows pulled together in genuine bewilderment. “Ralph, how could you say something like that?” He looked at me not with guilt, but with the exhausted disappointment of a parent dealing with an ungrateful, rebellious teenager. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my voice into absolute deadpan. “How could you treat me like this?” I turned on my heel and walked away. Behind me, the relatives tried to smooth over the awkward silence. Someone called out, “Ralph, come take my seat! I have to head out early anyway.” Grandma quickly blocked them. “You haven’t even finished your steak! Ignore him. He’s just spoiled. He’ll get over his little mood swing.” Grandpa raised his glass. “Alright everyone, drink up! Enjoy the food!” Mom’s voice floated over the chatter. “Ralph just has a nasty temper. I’ll go coddle him in a few minutes, he’ll be fine.” Every single time she pushed me to my breaking point, she framed it as my character flaw. But this time was different. Mom, I’m never giving you the chance to coddle me again. I don’t need it anymore. Standing on the dark curb, I pulled up the Uber app and ordered a ride straight to the international airport. Because the London firm had fast-tracked my talent visa, I could buy a ticket at the counter and fly out immediately. While I waited for the car, my parents finally waved off the last of the guests. All that was left were towering stacks of dirty dishes and trash bags. Mom yelled from the porch. “Ralph! Get over here and start washing the plates.” While she barked orders at me, Finn was sitting right next to her, blasting a mobile game on his phone. The headlights of the Uber cut through the dark street. I looked at them. One final, hollow glance. “I’m leaving.” “Leaving? Where are you going? Look at this mess,” Mom snapped, throwing a stained apron at my chest. I didn’t catch it. It hit the dirt. “If I stay to clean up, am I supposed to ride in the trunk on the way back?” I shot back. Mom choked on her words, her face flushing red. Done talking, I opened the door of the Uber and climbed in. Mom lunged forward to yank me out of the car, but Finn stepped in front of her. Through the open window, Finn leaned in, smiling casually. “Alright bro, you head back first. But listen, Peanut is out of food. Go to the boutique on Elm Street and buy that premium kibble he likes. Oh, and wash his dog bed. He got mud all over it.” He clapped his hands together. “We’re driving back tomorrow. And hey, don’t say I never care about you. I know tomorrow is your birthday. I’ll take you out to celebrate! I’m completely broke though, haha, so I’ll plan the party and you foot the bill.” A frigid smirk crossed my face. In twenty-two years, I had never had a single birthday cake. Meanwhile, Finn got massive parties every single year without fail. Whenever my birthday rolled around in July, they claimed they were “too busy with work” and forgot. I used to cry. I used to beg them to remember. Their excuse was always the same: “We aren’t playing favorites, Ralph. Finn’s birthday is on New Year’s Eve. We don’t even have to try to remember it. Yours is in the middle of summer. We’re breaking our backs providing for you boys, of course it slips our minds.” Even when I reminded them weeks in advance, something would always “come up.” Eventually, I went numb. I stopped asking. I stopped caring. I tapped the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.” Halfway to the airport, my phone lit up with a text from Mom. “Finn wants to go to Hawaii before college starts. Figure out the itinerary, book the flights, and pay for the resort. When we get home, we’ll all go as a family to relax.” Mom, your family has no room for me. And my flight definitely has no room for you.

