Author: Momo Chan

Right after graduating from college, I developed an anonymous social networking app. Aside from the usual venting and blind matching features, I recently coded a new module called the Whisper Wall. A few days after it went live, a lengthy review popped up on the backend. [Highly recommend this Whisper Wall feature.] [I wished for my boss to die. He ruined my life and couldn’t keep his hands off the female staff. I wished he would curl up and go right back into his mother’s womb to be reincarnated.] [I didn’t expect it, but my wish actually came true.] I chuckled at the screen, brushing it off as some user’s twisted sense of humor. A second later, a breaking news alert flashed at the top of my phone. [Middle-aged man found dead in local apartment under bizarre circumstances.] The accompanying photo was heavily blurred, but the description was enough to make my skin crawl. The victim was found completely naked, sealed inside a massive, heavy-duty industrial water bag. His body was unnaturally contorted into a tight ball. He looked exactly like a fetus in a womb. I sucked in a sharp breath. A chill crept up my spine as the review I had just read echoed in my head. Stop scaring yourself, I thought, taking a deep breath. Coincidences happen all the time. Just then, my bedroom door creaked open. Mom stood there holding a crumpled shopping receipt, looking thoroughly confused. “Riley, what on earth do you need an oversized, heavy-duty water bag for?” The air in the room seemed to freeze. “When did I ever buy something like that?” I stiffly took the receipt from her hand. The timestamp clearly read 2:10 AM yesterday. But at that exact time, I was sound asleep in my bed. I hadn’t even stepped out of my room. “I definitely didn’t buy this. I was dead to the world last night.” My voice pitched up defensively. As the words left my mouth, the news report struck me like a bolt of lightning. The body was found inside that exact type of heavy-duty water bag. My fingers began to tremble. I unlocked my phone and pulled up the article again. The preliminary police report stated the time of death was around 2:30 AM. Right after the water bag was purchased. Did the killer drop this receipt? But how did it end up in my coat pocket without me knowing? Mom didn’t notice my pale face. Her eyes drifted to a pair of my sneakers resting by the door, and she frowned. “Still lying about not going out? Look at the soles of your shoes. They are caked in mud. You didn’t even bother wiping them on the mat.” Grumbling under her breath, she picked up my sneakers with a look of disgust and headed for the laundry room. I was rooted to the spot, my heart hammering against my ribs. It had poured rain late last night. But I was absolutely certain I had been sitting at my desk optimizing the app’s backend code. I went straight to sleep after that. I hadn’t even walked down the hallway. So where did the thick mud on my shoes come from? I frantically opened my app. On the Whisper Wall, that obscure, bizarre murder wish had suddenly skyrocketed to the top of the trending list. The comment section was blowing up with hundreds of replies. [Did you guys watch the morning news? That wish actually came true. It sounds creepy as hell, but that scumbag really died looking like a fetus.] [Oh my god, I have goosebumps. You don’t think the app developer is some psycho who actually grants these wishes by killing people, do you?] [Get real. That’s a felony! Nobody is stupid enough to commit murder over a stranger’s post.] Reading the endless stream of text made my stomach churn. Panic threatened to pull me under. Was I sleepwalking? Was I committing murders in a trance just to satisfy my users? That was completely insane. Desperate to prove my own innocence, I forced myself to walk down to the apartment building’s management office and asked to see the security footage from last night. I fast-forwarded through the recordings from 2:00 AM to 3:00 AM. My front door remained firmly shut. I never appeared in the hallway or the elevator. Seeing that finally let me exhale. Maybe the receipt and the muddy shoes were just a really sick prank. A few days later, my best friend Sophie invited me out for dinner downtown. She was a brilliant forensic pathologist. Her daily routine involved spending hours in cold autopsy rooms, dealing with corpses and bizarre homicides. Because of her line of work, most people kept their distance, thinking she brought bad luck. But we had been inseparable since elementary school, and I never cared about those stupid superstitions. Halfway through our meal, Sophie poked at her salad and brought up the weird apartment murder with a heavy sigh. “Don’t even get me started. That massive storm washed away every single piece of useful trace evidence at the scene.” “The brass gave us a strict deadline. We have to close the case in a week. I’ve been pulling all-nighters for three days straight.” She lowered her voice and leaned in close. “But we actually locked onto a suspect. She’s just being incredibly uncooperative.” My chest tightened. “Uncooperative?” Sophie nodded. “The detectives dug into the victim’s social circle. Turns out he had a nasty habit of sexually harassing the women at his company.” “But when we brought one of the victims in for questioning, she was