Author: Momo Chan

1 On our wedding eve, Austin casually mentioned he’d married Natalie after losing a dice game at a bar. “A month-long joke,” he shrugged. “Not worth mentioning.” That night, he hosted a VIP party to “win back his divorce papers.” I entered to find him kissing Natalie before the crowd. Laughing, they pulled me onto the sofa. “Napkin pass,” someone explained. “Pass paper by lips. Drop it, we all get a demand.” Austin kissed Natalie for three minutes before turning, a damp scrap clinging to his lips. “Your turn, Vivian,” he slurred. “Catch it or forfeit.” I stared, arms folded. “I forfeit.” Natalie smirked against his shoulder. “My demand: lend me Austin for a year.” Austin patted her hand, silent. I nodded, expressionless. “Fake marriage’s dull. Let’s raise the stakes.” … The laughter in the room died down instantly. Austin frowned, his gaze narrowing. “Vivian, what are you planning now?” I didn’t answer him. I kept my eyes locked on Natalie. “Are we playing or not?” I saw a flash of excitement in Natalie’s eyes: the unmistakable thrill of a predator watching its prey step into a trap. But she hid it quickly, leaning back against Austin and casually twirling his fingers. “I already have Austin as my husband for a year,” she said, looking at me with amusement. “As a woman, I’ve already won. Why should I risk playing you unless you put up a stake that actually interests me?” “You name the stake,” I said. She smiled maliciously, her eyes sparkling under the dim lounge lights. “Tomorrow is your ten-million-dollar wedding, isn’t it? If I win, tomorrow’s wedding night belongs to me.” Several people in the room gasped. I looked over at Austin. “That depends on what Austin wants.” Austin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Vivian, if you’re too scared to play, just say so. Don’t use me as an excuse to back out!” I nodded. “Fine. Let’s play.” Natalie sat up, her interest fully piqued. “And what’s your demand if you win?” “My demand is simple. You both delete that relationship app from your phones.” Austin let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Vivian, you’ve been snooping through my phone? Just because Natalie and I logged in for thirty consecutive days to get the ‘Honeymoon Couple’ digital badge? It’s a game, Vivian. You’re seriously throwing a tantrum over a virtual badge?” To the crowd, I looked pathetic. Betting my actual wedding night just to force them to delete a silly app: it was the ultimate, desperate humiliation of a woman blinded by love. The whispers in the room started immediately. People muttered about how Vivian Jiang, the ruthless CEO of the Jiang Group, could be so weak and submissive when it came to Austin. I ignored them. I knew exactly what they were saying. During our junior year of college, Austin had gotten into a bloody brawl over Natalie, smashing a beer bottle over a man’s head. I was the one who showed up at the police station at 4:00 AM with a team of lawyers, paid the victim’s massive medical bills, and kept his name out of the press. He had never apologized. He kept getting into fights for Natalie, and I kept cleaning up his messes. My own father had threatened to disinherit me because he hated Austin, and I had nearly severed ties with my family just to secure tomorrow’s wedding. To everyone here, I was just a rich fool who would tolerate any abuse to keep her man. Natalie picked up the silver dice cup. “How are we playing?” I picked up my cup clumsily, my hand shaking slightly. As I did, one of my dice slipped out, rolling across the carpet. A wave of snickers ran through the room. Austin picked up the die, tossing it back to me with an irritated sigh. “Why do you have to embarrass yourself like this? You never step foot in clubs, and you can’t beat her. Are you trying to lose me completely before you’re satisfied?” I began to shake the cup slowly. “There isn’t much left to lose anyway.” Austin’s breath hitched, but my public defiance clearly bruised his ego. He sneered, leaning back. “Fine! If you lose, I’m sleeping in her bed tomorrow night. Don’t come crying to me!” Natalie gave her cup a professional, elegant shake and slammed it onto the glass table. She lifted it. Double sixes: a perfect twelve. The room erupted into cheers. Unless I rolled a twelve as well, I was finished. Austin leaned in, playfully biting Natalie’s cheek. “Good job, babe.” I reached for my cup. “Wait,” Austin interrupted, holding my hand down. “I’m raising the stakes. If you lose, you have to personally book the room for us tomorrow night. I want the penthouse suite at your luxury hotel: the most expensive one you own.” They were dragging my pride through the mud, and they wanted me to pay for it. I nodded. “Deal.” I lifted my cup. A two and a three: five points. “Hahaha!” Natalie burst into laughter, wrapping her arms tightly around Austin’s waist. She looked at me with mock pity. “Come on, Vivian. Women shouldn’t be so cruel to each other. If you beg me right now, we can call the whole bet off.” It was a classic psychological trap. I had used that exact negotiation tactic in boardrooms when she was still using it to flirt with college boys. “No need,” I said, my voice dry. “A bet is a bet.” Natalie’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Want to keep going? Let’s raise the stakes again.” “Yes,” I replied without hesitation. Natalie leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If I win this time, I want your wedding ring. And tomorrow’s wedding? I want to be the bride standing at the altar with Austin.” The room fell into a shocked, suffocating silence. I looked at Austin, my voice slightly raspy. “Do you agree to this?” Austin didn’t even hesitate. He looked at me with utter contempt. “Vivian, do you really think you can use me to back out of this?” “Natalie is gorgeous, and I don’t lose either way. If you lose, just wait a year. I’ll divorce her and marry you then. You’ve spent your whole life waiting for me anyway, haven’t you?” The very last drop of my affection for him evaporated into the cold air of the lounge. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s play.” This time, she rolled an eleven. I rolled an eight. I lost again. Natalie poured two glasses of champagne, locking her arm with Austin’s for a celebratory toast. “To our early wedding!” Austin drank it down, looking at me with a smirk. “See, Vivian? That’s what a real woman looks like.” Without a word, I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a message to my family group, my business partners, and my social media accounts. Tomorrow’s wedding is canceled. Please do not attend. Then, I dialed my PR director. “Transfer tomorrow’s wedding venue, catering, and floral arrangements to Ms. Natalie Shen, free of charge. Draft a press release: ‘The Jiang Group congratulates Natalie Shen on her sudden marriage.’” Austin’s glass nearly slipped from his hand. “Vivian, are you insane? That wedding cost tens of millions!” Natalie froze for three seconds, then let out a nervous laugh. “Vivian… you’re incredibly generous! But I don’t want to steal your man forever. Let him be my husband for just a year. That’s a fair compromise, right?” She was trying to act magnanimous, believing I had lost my mind over Austin and wanting to keep me hooked in the game so she could extract more from me. “If that’s what you want…” I said, my hands trembling slightly. Natalie’s smile grew wider. “Let’s bet on something else then. I’ll put up my family’s entire company assets.” A murmur of surprise ran through the room. The Shen Group was a medical supply business that had made a quick fortune during a recent supply shortage, but they were heavily leveraged and on the verge of bankruptcy without cash flow. My H Luxury Hotel Group, on the other hand, was a stable, massively profitable empire with prime real estate across the country. She thought she was a financial genius. She didn’t realize she was standing on the edge of a cliff. Seeing me hesitate, she offered: “If you think the stakes are too high, I can give you tomorrow’s wedding back… though the groom still belongs to me for the year.” “No need,” I interrupted. I stared at my dice cup with the desperate, bloodshot eyes of a ruined gambler. “H Hotels it is. Let’s roll.” Natalie shook her cup with excitement. Before I could lift mine, she stopped me. “Wait, Vivian. Since this involves corporate assets, shouldn’t we have lawyers and media witness it?” “Sure,” I said. A man in a sharp suit stood up from the corner. “What a coincidence, I’m a senior partner at a top law firm. I have a digital contract template ready.” Two elegantly dressed women stood up beside him. “We’re journalists. We can document this live on our platforms.” I smiled. “Perfect.” The lawyer handed me the tablet. I signed my name without even reading the clauses. “No need to review. Your firm’s founder is my company’s independent director and personal advisor. If there’s a loophole, I’m sure he’ll handle it.” The lawyer’s face went pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Y-yes, absolutely no issues, Ms. Jiang.” We both signed the digital agreement. Natalie shook her cup one last time and lifted it. Double sixes: twelve points again. I lifted mine. A five and a six: eleven points. I lost. The crowd groaned in disappointment. “So close. What a shame.” I let out a heavy sigh, slamming my cup onto the table. “Alright, H Hotels is yours. Want to keep going?” Natalie’s eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated greed. “Anytime, Vivian.” I ruffled my hair in simulated frustration. “Let’s make it quick. All-in. If I lose, you get the entire Jiang Corporation. If you lose, I get your family assets, H Hotels back, Austin back, and tomorrow’s wedding.” Austin grabbed my wrist. “Stop! You’re going to lose everything!” He glared at me, his breathing ragged. “If you do this, even if you win, I’ll never choose you. And if you lose and become a pauper, I definitely won’t want you. Stop this now!” I shoved his hand away and began to shake my cup. “We’ve been playing high rolls. This time, lowest roll wins.” Natalie laughed. “Sure, whatever you want.” “Reveal!” She lifted her cup. Two ones: a total of two points. The lowest possible roll under normal circumstances. Everyone looked at me as if I were a dead woman walking. I calmly lifted my cup. A collective gasp rattled the room. Natalie leaned forward, her face turning from triumph to absolute, paralyzing horror. “How… how is this possible?”

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1 For eighteen years I was her blood, yet Mother treated me as a crash-test dummy clearing the way for her adopted daughter, Cindy. Now, to guarantee Cindy’s safety after eye surgery, she bound a blindfold over my eyes. “I must run a full sensory trial,” she said, knotting it tight before shoving me into the living room. I stumbled, knee slamming into the TV console’s sharp corner. Silence. Mother sighed, not helping me up but scribbling notes: TV console, bottom right—hazard. My seventeenth bruise that afternoon. She wrapped the edge in foam, murmuring, “You’re tough. A bruise heals. But Cindy is fragile. Pain would destroy her.” Blindfolded, I asked quietly, “If she stays here, where do I go?” “Rented you a basement near campus,” she replied, already walking away. “Pack tonight. You’re gone for a month.” No argument, no tears. Just hollow calm. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.” … That night, she stayed at the hospital to watch over Cindy before her operation. I was left alone in the silent house, quietly packing my life away. The living room floor was already covered in textured, non-slip mats designed for the visually impaired. Every corner had been padded. All of it, entirely for Cindy. I stuffed my clothes into my suitcase, one piece at a time. As I zipped it shut, I couldn’t help but look toward the master bedroom. That used to be my room. Just yesterday afternoon, my mother had personally thrown all my belongings into the hallway to clear it out for Cindy. “Mom, why do you always choose her?” I had asked, standing in the middle of the mess, my voice trembling. She had slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. “How dare you ask me that!” she had shrieked, her face twisted in rage, her eyes bloodshot. “If your pathetic father hadn’t used such dirty, underhanded tricks to force me into marrying him, I would have married Cindy’s father years ago!” She had grabbed me by my collar, her gaze so venomous she looked ready to tear me apart. “Cindy’s parents are dead! She has no one! This house belongs to her. That room belongs to her. Even I belong to her! You should be willing to carve out your own heart and hand it to her, yet you have the audacity to ask why I favor her?” Right. I owed her. I was the mistake, the product of a marriage she despised. So I surrendered everything. The next morning, just as the first light broke, I dragged my suitcase to the entryway. She probably expected me to drag my feet and cry, but I didn’t want to waste another second in this place. But before I could turn the doorknob, the front door swung open from the outside. My mother was back early, gently guiding Cindy, whose eyes were wrapped in thick white bandages. The moment my mother’s eyes landed on me standing there, her expression soured. “Is my sister still here?” Cindy whimpered, flinching. She gripped my mother’s arm, her voice trembling with synthetic fear. “No, sweetie. Don’t be scared,” my mother cooed, patting her hand to soothe her. Afraid of upsetting Cindy, she held back her rage. Instead, she yanked a pair of thick, soft slipper-socks from the shoe cabinet and hurled them at my feet. She glared at me, her mouth moving in a sharp, silent, furious command. Shoes off. Put these on. Not a sound. I froze. Seeing me hesitate, her eyes turned dangerous. She took a step forward and grabbed my collar, keeping her voice down to a harsh whisper right against my ear. “Put them on! She’s incredibly sensitive to noise right now. Are you trying to give her a panic attack?” I took a slow breath, letting go of my suitcase handle. I bent down, slid off my sneakers, and pulled the ridiculous, bulky socks over my feet. For the next few hours, in my own home, I was forced to live like a silent ghost. Cindy stumbled around the living room, trying to find her bearings. “Mom, where’s the couch?” “Right here, sweetie. Just two steps forward. Take it slow.” My mother’s voice carried a warmth I had never once heard directed at me. “What about the TV console?” “I wrapped the corners myself. Feel this, see how soft it is?” “Mom, I’m so scared of bumping into things…” “Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy threw away everything that could possibly trip you.” I stood in the corner of the hallway, feeling a sudden, sharp tickle in my throat. The freezing wind from the night before, when I had been moving things to the hallway, had caught up to me. My chest felt tight, and a cough was clawing its way up. I clamped my hands over my mouth, desperate to choke it down. But despite my best efforts, a tiny, muffled sound escaped. “Ah!” Cindy cried out, flinching violently. She tripped over the edge of the plush rug and crashed to the floor. “Oh my god, what happened!” My mother dropped her cleaning rag and practically threw herself across the room, wrapping Cindy in a frantic embrace. “Mom, is someone else here?” Cindy sobbed, her hands clutching at my mother’s shirt. “Did I take my sister’s room? Is she mad at me? Did she make that noise on purpose to scare me? Maybe I should just go back to the hospital!” “No! No, there’s no one else!” my mother cried, squeezing her tight, her voice cracking with protective agony. “It was just the wind outside. The window wasn’t shut properly. Don’t be scared, Cindy. This is your home now, and yours alone. There is no one else here. No one will ever bother you again!” Once Cindy calmed down, my mother turned her head. Her eyes pinned me with absolute malice. She raised a finger, pointing directly at the front door. Her lips moved in a sharp, unmistakable word. Get out. The thick socks on my feet offered no warmth against the freezing floor. Watching this picture-perfect display of motherly love, a sudden wave of dark amusement washed over me. In this house, where I had spent eighteen years of my life, I wasn’t even allowed the dignity of a breath. I turned away soundlessly and walked into what used to be my bedroom to grab my backpack, the last of my things. Just then, a noise came from the living room. “Mom? Where are you? I want some water…” “Mommy’s on the balcony getting the laundry! Don’t move, sweetie, I’ll be right there!” my mother’s panicked voice drifted in. But Cindy didn’t listen. Eager to prove she could manage on her own, she groped along the wall, shuffling toward the dining table. Her fingers brushed blindly across the surface. Right on the edge sat the glass kettle my mother had just set down. It was filled to the brim with freshly boiled water, steam still rising from the spout. Cindy’s hand was barely an inch away from knocking it over. “Don’t touch that!” My instincts, honed over eighteen years of trying to keep the peace, took over. I dropped my backpack and sprinted out of the room. The moment her hand knocked the kettle loose, sending it plunging toward her legs, I threw myself forward and shoved her out of the way. The boiling water, along with shards of exploding glass, showered over my right forearm and hand. “Ah!” A white-hot wave of agony blinded me. I collapsed into the mess on the floor, my skin blistering instantly into raw, angry red welts. A jagged piece of glass drove deep into the back of my hand. Blood welled up immediately, mixing with the scalding water pooling on the tiles. “What happened? Cindy!” At Cindy’s startled scream, my mother bolted from the balcony, dropping her laundry. She didn’t even look at me. She stepped right through the shattered glass, her boots grinding near my face, and scooped Cindy off the floor. “Did you get burned? Are you hurt?” she cried, her voice frantic as she checked every inch of her. “Mom… I’m so scared… someone pushed me! Someone did it on purpose!” Cindy sobbed, clinging to my mother’s neck like a frightened child. Once my mother was sure Cindy was physically unharmed, she turned to face me. I thought she would notice my mangled, bleeding arm. I was wrong. She kept her voice low to avoid upsetting Cindy, but the fury in her eyes was searing. “What is wrong with you?!” I was shaking violently from the pain, my left hand desperately gripping my right wrist, cold sweat soaking my shirt. “I told you to leave, but you just had to stay and find a way to hurt her, didn’t you?” she spat, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You knew she couldn’t see, and you threw her to the ground anyway!” “I didn’t…” I managed to whisper, my lips trembling. “Don’t lie to me! I saw you push her with my own eyes! What are you trying to do, kill her?” I held up my arm, blood still dripping from the raw flesh, my voice raw and cracking. “I was saving her… the kettle was falling… I got burned, Mom. It hurts. It hurts so bad.” My mother spared a brief, cold glance at my arm. Her eyes lingered on the glass shard embedded in my skin for a single second. Just one. There was no pity, no maternal instinct, only annoyance at being inconvenienced, followed by a deeper wave of disgust. “Enough,” she cut me off, her voice flat. “Save the theatrical sympathy acts. I’m not buying it.” I stared at her, completely numb. “An act?” I whispered, hot tears finally spilling over from the agony and splashing onto the cold tiles. “If you hadn’t lunged out of the dark like a lunatic and scared her, she wouldn’t have fallen in the first place, and the kettle wouldn’t have spilled!” she scolded. “To think you’d resort to self-harm just to get attention. You disgust me.” “Mom… is she bleeding?” Cindy whimpered, burying her face in my mother’s shoulder. “I smell copper… it’s scary…” “Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s just tea leaves from the pot,” my mother lied smoothly, cupping her hand over Cindy’s nose. Then, she looked down at me as if I were a piece of trash. “Clean this mess up,” she ordered. “Don’t let her smell the blood. When you’re done, get out of my sight.” With that, she carried Cindy into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. On my knees in the scalding water, I used my uninjured left hand to pick up the shattered glass, piece by agonizing piece, wiping away the blood. A moment later, the bedroom door opened. My mother rushed past me toward the kitchen to get Cindy some warm water. Using that brief window, I forced myself to stand. I limped to my room, nudging the door open with my foot to grab some pain relievers and bandages from my drawer. The room was dark. The burn on my arm had already risen into massive, weeping blisters. But as the door swung wider, I stopped dead. Cindy was in my room. She hadn’t been resting at all. Instead, she had used the cover of my mother’s absence to sneak in, her hands frantically rummaging through the items on my desk. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice flat. Cindy gasped, pulling her hands back as if burned. “Sister? I… I got turned around. I was looking for the bathroom.” “The bathroom is in the hallway. The door was wide open. My door was shut,” I said, stepping closer. “What were you looking for?” “Nothing!” she cried, backing away in a panic, her flailing hand catching the edge of my desk. Whatever she had been holding slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the floor right at my feet. It was a crude, hand-sculpted clay puppy. I froze. It was from my tenth birthday. My father had sculpted it with his own trembling, pain-riddled hands while lying on his deathbed. “Daddy won’t be able to stay with you anymore, sweetie,” he had whispered, his voice weak. “Let this little pup protect you for me.” It was the only piece of my father left in this cold house. And now, it lay on the floor, cracked clean in half. “Why did you touch it!” I shrieked, tears finally spilling over as I dropped to my knees. “I didn’t mean to! Don’t yell at me!” Cindy covered her ears, screaming hysterically. “I can’t see! I really can’t see!” Footsteps pounded down the hallway. “What’s wrong? Cindy!” My mother burst in. She snatched Cindy and pulled her protectively behind her back, glaring at me like I was a rabid animal. “What is wrong with you now? Haven’t you caused enough trouble in the living room?” Still on the floor, I carefully cupped the two broken halves of the clay dog in my left hand. I looked up at my mother, my vision blurred with tears. “This was the last thing Dad left me. You know exactly what this means to me, and you just let her break it?” My mother hesitated, her eyes landing on the shattered clay. But a second later, she felt Cindy trembling behind her, clutching her coat. “Mom, she’s so scary…” Cindy sobbed, gasping for breath. “I just wanted water… I accidentally knocked over some cheap piece of dirt… and she looked like she wanted to hit me… I’m so scared…” “She won’t touch you. Not while I’m breathing,” my mother vowed, wrapping her arms around Cindy. She looked down at me, her face completely devoid of remorse. “It’s just a cheap piece of dried mud. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” “Cheap mud?” I stared up at her. “You were standing right there in the hospital room when Dad made this!” “He’s dead and gone!” she snapped. “Cindy is blind right now! If it was so important, you should have locked it away. Did you leave it on the desk on purpose just to trip her up?” “This is my room!” I finally snapped, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Why is she even in here snooping around!” “Cindy can go wherever she pleases in this house!” my mother barked back. “How dare you raise your voice at me! You have no right!” “Why? Just because she’s temporarily blind, I have to hand over my entire life to her?” My mother’s hand swung fast, striking my cheek with a resounding slap. “You ungrateful monster!” she hissed, her chest heaving with rage. “You want to know why? Because her father was the only man I ever loved! If your pathetic father hadn’t ruined my life and forced himself on me, I would have been Cindy’s mother legally years ago!” “That’s your drama, not my debt!” I spat back, tears burning as they dripped onto my raw, blistered skin. “Oh, really?” My mother stepped forward, grabbing me by the collar again. “What about three months ago? That storm! If you hadn’t insisted on having that stupid eighteenth birthday party, do you think I would’ve been too busy to pick her up? If she hadn’t been forced to walk home alone in the pouring rain, would she have been hit by that car?” “You didn’t even show up to my birthday!” I cried out, my voice breaking. “You forgot about her all on your own! How is that my fault?!” “It is your fault! If I hadn’t been burdened with a parasite like you, I would’ve been living a good life with Cindy long ago!” she shrieked. “You owe her those eyes! You should be begging to give her yours!” Right. Cindy was the daughter of her lost love. In this house, my mother’s obsession with that man had morphed into an absolute, suffocating favoritism. And I was merely the leftover sin of her failed marriage. To soothe the sniffling Cindy, my mother deliberately lifted her foot and brought her heavy heel down on the broken clay pieces on the floor. “Mom, what’s that sound?” Cindy asked innocently. “Nothing, sweetie. Just a piece of garbage.” My mother ground her foot back and forth, twisting her heel to crush the clay into fine dust. “It was dirtying up my floor.” I stared blankly at the powder beneath her shoe. “All you do is bring misery to this house,” she said, looking down at me with pure disdain. “Cindy can’t handle stress. I already paid for that basement. Pack your things and get out. Right now.” Silence settled over the room like ash. I looked at the gray dust on the floor. I looked at the face of the woman who had birthed me, twisted with nothing but hatred. Suddenly, the urge to argue, to scream, to ask why, vanished. I slowly stood up, dusting off my jeans. “Fine,” I said quietly. “I’m leaving.” My mother blinked, caught off guard by how easily I had surrendered. Then, a smug sneer curled her lips. She thought she had finally broken me. “Go to the basement and think about what you’ve done. For the next month, don’t you dare show your face around here and stress Cindy out.” I looked at her, completely detached. “Okay.” “Leave your keys and the security fob on the table,” she demanded. “Cindy’s hearing is incredibly sharp now. If she hears a key in the lock, she’ll panic.” “Okay.” I turned, grabbed my backpack, and wheeled my suitcase out. In the living room, my mother was gently placing a pair of noise-canceling headphones over Cindy’s ears. “Is the music nice, sweetie? Come on, let’s go down to the courtyard and get some fresh air and sunshine.” “Okay. Thank you, Mom.” I dragged my suitcase past them. Just as my mother finished tying Cindy’s shoes, she stood up. She dug into her pocket, pulled out two crumpled twenty-dollar bills, and stuffed them into my coat pocket like she was tossing spare change to a street beggar. “Basements get damp. Buy yourself some dehumidifier packets at the store,” she said coldly. “Don’t expect me to visit. Cindy needs me every second. Once you’ve cooled your head, you can come back in a month and get on your knees to apologize to her.” She didn’t wait for a reply. The front door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silent apartment. I stood in the center of the living room, looking around this obstacle-free fortress built entirely for another girl. It was hilarious. I let out a dry, raspy laugh, and as I laughed, a single tear traced down my cheek. I had no intention of going to that basement. I walked over to the coffee table and set down my keys and the building fob. I kept the forty dollars in my pocket, consider it my exit fare. I grabbed a piece of scrap paper from the counter and scribbled a final note: Every dime you spent raising me for eighteen years will be wired back to your account with interest. We are done. I grabbed my suitcase, walked out of the building, and headed in the exact opposite direction of my mother, leaving this city behind forever.

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1 Lucy’s first love Marc paid to run me off the road, shattering my legs and ending my career as a surgeon. While I lay critical in the ICU, Lucy knelt outside the glass doors through the night. She sent every conspirator to prison, ruined Marc’s name, and forced him out of the country by morning. The feared courtroom litigator disappeared. She abandoned corporate defense to represent traffic victims pro bono, inked my name on her wrist, and flew me to Iceland each winter for the northern lights. When nightmares woke me, she stayed by my bed, holding my hands and whispering that I was safe. I believed tragedy had finally earned me her heart until one night beneath the emerald aurora. Her coat slipped, and her phone fell. The screen lit up with a photo of Marc shirtless in bed. The caption read, Must have been torture holding back all these years. Does your cripple husband know you only bring him to Iceland so you have an excuse to sleep with me? I unlocked the phone and scrolled up. Her last message to him read, Just for tonight. Keep your mouth shut. The arctic wind cut through me. Every year of penance had been a performance. She had not brought me to heal. She had brought me somewhere remote and frozen to hide her betrayal. The northern lights blazed overhead, but I felt nothing. I threw her phone into the snow, booked a one-way flight to Boston, and walked away without a word. … Twelve minutes before the boarding gate closed, my phone rang. It was Lucy. Her name flashed on the screen as the airport’s draft chilled my fingers. She called six times. On the seventh, I finally swiped to answer. The other end was quiet, save for her shallow, controlled breathing. “Gavin, where are you?” I kept silent. She sounded like she was keeping her temper in check, softening her tone as if coaxing a frightened child. “Don’t wander off. It’s freezing out there. I’m having someone pick you up.” I stared out at the heavy snow blanketing the runway. “Lucy,” I whispered, my voice sounding incredibly distant. “Do you find my limp repulsive?” Silence stretched across the line. It was so quiet I could hear the faint rustle of her clothes. When she finally spoke, there was no denial, no frantic defense. Only a cold question: “Who told you that?” She didn’t deny it. She only wanted to know who leaked the truth. A dry, raspy laugh escaped my throat, tearing at my raw vocal cords. “So it’s true.” Lucy’s voice hardened. “Gavin, come back.” Always those two words. Every time I woke up screaming, shaking off the memory of the impact, whispering that I couldn’t drive down that road again, she would hold me tight and say, Come back. Just come back to me. I used to think she was my safe harbor. I had no idea she was the one holding the blade. The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. I looked down at my hand. When I had thrown her phone into the snow, the cracked screen had sliced my index finger. A bead of blood had dried into a tiny dark speck under the cold air. “Lucy, let’s get a divorce.” A sharp clatter sounded from her end, as if something had dropped. A moment later, she regained the icy composure she wore in court. “Divorce is not a conversation we have over a phone call.” “Then what is?” I asked. “Using a trip with your husband as a cover to sleep with Marc? Is that suitable?” She didn’t answer. In that silence, the last piece of my heart died. I hung up, switched off my phone, and walked through the gate. As the plane climbed into the heavy clouds, I stared out the window, my eyes burning but dry. I landed in Boston the following afternoon. The moment I exited customs, Lucy’s chauffeur was waiting. He stepped forward. “Mr. Jiang, Mrs. Jiang asked me to take you home.” I pulled my suitcase back, avoiding his reach. “No, thank you.” The driver looked caught in the middle. “But sir, Mrs. Jiang said your legs are weak. She doesn’t want you traveling alone.” My legs were ruined, so I couldn’t walk alone. Ever since the accident, everyone spoke to me like that. They booked my rides, hid my car keys, decided where I went and who I saw, shielding me from any trigger. They handled me like glass, terrified I would shatter again. Yet no one ever asked who had broken me in the first place. I walked past him. As I reached the curb, a black Bentley pulled up. The rear window slid down to reveal Lucy. Her eyes were dark with exhaustion, but the tattoo of my name, Gavin, was stark and glaring against her pale wrist. She stepped out, draping her heavy wool coat over my shoulders. “Let’s go home first. Don’t make a scene in public.” I looked at her. Her hands were warm, but her coat carried the faint, crisp scent of the masculine cologne from the hotel in Iceland. Marc’s signature scent. I slipped the coat off and handed it back to her. “Lucy, my entire life is already a joke.” Her fingers tensed. The next second, she grabbed my wrist, not hard, but with a firm grip that refused to let me pull away. “You can be angry, Gavin. You can blame me all you want. But don’t punish your own body out of spite.” I stared at the tattoo on her wrist. Those letters used to be my anchor. Now, they were just a cruel brand over a rotting wound. I pulled my hand free. “You tattooed the wrong name.” Lucy’s composure finally cracked. Nearby, the driver opened the trunk. Inside sat my old suitcase and a thick black document folder. Lucy reached in, pulled out a transparent plastic sleeve, and held it in front of me. Inside was a yellowed ultrasound image showing a tiny, blurry dark spot. Eight weeks. The baby we lost. My hands went cold. “I know you visit his grave every year, Gavin,” she said softly. I stared at her, frozen as the chilly wind whipped around us. She hadn’t come to take me home out of love. She had brought my final, most painful weakness to force me to my knees. The faded paper was curled at the edges, preserved in that cheap plastic sleeve. It was the only tangible proof that our child had ever existed. When I first found out she was pregnant, I had stayed up all night with sheer joy. But the very next day, she had handed me an abortion slip, saying casually, Marc heard I was pregnant and threatened to take a dangerous humanitarian post in Africa. We can have another baby, Gavin, but Marc wouldn’t survive out there. The baby was gone, but the ultrasound remained, a permanent splinter in my chest. I stared at the plastic sleeve, my throat tight. “You’re using our dead child to threaten me?” Lucy frowned. “I just know you’d never leave it behind.” She was so certain. Certain that I would hurt, certain that I would yield, certain that I was still trapped in the wreckage of that crash and could never leave her. I reached for the folder, but she pulled it back. “Let’s go home first.” “Give it to me.” Her tone dropped, carrying a warning weight. “Gavin, don’t make a scene at the airport.” A scene. When I woke up from my coma and refused to get into a car, it was a scene. When I panicked near the crash site, it was a scene. Now, wanting my own child’s ultrasound back was a scene. A hollow laugh escaped me. “Lucy, when you look at that paper, does your conscience not scream?” Her expression hardened into granite. “Gavin. Enough.” Enough. That was her favorite word. The nightmares were enough. The physical therapy was enough. My doubts were enough. Now, even the truth was too much. I turned to walk away. Her voice stopped me in my tracks. “Your mother’s appeal hearing is next Tuesday.” My feet felt glued to the concrete. Years ago, my mother had been framed for corporate bribery. Lucy was the one who took the case and cleared her name. Though the initial verdict was overturned, the final appeal was still pending. For years, Lucy had protected my family, my mother, and my fragile dignity. I had thought it was love. Now I realized every favor carried a price tag. Lucy stepped up beside me, her voice softening. “I’m not threatening you, Gavin. I just want you to calm down and think.” I looked at her. “So freezing my credit cards, keeping my friends from picking me up, and holding my mother’s freedom over my head… that’s your way of helping me calm down?” She fell silent for a moment. “You aren’t in the right state of mind to make decisions.” I looked at the black ink on her wrist, sitting like a permanent, mocking badge of guilt. Marc’s texts flashed in my mind: Did you have a wild night, or were you just desperate to escape your cripple? “How long have you and Marc been sleeping together again?” I asked. Lucy hesitated. That hesitation told me everything. “You can’t even give me a timeline, can you?” She closed her eyes. “It’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” She had no answer. Her phone buzzed in her hand, the screen lighting up right in my line of sight. It was a photo from Marc. Her diamond earring sat on a hotel nightstand. You left this last night, Lucy. If your husband asks, tell him you lost it at the terminal. Lucy darkened the screen instantly. I stared at the bustling airport traffic, my fists clenching. “Lucy, you make me sick.” She flinched. Before this, I had never spoken a harsh word to her. Even when the phantom pain in my legs kept me awake, I would bite down on my sheets rather than complain. She finally realized I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. Yet, she still gripped my arm, guiding me toward the open car door. “Let’s go home first.” The ride was dead silent. Lucy sat beside me, keeping her distance. Her phone lit up again. I didn’t turn my head, but the reflection on the dark window glass betrayed the message. Marc again: He still can’t even sit in the front seat, can he? Must be