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1 After our latest cold war, I opened my text thread with Wyatt, preparing to swallow my pride and make peace like I always did. But then I saw the Instagram story he had posted just thirty minutes ago. It was a photo of him trying to cheer up Olive, a junior at his firm. The caption read: Worse than trying to appease a girlfriend. Olive had replied in the comments: Liar. Didn’t you say you’ve never had to appease a girlfriend before? Staring at her comment, the reality finally sank in. Wyatt had never once tried to make things right with me. Every single time we argued, he simply waited for me to crawl back. Suddenly, a mutual friend sent me a screen recording of a Snapchat video. In the clip, someone off-camera asked Wyatt if he wasn’t worried I would actually walk away this time. Wyatt just smirked, looking entirely unbothered. “Please. Mary is so hopelessly obsessed with me. If I ignore her for more than forty-eight hours, she’s the one who starts panicking.” “Last time we had a fight, she sent me these massive walls of text that made my eyes glaze over. Two weeks ago, she even bought matching rings, talking about how she wanted to get married.” He chuckled dismissively. “If I don’t baby Olive, she’ll freeze me out for weeks. But Mary? She’s too clingy. You couldn’t push her away if you tried.” Watching the video, my lips curled into a faint, tired smile. Fine. If I was just a clingy, obsessed girl to him, then I guess I would stop chasing. … Near the end of the video, Wyatt gave a smug grin. “Don’t believe me? Let’s make a bet. I guarantee Mary texts me to apologize tonight.” His voice was filled with absolute certainty. “When it comes to Mary, I never lose.” The video cut off there. I went back to our chat, my eyes lingering on the last two messages. They were from me, asking what exactly was going on between him and Olive. That had sparked this current silent treatment. Wyatt hadn’t replied. He was always like that, ignoring whatever didn’t suit him. I used to think I understood him, that I was just used to his quiet phases. But hearing him speak about me with such casual contempt made a dull, heavy ache flare up in my chest. What I had viewed as trying to save our relationship, he saw as the desperate actions of a girl who couldn’t leave. He had never once tried to comfort me, yet he went out of his way to baby Olive. Before I could even lock my phone, a voice note from Olive popped up. “Hey Mary, did you forget something? Wyatt is still waiting for your apology essay!” In the background, a chorus of drunk laughter erupted. Before I could even think of a reply, two more texts buzzed on my screen. “Wyatt placed a bet that you’d crawl back tonight. Better start writing fast, or you’ll run out of time!” “We’re all waiting for him to leak it in the group chat!” She ended the text with a laughing emoji. And just like that, the final piece of my dignity was stripped away. Every desperate, vulnerable paragraph I had ever sent him to mend our relationship had been forwarded to his group chat for his buddies and Olive to laugh at. I played the voice note one more time. Beneath the rowdy background noise, I could clearly hear Wyatt’s soft, amused chuckle. Suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to feel angry. Later that evening, Olive was the one who drove Wyatt home. I happened to be downstairs pouring a glass of water when they walked through the door. Seeing me, Olive offered a sweet, innocent smile. “Mary, Wyatt and the guys had a few too many, so I wanted to make sure he got home safe. Don’t read too much into it, okay?” As if recalling something else, her smile widened. “Wyatt only posted that story to cheer me up because I was having a bad day, so please don’t take it personally. He had to drink so much tonight because he lost his bet. Didn’t you get my texts?” I ignored her, taking a slow sip of my water. Once the glass was half empty, I finally looked up at her. “I got them. So? What exactly do you want me to say?” My voice was flat, carrying an icy edge of exhaustion. Olive blinked, her smile faltering slightly. “I was just making conversation, Mary. I just hope you aren’t mad at me for bringing him back.” It wasn’t the first time she had driven him home. And it wasn’t the first time Wyatt had ignored me for days because of her. “I’m not mad,” I said, my gaze shifting from her to Wyatt, who was slumped on the sofa, before returning to her stiffening face. “In fact, if it’s not too much trouble, why don’t you carry him up to his bed?” Wyatt suddenly looked up, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t quite comprehend my words. After all, every time he came home drunk, I was the one who stayed up to nurse him. Wyatt told Olive to head home, and she quickly gathered her things. “Okay, I’ll leave you two to talk. See you tomorrow, Wyatt!” Once the front door clicked shut, Wyatt turned his eyes to me. “Why didn’t you text me?” he asked, his tone