completely unhinged. She swore up and down that she just made a wish on some app called Whisper Wall, and karma took care of the rest.” All the blood drained from my face. My voice shook no matter how hard I tried to steady it. “Making a wish… can kill someone?” “Right? It’s completely absurd.” Sophie rolled her eyes, looking exhausted. “But she refuses to change her story. The biggest headache is that we checked her alibi. It’s rock solid. That lead is a dead end.” She put down her fork, sounding a bit angry. “Honestly though, the guy was a total piece of garbage. He used his position to prey on his subordinates for years. He ruined a lot of lives. He got exactly what he deserved.” “A guy like that probably had a line of enemies stretching around the block. It’s no wonder someone finally took him out.” Hearing that the police didn’t directly link the app to the murder made me feel a little better. “The only thing is…” Sophie added. “We found a footprint near the scene. We’re pretty sure it belongs to the killer. It’s a US women’s size six.” My breath hitched. I wore a size six. Just as I tried to act normal and ask for more details, my phone lit up on the table. A text message from an unknown number popped onto the screen. “I know you killed him for me. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. I won’t rat you out.” The color vanished from my face. My hands shook so badly I could barely unlock the screen. “What’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.” Sophie noticed my reaction instantly and leaned over with concern in her eyes. I panicked, hitting the lock button and forcing the most unnatural smile. “It’s… nothing. My stomach is just acting up. I think I need to go home and rest.” After hurriedly paying the bill and saying goodbye, I practically ran back to my apartment. The second I locked the door, I opened my messages and stared at that cursed text. [Who are you? What the hell are you talking about?] I typed the response with trembling thumbs and hit send. A reply came back almost immediately. [Stop playing dumb. You were the one who messaged me asking for his home address. You wanted to help me get revenge, right?] [Relax. The detectives already brought me in. I didn’t say a single word about you.] Those two messages felt like daggers in my back. I searched every corner of my memory. I never asked anyone for a home address. As if sensing my disbelief, the stranger sent a screenshot. It was a very brief direct message exchange. [I can help make your wish come true. Send me his exact address.] [Really? Thank you so much. 223 Ashburn Lane.] The sender’s number at the top of the screenshot was unmistakably mine. I tore through my phone’s message history and the app’s backend. There was no trace of this conversation ever taking place. What the hell was going on? Who was doing this to me? On the verge of a breakdown, I sent one final, harsh warning. [You have the wrong person! I have no idea what you’re talking about!] [I am just a normal software developer. I’ve never broken the law in my life. If you forge another screenshot to frame me, I am calling the cops!] I stared at the screen for minutes, but the stranger never replied. My mind was a complete mess. Ever since I launched that stupid Whisper Wall, everything had been twisted. Murderous wishes, a random receipt, muddy shoes, and a size six footprint at a crime scene. All these bizarre clues were weaving a net, trying to pin me as a killer. Instead of sitting here losing my mind, I needed to cut it off at the source. If I deleted the feature, this would all end. I rushed to my computer and logged into the server. I typed out the commands to take the module offline. Before I could hit enter, a red notification popped up on the screen. A new wish. My finger hovered over the mouse. Against my better judgment, I clicked on it. It sounded like a high school student pushed to the absolute edge. [That old hag lost her mind again. Just because I missed one page of homework, she threw an entire advanced calculus workbook at my face and told me to finish it by tomorrow morning.] [If I don’t, she’s going to make me read a public apology in front of the whole school at assembly.] [It’s 2 AM. I’m only a third of the way done. My brain is melting. I just want to die.] [No… I shouldn’t die. She should.] [I wish she could feel this kind of hell. I wish she would drop dead while doing math problems!] The pure venom in those words brought back terrible memories of my own high school days. We had a math teacher just like that, Mrs. Gable. She was a tyrannical, borderline sadistic woman. She loved using extreme humiliation to punish anyone who fell behind. Years ago, a girl actually had a mental breakdown from Mrs. Gable’s constant bullying and jumped off a building. It caused a massive uproar. But because Mrs. Gable had relatives on the school board, the whole thing got swept under the rug. I couldn’t believe toxic teachers like her were still ruining kids’ lives. I checked the stats. The likes on this wish were climbing at a terrifying speed. It broke a thousand in minutes. The comment section was full of furious agreements. [I totally support this! Teachers who use psychological abuse to stroke their own egos don’t deserve to be around kids.] [Let her try pulling an all-nighter