exhausted playing chauffeur to a broken man. My nails dug into my palms. After the crash, I developed severe PTSD. A sudden brake would send me into a panic attack. Back then, Lucy would hold me, promising she’d walk with me forever if that’s what it took. It took me years to build the courage to touch a steering wheel again, hoping I could drive her to work. I had no idea my pain was just a joke she shared with her lover. The car pulled up to our house. The housekeeper met us at the door, her face tense and eyes darting nervously. “Welcome home, sir.” Sensing the tension, I asked, “Who’s inside?” The housekeeper glanced at Lucy. Lucy’s voice was flat. “Let’s go inside.” The heavy oak door swung open. Marc was sitting on our living room sofa. He was wearing my black cashmere cardigan, holding my favorite ceramic mug. He looked up, offering a smooth, polite smile. “Gavin. Long time no see.” I stood in the entryway, melted snow dripping from my shoes onto the rug. That cardigan was a gift Lucy brought back from Switzerland two years ago, right after my reconstructive surgery when my legs were always freezing. She had wrapped it around me and whispered, Wear this whenever you’re cold. Now, it was draped over Marc’s shoulders, warming the man who had shattered my body. Lucy’s brow furrowed. “How did you get in here?” Marc’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “I didn’t have a place to stay after my flight landed. I just wanted to pick up some of my old things. The housekeeper said you weren’t back yet, so I waited.” He turned his gaze to me. “Gavin, please don’t misunderstand. Lucy and I aren’t doing anything wrong.” Those words were a sick echo of the past. Years ago, he had asked to meet me, claiming he was ready to step aside and let Lucy be happy. Hours later, my brakes failed. My entire life ended in a deafening crunch of metal. I walked over and snatched the mug from his hand. “This belongs to me.” Marc’s hand hovered in the air, his polite smile faltering. “It’s just a mug, Gavin. You’re still as sensitive as ever.” Lucy looked at me. “Gavin, go upstairs and rest.” I stared back. “Make him leave.” She hesitated. That split second of hesitation was all the answer I needed. “It’s fine, Lucy,” Marc said softly, standing up. “I’ll go. He’s been through a lot of trauma; I shouldn’t agitate him.” As he rose, the cardigan slipped from his shoulder. When he bent to retrieve it, his collar parted to reveal a dark, unmistakable bite mark on his neck. Lucy’s eyes flicked to it. It was a brief look, but it was brutal. Realizing he’d been caught, Marc quickly pulled his collar high. “The hotel heating was too high last night. Broke out in a rash.” The excuse was pathetic. Lucy’s voice went cold. “Marc. Shut up.” But the damage was done. Looking at him, I remembered the night outside the ICU. Lucy had just lost the baby, her face pale, yet she knelt on the hard hospital floor until dawn. When I woke, she looked at me through the glass, her eyes bloodshot. I will make everyone who hurt you and our child pay, she had promised. I believed her. I thought she hated Marc. I didn’t know hatred and lust could thrive so comfortably in the exact same heart. I picked up the cardigan from the sofa and handed it to the housekeeper. “Throw this in the trash.” Marc’s face fell. “Lucy got you that, didn’t she? What a waste.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Why would I keep something that’s been ruined by garbage?” Silence blanketed the room. Lucy’s brow pinched deep. “Gavin, stop taking your anger out on him.” Taking it out on him. She called this a tantrum. I nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll ask you.” I pulled the draft of the divorce agreement from my bag, one I had my lawyer draft during my layover. “Sign it.” Lucy stared at the pages, her eyes cooling into ice. “You certainly prepared quickly.” “Not as quickly as you,” I said. “Booking a room for him while pretending to watch the northern lights with me requires real coordination.” Marc let out a soft sigh, his voice carrying clearly across the room. “Don’t blame her, Gavin. A woman has needs. Besides, you’ve needed a babysitter just to leave the house for years.” He left the rest unsaid, but the implication was louder than any insult. “Marc!” Lucy barked. Marc’s eyes watered. “Am I wrong, Lucy? Didn’t you only stay with him out of pity?” I turned my gaze to Lucy. She said nothing. Maybe she didn’t have the time, or maybe she simply didn’t know how to deny it. A crushing weight settled on my chest, cutting off my breath. In that moment, I realized Marc’s mockery wasn’t what hurt. It was Lucy’s silence. I placed the papers on the table. “Ten tomorrow morning. At the attorney’s office.” “That’s not happening,” Lucy said. “Then we go to court.” She stared at me. “I still hold your mother’s case files.” I let out a soft laugh. “So you admit you’re blackmailing me.” Her jaw clenched. Marc whispered, “Don’t, Lucy. Gavin’s unstable right now. The more you push, the more he’ll think you don’t care.” Lucy didn’t look at him. She picked up the contract and tore it down the middle, letting the pieces flutter to the rug. “We’ll talk when you’ve cooled down.” I walked upstairs, ignoring the shredded paper. In our bedroom, a framed photo of the northern lights sat on the nightstand. On the back, Lucy had written in her own hand: Don’t be afraid, I’m here. I flipped the frame face down. I opened my desk drawer and pulled out an old backup phone my mother had given me before her arrest. I powered it on and dialed a number I had memorized long ago. A crisp, female voice answered. “Gavin. You finally called.” I looked out the window, Marc’s faint voice still drifting up from the living room. “I want to file for divorce,” I said. There was a brief pause on the line. “Gavin, the investigation you asked me to run… I have the results.” My grip tightened on the phone. “Tell me.” “The traffic cameras on the stretch where you crashed were never damaged,” she said. I choked, unable to form a word. She continued, “The original footage exists. It was kept out of the official court records. The police were handed a doctored backup copy.” My vision blurred. “So that’s why only the mechanic and the truck driver went to prison.” The line was quiet for a second. “Because someone covered Marc’s tracks.” My voice trembled. “Who?” She sounded hesitant, but she spoke the name anyway. “Lucy.” My blood turned to ice. “Lucy intervened personally. She claimed Marc had only accidentally mentioned your itinerary to the mechanics and had no direct role in the crash. She was the one who had the ‘damaged camera’ report submitted to the police.” I stood frozen. It wasn’t a lack of evidence. Marc hadn’t escaped by luck. Lucy had cleared his path herself. She threw the hired help into prison to appease her conscience, while the mastermind was sent safely abroad. For four years, my nightmares, my agony, and my search for justice had been buried under her lie of ‘insufficient evidence.’ Before I could speak, the bedroom door swung open. Lucy stood on the threshold. Her eyes locked onto the old phone in my hand, her expression darkening. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. She looked from the phone to my face. “Who are you calling?” I gripped the phone tighter. “My attorney.” Her brow pinched. “Phoebe?” I didn’t answer. The name seemed to prick her pride. “Gavin, you’d rather trust an outsider than listen to me?” I looked at her. “Then explain.” She fell silent. It was always like this. She demanded I listen, but when it was time to speak, she offered nothing but silence. “How many times have you slept with Marc?” I asked. Her face went pale. She rarely lost her composure like this. In court, she could break the most stubborn criminals, but now, she couldn’t utter a word. I nodded. “More than once.” She took a step toward me. “Iceland was an accident.” “An accident?” “I had too much to drink.” “Did he force you, or did you walk into his room willingly?” Her throat bobbed. “Gavin, please. Stop.” I laughed aloud. Not because it was funny, but because it was so utterly absurd. “When you were ‘investigating’ the crash, you made me recount the accident over and over. You said we needed every detail to secure a conviction.” My voice was barely a whisper. “You sat there listening to me describe the brakes failing, the roar of the truck, the realization that my hands were ruined and I’d never hold a scalpel again.” I held out the phone. “Were you thinking about justice for me, or were you figuring out how to build Marc’s defense?” Her pupils dilated. In that single look, I knew Phoebe was telling the truth. Lucy knew. She knew Marc had orchestrated the crash. She knew he was the reason my joints throbbed with agony every time it rained. I stood up slowly. “You destroyed the evidence, didn’t you?” She reached out, pressing her hands onto my shoulders. “Gavin, that’s in the past.” In the past. I had been trapped in that mangled car for four years, and she wanted to close the file with a single sentence. Her grip hurt my shoulders, but my body had already begun to shake. The screech of tires and the crunch of steel filled my ears again. Sensing my panic attack, she let go immediately. “I’m sorry.” She had said those words a thousand times. Outside the ICU, after my nightmares, under the northern lights. But an apology couldn’t fix my shattered knees or mend a life ruined by self-hatred. Marc’s voice drifted through the door. “Lucy, I’m not feeling well. Can the driver take me to the clinic?” Lucy closed her eyes. I watched her, and she watched me. In that brief silence, history repeated itself. It was always like this. During my physical therapy, she’d slip away to answer his calls. When I needed her, she’d claim Marc’s situation was more urgent. I’d wake up shaking, and she’d leave into the night because her phone lit up. Lucy whispered, “I’ll be right back.” I asked calmly, “He’s more important, isn’t he?” Driven to her limit, her tone sharpened. “He made a mistake, Gavin, but it was a crime of passion. In the timeline of our lives, you were the interloper.” My ears rang. “What did you say?” Lucy realized her mistake, her face changing color. I took a step back. “A crime of passion.” She said nothing. I thought of the ‘punishment’ she had given Marc. Sending him abroad. It sounded harsh, but he went with money, a luxury apartment, and her annual visits under the guise of the northern lights. Meanwhile, the man whose body was broken was left to rot in the dark. “I was the interloper. Fine,” I said, my voice shaking. “Then I’m stepping aside.” Lucy’s voice went hoarse. “Gavin, don’t push me.” Marc couldn’t wait any longer, he pushed the door open and walked in. “Since he’s asking, why keep lying?” “Marc!” Lucy snapped. Marc sneered. “You’ve protected him for years, and he still treats you like an enemy.” He tossed a manila folder at my feet. The papers spilled out. One sheet was a DNA test. Probability of Paternity: 99.99%. Child’s Name: Oliver. Mother: Lucy. Father: Marc. My blood turned to stone. Marc whispered, “How do you think I left the country so smoothly, Gavin? Who do you think signed off on closing the investigation?” He looked at Lucy, his tone dripping with malice. “Lucy and I had Oliver before you two even married. He’s already speaking, did you know that?” I looked up at Lucy. Her face was bloodless, as if she were receiving her own death sentence. Just then, the backup phone rang again. I tapped the speakerphone button. Phoebe’s voice cut through the silence. “Gavin, we restored the files. We have proof Victoria He ordered the truck driver to change his route. Marc was the one who leaked your schedule and paid off the mechanics. And Lucy signed the order to seal the evidence.” A suffocating silence fell over the bedroom. Lucy stared at me, paralyzed.

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1 I came home late after working overtime on Valentine’s Day, only to find that the succulent Brooke and I had planted together three years ago was dead. She used to say it symbolized our love. Low maintenance. It didn’t need much care to thrive. I knelt on the balcony, staring at the shriveled, blackened green leaves. Suddenly, I felt an urge to take a photo and send it to her. I tapped send. A bright red exclamation mark popped up on my screen. And then, I remembered. Two weeks ago, Owen, her childhood best friend, had brought over a cactus. He claimed that cactus symbolized his bond with Brooke. I had told her we didn’t have any spare pots and that we shouldn’t keep it. Brooke had simply pointed to the balcony. “Why don’t we just empty the succulent’s pot?” she’d said. “Why are you getting so worked up over a plant?” I thought she was just joking. But now, the cactus was sitting right there in the custom ceramic pot we had painted together. It took up half the space on the balcony. I opened Instagram and saw Owen’s latest post. “The one who loves you will always take care of your cactus. Happy Valentine’s Day.” The attached photo showed two hands with fingers tightly locked together. The background was my balcony. … By the time I carried the dead succulent to the dining table, a local courier arrived with a cake. Brooke hadn’t replied to my messages, but the cake did. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Owen.” I stared at those words for a long time. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw a tantrum or smash anything. I just felt that a lot of things over the past seven years finally made sense. It turned out she wasn’t incapable of planning surprises. I was just the one who wasn’t worth the effort. I knelt down to clean out the flowerpot. The succulent had died quietly, its leaves shrunken into a dusty, moldy gray-green clump, the roots rotted, the soil cracked. As my trowel scraped the very bottom, a ring rolled out. It made a soft clinking sound, light but heavy enough to shatter something inside my chest. Engraved on the inside of the band were two letters: GB. Reid and Brooke. Next to the ring lay a small card, soggy and ruined by the damp soil. “When it blooms, I’ll marry you.” I laughed. Succulents rarely bloom. We had been together for seven years, and she didn’t even know that. Or maybe she did, and she just didn’t care. To her, I was just like that succulent. Low maintenance. Left alone in a corner, I would somehow survive. The front door clicked open. I knew it was Brooke. She walked in carrying a bouquet of white roses, her shoulders damp with rain. Seeing the ring and the cake on the table, she froze. “You found it?” I pointed to the trash bag. “I didn’t dig it up,” I said, looking up at her. “It spat itself out before it died.” Brooke frowned. “Reid, don’t talk like that.” I looked at the white roses in her arms. “Are those Owen’s favorite?” She looked down, as if she had just noticed them. “The florist must have mixed up the orders.” I slid the cake box toward her. “Did the florist mix up the cake too?” Brooke’s expression shifted. She stayed silent for a moment before speaking. “Owen had some trouble at his shop this afternoon. Some customers left terrible reviews, and he was having a breakdown. I just ordered a cake to cheer him up.” I nodded slowly. “So the ring is mine, the flowers are his, and the cake is his too.” I looked at her, my voice quiet. “Brooke, who exactly was this proposal for?” An irritated look flashed in her eyes. “Do you have to make everything sound so ugly?” I opened Owen’s post on my phone and held it up to her face. “He has no boundaries. But do you not have a voice to speak up?” Brooke bit her lip. “He’s been in a bad place lately. I was just trying to help him feel better.” “So blocking me was also just to make him feel better?” She gasped. I showed her the red exclamation mark. Panic finally crept into her face. “He told me you were using a burner account to harass him, that you were driving him to the edge. I was just angry in the moment…” A hollow chuckle escaped me. “I never did that.” Brooke closed her eyes. “I know that now.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. It fell quietly, like the sound of that ring hitting the dirt. Two weeks ago, Owen had stood on my balcony crying the exact same way. He had held that cactus, his fingers slightly red from the prick of a thorn. He told me it was a plant they had bought together from a street vendor back in high school. “Back then, she always said I was like a cactus,” he said, smiling at me. “Prickly, but she loved me anyway.” Then he added softly, “Reid, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to take anything from you.” But the moment he turned to Brooke, his story changed. “I have nothing left now. I can’t even keep a cactus alive.” The look Brooke gave me back then made me feel like I was the villain driving him out. Some spaces aren’t stolen. They are willingly given away. I slid the ring back to her. “Then marry him instead.” Brooke’s face went pale. “Reid, stop acting out.” She reached out to grab my hand. “Tonight is Valentine’s Day. I was planning to take you down by the river to propose.” The river. That was where we first held hands seven years ago. Back then, she had said, “Reid, stay with me, and I promise I’ll never let you suffer.” Nearly every ounce of pain I suffered after that came from her. Her phone buzzed. Caller ID: Owen. Brooke declined it. It rang a second time, then a third. Finally, he sent a voice message, sobbing hysterically. “Brooke, can you please come over? Someone is banging on my shop door… I’m so scared…” Brooke’s expression tightened. She grabbed her car keys. I watched her hands. The fingers that had just been holding mine had already let go. “Are you leaving?” She paused, keys in hand. “It’s an emergency, Reid. It’s a matter of life and death.” I stared at her. “Did he call the police?” She frowned, as if my question was heartless. “He’s terrified. How could he think straight right now?” I didn’t say another word. I simply laid our pre-marital health screening report on the table. The date on it was this morning. We had agreed to do the checkup today, sign the marriage license at City Hall tomorrow, and then go for our final wedding attire fittings. She had forgotten. Because she had spent the entire afternoon helping Owen repair the drip irrigation system for his cactus. Brooke looked at the report, the color draining from her face. “Reid, I…” Her phone rang again, cutting her off. “Wait for me to come back,” she said, her voice tight. “What if I don’t?” I asked. She looked at me with that familiar, patronizing look, as if waiting for a child to get over a tantrum. “You will.” The door slammed shut, plunging the apartment back into silence. A single petal fell from the white roses. I sat at the table, staring at the cake with Owen’s name written on it. Seven years ago, Brooke promised I would never suffer. Seven years later, she made sure I was used to it. I called the bridal boutique. “Hi, I’d like to cancel tomorrow’s fitting appointment.” The representative asked for a reason. I stared at the ring on the table. “There isn’t going to be a wedding.” After hanging up, I opened my chat with my boss, Rachel. Two weeks ago, she had asked if I wanted to take on an overseas project. Three years abroad, and I would return as a partner. I hadn’t given her an answer then. Now, I typed: “I’ll take the overseas assignment.” Rachel replied almost instantly. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “How soon can you leave?” I pulled open my drawer and took out my passport. “Tonight.” When Brooke returned at three in the morning, her sleeve was stained with yellow-brown antiseptic. It wasn’t hers. It was from Owen’s scratch, a tiny wound that hadn’t even broken the skin. I was still sitting in the living room. The cake hadn’t been touched. Neither had the roses. The ring sat exactly where she left it. But now, there was a suitcase by my feet. The moment she walked in, she scanned my face. “Is your stomach hurting?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked to the kitchen to pour a glass of warm water, then grabbed my stomach medication from the drawer. The water was the perfect temperature. I used to fall for this every single time. She knew exactly where my medicine was, knew the water shouldn’t be too hot, and knew my stomach flared up when I was stressed. So I always lied to myself, thinking she still loved me, that she was just too busy. But tonight, I finally understood. Being remembered out of habit is not the same as being chosen. “Is Owen okay?” I asked. Her hand froze. “He’s fine.” “Did his shop get vandalized?” “No.” I nodded. “So he lied.” She frowned, looking like she wanted to defend him, but eventually she just lowered her gaze. “He was just really scared.” A notification popped up on my phone. Owen had posted again. In the photo, Brooke stood outside his flower shop, her shirt damp from the rain, holding a broken piece of cactus. The caption read: “She said whenever I’m scared, she’ll always be there.” Someone commented: “Is this your girlfriend?” Owen replied: “Not my girlfriend, but someone even better.” Brooke saw the post, and her expression darkened. “I’ll make him delete it.” I looked up at her. “Just delete it?” Her frown deepened, her face growing colder. “What else do you want him to do?” “A public apology,” I said calmly. “No, that’s too much.” She answered too quickly. The room went dead silent. I smiled. “See? You don’t even have to think about it.” Brooke closed her eyes. “He is in a very fragile state right now, Reid. Stop pushing him.” “I’m pushing him?” “Reid, you’re the mature one. You’re stronger than him.” There it was again. You’re mature. You’re strong. You can handle it. So you’re the one who always has to yield. I stood up and reached for my suitcase, but Brooke slammed her hand down on the handle. “What are you doing?” “Moving out.” Her brow furrowed tightly. “Over an Instagram post?” “Because I don’t want to live in the background of Owen’s life anymore.” I pulled open the closet doors. “There are slippers for him at the door, a mug for him in the kitchen, and his cactus on the balcony.” I paused, placing the boutique cancellation slip on top of my suitcase. “He even wore the wedding suit I was supposed to try on tomorrow.” Brooke’s face drained of color. I handed her my phone. Owen had posted a video thirty minutes ago. He was wearing my white groom’s suit, spinning in front of the mirror at the boutique. The caption was: “Not my suit, but she paid for it.” At the end of the video, the camera panned to the receipt on the counter. It was charged to Brooke’s platinum card. Brooke stared at the screen, her face turning pale. “He said he wanted to take promotional photos for his shop… He borrowed my card to book the venue. I didn’t know he would do this.” I nodded. “Of course you didn’t.” I looked at her. “Because every time you needed to know, you chose to look the other way.” Three days ago, the bridal shop called me to confirm my measurements. Owen had tagged along. He claimed he was delivering flowers nearby and wanted to drop by. As I stood in the fitting room while the tailor adjusted the shoulders, Owen spoke through the curtain. “Reid, do you mind if I try on the best man’s suit? I’ve never worn a suit this expensive before.” The clerk had politely corrected him. “Sir, the appointment today is strictly for the groom’s primary attire.” Owen smiled weakly. “Oh, sorry. I was just curious. I know I don’t deserve something like this anyway.” His voice trailed off. Brooke, who had been looking at her phone on the couch, looked up. “If he wants to try it, let him.” The clerk looked uneasy. “Ms. Brooke, this is the groom’s actual suit for tomorrow’s fitting.” Owen pulled his hand back, his eyes instantly turning red. “I’m sorry. I forgot I’m not the groom.” Brooke frowned. “Reid, what’s the big deal? Letting him try it on won’t ruin it.” I stared at her. “This is my wedding suit.” Brooke stood up and handed her platinum card to the clerk. “Charge the dry cleaning, the venue fee, and any wear-and-tear to my card.” Then she turned to me, as if I were the one making a scene. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.” That day, I stood in front of the three-way mirror in my white suit. But outside the curtain, she was shielding Owen as if he were the groom who had been wronged. Coming back to reality, Brooke wrapped her arms around me from behind. “Don’t leave,” she whispered, her voice cracked. “Reid, I was wrong.” “I’ll reschedule the fitting. I’ll buy a new ring. I’ll take back his card and cut off his shop’s funding.” She was always good at apologizing, and she was always good at taking care of me. Which was why her betrayals always cut so deep. “Brooke, do you even know what tomorrow is?” I asked. Her body went stiff. I showed her the City Hall marriage appointment confirmation text. “Your appointment is scheduled for tomorrow at 9:30 AM. Please bring all necessary identification.” Brooke froze. A Valentine’s Day checkup, followed by signing the papers the next day. Then the suit fitting. She had promised me we would make up for all the missing milestones. But today, she chose to fix Owen’s cactus instead. As if stung, Brooke spun around and ran to the balcony. “I’ll throw it out right now.” She reached for the drip system, then stopped. “Wait, we can’t just yank it out, it’ll leak.” “And the needles will die.” She instinctively protected the cactus, just like she had protected Owen a thousand times before. I opened the balcony cabinet, looking for my birth certificate copy. It wasn’t there. Eventually, I found it under the flower stand. Our marriage appointment slip had been stuffed beneath the cactus stand. Water from the drip system had leaked onto the paper, soaking the edges and running the ink. I held it up. “Did you put this here?” Brooke stared at it, stammering. “Owen said the stand was uneven. I… I just grabbed something to prop it up.” A prop. The day we were supposed to start our lives together was nothing more than a piece of scrap paper to stabilize his cactus. My phone buzzed again. It was a screenshot from Owen. “Reid, don’t blame Brooke.” “It’s not that she doesn’t love you. It’s just that she knows I need her more.” “You’re so strong. You can handle being second best once, right?” A second later, another photo arrived. A wrist wrapped in thick gauze, with a utility knife lying next to it. “If I disappeared, would you guys finally be happy?” Then a text. “You can get married any day. I only have today.” Brooke’s face shifted instantly. I looked at her quietly. “Are you going to leave this time too?” Her breathing grew shallow. “I’ll call 911. But I need to go see him, just to make sure.” I let out a soft laugh. “Brooke, tomorrow at nine-thirty is our appointment.” I spoke slowly, making sure she heard every word. “If you walk out that door right now, don’t bother coming back.” She looked at me. In that split second, I saw the scales in her mind tilt yet again. “Reid, we can always reschedule a wedding,” she said. “But a life is on the line.” I nodded. “Go ahead.” The moment the door slammed, I messaged the landlord. “Please reset all the door codes immediately. I want the locks changed tomorrow.” The reply came instantly. “Of course, Mr. Reid. The title deed and transfer documents have been left in your lockbox.” Next, I messaged Brooke’s mother. “Don’t worry about lunch next week. The wedding is off.” My phone rang immediately. “Reid, honey, I know you’re feeling hurt,” her mother said. “But Brooke is a young woman, and young women sometimes have friends who don’t know their place.” “Owen has been fragile since he was a kid. Brooke is just used to looking after him.” “You’re about to be her husband. Fighting over this with him is beneath you.” “He wore my wedding suit,” I said. “Is that beneath me too?” The line went quiet for a moment. “It’s just a suit. It’s not like he ruined the fabric.” “What about this apartment?” The silence on the other end became wedding-silent. Three years ago, Brooke’s family business was on the verge of bankruptcy. I emptied my savings to pay off their remaining debts and secure the deed to this place. Her mother had personally promised me that the apartment would be transferred into my name. She lowered her voice. “Reid, you have to leave people some dignity.” I smiled. “Did you leave me any dignity when you took my money?” Her tone hardened. “Don’t forget, Brooke doesn’t know about that arrangement. If you blow this up, both our families will look ridiculous.” “I have spent the last seven years looking ridiculous.” She grew frantic. “I’ll talk to Owen. I’ll make sure he backs off.” “For now, just record a quick video apologizing to him. Tell him it was all a misunderstanding.” “If he actually does something to himself, you’ll have to live with that guilt forever.” “And what about me?” I asked. The line fell silent. “But you’re fine, aren’t you?” she said. I didn’t answer. I just watched the recording light on my phone screen turn from red to black. At five in the morning, Rachel’s black sedan pulled up downstairs. She stood by the car door in a dark trench coat, holding an umbrella. “Do you have your documents?” “Yes.” “Your stomach medicine?” “In the suitcase.” Her brow furrowed. “Keep a pack in your coat pocket.” Once she saw me do it, she took my suitcase. “Reid, once you walk away, don’t look back to see if the fire is burning bright enough.” I smiled slightly. “Rachel, your pep talks sound like military retreat orders.” She glanced back at me, a brief smile breaking through her serious expression. “That’s because you look like you just crawled out of a war zone.” The highway lights flashed past as we headed toward the airport. My phone buzzed constantly. First Brooke, then her mother, then Owen. Finally, a voice note from Brooke came through. “Reid, Owen didn’t cut his wrists. It was just a scratch, it didn’t even bleed.” “I’m heading home now. Wait for me.” I didn’t reply. I boarded my flight. On the other side of town, Brooke rushed back to the apartment, only to find the door code had already been changed. In the lockbox by the door, she found a manila envelope. A sticky note on the front read: “Ms. Brooke, your things are inside. Mine are gone.” She tore the envelope open. The first page was a copy of the property deed. Owner: Reid. The second page was a record of the bank transfers from three years ago. Recipient: Brooke’s mother. Purpose: Final mortgage payment and debt clearance. The third page was an agreement signed by her mother. “I hereby agree to transfer the deed of this property to Reid. The payment has been received in full.” “This matter shall remain confidential from Brooke.” The color drained completely from Brooke’s face. She had always believed this apartment was her family’s contribution to their marriage. She thought I was living under her roof. She thought I was the one desperate to marry her. But three years ago, the man her mother had called “cheap” and “calculating” had used his life savings to save her family home. When she flipped to the very last page, her entire body went rigid. It was a police report from three years ago. Reporting Officer: Reid. Suspect: Owen. Under the notes section, there were two lines: “Case closed at the request of the reporting party.” “Reason for withdrawal: To avoid impacting Ms. Brooke’s company funding and upcoming marriage. Voluntary settlement reached.” Brooke gripped the paper so hard her knuckles turned white. Three years ago. What on earth did Owen do to me back then?

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My wife’s first love came back to the country and said he wanted to treat us to dinner. We sat at that table for two hours. They talked for two hours. For thirty minutes of that time, he discussed my wardrobe, my career, and my income with my wife. “Your old type used to be the artsy, creative guys, right? Guess your tastes changed.” Her first love offered a soft chuckle, his eyes sliding over to me. Odelya carefully peeled the shell off a shrimp and dropped the tender meat straight onto his plate. She offered him a bright smile. “Dating and marriage are two completely different things.” She finally turned her head to look at me. “Right?” It was the very first time she had spoken to me all night. I set my fork down on the porcelain plate. I met her gaze head-on. “Right. Which is exactly why I would never date someone like you.” 1 Odelya froze. Her chopsticks hovered awkwardly in midair. She clearly had not expected me to talk back. “I married you because you were a practical choice. There was not much love involved.” I kept my eyes locked on hers. Odelya blinked. The color completely drained from her face, only to be replaced by a furious, burning red. Her first love, Wesley, was the one who broke the silence with a laugh. “Well, that is quite a statement. Marriage is all about practical conditions, of course. I totally get it.” He picked up his wine glass and took a slow sip. His gaze swept over my face with thinly veiled amusement. I did not even bother acknowledging him. I just looked at Odelya. “Are you full? Let us go if you are done.” She looked at Wesley, then back at me. “Dale, what is that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounded like.” I picked up my coat and slung my bag over my shoulder. Wesley chose that exact moment to stand up from his chair. “Are you jealous?” He tilted his head with an innocent expression. “If this bothers you, I will stop seeing Odelya from now on. You guys are married. I completely understand.” To sell the act, he even reached out and gently tugged on Odelya’s sleeve. A sharp laugh actually slipped out of my chest. “I do not mind at all. Please, do not overthink it.” “I have plenty of people I need to catch up with too. If she played by the rules so strictly, I would actually feel bad. You know what I mean?” Odelya shot up from her seat so fast her chair nearly toppled backward. “Dale! What kind of nonsense are you spouting!” “You heard exactly what I said.” I adjusted the strap of my bag. The corners of Wesley’s mouth twitched downward, but he forced his pleasant mask back into place. “You are really misunderstanding the situation. Odelya and I are just old friends catching up. Being this passive-aggressive is just going to hurt your relationship.” “Right. Catching up.” I nodded slowly. “Then you two keep catching up. I am heading out.” Odelya grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Sit down. The meal is not even over. Where do you think you are going?” I looked down at her hand wrapped around my wrist, then slowly looked up at her face. “Let go.” She flinched instinctively, her grip loosening just enough for me to pull my hand back. “It is late. It is not safe for him to head back to his hotel alone, so I have to drive him.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Take the subway back yourself. Text me when you get home.” “Sure. You drive him.” I had already pulled my phone out of my pocket. “I happen to have a friend nearby anyway. I will just have her pick me up.” Odelya’s expression instantly shifted. “What friend? It is the middle of the night. A guy or a girl?” “None of your business.” I did not even lift my head as I texted my coworker, Paige. Are you still nearby? Pick me up at Lumina if it is not too much trouble. She replied instantly. Be there in five. Odelya took a threatening step forward, trying to peek at my glowing screen. “Dale, you tell me right now. Who did you just call?” I looked at her with a calm smile. “If you can drive your first love home, why can’t I have someone give me a ride?” “You two are just old friends catching up, right? So it is perfectly normal for me to meet up with an old friend too.” Wesley was still standing awkwardly by the table. His innocent act was starting to crack. “Odelya, is your husband trying to pick a fight with me?” “I am not picking a fight with anyone.” I answered before she could open her mouth. Odelya looked absolutely livid. I buttoned my coat, stepped around the two of them, and headed straight for the glass doors. “My ride is here. See you.” Odelya chased me for a few steps. “Dale! Make yourself clear before you walk out that door!” I glanced back over my shoulder. “Make myself clear? I have been perfectly clear this entire time. You are just refusing to listen.” I pushed the heavy restaurant doors open. The sharp night wind hit my face, instantly waking me up. A sleek silver SUV was parked right against the curb. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Paige’s face. “Hey. Over here.” I pulled the door open and slid into the passenger seat. As the car pulled away from the curb, I checked the side mirror. Odelya and Wesley were standing frozen outside the restaurant doors, watching us leave. Paige gave me a quick sideways glance but did not pry. “Thanks for picking me up.” “No problem. I was just finishing up dinner around the corner anyway.” The car fell into a comfortable silence. I leaned my head against the leather seat, memories suddenly flooding my mind. Odelya and I had met on a blind date set up by our families. Because the pressure to settle down was so heavy, we got our marriage license after only six months of knowing each other. Life after the wedding was incredibly mundane. She worked late constantly, and I had my own career to build. I never kept score. Mainly because I was not heavily emotionally invested either. I genuinely thought a pragmatic marriage like ours could last a lifetime. Until tonight. Until her first love sat across from me, casually critiquing my clothes, my job, and my bank account. Until she peeled that shrimp and placed it delicately onto his plate. Until she publicly declared that marriage and love were two separate things. I rested my temple against the cold glass of the window, a bitter smile touching my lips. Everyone has a past. Everyone has a first love. But I would never humiliate my partner by crawling back to mine. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Odelya. Are you home yet? I did not reply. Another text popped up. Who was the person that picked you up? I typed a single word. Friend. The screen showed Typing… for a very long time. Finally, she sent one last message. We will talk when I get home. I locked my screen and shoved the phone away. When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was completely dark. I toed off my shoes, tossed my bag onto the sofa, and walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of ice water. My phone buzzed again. Odelya. He just moved back to the States. The apartment he rented is a disaster, so I have to help him clean and unpack. I might be home a little late. I stared at the glowing letters in the dark. Slowly, I typed out my response. Do whatever you want. You do not have to come back at all. I took a hot shower, changed into my sweatpants, and started emptying my side of the master bedroom. Handful by handful, I carried my clothes and belongings into the guest room. The bed in the guest room was smaller, but it was perfectly fine for one person. I threw fresh sheets over the mattress, fluffed the pillows, and cracked the window open to let the crisp night air in. Just before midnight, the heavy deadbolt clicked. Odelya was home. Her footsteps echoed in the hallway before coming to a dead stop in the living room. She saw me making the bed in the guest room. Her eyebrows instantly knit together in a deep scowl. “What are you doing?” “Moving my things.” I placed my last stack of folded t-shirts into the small wooden wardrobe. “You are just in time. We need to talk.” She walked over and stood in the doorway, her eyes scanning the stripped-down guest room. “Why are you moving your stuff? Why are you sleeping in here?” I closed the wardrobe doors and turned to face her. “Odelya, I do not think we are compatible anymore. I want a divorce.” “Since we are getting divorced, sharing a bed is inappropriate.” She froze. She stood absolutely paralyzed for several seconds before her face darkened into a stormy rage. “What did you just say?” “I said I want a divorce. I know you heard me.” “Because of a single dinner?” Her voice pitched up into a shout. “Dale, are you really this petty? The man just moved back to the country. He invited us out to catch up. Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over this?” I leaned back against the wooden wardrobe, crossing my arms over my chest. “He sat directly across from me, insulted my clothes, and told you I lacked the creative vibe you used to love. You call that catching up?” “He was just making conversation! Why are you taking it so personally?” “What about you, then?” I looked her dead in the eye. “You sat right in front of your husband and peeled shrimp for your ex-boyfriend. You told the table that dating and marriage were two different things. Whose face were you trying to slap?” Odelya’s expression turned remarkably ugly. She pressed her lips into a thin, defensive line. “I was stating a simple fact. Marriage is built on reality. Was I wrong?” “No. You were not.” I nodded slowly. “Which is why I also stated a simple fact tonight. I picked you because you were a practical choice. There was not much love involved. Was I wrong?” She took a threatening step forward, trying to look down her nose at me. “Dale, you have changed. You were never this aggressive and vindictive.” I had absolutely no desire to stay stuck in this loop with her. “I have thought this through. We are not a match. I want a divorce.” “You think you can just dictate a divorce?” She suddenly raised her voice, slamming the flat of her hand against the doorframe. “Dale, do you even hear yourself? You are ending a marriage over a minor disagreement? How childish can you be!” “A minor disagreement?” My own voice rose to match hers. “Your first love comes back, you invite him to dinner, completely ice me out the entire night, and then insist on driving him home while telling me to take the subway. That is a minor disagreement?” “What qualifies as a major issue, Odelya? Do I have to catch you two in my bed before I am allowed to be upset?” “Watch your mouth!” she screamed. “Watch my mouth? You are bold enough to do it, but you are afraid of people talking about it?” She took a ragged, shuddering breath. “Fine. Fine! I admit I neglected your feelings tonight. I apologize.” “But you need to take the word divorce back right now. I do not want to hear it again.” “I am not taking it back.” “Dale!” “Stop yelling!” My voice overpowered hers completely. “You think shouting makes you right?” “When you were humiliating me in front of him tonight, did you stop to think about my feelings? And now you have the nerve to scream at me in my own home?” Her chest heaved violently. “So we are keeping score now? Because I peeled a shrimp for him and not for you? Because I talked to him and not to you? Dale, when did you become so horribly insecure?” “Yeah, I am insecure.” I walked toward the doorway and shoved past her shoulder. “I am terribly insecure. Which is why I refuse to tolerate a wife who has another man living rent-free in her head. Are you satisfied?” I walked back into the guest room, pausing to look at her one last time. “I will contact my lawyer tomorrow. We will handle the asset division then.” I shut the heavy wooden door in her face. There was a few seconds of dead silence on the other side. Then came a massive, violent thud. She had punched the wood. “Dale! Open this door! We are going to talk about this like adults!” I ignored her. Eventually, her heavy footsteps retreated down the hall. The master bedroom door slammed shut with enough force to shake the walls. Before today, I had never imagined my life ending up like this. The next morning, the sound of voices woke me up. There were two people talking in my living room. A man and a woman. It was Odelya. And her first love. On the glass coffee table sat a massive spread of artisan coffee, fresh croissants, and scrambled eggs. Steam was still rising from the cups. Wesley saw me walk out of the hallway. He immediately stood up, plastering a bright, welcoming smile onto his face. “Morning! I picked up some breakfast. Come eat with us.” He sounded so incredibly natural. Like he was the man of the house. I stood by the hallway entrance, staring blankly at the surreal scene playing out in front of me. “Why is he here?” Odelya set her coffee cup down and cleared her throat nervously. “The apartment he rented is way too old. The plumbing and wiring are completely shot. It is a fire hazard.” “He is going to stay with us for a little while. Just until his place gets repaired.” I slowly walked into the center of the living room. My eyes shifted from Odelya to Wesley. “Say that again?” “He is staying here temporarily.” “Absolutely not.” Wesley’s bright smile shattered. Odelya finally looked up, meeting my eyes with a challenging glare. “Dale, can you stop acting like this? He is a guy who just moved back to the States. He does not know anyone in the city, and his apartment is unlivable. What is the harm in letting him crash for a few days?” “What about me?” I stepped up to the edge of the coffee table. I did not sit down. “I am your husband. I said no. I own half of this property, which means I have a veto on who gets to sleep here.” Wesley quickly waved his hands, his face twisting into a mask of pure victimhood. “Please do not be mad. It really is just for a few days.” “If it bothers you that much, I will just leave. It is just that the old building is so dangerous…” “You can get a hotel.” I cut him off sharply. “Hotels in this city are incredibly expensive. He just got back, his job is not even stable yet.” Odelya defended him immediately. “How is that my problem?” I snapped my attention back to Odelya. “Whether his job is stable or whether he has the money for a hotel room. What does any of that have to do with you? What does it have to do with this house?” Odelya shot up from the sofa. Genuine anger flashed in her eyes. “Dale, can you stop being so cruel? He is my friend. Helping a friend who is down on his luck is basic human decency!” “Basic human decency.” I tasted the words on my tongue. “Your version of human decency is moving your ex-boyfriend into our marital home? You expect me to wake up every morning and watch your first love eat breakfast in my living room?” Wesley’s eyes immediately filled with tears. His voice caught in his throat. “Dale, I swear to you, I do not have any ulterior motives.” “Odelya and I are strictly platonic. It has been years. If I wanted to ruin your marriage, why would I wait until now? Please do not misunderstand us.” I turned my head to look at him. “I already told you, I did not misunderstand a single thing. Save the acting for someone who cares.” “Dale!” Odelya roared. “Enough! You have been throwing a tantrum since last night. When are you going to drop it!” I stared into her eyes. “I said no. This is my final answer. This house is not big enough for the both of us. It is either him or me. You choose.” The living room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. Wesley tugged gently on Odelya’s sleeve, his voice barely above a whisper. “Odelya, let it go. I will just pack my things. I do not want to be the reason you two fight.” Odelya did not move an inch. She stared at me like I was the enemy. “Dale, if you kick him out onto the streets today, you are being completely unreasonable.” “Then I am unreasonable.” “Do you think I am too afraid to divorce you?” “Then let us get a divorce.” It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Wesley stood beside her, his expression a chaotic mix of embarrassment, grievance, and something dark that I could not quite read. Odelya’s hands clenched into tight fists. Her knuckles popped in the quiet room. “Fine. Good. Remember what you said today, Dale.” “I remember perfectly. Make sure you remember it too.” I turned on my heel, walked back into the guest room, and started changing into my work clothes. Through the thin drywall, I could hear Wesley’s soft, placating voice. “Odelya, do not do anything rash. He is just saying things out of anger.” “Let him.” When I walked back out in my suit, they were still standing in the living room. I walked straight to the front door and slipped on my leather shoes. “I am going to the office. By the time I get back tonight, his bags better be gone.” The door clicked shut behind me. Riding the subway downtown, I sent a text to Paige. Can you ask around and recommend a ruthless divorce attorney? She texted back a second later. Are you seriously pulling the plug? I am serious. Got it. I will send you a few contacts by noon. I locked my phone and leaned the back of my head against the plastic wall. The subway car rattled and swayed as it dove into the tunnels. The carriage packed tighter and tighter with morning commuters. I was shoved into a corner, my shoulder pressed hard against the freezing metal handrail. My mind was a complete mess. I remembered the day Odelya and I got engaged. Her mother had taken both my hands in hers and looked at me with teary eyes. “Dale, Odelya has someone from her past stuck in her heart. But the fact that she agreed to marry you means she is finally letting it go. Please, be patient with her.” At the time, I brushed it off. Everyone has a past. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Paige had sent over three digital business cards for local family law attorneys. I bookmarked every single one. When the train finally reached the financial district, the crowd pushed me out onto the platform. My feet felt like they were floating. The morning sun outside was blindingly bright. It made my eyes sting. I squinted as I walked into the lobby of our corporate building. I bumped into Paige inside the elevator. She was holding two cups of iced coffee. She took one look at my pale face and handed me a cup. “I haven’t taken a sip. You need this.” “No, thank you. I am good.” She pulled her hand back, leaning casually against the mirrored wall of the elevator. Her eyes scanned my face. “Dale, you look like you didn’t sleep a wink.” “Pretty much.” Right as the elevator chimed for our floor, she added softly, “If you need a hand with anything, just ask.” I nodded and stepped out onto the carpeted floor. My cubicle looked exactly the same as it did yesterday. The monitor, the folders, the sticky notes. But sitting in the ergonomic chair today, the entire world felt structurally different. I woke up my computer, stared blankly at the desktop for five minutes, and then opened a blank document to draft a divorce settlement. My phone screen lit up. A text from Odelya. Come home tonight and we will talk this out like adults. Stop being so impulsive. I dismissed the notification. There was absolutely nothing left to talk about. I did not go back to that apartment that night. I stayed at the office until ten, then took an Uber to my best friend Blake’s place and crashed on his couch. Odelya called me seven or eight times. I let every single one go to voicemail. She sent a massive block of text. The summary was pathetic: It is so hard for him to adjust after moving back. If I do not help him, who will? You are completely overthinking this. Nothing is going on between us. If you are really that paranoid, he will stay in the guest room and stay completely out of our way. I read the text and actually laughed out loud. I typed a quick reply. I am staying at Blake’s. I will be back tomorrow. You better make sure he is gone. She texted back. Are you really going to force my hand like this? I did not respond. The next morning was Saturday. I walked up to my front door just before noon. The moment I pushed the door open, I saw a pair of brand-new, cream-colored men’s sneakers sitting neatly by the shoe rack. The rich smell of home-cooked food wafted through the apartment. Wesley was in my kitchen. He was wearing an apron, actively tossing something in a frying pan. Odelya was lounging on the sofa, scrolling lazily on her phone. Hearing the door open, she looked up and offered me a casual, relaxed smile. “You are back? He cooked a few dishes. Let us eat together.” I stood frozen in the entryway. I did not take my shoes off. My eyes drifted from the cream-colored sneakers, to Odelya chilling on the sofa, to the busy first love in the kitchen. He turned around, offering me a sickeningly sweet smile. “Welcome back! Perfect timing, the last dish is almost done. Odelya mentioned you love braised short ribs, so I made them just for you.” The apron he was wearing belonged to me. The indoor slippers on his feet belonged to me. I set my briefcase on top of the shoe cabinet and slowly walked into the room. “He is still here?” Odelya’s relaxed smile instantly tightened. “Dale, I thought about it seriously. His apartment really is unlivable right now. The contractors said it will take at least a month to fix the pipes. He is just going to stay in the guest room for a month, I promise…” “Promise what?” I stopped in the dead center of the living room. “What exactly is your promise worth?” Wesley quickly turned the stove off. He wiped his hands nervously on my apron and tiptoed into the living room. “I swear I will not disrupt your lives. I will be out job-hunting all day, and when I get back at night, I will just lock myself in my room. You can just pretend I do not exist. Please?” “No.” I locked eyes with him. “You are a living, breathing human being. How am I supposed to pretend you do not exist? Besides, this is my house. I do not have to accommodate a stranger.” Odelya stood up and marched right up to me. “Dale, can you just do me this one favor? He has nowhere else to go.” “Whether he has a place to go has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “How can you be so cold-blooded?” “You are right. I am cold-blooded.” I was completely exhausted from having the same argument. “Odelya, I am telling you for the very last time. Make him leave. If his bags are still here by this afternoon, I am calling a junk removal service to throw everything in the dumpster.” Tears immediately welled up in Wesley’s eyes. Huge, pathetic drops spilled down his cheeks and hit the hardwood floor. “Stop making things so hard for Odelya. I will leave. I am leaving right now.” He fumbled wildly with the strings of the apron, his hands shaking so much that his elbow clipped a glass spice jar on the counter. It shattered onto the kitchen tiles. Odelya sprinted forward and grabbed his wrist. “Stop moving! Watch out for the glass!” She dropped to her knees, carefully picking up the sharp shards to protect him. Her movements were incredibly gentle and panicked. It looked exactly like a tragic, romantic scene straight out of a soap opera. I just stood there on the sidelines, feeling like the villainous third wheel. Wesley buried his face in his hands, sobbing openly. “I am so sorry, Odelya. It is all my fault you guys are fighting. I should never have come back. I never should have called you.” “Do not say that.” Odelya stood up, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and rubbing gently. “This is not your fault.” Then, she snapped her head toward me. Her eyes were burning with pure disappointment and rage. “Are you happy now, Dale?” I looked back at her. “Odelya, do you genuinely believe I am bullying him right now?” “Are you blind? What else would you call this?” I glanced past her into the kitchen. Dark soy sauce from the broken jar was pooling across the pristine white tiles, bleeding into the grout lines. Suddenly, I was just completely done. “Fine.” “Then I will leave.” “Where are you throwing a fit and running off to now?” Her voice dripped with pure annoyance. “None of your business.” I turned around, walked straight into the guest room, and locked the door behind me. Through the door, I could hear Wesley’s muffled, theatrical crying and Odelya’s hushed, soothing whispers. I leaned my back against the locked door, pulled out my phone, and texted Paige. Are you free right now? I need help moving some boxes. She replied a few seconds later. I am free. Send me the address. I sat on the edge of the small bed, looking around the apartment I had lived in for two years. That handcrafted Tuscan vase in the living room? I bought it during a business trip last year. That premium knife block in the kitchen? A farewell gift from the colleagues at my old firm. That massive Monstera plant on the balcony? My mother had carefully potted it and shipped it to me. I had to take all of these things with me. That afternoon, Paige pulled up in a massive SUV. I opened the front door. She walked in with another female coworker from our department. Odelya was pacing the living room on a phone call. When she saw two strange women walk into her house, she froze completely. “Who are they?” “My colleagues.” I pointed toward the guest room. “Pack everything on the bed, all the clothes in the wardrobe, the Monstera plant on the balcony, and the vase in the living room. Everything goes.” Odelya hung up the phone and marched over. “Dale, have you lost your mind? What are you doing?”