demanding and entirely expectant. I looked at him calmly. “Why should I have?” Wyatt froze. For a moment, he couldn’t find his words. He had grown so accustomed to my compliance. He was used to me offering the olive branch every time he froze me out. Because I hadn’t done it this time, he was lost. Wyatt stared at me for a few seconds before his tone softened, a rare occurrence. “It was just a joke, Mary. There’s no need to take it so seriously.” Just a joke? Posting about Olive on Instagram, placing bets on my dignity, letting Olive mock me, and sharing our private messages with his friends: did all of that qualify as a simple joke in his mind? “Which joke are you referring to?” I asked. Wyatt’s frown deepened, a flash of irritation crossing his eyes. Usually, whenever he threw me a bone like this, I would immediately let the matter drop. My silence was unfamiliar to him. “The Instagram story?” I continued, looking him dead in the eye. “The bet? Or you sharing our private conversations with your friends? Or maybe you telling everyone that I’m so desperate I’ll never leave? Which joke are we talking about?” With all of his behavior laid out so plainly, Wyatt’s expression soured. “It was just some dumb banter at a party,” he said, barely hiding his impatience. “Stop blowing things out of proportion.” Of course. To him, our relationship was nothing more than a casual topic to amuse his friends. If I dared to care, I was the one being unreasonable. “What about Olive?” my voice remained entirely devoid of emotion. “Was her kissing you also just a joke?” I had seen the photo in his group chat before it was hurriedly deleted, likely because they realized I was still in the member list. He had sat there, perfectly still on the couch, letting Olive press her lips to his. Wyatt’s expression shifted slightly, a trace of guilt creeping into his voice. “We lost a party game, and it was a penalty. Don’t overthink it. You know there’s nothing going on between me and Olive. She’s just a tomboy, she didn’t mean anything by it.” I said nothing. Wyatt cleared his throat. “We only took the photo because we were having fun, and I didn’t show you because I knew you’d overreact. Besides, Olive only hangs out with me. She’s comfortable with me. You couldn’t expect her to kiss some random guy she barely knows, right?” He spoke with such conviction, as if he actually believed his own ridiculous excuses. “Why not?” I asked. “Why did it have to be you? Is it because you figured I’d just accept it like I always do?” Wyatt fell silent. I had voiced the exact thought he had tried so hard to hide. Sensing that he had pushed me too far this time, Wyatt took a step closer. The sharp scent of alcohol mixed with a sweet, unfamiliar women’s perfume invaded my senses, making a wave of nausea roll through my stomach. He reached out, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “Come on, baby, stop making a scene. That’s enough. I have to help Olive out tomorrow, so let’s talk about this some other time.” Olive. He called her so affectionately. But there wouldn’t be another time. Before I shut my eyes that night, my phone screen lit up with a text from Olive. Mary, I’m so sorry! I accidentally bit Wyatt’s lip during the game tonight. Make sure he puts some ointment on it! I stared at the screen for a long time. Wyatt walked into the bedroom, noticing my blank stare. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” Without a word, I turned the screen toward him. Wyatt’s face tensed as he read the words. It took him a long moment to look away. “It was an accident during the game,” he muttered, his hand instinctively rising to touch his bottom lip. The cut was tiny, almost invisible, but under the bedroom light, it was clear enough. How reckless did a party game have to be for someone to bite another person’s lip? I didn’t bother asking. I locked my phone and turned over. “Right. Just be careful next time.” My easy dismissal made Wyatt pause. His tone carried a hint of defensive irritation. “Look, I said it was an accident. Drop it.” “I know,” I murmured, closing my eyes. When I woke up the next morning, Wyatt was already gone. He had left a note on the nightstand. Olive needs some help. I won’t be home for dinner tonight, don’t wait up. I crumpled the note into a tight ball and tossed it into the trash can. When I unlocked my phone, I saw that the group chat notification count had already surged past ninety-nine. It seemed they had completely forgotten I was still in the chat. I scrolled up with numb fingers. Olive had posted a photo of her and Wyatt at an amusement park. Wyatt is literally the best, he brought me out to play today! So this was the “help” she needed. Whenever I asked Wyatt to go out with me, he was always too busy. If I said I wanted to relax, he had no time. A simple movie date was always postponed because of work, delayed again and again until it was forgotten entirely. Yet, he had all the time in the world for Olive. The chat was filled with