doing a whole workbook! That’s not punishment. That’s abuse!] I sighed heavily. The internet could be a dark place, and letting this kind of mob mentality brew was dangerous. I immediately bypassed the frontend, went into the core code, and permanently deleted the Whisper Wall module. The next morning, the sun was shining. My phone was perfectly quiet. My racing heart finally began to settle. That weird apartment murder was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with my app. I poured myself a cup of coffee, ready to enjoy the quiet morning. Then someone started pounding frantically on my front door. I opened it to find Sophie. She was pale, sweating, and panting heavily. “Riley, do you remember Mrs. Gable from Oakridge High?” Her eyes were wide with a terror I couldn’t understand. “She was found dead in her house last night.” “What did you say?” My coffee mug slipped, spilling hot liquid over my hand, but I couldn’t even feel the burn. Sophie pushed past me and collapsed onto the sofa. She grabbed a glass of ice water from the table and downed half of it. “We got the call before dawn. Mrs. Gable died in her study. You will never guess what the scene looked like.” The dread I had been trying to suppress clawed its way back up my throat. My voice trembled. “Was she… grading papers when she had a heart attack?” Sophie froze and stared at me like I was a stranger. “How did you guess that? But you’re only half right. She wasn’t grading papers. She was slumped over her desk, frantically filling out an advanced high school math workbook.” She lowered her voice, treating it like a ghost story. “Tell me that isn’t completely messed up. A senior teacher with decades of experience, staying up all night with bloodshot eyes, doing a student’s homework. And the worst part is…” Sophie paused, giving me a complicated look. “The initial autopsy showed she didn’t have any underlying conditions. She was literally scared to death. A massive adrenaline spike caused a fatal cardiac arrest.” The cause of death hit me like a physical blow. Last night’s hateful wish flashed before my eyes. But I deleted the module. How could this still happen? I ignored Sophie’s bewildered stare and sprinted to my computer. I woke up the screen and bypassed the login to access the main dashboard. My blood turned to ice. The Whisper Wall, the feature I had personally wiped from the servers, was sitting flawlessly on the front page of the app. Not only that, the death wish against the teacher now had over two thousand likes. Pinned to the very top was an update from the original poster. [I was just venting. I didn’t think it would actually work.] [That evil witch is actually dead.] The entire forum had lost its collective mind. [Are you kidding me? Does this thing actually work?] [It has to be fake. I wished to win the lottery, and I didn’t even win a dollar on a scratch-off.] [Yeah, I wished to pass calculus, and I still got an F.] [Wait… do you guys notice a pattern? Are lethal wishes the only ones that come true? This isn’t a Whisper Wall. This is a hit list!] [Agreed! The more I think about it, the more terrified I get. Who is running this app?] Those analysis threads were highlighted in red, trending at the very top. Sophie walked up behind me. Seeing my bloodless face, she placed a hand on my shoulder. “Riley, what is going on with you? You’ve been acting paranoid since last night. What are you so afraid of?” I opened my mouth, having no idea where to start. Then, a commotion started out in the hallway. Muffled voices and heavy footsteps. I walked stiffly to the front door and pulled it open. My legs almost gave out. On the clean white wall across from my apartment, someone had used dark red paint or maybe blood to write a single, massive word. MURDERER. Sophie gasped loudly and covered her mouth. “Oh my god… Riley, what the hell is happening?” I leaned against the doorframe, my voice cracking. “Sophie… if I told you this app can actually kill people, would you believe me?” Like a drowning person clutching a lifeline, I told her everything. I told her about the malicious wishes, the deaths that matched them perfectly, the receipt for the water bag, the muddy shoes. I even pulled out my phone and showed her the screenshot from the anonymous number. Sophie listened in stunned silence. She shook her head slowly. “That’s impossible. It defies all logic and science. How can someone commit a perfect murder just because of an anonymous online post?” I didn’t have the answers. I just felt a cold dread seeping into my bones. Right then, Sophie’s eyes darted toward the corner of my computer desk. She walked over, bent down, and picked up a vintage black fountain pen. She rubbed her thumb over the casing, her expression turning grim. “Riley, why is Mrs. Gable’s pen in your apartment?” I flinched violently and turned around. The pen looked ordinary, but it had Oakridge High School engraved on the side in faded gold lettering. It was a custom gift given only to tenured honor teachers. Mrs. Gable carried it everywhere. Before I could even process the shock, heavy footsteps stopped right outside my open door. Several detectives in suits, accompanied by uniformed officers, stood in the doorway. The lead detective flashed his badge, his eyes sharp and unforgiving. “Miss Riley, you