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1 After my son’s birth, a crushing darkness consumed me. The doctors called it postpartum depression. To me, it felt like drowning on dry land. I often held a blade to my wrist, trembling. Each time, Mark would seize me, sobbing into my neck. Please, think of me. Think of our baby. Even Lydia and Melody joined in, pressing knives to their own skin. If you go, we go. Three lives should be enough. I tried. I took the pills, sat through therapy, and forced smiles because I couldn’t bear their blood on my hands. Just as the fog lifted, Lydia dragged me to a country club wedding. My blood turned to ice. At the altar stood Mark and Melody. Lydia’s eyes shone with envy. This should have happened five years ago. Your breakdowns chained them to guilt. She faced me, her gaze freezing. You are the anchor. Let him go. … I didn’t say a word. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my heavy prescription of sleeping pills. One by one, I shoved the bitter tablets into my mouth and swallowed them dry. Lydia didn’t even notice. She just kept talking, her voice dripping with venom. “Do you honestly think Mark was terrified of you dying? No, he was terrified that Melody would follow through on her threats and hurt herself if you did. That’s why he panicked.” She let out a soft, mocking laugh. “And please, did you really think Mark was playing single dad all by himself? The baby’s legal custody was transferred to Melody months ago. The first word he ever spoke was ‘Mama,’ and he was looking right at her.” I listened, completely numb. The chalky, bitter pills clumped in my throat like gravel, refusing to go down smoothly. I remembered the whispers of the neighbors, the pitying looks from our social circle. “Poor Mark, playing both mother and father. Fiona just had a baby and suddenly she’s too fragile to exist. It’s pathetic.” “Thank God her best friend was there to step in. Otherwise, that crazy woman would have driven Mark straight into an asylum.” It turned out Melody had replaced me in my own life a long time ago. “Fiona!” Suddenly, Mark’s voice shattered the air. From the altar, his eyes locked onto me. Instinct took over, and he abandoned his bride, sprinting toward me. He shoved his fingers down my throat, desperately trying to force me to throw up. “Fiona, look at me! Let me explain, please, it’s not what it looks like!” His eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to leak tears of crimson. I collapsed onto the cold floor like a discarded rag doll, choking up the damp, half-dissolved pills. Melody stood there in her pristine white bridal gown, looking down at me with utter exhaustion. “Because of your endless drama, he never even got to have a real wedding,” she said, her voice trembling with self-pity. “He just wanted to know what it felt like to be a groom for once. I was just helping him. Can’t you let him have even a shred of freedom? Stop making a scene, I beg of you.” I clenched my fists as a wave of sheer panic rushed over me. Shaking violently, my hand instinctively searched my pockets for my fast-acting anti-anxiety meds. For the first time in three years, Mark didn’t hand them to me. His eyes were glued to a tiny scratch on Melody’s arm. I gasped for air, feeling something deep inside my chest shatter into a thousand jagged pieces. The tense silence was broken by the sharp ringing of Mark’s phone. It was the nanny. His face drained of color. “The baby has a fever? Okay, I’m on my way.” He and Melody shared a brief, silent look of pure understanding. They turned to leave. Driven by some primal maternal instinct, I dragged myself across the floor and caught the hem of his suit jacket. “I want to go too,” I whispered. Mark looked back at me, his eyes filled with nothing but bone-deep fatigue and irritation. Right. I was the mother who couldn’t even stand the sound of her own baby crying without having a panic attack. What could I possibly do to help? My grip loosened, and my hand fell back to the floor. The two of them hurried away, their hurried steps perfectly in sync, looking exactly like a real family. Behind me, Lydia let out a low, triumphant laugh. “Our parents gave you everything. They put me in boarding schools just so you could have the perfect life. How does it feel to be the one thrown away, Fiona?” In that single moment, five years of marriage and over twenty years of sisterhood crumbled into dust. I dragged my hollow body back to our empty house. Climbing onto a chair, I reached for the dusty, locked box on the top shelf of the closet. I pulled out the bottles of heavy sedatives I had hidden away, and began to swallow them, one by one. As the cold, chemical sleep began to take hold, my life flashed before my eyes in disjointed, painful fragments. Three years ago, to conceive Mark’s child, I had endured endless rounds of IVF. My abdomen had been bruised black and blue, looking like a pincushion. When the baby was finally born, Mark had knelt outside the delivery room, weeping and praying for our safety. But there was no happy ending. Only a long, relentless winter. I couldn’t handle the baby’s cries. My hands shook so badly I couldn’t even hold a bottle to feed him. I was a failure of a mother. Mark used to hold me, whispering, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this.” But later, I found out he had picked up smoking again, a habit he had quit years ago. He would sit on the freezing balcony at three in the morning, puffing away in the dark. As I lay on the cold hardwood floor of our bedroom, my phone buzzed. I opened Instagram, only to see a post from Melody’s private account, which she had apparently forgotten to block me from. A video started playing. The sound of heavy, ragged breathing filled the quiet room. Mark’s broad, muscular back was to the camera, his fingers tightly intertwined with Melody’s. “She threatens to kill herself every single day,” Mark’s voice came through the speaker, thick with exhaustion. “I’m so tired, Melody. You’re the only place I can find peace.” I bit my lip so hard the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I remembered the last time Mark had pushed me down onto the bed, desperately calling out a name as he held me. I had thought he was saying “Fiona,” but now I realized the name on his lips was “Melody.” He was holding me, but he was dreaming of her. Tears spilled over, hot and silent. Suddenly, a text message from Lydia popped up on my screen. “You saw Melody’s post, didn’t you? Tonight is their wedding night. But here’s a little secret, Fiona: their first time was the day Mom died. Remember when Mark called to say he couldn’t make it to the funeral because of an emergency? He was in bed with Melody. And you actually believed Melody was crying at the service because she was grieving for Mom.” A heavy, sickening wave of absurdity washed over me. While I was drowning in grief, the two people I trusted most in this world were tangled in each other’s sheets. And my own sister had stood beside me at the casket, watching me mourn, knowing everything. My hand shook, knocking over the bottle of antidepressants. The pills scattered across the floor like tiny, useless plastic beads. For the first time, a cold, hard hatred bloomed in my chest. “I’ll get out of your way,” I whispered into the empty room, my voice sounding like dry leaves scraping against concrete. I walked to the local administrative office like a living corpse, handing over my identification. “I’d like to file for divorce.” The clerk reviewed the screen, then looked up, frowning. “Are you mistaken, ma’am? According to our records, you are unmarried.” “That’s impossible,” I stammered. “Mark’s legal spouse is registered as Melody,” the clerk said flatly. My vision blurred. How? We had a wedding. We signed papers. I stumbled back to the house, turned on the computer, and pulled up the security archives from three years ago. On the screen, Melody was looking at Mark with tears in her eyes. “Fiona can’t be a good wife or a mother. It’s not fair to you or the baby. I want to take care of you both, Mark. But before I do, I need to know I have a real place in this family.” The living room on the screen was silent for a long time. Then, Mark’s voice broke the quiet, cold and calculated. “I’ll transfer custody of the baby to us. And we’ll get married legally.” I sat frozen in the chair, the room spinning around me. The marriage certificate I had kept safely in my drawer all this time was nothing but a forged piece of paper. He had given Melody the custody, the marriage, the public wedding, everything that mattered. The world outside my window began to warp and fade. My legs gave out, and I sank into the dark. When I finally opened my eyes, the faint sound of upbeat music drifted up from downstairs. I forced myself up, my head throbbing. The backyard was full of guests. It was my son’s third birthday party. Mark and Melody stood together, holding the little boy as they posed for a photographer, looking like a perfect, picture-book family. As I walked out, pale and disheveled, the whispers started instantly. “She hasn’t taken care of that kid for a single day, and now she shows up to ruin his birthday?” “She’s going to have another episode. What if she hurts someone?” Mark noticed me. His expression was a complicated mix of guilt and annoyance. “Fiona, you’re still weak. Go back upstairs. I’ll come up when the party’s over.” Melody stepped forward, her voice sweet and patronizing. “If the baby starts crying, it’ll trigger your anxiety. We’re doing this for your own good, Fiona.” As she reached out, I saw the gold bracelet on her wrist. It was an heirloom passed down through Mark’s family. Mark had put it on my wrist once, only to take it back later, claiming he was worried I would scratch myself during an episode. He had given it to her. “You two legally married a long time ago, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice entirely flat. Melody froze, then reached out to grab my arm. “Fiona, please, let me explain, we did it for—” I shoved her hand away. Without warning, Melody threw herself backward, falling hard onto the grass. “Fiona!” Mark roared, rushing forward to shield her. He glared at me with absolute disgust. “You’ve completely lost your mind!” There was no guilt in his eyes for the lie he had spun for years. Only fierce, protective rage for the woman in his arms. Melody clutched her scraped knee, looking up at him weakly. “It’s my fault for throwing the party. It’s fine, Mark. We’re used to her outbursts anyway.” As she moved, her sleeve pulled back, revealing her arm. It was covered in faded purple and blue bruises. Mark’s eyes softened with pity, and then hardened as he looked back at me. “Melody has done nothing but try to help you. She protected you when you tried to hurt yourself, and this is how you treat her?” Those scratches on her arm. Did they compare to the five years of deception? Did they compare to the three years of mental agony I had suffered? “I didn’t touch her!” I screamed. Mark grabbed my wrist, dragging me back into the house and throwing me into a bedroom. “Haven’t you taken enough of my life? Just let us have some peace.” The lock clicked shut from the outside. My claustrophobia hit me like a physical blow. I slammed my hands against the door, screaming until my throat was raw. “Mark! We are done! Let me out!” His footsteps paused outside the door. Then, a cold sneer. “First it’s suicide, now it’s divorce. Are you ever going to get tired of these pathetic games?” I slid down the door, curling into a ball. “I mean it this time.” Suddenly, a scream echoed from downstairs. “Oh my god! Melody passed out!” Mark’s frantic footsteps faded down the hall. My breathing grew shallow. The pills were taking over. Just as I felt myself slipping away, the smartwatch on my wrist, synced to my son’s vitals, began to vibrate violently, emitting a shrill, piercing alarm. Using the last ounce of my strength, I threw myself against the bedroom door until the latch broke. I stumbled down the hall. Mark was in the guest room, placing a damp cloth on Melody’s forehead. He looked up, a small, arrogant smirk playing on his lips, as if he expected me to apologize and beg for his forgiveness. But I didn’t even look at him. I walked straight past him to Melody. “Where is my baby?” My voice shook violently. Melody’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of panic. “What do you mean? He’s napping with the nanny.” Mark stood up, blocking me. “You already pushed Melody to the ground, what else do you want? Stop acting, Fiona. Since when did you ever care about that kid?” I stared at him, unable to believe those words had come from his mouth. But I didn’t have time. The alarm on my watch was deafening. My heart raced, and I grabbed Melody by her collar. “Where is he?” Melody shook her head, but then she leaned in, her voice dropping to a tiny, icy whisper only I could hear. “That kid is the anchor dragging Mark down. I won’t let him ruin Mark’s life. You wouldn’t want that either, right?” She tapped her phone, showing me the live feed of the backyard pool. My three-year-old boy was thrashing in the deep end, his tiny hands clawing uselessly at the water. The blood in my veins turned to ice. “You monster!” I shrieked, wrapping my hands around her throat, squeezing with everything I had. “Give me back my son!” In the struggle, a thick, dark stream of blood began to pour from my nose and mouth. The guests gasped in horror. Mark froze, staring at me. “Fiona… what is happening to you?” I wiped the black blood from my face, my mind entirely focused on one thing. I had to save my baby. I turned to run to the pool, but Mark grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides. “You think you can just assault her and run? Apologize to Melody right now!” Lydia stepped in front of me, her face twisted in disgust. “Melody has given up everything for you and that child. Look at what you’ve done to her! Apologize!” I bit my lip, refusing to speak, struggling against Mark’s grip. Seeing me fight, Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe of fast-acting sedative. Before I could move, he plunged the needle into my shoulder. My muscles instantly went limp, and I fell into his arms. Through the glass doors of the patio, I watched the pool. The thrashing stopped. My little boy slowly sank to the bottom, until the water became perfectly, horrifyingly still. Above me, Lydia’s voice sounded distant, as if underwater. “If you agree, we can commit Fiona to a private sanitarium. It’s for the best. Then you and Melody can finally be together legally.” Mark didn’t reply. He carried my limp body back to the bedroom and laid me on the bed. I closed my eyes. The blood pooling from my mouth stained the white sheets, the final trace of my existence in this house. Mark didn’t stay at the hospital with Melody. He came home early, carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers. He called my name twice, but the house was dead silent. But the moment he pushed the door open, his eyes went wide with sheer terror.

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1 After I was dragged back from the brink of suicide in the emergency room, a voice appeared in my head. It called itself a system. It told me that if I completed its gold-digging tasks, it would take me to another world. A world where I would have a family who actually loved me. I was so starved for affection that I agreed instantly. So, when my family abandoned me yet again to take their adoptive daughter, Vivian, to Disneyland, I didn’t throw a tantrum. I didn’t beg them to stay. I simply opened my bank app and showed them my transfer code. “From now on, I won’t fight you over Vivian. As long as you wire me money.” “A hundred thousand dollars per person on weekdays, and triple that on weekends and holidays.” My parents froze, looking at me with pure disgust. My eldest brother, Mike, a prestigious surgeon, tried to force me to choose between a crucial reconstructive surgery for my legs and the wire transfers. I chose the money without a second thought. Because the surgery was delayed, my legs became severely infected and had to be amputated. My second brother, Tristan, the CEO, called me a gold-digging parasite. Every wire transfer he sent was accompanied by a vicious, insulting note. I didn’t argue. I just kept counting my bank balance. … Three months later, the system’s gold-digging task was finally complete. I stopped demanding money. Instead, I chose to exit this world in a blaze of explosives. And suddenly, the Sinclair family, whose wire transfers were now being automatically rejected, went into a panic. “Are you sure you want to exit the world this way, Host?” The system’s disbelieving voice echoed in my head. Just as I was about to answer, the family group chat started buzzing frantically. “We got Vivian. Her stomach issues flared up again, so I postponed a heart transplant surgery to stay with her.” This was Mike, the surgeon. “Is Vivian okay? I canceled a ten-billion-dollar merger that the company spent six months preparing. On my way to the hospital now!” Tristan wrote. “Your mother and I just contacted the airline and grounded our flight to London. We’ll be at the hospital in twenty minutes,” my father sent. The screen kept lighting up with messages showing their desperate worry for Vivian. I watched quietly, remembering how just an hour ago, a fire had broken out in our villa. I was trapped inside, disabled, sending dozens of frantic messages for help in the group chat. They had only replied with a cold, single digit: “1”. But the moment Vivian complained of a mild stomach ache, they dropped everything. My phone screen flickered again. Mike sent a sarcastic meme. “Time to pay up!” “Or else someone’s going to threaten suicide again!” “1” “+1” After a few read receipts, the notifications fell silent, followed by the usual transfer alerts. In the past, to finish the system’s task, I would accept the money instantly. This time, I left it untouched. I typed calmly: “No need to send any more money. Not now, not ever.” Because I was leaving. All the money in the world wouldn’t matter where I was going. I closed my phone and looked at the system’s countdown timer. “System, in the next world, my parents and brothers will really love me, right?” My fingers tightened around my phone. Before the system could answer, my greed got the better of me. “Can they… can they love only me?” No, wait. Never mind. As long as they love me, that’s enough. I quickly took back my words, sitting up and reminding myself not to ask for too much. As long as my new family loved me, it would be enough. As long as they didn’t immediately point fingers and blame me when Vivian framed me. As long as they didn’t believe Vivian’s lies when I got my acceptance letter to Columbia, reporting me to the education board for cheating and plagiarism. I repeated these thoughts like a mantra, using my hands to lift my weight and strap on my cheap prosthetic legs. Guided by the system, I headed toward my exit point. The city’s international airport. In thirty minutes, a massive explosion was scheduled to happen here. My task was to find the bomber, and the moment the device went off, throw my body over the blast to shield others. I had researched it before. Dying in an explosion might look horrific, but it would be over too fast to feel much pain. I pumped myself up, taking one deep breath after another as I walked inside. Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently. “Sienna, what the hell is this?” Tristan’s angry voice note played. “What do you mean you don’t need our money anymore? Are you dying or something? Do you want us to wire you funeral money instead?!” I stopped in my tracks, a familiar bitterness rising in my throat. “Yes, actually. I am going to die.” I thought sending that voice note would spark at least a shred of concern in my parents or brothers. But a second later, a loud burst of laughter erupted from behind me. “I told you she’d say that!” “I won! Pay up, a million dollars!” Tristan’s mocking voice cut through the airport noise. I turned around and saw my parents and brothers standing not far away, laughing. They hadn’t gone to the hospital at all. Before I could even process this, Mike marched over, grabbing my wrist tightly, his face twisted in disgust. “Sienna, didn’t you say that as long as we paid you, you’d stop competing with Vivian? What’s with this dramatic ‘I’m going to die’ act in the group chat?” “Our family despises manipulative hypocrites! You really are rotten to the core. Stop making a scene at the airport and get back home before you embarrass us any further!” The word “suicide” tasted like venom on his tongue. My heart ached. Months ago, when Vivian framed me for cheating to get into Columbia, my family hadn’t questioned it for a second. They reported me, and then burned my acceptance letter right in front of my face. “Our family has a reputation to uphold. We won’t let a cheat ruin our name!” My father had roared, locking me in my room for a month, causing me to miss the enrollment deadline. So, my desperate jump from the balcony back then was nothing but a dramatic act to them. I didn’t explain. I didn’t say a word. I just looked at the system’s timer. Ten minutes left. Only ten minutes until I could go to a world where I had a family who loved me. I pulled away and limped toward the waiting area. Mike grabbed my arm again, his grip cold and unyielding. “Sienna, I am talking to you! Even if you want to throw a tantrum, pick a better place. What are you going to do at the airport? Throw yourself under a plane?” Tristan pulled out his phone, sighing with annoyance. “Enough of this. Let’s go home. Vivian needs to get back to her dorm to study. How much do you want this time?” He tapped lazily on his banking app. I looked him in the eye. “I told you. I don’t want your money.” Tristan’s fingers froze. He sneered, “No money? Sienna, are you really planning to play dead here?” His gaze drifted down to my stiff, awkward prosthetic legs, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “If you actually die today, I’ll donate every penny of my ten-billion-dollar fund to disabled cripples like you!” He spat the word “cripples” with deliberate malice. I froze, my nails digging into my palms. Before I could speak, Mike chimed in. “Donating money is boring. If Sienna actually dies today, I’ll kneel and bow to every single disabled person who walks into my hospital!” I looked up at the system’s timer. Three minutes. “Fine,” I whispered, interrupting Mike. “Keep your word.” “Sienna, do you even know what you’re saying?” Tristan’s face darkened. Before I could answer, Vivian chimed in, clutching her stomach. “Mike, Tristan, I’m so hungry. If Sienna keeps wasting our time, my stomach is going to start hurting again!” Hearing this, Mike dragged me toward the exit. “Did you hear her? She’s hungry. Move!” The pulling made me lose my balance on my prosthetics. Suddenly, Tristan kicked my leg from behind. With a sharp crack, one of my prosthetic legs snapped off. I collapsed onto the cold floor, the stump of my leg scraping against the metal connector, drawing fresh blood. Tristan looked startled for a fraction of a second, but his face quickly hardened again. “You ruined your own body by jumping off a building. You brought this on yourself!” He picked up my broken prosthetic leg and held it high. “Either get up and walk, or crawl back on one leg! We’ll be waiting in the VIP lounge. You have ten minutes. If you’re not there, don’t bother coming back to our family ever again!” I stared at the cheap, shattered plastic of my prosthetic. I remembered when I first arrived at the Sinclair house. They had held me so tight, whispering sweet promises that they would make up for all the years I spent suffering in foster care. They said our family was finally complete. But a few lies from Vivian were all it took for them to throw those promises away. Tears welled in my eyes. I looked up at my parents, who had remained silent the entire time. “Mom, Dad… if I really die today…” Will you be even a little bit sad? But Vivian interrupted me. “Mom, Dad, let’s go to the VIP lounge. I want some of those imported fruits. Remember how good they were when we went on vacation for the holidays?” A sharp pain pierced my chest. During those holidays, they had locked me in the house without food for three days, nearly starving me to death, while they went on a family trip. “Sienna, stop playing these cheap games,” my mother said, frowning. “We have to take Vivian shopping for bags later. Ten minutes is too long. We’ll give you five.” She smiled warmly at Vivian, taking her hand as they walked away. I dragged myself up against the wall, wiping the tears from my face, forcing a smile. “System, in the next world, my family will really love me, right?” The countdown hit zero. Near the security checkpoint, a middle-aged man carrying a heavy black duffel bag was pushing his way through the crowd. He looked wild-eyed, unzipping the bag as he reached the center of the terminal. I hopped and crawled, dragging my single leg, scraping against the wall. The pain of the raw skin rubbing against my remaining prosthetic was agonizing, but I pushed through, reaching the man’s side. I just needed to grab the bag. I reached out, but suddenly, Vivian threw a piece of watermelon rind down from the VIP balcony above. “Oops, my hand slipped!” she giggled, walking away. The wet rind hit my head, alerting the man. His eyes went red, and he grabbed my wrist, twisting it violently. With a sharp crack, my bone fractured. A spasm of pain ripped through me. The crowd finally noticed and began to scream. The man screamed, “I’ll blow us all to hell! Your airline killed my wife and daughter!” He opened the bag to reveal the bomb. The crowd panicked, stampeding for the exits. I was knocked to the floor, but I clamped my hands onto the straps of the duffel bag. The man kicked my face repeatedly, breaking my nose, filling my mouth with blood, but I didn’t let go. “Fine! We die together!” the man roared, hitting the detonator. “Beep, beep, beep…” The countdown echoed. Regret suddenly washed over the man; he let go of the bag and ran. The bomb was left entirely in my hands. Through my blood-slicked eyes, I saw the fleeing crowd. Without hesitation, I pulled the duffel bag tight against my chest, throwing my body over it, trying to absorb the blast. In the distance, I thought I heard gentle, loving voices calling my name. The family from the other world was waiting for me. I smiled and closed my eyes. Beep… Beep… BOOM. The shockwave rattled the entire terminal. In the VIP lounge, the Sinclair family instinctively shielded Vivian. A moment later, shouts echoed from outside: “A bomb went off! Someone tried to blow up the terminal!” They hurried out toward the emergency stairs. But then they heard the frantic voices of the crowd: “That poor girl… she only had one leg… she hugged the bomb to her chest to save us… she was blown to pieces…” The words made Mike freeze. “One leg? Sienna? How is that possible?!” Tristan sneered, “She really went all out with the actors this time!” Our parents shrugged. “Five minutes are up. If she’s not here, let’s go. She needs to learn a lesson.” They turned to leave. But then, all of their phones rang at once. On the screens, their own faces looked back at them, faces from the future, pale, desperate, and screaming in agony. “Stop Sienna!” “Don’t let her touch that bomb!!”