continuous teasing from his friends. “Man, Wyatt’s got some nerve. He’s not even worried about his lady finding out?” “Cut the crap, even if she knows, what can she do? She’ll just sulk for a couple of days and then come crawling back like she always does.” “True. Mary is incredibly patient.” Wyatt had then shared a few photos of Olive that he had taken, followed by a voice note. “Nothing to hide. Olive and I aren’t doing anything wrong.” Olive immediately replied with a teasing text. “I told Mary about Wyatt’s lip last night, and she didn’t even get mad!” I closed the chat and quietly left the group. I looked down at my hand. The ring I wore was part of a matching pair I had bought myself. Wyatt rarely wore his, claiming it got in the way of his work, so it usually sat forgotten in a drawer. There was no point in wearing mine either. I slipped it off and dropped it into a drawer. Wyatt noticed my departure from the chat almost immediately. He sent a brief text. You left the group? Four words. No explanation, no apology. I didn’t reply. An hour later, my phone rang. It was Wyatt. “Olive has been under a lot of stress lately. She was worried you’d overreact, which is why she didn’t tell you we were going to the park.” I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “The guys forgot you were in the chat. They were just talking trash. Don’t be mad.” “I’m not mad,” I replied softly. Wyatt let out a breath of relief. “Alright, I’ll head back now and pick you up for dinner.” Now that the truth was out, he didn’t feel the need to hide it anymore. To him, the issue was resolved. When Wyatt drove up to the house, Olive was sitting in the passenger seat. I stood by the curb. Olive rolled down the window, offering a apologetic smile. “Mary, I get terrible motion sickness. Mind sitting in the back?” I looked past her, fixing my eyes on Wyatt. “Olive gets car sick easily,” he said, matching her tone. “Just sit in the back, Mary. It’s the same thing.” Wyatt had forgotten. I suffered from motion sickness too. I didn’t move. Wyatt’s brow furrowed with familiar impatience. “Don’t start acting up over a seat. It’s just a car ride.” Yes, it was just a seat. But I was tired of always being the one to step back. I looked at him, my voice flat and exhausted. “I’m not going. You two enjoy yourselves.” “Mary, that’s enough,” Wyatt’s voice hardened. “Olive is actually sick. If you want to be jealous, at least pick the right time.” Olive suddenly chimed in. “Wyatt, it’s fine. Go with Mary. I don’t want to get between you two.” “No way,” Wyatt replied instantly. “You’ve been dying to go to this restaurant for months. It took forever to get a reservation.” So the dinner was for Olive too. Olive glanced at me, looking deeply troubled. “But what about Mary?” Wyatt spared me a cold glance and started the engine. “If she doesn’t want to go, then leave her. Let her stay.” As the window rolled up, Olive waved. “Bye, Mary! I’ll take good care of Wyatt!” I stood on the pavement until the car disappeared from view. It was time to let go. Wyatt only treated me this way because he was entirely secure in my love. He knew I would always be there, no matter how much he neglected me. But love wasn’t infinite; it had been chipped away, piece by piece, until nothing remained. I went upstairs and grabbed the suitcase I had packed days ago. We had lived in this house for five years. Before this, we had spent two years in a cramped, drafty apartment where the winter wind whistled through the window frames. Back then, Wyatt had held me close, promising that he would work hard to give me a good life, that we would get married as soon as he succeeded. He had succeeded. He made money and bought this beautiful house. But we never got married. Even the proposal had been initiated by me. He had forgotten his promises, and his life no longer had room for me. At the front door, I paused, taking one last look at the place I had called home. Then, I turned and walked out. He wouldn’t have to read my long, eye-glazing paragraphs ever again. After dinner, Wyatt drove Olive home. On his way back, he stopped by Mary’s favorite takeout place, intending to bring her a peace offering. He texted her to ask what she wanted, but ten minutes passed without a reply. Wyatt muttered an irritated curse and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, deciding to let her cool down on her own. He figured she would text him by the end of the week, just like she always did. But a week passed, and his pinned chat with Mary remained dead silent. It was entirely unlike her. Instead, it was Olive’s name that kept popping up on his screen. Wyatt, did Mary contact you yet? Is she actually mad? Should I go apologize to her? I feel so bad. Wyatt didn’t reply to Olive. Instead, he opened Mary’s chat and typed out a brief message. That’s enough. He clicked send, only to watch a bright red exclamation mark pop up next to his message. Mary had blocked him.

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