are a prime suspect in two recent homicides. You need to come with us to the precinct right now.” The police tore through my apartment. They bagged the receipt, the size six sneakers with the matching tread pattern, and Mrs. Gable’s custom pen. Unsurprisingly, their cyber division pulled the backend data from my desktop. The specific wishes detailing the exact methods of murder became the most damning evidence of all. I was officially the prime suspect. In a cramped, suffocating interrogation room, I explained myself over and over. I told them I never left my apartment on the nights of the murders. The physical evidence had appeared out of thin air. I had no connection to the victims, and I certainly wouldn’t become a serial killer just to grant wishes for anonymous users. The detectives seemed to agree that killing people just to satisfy app reviews was a wildly absurd motive. More importantly, they had pulled the security footage from my floor, the lobby, and the street cameras. I was never captured leaving the building. They had physical evidence, but no timeline and no proof of me traveling to the crime scenes. It was a massive hole in their case. Because the chain of evidence was broken, they had no choice but to let me go, though I was strictly forbidden from leaving the city. The first thing I did when I got home was turn on my computer. I had poured five years of my life into this app. Countless sleepless nights and endless lines of code. It held all my hopes for the future. Now, it was a cursed Pandora’s box. I felt no attachment to it anymore. I pulled up the command terminal, wiped the server directories, and completely shut down the entire project. Done. Exhausted, I collapsed onto my bed, praying the nightmare was finally over. Just as I was drifting off, my phone screen lit up with a harsh notification sound. It was an automated push alert from the app. A new wish sat on my lock screen. [The woman who gave birth to me is a parasite. She gives everything to my loser brother.] [Now, she wants to sell me to the creepy old bachelor next door just to get enough money for my brother’s down payment.] [I wish that selfish, evil woman would die right in front of everyone!] Ice water flooded my veins. I had wiped the servers. How was the system still sending push notifications? I opened my browser and tried to access the backend. It returned a lifeless 404 error page. The app really was gone. Was it just a cached bug? I rubbed my temples. I couldn’t deal with this madness anymore. I powered off my phone completely, wrapped myself in blankets, and let exhaustion drag me into a dark sleep. I don’t know how much time passed before a blinding light and the harsh crackle of static woke me. I forced my eyes open, and my blood ran completely cold. I was sitting on a rotting sofa inside an abandoned warehouse. My fingers were wrapped tightly around the handle of a hunting knife. Less than ten feet away, a middle-aged woman was strapped to a metal chair. Her mouth was taped shut. She stared at me with pure, unadulterated terror. Next to her stood a set of professional studio lights and a high-definition camera. A red light was blinking. It was a live stream. My mind went entirely blank. What happened? Why was I here? Why was I holding a knife? The setup, the rural woman tied to the chair, the raw malice in the room. It perfectly matched the wish I had read before falling asleep. I glanced at a monitor hooked up to the camera. The chat was moving so fast it was a blur. [Holy crap! A dark web execution stream? Is this real?] [Probably some indie horror movie viral marketing. Where’s the fake blood?] [That doesn’t look fake. Look at her eyes. I’m calling the cops right now!] [Wait! Doesn’t this match the new wish from the Whisper Wall this afternoon? The girl with the knife is the app developer!] Someone in the chat posted my full name and details. [It’s her! Riley! The cops brought her in for the other two murders today. She really is a serial killer!] [Broadcasting a murder live? This psycho is mocking the police!] Sirens wailed in the distance. The flashing red and blue lights sliced through the grime on the warehouse windows. The heavy metal doors flew open. Mom and Sophie stumbled inside. Seeing the scene, Mom’s knees buckled. She collapsed onto the concrete floor, sobbing hysterically. “Riley! What are you doing? Put the knife down! Don’t do this!” Sophie had tears in her eyes. Her voice cracked. “Riley, it’s not too late. Please, I am begging you, put the weapon down. Don’t kill her!” A SWAT team flooded the warehouse right behind them. Tactical flashlights blinded me, and a dozen assault rifles were aimed directly at my chest. “Drop the weapon and step away from the hostage! I’m going to count to three, or we will open fire!” the team leader roared. I stood frozen in the spotlight, staring at the chaotic, surreal nightmare unfolding around me. Did I really do all those things? Was there some bloodthirsty monster hiding inside my brain, taking over my body to grant these sick wishes? In that moment of absolute despair, my eyes landed on a small detail in the corner of the room. My pupils dilated. It was like a bolt of lightning cutting through the fog. All the weirdness, all the impossible coincidences. Suddenly, I understood everything.