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1 In the sixth year of my relationship with Devin, his first love came back. The girl who had brutally bullied me in high school, Angela, had returned from abroad, transformed into an elegant, soft-spoken woman. When she first saw me, she greeted me with a warm, beaming smile. But beneath the heavy tablecloth of the dining room, she pinched my arm with vicious force, her voice dropping into a toxic whisper. “Gwen, did you seriously think you could take what belongs to me? You must be tired of living.” When I told Devin what she had done, his only response was a look of profound disappointment. “Gwen, fabricating stories like a child isn’t a good look on you.” I looked down at my hands, my heart going entirely numb. Fine, I thought. Keep her. I don’t want you anymore anyway. He had promised he would always protect me, but he never did. He only ever protected Angela. … The day I found out Angela was returning, I dropped a porcelain soup bowl. As I knelt on the kitchen tile to gather the pieces, a jagged shard sliced deep into my finger. Devin rushed over, sweeping the broken ceramic away before tapping my nose playfully. “Careless, aren’t we, Gwen? Don’t tell me you’re throwing a jealous fit just because I’m going to see her?” “It’s just a casual high school reunion, everyone’s going. You should come with me.” I looked up at him. Without even looking in a mirror, I knew my face was completely devoid of color. “You’ve ignored every single high school reunion for six years. Why is this one so important?” Devin’s playful smile stiffened. He paused for two seconds before offering a smooth explanation. “Well, Garrett is going to be there. You know he’s my best friend, and we haven’t caught up in ages. Besides, he’s the one who heard Angela was back and insisted on throwing her a welcome-back dinner.” Looking at his calm, steady expression, I let out a cold, quiet laugh. Whether he was doing this for Garrett, or simply using his friend as a shield to see his old crush, only he knew. After all, back in high school, Devin had been one of the most devoted boys in Angela’s orbit. A sudden, bone-deep exhaustion settled over me. During our six years together, Angela’s name had always been a shadow over our relationship. Every time it came up, we would have a screaming match, ending with him sighing and sweeping it under the rug. But today, I didn’t even have the energy to fight. I stood up and walked to the bathroom to clean my cut. Devin followed close behind, hovering at the door. “Gwen, I know you had a rough time with Angela back in school, but it was all just a big misunderstanding. Let’s use this dinner to clear the air. For my sake?” I spun around, glaring at him. “There was no misunderstanding. She is a cruel, manipulative bitch. Just thinking about her makes me physically sick.” Devin hadn’t expected such a sharp, venomous reaction. His accommodating, sweet demeanor instantly vanished, replaced by a cold sneer. “You’re crossing the line, Gwen. Just because Angela is beautiful and was more popular than you, you don’t need to turn this into a bitter, insecure petty girl fight.” His words, loaded with baseless accusations, stung like a whip. It was terrifying to realize that after six years of sharing a bed, this was still how he saw me. Was the power of a first love really that absolute? Even a stray dog would have earned more trust after six years of devotion. I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. “In sophomore year, Angela accused me of stealing the class trip fund,” I said, my voice trembling with the weight of the memory. “She locked me in a dirty bathroom stall for three hours. Because of her, the entire school treated me like a parasite. She even took the last heirloom my grandmother left me before she died and threw it down the storm drain.” “For two years, they wrote ‘thief’ and ‘trash’ on my locker. Have you forgotten all of that?” I stared directly into his eyes. No matter how much time had passed, the memory still made my lungs squeeze with panic. “That was ancient history,” Devin said, his tone genuinely puzzled, as if he couldn’t comprehend why I was still crying. “We were just kids back then. Angela has always been a bit dramatic and reckless, but she apologized to you later. What else do you want from her?” Listening to his affectionate defense of her, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He remembered everything about her. And as for that apology. Yes, she had apologized. She had brought me a box of homemade peanut butter cookies, practically forcing me to eat them in front of everyone. She knew about my severe peanut allergy, yet she watched me swallow them, landing me in the ICU with anaphylactic shock. And afterward, she had stood behind her friends, sobbing softly. “Gwen, did you fake a medical emergency just because you hate me so much?” Her tears had turned the entire class against me. They called me a liar, a manipulative drama queen who would risk her own life just to frame a sweet girl like Angela. I had almost died on that hallway floor, gasping for breath while they stood in a circle and mocked me. It was Devin who had finally called a teacher to get an ambulance, which was the only reason I had fallen in love with him in the first place. I had thought he was my savior. Devin sighed, pulling me back toward the dinner table. “Alright, let’s not fight. We’re getting married in August, let’s not ruin the mood.” I looked at him, my heart hollow. Last month, his parents had decided our six-year courtship had gone on long enough, setting our wedding date for August. We were supposed to start planning the ceremony next week. But once he saw Angela, would he still want to marry me? In the end, Devin still dragged me to the reunion. “Everyone’s going,” he argued as we got out of the car. “If you stay home, it’ll just look weird. Are you worried people will bring up the old days? Don’t worry, it’s been years. Nobody cares anymore.” I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. “Do you really want me to go in there, Devin?” He frowned, clearly annoyed by my solemn attitude, but nodded anyway. And so, I knew that once we crossed that threshold, there would be no turning back. The bistro was high-end, the air smelling of expensive wine and perfume. A few of our old classmates were already there, and they immediately swarmed Devin, slapping his back. “The star of the class! Look at you, you haven’t changed a bit!” “The girls are going to swoon when they see you. We don’t stand a chance tonight.” “Wait… who is this?” One of the men noticed me standing behind Devin, his eyes narrowing with a look of recognition. Devin pulled me forward, his smile tight. “My girlfriend, Gwen. She’s changed a bit since high school, so it’s normal if you don’t recognize her at first.” “Oh! The thief from the bathroom stalls?” the man blurted out. The table went dead silent. The air grew thick with awkward tension. I looked the man dead in the eye, my voice perfectly steady. “I didn’t steal anything. It was proven to be a lie.” The man let out a sloppy laugh, offering a half-hearted shrug. “Sorry, sorry. First impressions, you know?” Devin quickly tried to smooth things over. “Come on, guys, that was a lifetime ago. Let’s not bring up old drama.” I brushed Devin’s hand off my arm, stepping forward. “Why shouldn’t we bring it up?” “If we’re being honest, half the people in this room owe me a sincere, written apology for what they did to me.” Devin’s expression darkened instantly. “Gwen, don’t make a scene,” he whispered, his voice sharp with warning. “Think about where we are.” I looked at him, a mocking smile on my lips. “But Devin, you’re the one who insisted I come. I thought you’d be proud of your future wife standing up for her dignity.” Before he could answer, Garrett arrived. He had heard the entire exchange. He clapped Devin on the shoulder, giving me a dismissive, mocking look. “Don’t sweat it, bro. If our old jokes still hurt her feelings, we can give her a bone. For Devin’s sake, guys, let’s say sorry.” A few of the men muttered a careless, mocking “sorry,” their lips curling into sneers. I didn’t say another word. I took a seat at the far end of the table. The real guest of honor hadn’t arrived yet anyway. Devin sat next to me, his jaw clenched, but he kept his mouth shut, conscious of the eyes on us. Angela was the last to arrive, entering like a queen making an appearance. The moment she stepped into the private dining room, my mind flashed back to high school. She was still breathtakingly beautiful, dressed in a simple, pristine white silk dress that made her look like a delicate lily. Every man at the table stood up to greet her. I glanced at Devin. His eyes were wide, filled with an unmistakable, burning fascination. “Long time no see, everyone,” Angela smiled softly, her voice sweet and musical. The men practically tripped over themselves to pull out a chair for her. Naturally, she looked toward Devin, her eyes wide and innocent. “I want to sit next to Devin.” “Of course,” Devin said instantly, pulling out the chair beside him. The classmates moved their plates around, whispering about how perfect they looked together, like a golden couple. Throughout the entire display, not a single person acknowledged that his actual girlfriend was sitting right next to him. But that was fine. I picked up my fork and let it drop onto the porcelain plate, the sharp chime echoing through the quiet chatter. Devin jumped, looking at me with a sudden flash of panic. Angela finally turned her gaze to me, blinking as if she had just noticed my existence. “Is that Gwen? You look… slightly better than you did in school. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Garrett laughed, taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, Angela, did you know? Gwen and Devin are actually together now.” Angela’s eyes went wide, and she playfully punched Devin’s shoulder before looking back at me. “Devin never mentioned it! Gwen, you don’t mind me sitting next to him, do you?” Before I could even open my mouth, Devin spoke for me. “Of course she doesn’t mind. Gwen isn’t that petty.” Angela let out a soft sigh, patting her chest. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you’d be angry, Gwen. I remember in school, you had such a terrifying, aggressive temper.” Devin chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, she’s always been highly sensitive, constantly on guard. She can’t compare to your sweet, easygoing nature.” Highly sensitive. Constantly on guard. Six years of my life, of cooking his meals, cleaning his house, and loving him with everything I had, and I was still the bitter, unstable girl compared to his pure, golden angel. I forced my hands to stop trembling, my voice coming out cold and sharp as glass. “Actually, I mind. Very much. In fact, I am incredibly angry.” “Angela, I want you to apologize to me. Before you arrived, half the guys at this table already apologized for the bullying.”

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A minor fender bender, barely a scratch on him, and suddenly I had two husbands. Or rather, two personalities. The clingy, sweet twenty-eight-year-old husband I married woke up avoiding me like the plague, his memory wiped back to when he was eighteen. But then the shy, awkward teenager would fall asleep, only to wake up as the possessive, jealous man I had been married to for three years. On our first night back from the hospital, I watched with pure amusement as his rigid form clung to the very edge of the bed, pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face. Who says forced chemistry isn’t fun? This was a whole new level of excitement. Two versions of the same man? Yes, please. 1. Maksim lay perfectly still, hands folded over his stomach, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked peaceful, but his twitching eyelashes betrayed his panic. Holding back my giggles, I slipped under the covers and slowly wriggled closer to him. His breathing hitched. The moment his skin brushed against my warmth, Maksim rolled away, trying to act casual, only to tumble straight off the edge. There was a heavy thud. After a muffled groan, Maksim sat up, rubbing the back of his head. I reached over and hauled him back onto the bed. “Are you alright, sweetheart? How did you manage to fall? Don’t tell me you bumped your head silly again.” Maksim’s face flushed crimson. He let me pull him back onto the mattress like a disciplined schoolboy. “Wait… can you please not call me that? I’m not… I’m not used to it yet…” I easily shifted gears. “Alright then. Does it hurt, Maksim? Did you bruise anything?” I began checking him over, my hands sliding across his chest. When they brushed against his well-defined abs, he finally caught my wrist, his face burning. “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt. I’m tired. Let’s just sleep.” I took the opportunity to wrap myself around him like a koala, draping my arm over his chest and hooking my leg over his waist. Maksim froze, turning himself as stiff as a board, not daring to move an inch. I leaned close, whispering in his ear, “Maksim, your heart is beating so fast. It’s keeping me awake.” His eyes snapped open, and he scrambled to sit up in a flurry. “I… I’ll go sleep on the couch.” But I held him down, pinning him with my weight. I had locked every other bedroom in the house for exactly this reason. He had nowhere to run. “It’s fine,” I murmured, resting my ear against his hammering chest. Thump, thump, thump. “I like the sound. Maksim, you’re alive. That’s all that matters.” Your heart is beating for me. Even if it is out of sheer terror, it is still for me. 2. I fell into a dream where a large, warm dog was nuzzling against my neck, its wet tongue tracing along my skin, leaving behind a trail of shivers and a deep, aching warmth. Heavy, ragged breaths and wet kisses took over, stealing the air from my lungs. When I felt like I was completely out of breath, I finally forced my eyes open, weakly pushing at the heavy weight pinning me down. “Mmm… Maksim, seriously, are you a golden retriever or something…?” A warm, calloused palm cupped my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a trace of moisture from the corner of my lips. Maksim let out a low chuckle, burying his face back into the crook of my neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down my collarbone. “You were so enthusiastic with eighteen-year-old Maksim last night. I thought you wanted this. Or did I misread the invitation?” He took my hand, guiding it downward. “Didn’t you want to feel my abs? Or do you prefer the shy, innocent teenager over me?” Oh, great. The jealous idiot was actually jealous of his own younger self. I quickly surrendered, pleading, “I only said that because I love you. I always regretted not knowing you when we were younger. Fate Maksime me a chance to make up for it, so of course I wanted to enjoy it.” Even in his busy state, Maksim didn’t forget to grumble, “Hmph, he is just a scared kid. What is so great about him?” By the time I woke up again, it was already noon. Maksim was sitting up, wrapped in the bedsheets, staring blankly ahead. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. The duvet slipped down to my waist, revealing the faint, dark marks on my skin. Maksim snapped out of his daze, immediately covering his burning face with his hands. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t do this… No, wait, I did do this, but I don’t know how… I don’t remember any of it… But… but I’ll take responsibility for you!” 3. Maksim’s eyes darted around, his blush spreading rapidly down his neck. A mature, handsome face wearing such a shy, boyish expression was incredibly endearing. I wanted to bite him. Looking at his burning ears, I burst out laughing. “Silly boy, we’ve been married for three years. How exactly do you plan on taking responsibility?” My mind drifted back to three years ago, shortly after my college graduation. My newly wealthy father, who had suddenly struck gold, was forcing me onto the blind date circuit, scheduling at least three a week. He was determined to find a son-in-law with a sharp business mind to take over the family business, terrified that our sudden stroke of luck would be squandered by his own family. And that was when Maksim appeared. When he sat down opposite me, my mind went completely blank. Only one thought echoed in my head: How on earth did a man like Maksim end up on a blind date with me? In normal social circles, a family of his standing was miles out of reach for a loud, new money family like mine. I was convinced he had the wrong table. I spent the entire dinner in a daze, looking around for his actual date. It wasn’t until he politely drove me home and left that I finally snapped out of it. If a miracle lands in your lap, you don’t ask questions; you lock it down. Besides, Maksim had been my secret high school crush. So, I took the initiative, immediately asking him out for a second date, and we quickly made things official. I thought I was the one rushing to tie him down, but to my absolute surprise, he was even more impatient. The very next day, he arranged for our parents to meet. Everything after that went on fast-forward. Engagement, wedding, honeymoon… Well, the honeymoon phase never really ended. Until the accident, we were still like newlyweds, unable to keep our hands off each other. 4. “Wait.” Maksim, still curled up like a frightened bird at the head of the bed, suddenly froze and looked up. “You said I’m twenty-eight. If we’ve only been married for three years, that math doesn’t add up.” I blinked, caught off guard. Before I could answer, the doorbell rang loudly. I had to swallow my questions and go open the door. It was Higgins, Maksim’s secretary, rushing in like a whirlwind. “Sir, why is your phone off? I have never seen a boss so eager to avoid work! The bidding for the southern district project is about to start, and the merger plan for the Russell Group, and…” Higgins rambled on at lightning speed. Maksim said nothing. He just blinked his large, clear, innocent eyes, looking thoroughly confused. Great. I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was Maksim’s morning antics that had brought the teenager back to the surface. What was I supposed to do now? Higgins ventured a bold suggestion. “Maybe we should try knocking him out? See if he resets?” His gaze drifted toward the nearby bar cabinet, as if evaluating which whiskey bottle would do the trick. “Absolutely not,” I said, stepping in front of Maksim to shield him from Higgins’s calculating stare. “What if you make him even more confused?” “Well, could you check his study for those files? I brought them over last week. If he signed them before… well, before his accident, that would solve everything.” I agreed, secretly locking the liquor cabinet before heading upstairs. 5. Fortunately, Maksim’s desk was immaculate. Within a few minutes, I found the documents Higgins needed. I flipped through them to check for signatures. As I gathered the papers to head back down, the breeze from my movement knocked a few loose sheets of paper to the floor. I bent down to retrieve them, but my eyes immediately locked onto a familiar name. It was a stock transfer agreement. I scanned the lines quickly. Party A agrees to transfer 3% of the shares of the Maksim Group to Party B. Transferor: Maksim. Transferee: Stephanie. My hand froze. Stephanie. A name that had been a thorn in my heart for ten years. And… Maksim’s first love. Not only was Maksim still in touch with her, but he was handing over a small fortune in shares? I was his legal wife, and even I didn’t hold any shares in the company! My mind became a chaotic mess. I practically shoved Higgins out the door in a daze, then ushered a clueless Maksim into the shower. With a heavy heart, I reached for Maksim’s phone. The password was our anniversary. He never hid anything from me. I tried to tell myself to stay calm, that trust was the foundation of a marriage, but my thumb was already swiping frantically across the screen. Finally, I found Stephanie’s profile on his messaging app. There were no text messages, only a missed three-minute call from a week ago. The timestamp was exactly one hour before Maksim’s car accident. 6. “What’s wrong? You look pale.” A damp head of hair poked out of the bathroom, his face filled with genuine concern. I looked up and grabbed Maksim’s chin. “I know this isn’t your fault right now, so you’d better go to sleep and let the other version of you explain. Why has he been secretly keeping in touch with his ex? Was the accident because he was on his way to see her? Are you two planning a reunion, or am I just some side character in your little game?” Maksim looked completely bewildered, his eyes wide and innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There must be a mistake. You’re my only love.” “You don’t get to speak for him.” I pushed his face away, marching over to the medicine cabinet and rummaging through it. “Sleeping pills, sleeping pills… Why does everyone in this house sleep so well? Not a single sedative in sight.” My eyes drifted back to the locked liquor cabinet. Maybe a gentle tap on the head wouldn’t hurt? “No, no, stop it,” I muttered, shaking the crazy thought out of my head. “Cold medicine will have to do. That always makes people drowsy.” I popped two capsules and stuffed them into Maksim’s mouth. “Your hair is wet. If you don’t dry it, you’ll catch a cold. Take these just in case.” Maksim let me dry his hair in a daze, then let me tuck him into bed under the heavy duvet. “I’m not sleepy yet,” he mumbled, trying to sit up. I immediately draped myself over him like an octopus, pinning him down. “Yes, you are.” We wrestled for a moment, but the medicine must have kicked in quickly. Maksim’s face flushed, and his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me down as his warm breath brushed my ear. “Then… sleep with me.”