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My husband cheated on me with his secretary during my pregnancy. In a fit of rage, I gathered his family and stormed the hotel room where they were staying. But during the chaotic confrontation, the secretary pushed me down the stairs, causing me to miscarry. The devastating loss plunged me into a deep, dark depression, plagued by constant thoughts of ending my own life. My husband stepped down from his executive position, dedicating every single day to taking care of me. He blacklisted the secretary from the entire industry and swore he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Three years passed, and I slowly began to piece my life back together. On the day of my final recovery checkup, I took his car. When I turned on the automatic GPS to navigate home, the route took me to an upscale apartment complex directly across from our estate. On the screen, the saved address was simply labeled: Home. I realized then that his home was never with me, and I was never the one he loved. 1 Not far ahead, Nicholas was gently guiding a visibly pregnant Evelyn toward the entrance of the apartment building. The tenderness on his face was identical to the expression he wore every time he coaxed me to take my medicine over the past three years. But at this moment, the illusion shattered. Every sweet word, every warm embrace, had been nothing but a carefully orchestrated lie. Numbly, I picked up my phone and dialed the number pinned at the top of my contact list. A few yards away, Nicholas paused. He freed one hand to answer the call, his voice dripping with his usual affectionate warmth. “Fiona, honey, is your checkup finished?” “I’m so sorry, sweetie. An emergency came up at the office today, so I couldn’t make it to the hospital with you.” My gaze remained locked on the rearview mirror, watching the two of them leaning in close to one another. My voice felt incredibly dry, raspy as I spoke. “Where are you?” “I’m at the office working overtime, of course. Do you want to do a video call?” He knew I wouldn’t. For three years, he had meticulously logged his daily schedule for me, even reporting what he ate for breakfast. But I had always kept a respectful distance. I didn’t want to smother him, and I didn’t want him to lose face in front of his employees. Whenever he said he was working late, I never called to disturb him. I had no idea he was using my trust to build a second life. Through the glass, I saw him lean down, pressing his nose against Evelyn’s cheek as if reassuring her not to be jealous. My voice turned ice cold. “Really? Because I think I just saw you at the gates of our neighborhood.” The color drained from Nicholas’s face instantly. He spun around, searching the surrounding street. When he couldn’t spot me, his confidence returned. “Fiona, you must have seen someone else. I’m literally in the middle of a conference room right now. My colleagues can back me up.” I cut him off. “Nicholas, do you really take me for an idiot?” I pushed the car door open and stepped out. The moment Nicholas saw me, his instinctive reaction was to pull Evelyn behind his back, shielding her from me. That single, defensive movement tore through whatever remained of my heart. Evelyn clung to his arm, her eyes wide with carefully rehearsed terror. “Mrs. Montgomery, you can scream at me all you want. But my baby is innocent. Please, don’t hurt my child. I’ll kneel and beg for your forgiveness if that’s what it takes.” She made a show of bending her knees, but before she could even lower herself, Nicholas pulled her back into his arms. His voice was thick with panic. “Evelyn, you’re pregnant!” “You have to think about the baby, even if you don’t care about your own body! I won’t let anyone touch our child!” Evelyn looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “Even if that person is Fiona?” Nicholas’s response was instant and absolute. “Not even her.” Watching the theatrical display, the rage in my chest slowly subsided into a calm, hollow silence. “So this is your choice, Nicholas,” I said quietly. “Between me and this woman, you chose her.” Nicholas bit his lip, a flash of conflict crossing his eyes, but his voice remained firm. “I lost a child three years ago. I won’t lose this one. Evelyn’s baby will be protected.” “Fiona, please stop causing a scene. Once the baby is born safely, I will do whatever it takes to make this up to you.” A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. He still remembered the child we lost three years ago. Yet his way of honoring that loss was to cherish the woman who caused it, giving her the very family he denied me. How incredibly poetic. When I looked at him again, my eyes were as still as a stagnant pond. “Nicholas, you don’t deserve to mention that child.” 