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A wealthy, entitled trust-fund brat chased my daughter. When she rejected him, his fragile ego shattered. In a fit of rage, he pushed her off a balcony, leaving her comatose and brain-damaged. Afterward, he didn’t show a shred of remorse. Instead, he strutted around, spitting venom and mocking my pain. “Your daughter is nothing but a tease,” he sneered. “She should have been honored that I even looked her way. She rejected my gifts, refused to go out with me, and embarrassed me in front of my friends. She had it coming!” Everyone who knew his family’s immense power warned me to stay quiet. They said his family was too rich, too influential, and that I was playing a losing game. They warned me that if I insisted on fighting for justice, not only would my daughter suffer, but I might also end up dead. In my darkest hour, I carried my comatose daughter on my back and collapsed before the gates of the Sinclair estate, home to the incredibly powerful matriarch, Lady Josephine Sinclair. When she finally stepped out and saw us, her very first words boomed with cold fury: “Who on earth dared to lay a finger on my granddaughter?” 1 On Sunday, my daughter, Grace, told me she was going to a college reunion party. She was glowing and full of life when she left. But by evening, my world shattered. I received a frantic call from the hospital, telling me she had been pushed off a balcony and was rushed into emergency surgery, clinging to life. When I arrived at the hospital and saw her pale, lifeless body being wheeled into the operating room, I lost my mind. The nurses begged me to calm down, but how could I? She was my flesh and blood, my entire world. To keep from breaking down completely, I sat shivering on a cold plastic bench in the hallway, praying for a miracle. Then, the monster who pushed her walked in as if nothing had happened. It was Devon Ward, a notorious trust-fund heir. A heavily made-up girl clung to his arm, giggling and playing with her hair. “You Grace’s mother?” he asked, looking down at me. I looked up, meeting his arrogant gaze. He smirked, his eyes filled with nothing but lazy amusement. Looking at the man who had destroyed my daughter, a wave of primal fury washed over me. “Are you insane, or just high on something?” I screamed, lunging forward. “Why did you push her? If anything happens to my daughter, I will make you pay with your life!” Blind with grief, I grabbed him by his collar. He scoffed, violently shoving me away. I hit the hard floor. He rolled his eyes and adjusted his jacket. “Your daughter didn’t know her place. A guy like me wanting her is a privilege. She should have been on her knees thanking me! Instead, she threw my gifts back in my face and rejected my invitations. She humiliated me. Even my own parents don’t dare say no to me!” “She’s just a cheap gold-digger playing hard to get,” he spat. “She got exactly what she deserved!” His sheer shamelessness left me speechless. A human life meant absolutely nothing to him compared to his bloated ego. He truly believed his attention was a divine blessing, and her refusal was a crime. Wild with rage, I scrambled up and lunged at him, swinging my fists wildly. “You monster! You’ll burn in hell for this!” Devon shoved me back again. Clutching his bruised cheek where one of my fists had landed, he slapped me hard across the face. The force of the blow sent me sprawling, the taste of blood filling my mouth. “You crazy bitch,” he snarled. “Nobody lays a hand on me. You’re going to regret that.” 2 Just then, the flashy girl beside him stepped forward and showed him something on her phone. They whispered for a moment, and Devon’s angry expression shifted into a cruel, amused grin. He looked me up and down. “Well, well. Look at this. A couple of helpless nobodies. No father on the registry? Where is Grace’s dad? Did he kick the bucket, or did he just dump you both?” He let out a nasty laugh, shaking his head. “Tell you what. If your daughter dies tonight, don’t waste any more of our oxygen. Go find a rope and join her. It’ll save everyone the trouble.” My husband had died saving a drowning child the year Grace was born. It was the deepest wound in my heart, and I had no idea how this monster had found out. Seeing my silence, Devon sneered, pushing further. “No answer? Yeah, he definitely dumped you for a real woman.” He winked at the girl beside him. She let out a high-pitched giggle. “Oh, Devon, don’t be so hard on her. Maybe there were just too many men in her life back then, and she’s still trying to count which one was the father!” Their vicious laughter echoed through the sterile hospital corridor. “You’re right,” Devon laughed, wiping a mock tear. “I dodged a bullet. I could never date a girl with such trashy origins. Who knows what kind of filthy genes a bastard like her would bring into my family?” Listening to their cruel, coordinated insults, I couldn’t take it anymore. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my face, I bolted upright and slapped both of them across their faces. Before Devon could react, I screamed, “You were raised by human beings! How can you be so utterly vile?” Enraged, Devon lost his temper. He threw me to the ground and began kicking me mercilessly. He only stopped when a crowd of doctors and patients started to gather, murmuring in disapproval. “You touch me again, lady, and I’ll send you straight to the morgue,” he hissed, leaning down. He slipped a black credit card from his wallet and tossed it onto my bruised chest, whispering in a low, smug voice: “Don’t be stupid like your daughter. Take this card. There’s two hundred thousand dollars on it. Take it, shut your mouth, and we’ll call it even.” Every bone in my body ached. Trembling, I picked up the card and used every ounce of my remaining strength to fling it right back into his face. “I don’t want your filthy blood money! You can’t buy my daughter’s life! I will see you in prison!” “Prison?” Devon laughed, brushing the dust off his designer sleeve. “Go ahead and try, lady. Everyone in Boston knows the Ward family owns this city. You want to talk about the law? You’re playing with fire and begging to get burned.” He and the girl shared one last mocking look of disgust before turning their backs on me. Just then, the red operating light finally flickered off. The surgeon walked out, his head bowed. Ignoring my broken body, I dragged myself up and rushed toward him. “Doctor, please. How is she?” “We saved her life,” the doctor said softly, his voice heavy with pity. “But she has sustained severe brain trauma. I can’t tell you when, or if, she will ever wake up.” “What do you mean?” I asked, tears blinding my vision. The doctor sighed gently. “She is in a persistent vegetative state.” Those words crashed down on me like a collapsing mountain. The air left my lungs, and the world faded into black as I collapsed onto the cold hospital floor. When I finally opened my eyes, Devon and his mistress were long gone. My daughter lay in the bed next to mine, her beautiful face hidden behind a massive oxygen mask. Looking at her, I made a silent, sacred vow. I would get her justice, no matter the cost. 3 After hiring a private nurse to watch over Grace, I went straight to the luxury estate where the party had been held. I needed the security camera footage as evidence. But the estate manager refused to show me anything. In fact, he wouldn’t even let me past the lobby. Desperate, I reached out to Grace’s college classmates who had attended the party. But one by one, they blocked my calls and avoided me like I was carrying a plague. With no other options, I went to the home of Lily, Grace’s best friend and the one who had called the ambulance. I hoped that for the sake of their friendship, she would stand up and tell the truth. I knelt on the cold pavement outside Lily’s house for an entire day, begging through my tears. Finally, Lily and her parents came out to face me. “Lily, please,” I sobbed, clutching her hand. “The estate manager won’t give me the footage. It might already be destroyed. None of the other kids will talk to me. You are Grace’s best friend. Please, help her. She’s in a coma. She might spend the rest of her life in a hospital bed. Please, I beg you!” I bowed my head to the ground, weeping bitterly before Lily and her parents. Her parents quickly pulled me up, but their faces were pale with fear. “Vivian, please, don’t put our daughter through this,” Lily’s father said, his voice trembling. “Let’s be honest with you. The Ward family has already warned us. They told us that if any of these kids speak up, our families will be completely ruined and driven out of Boston. We are just ordinary working-class people. We can’t fight a monster like that.” “He’s not stopping you from searching for evidence,” Lily’s mother added quietly. “He’s doing this on purpose. He wants you to run into a brick wall at every turn. He wants to crush your spirit.” “Vivian, take our advice. You can’t beat them. Just focus on taking care of Grace. Don’t throw your life away trying to fight them.” Lily broke down in tears, dropping to her knees beside me. “Auntie Vivian, it’s not that I don’t want to help. They threatened me. Devon’s thugs said if I testified, they would kidnap me on my way home from school and sell me to some human trafficking ring overseas. I can’t sleep at night. I’m so scared. I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Looking at Lily and her terrified parents, the words died in my throat. A cold, absolute despair washed over me. I don’t even remember how I made it back to the hospital. That evening, I bought a simple meal from the cafeteria and pushed open the door to Grace’s room. My heart stopped. A group of sleazy-looking men and women were crowded around her bed. One greasy, middle-aged man was actually reaching out to stroke my daughter’s pale cheek. “Get away from her!” I screamed, lunging forward and shielding her body. “Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?” The man scoffed, entirely unbothered. He pulled out his phone and waved a sketchy classified ad in my face. “Is this your girl? We’re here to negotiate a deal. My friends here are looking for a death-bed bride for their deceased relatives.” I froze, my mind struggling to comprehend. A spiritual wedding? A posthumous marriage contract? Who would be sick enough to post my comatose daughter’s face on the dark web for such a disgusting ritual? In an instant, the truth hit me. Devon. It had to be him. No one else would go to such sickening lengths to torment us. I slammed the man’s phone out of his hand. “Who sent you here? Was it Devon Ward?” The greasy man laughed, shaking his head. “Mr. Ward is a billionaire. We don’t run in his circles. Look, lady, is she available or not? These two over here want a spiritual bride to appease their dead relatives. But I’m different. My old man passed away peacefully last month, but he came to me in a dream saying he was lonely down there. I figured I’d buy him a pretty young concubine to keep him company.” 4 My blood boiled. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. “Get out, you sick pervert! Get out before I call the police!” But the man was a hopeless scumbag. Instead of backing down, he spat on the floor and smirked. “Oh, cut the act, lady. Everyone knows your history. You’re a notorious gold-digger who doesn’t even know who fathered her kid. Your daughter took after you, but she wasn’t as smart. She tried to play her games with a real billionaire and got herself turned into a vegetable instead.” “We’re offering to take this damaged goods off your hands, and you’re still acting like you’re too good for us?” A middle-aged woman in the group sneered in agreement. “Exactly. Two trashy women putting on a high-and-mighty show!” She began shouting toward the hallway, deliberately drawing a crowd. “Hey, everyone! Come look at this! This woman and her brain-dead daughter are nothing but cheap grifters! Even now, they’re trying to sell the girl to the highest bidder! How pathetic!” Curious onlookers began to gather outside the room, whispering and pointing. “Honestly, this is too much,” an elderly patient muttered. “They’ve been screaming and fighting since they got here. How is anyone supposed to rest and heal?” “Yeah, she’s already brain-dead. Just take her home and stop bothering the rest of us!” “Ma’am, if you want to live a trashy life, that’s your business, but why bring your daughter into it? Honestly, you two should just leave. Having you in the same ward makes my skin crawl.” The crowd’s baseless accusations and whispers pierced my heart like daggers. “That’s not true!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “They are lying! We have never done anything shameful!” The crowd went quiet for a second, but the greasy man wasn’t finished. “Don’t listen to her!” he shouted to the crowd. “You know how her daughter ended up like this? She tried to seduce Devon Ward, the heir to Ward Enterprises. When he rejected her, she staged a dramatic leap from the balcony to guilt-trip him, but she messed up and landed on her head. She brought this entirely on herself!” His lies instantly poisoned the room. “Ah, so she failed to trap a rich guy and got karma instead! Serves her right!” “Let’s go talk to the administration. Get them kicked out! Let these two grifters rot on the street!” Stirred up by the greasy man, the crowd pressured the hospital staff. Yielding to the outrage, the hospital administration ultimately forced us to leave. I had to carry my comatose daughter on my back, walking past a gauntlet of hateful glares. People looked at us as if we were filth, as if we were the ones who had committed a crime. I finally managed to hail a cab. But just as I was trying to lift Grace into the backseat to take her to another clinic, I saw a familiar figure standing near the curb. Devon Ward was waving at me, a smug, triumphant grin plastered across his face. The greasy man from the hospital room was standing beside him, bowing like a loyal dog. It had all been a setup. Devon walked over, his steps slow and mocking. “Aww, what’s wrong? Kicked out of the hospital? I told you, trash like you needs to learn its place. You think you can go up against me? You’re nothing.” “Oh, and don’t bother looking for another hospital in Boston. None of them will take her. Even if they do, I’ll make sure you’re thrown out within twenty-four hours. As for your little apartment, I had some guys clean it up for you. It looks like a pigsty now. Though, if you want to sleep in filth, be my guest!” He burst into a cruel laugh, his eyes scanning my body. His gaze turned filthy and predatory. “You know, I didn’t notice it before, but you’re not bad-looking for an older woman. Tell you what. Spend a few nights in my bed to make up for your daughter’s rejection, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you two live.”

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