2 I returned to our house, a place I had considered my sanctuary just an hour ago. Staring at the massive wedding portrait hanging in the center of the living room, the happy, radiant smile on my face felt like a cruel joke. I took the frame down, carried it out to the garden, and lit it with a lighter. The flames slowly consumed our smiling faces, turning my love for Nicholas into a pile of black ash. My phone vibrated. I expected a text from Nicholas, but it was an unknown number. Mrs. Montgomery, your sudden appearance really gave me quite a fright. But Nicholas was so worried about me that he decided to move in with me until the baby is born. Thank you for stepping aside! My fingers trembled slightly, but the devastation I expected didn’t come. I suddenly realized that my recovery was never going to come from a bottle of pills. It was going to come from seeing Nicholas for what he truly was, and leaving him. Before I could delete the message, my mother’s call came through. “Fiona, how did the checkup go? Did the doctor say when you can stop taking those meds?” Without waiting for my answer, she hurried on. “You’ve been in such a good mood lately, so you should probably stop taking them anyway. I heard those psychiatric drugs can affect your fertility. Nicholas’s business is growing rapidly. You need to secure an heir before some other woman does. If you let someone else get ahead of you, you’ll be left with nothing but tears.” “He might say he’s not in a hurry, but what successful man doesn’t want a son to inherit his hard work?” In the three years since my miscarriage, I had brought up the idea of trying for another baby multiple times. But every single time, Nicholas had shut it down. He told me pregnancy was too hard on my body, that we needed to wait until I was fully healed. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of replacing our first child so quickly. I had believed every word. I had let myself drown in his tender care, even harboring a quiet sense of guilt. I had wondered if things would have been different if I hadn’t been so impulsive, if I hadn’t dragged his mother to that hotel room. But I had forgotten a simple truth. Nicholas was the root cause of all of it. A leopard never changes its spots. My mother was still rambling over the line, telling me that Nicholas had simply made a mistake that any man would make, urging me to let go of the past. “Mom,” I said, a faint, mocking smile touching my lips. “Nicholas is about to have a child. It’s just not with me.” Before she could speak, I disconnected the call. I scrolled through my contacts and found the number of the divorce lawyer I had consulted three years ago. “Mr. Carter, I want to proceed with the divorce. Please draft a new agreement for me.” The line was quiet for a moment. “Mrs. Montgomery, I thought you had decided to reconcile. Why the sudden change?” “My husband is having a baby,” I replied. “With the same woman from three years ago. This time, I don’t just want a divorce. I want him to leave with absolutely nothing.” After finalizing the details with the lawyer, I sent a message to my mother-in-law. Though she had dropped hints about wanting a grandchild over the years, she had generally treated me well. When she first discovered Nicholas’s affair three years ago, she had been so furious that she transferred a major portion of the family company’s shares to my name, declaring she no longer had a son. Even after I lost the baby, she had never asked for those shares back. Mom, congratulations. You are about to become a grandmother. But the mother isn’t me. I am divorcing Nicholas so they can have their family. I set my phone down just as the sound of a car entering the garage echoed through the house. 3 The moment Nicholas walked through the door, his eyes fell on the charred remains of our wedding photo on the floor. He frowned instantly. “Fiona, what is this? I just spoke with your therapist, and she said your depression was almost fully managed.” “Can we please stop with the drama? I’m only human, Fiona. I get exhausted too.” The sheer absurdity of his words nearly made me laugh. He was the one who had cheated, yet he was standing there playing the weary victim. I didn’t have the energy to argue. I turned to walk back into the house, but he caught my wrist. “Fiona, whether you believe me or not, this baby with Evelyn was an accident.” “I wanted her to terminate the pregnancy, but the doctor said her body is too weak. If she loses this child, she might never be able to conceive again.” “You’re a woman. You know what it feels like to lose a baby. Surely you can find some compassion for her, can’t you?” Hearing those words, the last of my restraint snapped. I raised my hand and delivered a sharp slap across his face. “Nicholas, I am nothing like you,” I spat, my voice shaking with disgust. “I will never show compassion to the woman who killed my child.” Nicholas had never been struck in his life. His expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening. Before he could speak, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, let go of my wrist, and stepped aside to answer it. “What do you mean, divorce? I am not getting a divorce!” “I will explain the situation to you in person, Mom. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Fiona.” He hung up and turned back to me, his voice cold. “Fiona, do you really think that running to my mother and threatening divorce will force me to make Evelyn get an abortion?” “Once Evelyn gives birth, if you’re willing, we can raise the child as our own. If you don’t want that, I will send her and the baby abroad.” “I know this is incredibly unfair to you, and I promise I will make it up to you once this is settled.” “For now, I’m going to stay at Evelyn’s place to take care of her. You need some time to calm down.” “But rest assured, you will always be Mrs. Montgomery. You are the only woman I love.” Hearing the word love from his mouth made my stomach churn violently. I rushed into the bathroom, leaning over the toilet as my body convulsed, throwing up everything I had eaten. When I finished, Nicholas was by my side, gently helping me up with an expression of deep concern. “Fiona, what’s wrong? Is your stomach upset? Let’s go to the hospital.” I wiped my mouth, pulling away from his touch. Before I could speak, his phone began to ring. It was a unique, high-pitched ringtone. I had heard that specific tone multiple times over the past six months, sometimes during the day, but mostly in the dead of night. When I had asked him about it, he told me it was a highly important prospective client. He said securing this deal would ensure a flawless financial report for the year, and the board would finally approve his appointment as chairman. I had believed him. Every time that phone rang, I had quietly brought the device to him and left the room to give him space. But now, standing so close, I could hear the high-pitched voice coming through the receiver. It wasn’t a client. It was Evelyn. “Nicholas, my stomach hurts so much. Is something wrong with the baby?” In the next second, Nicholas shoved me aside, rushing toward the front door without a single backward glance. “Fiona, Evelyn is having an emergency. I have to go.” “If your stomach is really hurting, take some medicine. I’ll take you to the clinic once I make sure she’s okay.” He vanished through the door. He didn’t see me collapse onto the cold tiles, a sharp, white-hot pain blooming in my abdomen as a dark red stain began to spread across my clothes.

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On our final divorce cooling-off day, I called Jack—one last time. Would he really drain our assets for Karina? He picked up, but his voice was frantic, not cold. “Beth! Don’t hang up! It’s a trap! That bitch set me up!” Wind roared in the background. “Three months from now, it’s 160 degrees! The empire is melted scrap! Karina took my last cooling suit and ran!” “Beth, please! Let me into your bunker! Just one piece of ice and I’m yours for life!” Before I could speak, the villa doors opened. Jack walked in, cold air trailing him. He slammed the papers onto the table. “Enough with the phone theatrics.” “Karina needs the money for a manor to recover. Sign, and take the abandoned bunkers.” Listening to his future screams and staring at the man before me, I ended the call. “Alright. I’ll sign.” … I scribbled my name and pushed the papers back to him. Jack was visibly stunned. He probably thought my phone call earlier was just one last desperate attempt to manipulate him into staying. After all, for the past five years, I had loved him so much that I was willing to sacrifice everything for him. “You signed it?” Jack frowned, a flash of displeasure crossing his eyes. But his cold mask quickly slipped back into place. “Glad you finally know your place.” He pulled a rusty ring of keys from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. “These are the keys to the abandoned military bunker out in the west suburbs. That, plus the five million in your account, is enough for you to live on for the rest of your life.” “Beth, stay away from Karina from now on. She has a weak heart. She can’t handle the stress you cause her.” I picked up the rusty keys and let out a self-deprecating laugh. Five million? Was he treating me like a beggar? The company had over two billion in liquid assets. He had drained the entire account just to buy Karina some massive vacation estate with sprawling lawns overseas. If this were ten minutes ago, I might have cried from the heartbreak. But now, all that echoed in my head were his agonizing screams from three months in the future. “It’s a hundred and sixty degrees out here! The entire family empire is just melted scrap metal.” “That vicious bitch ran off with my last temperature-controlled suit.” What was two billion dollars anyway? Three months from now, global temperatures would skyrocket past a hundred and sixty degrees. All that money would turn into worthless ash. But this rusty ring of keys in my hand? It was going to become Noah’s Ark. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother either of you.” I gripped the keys tightly. “Jack, I hope the two of you have a long, happy life in your overseas manor.” I grabbed my purse and walked toward the door without looking back. Just as I reached the entryway, Jack’s phone rang. He answered it, and his harsh voice instantly melted into something sickeningly gentle. “Hey, Karina.” “Yeah, she signed it. That’s right, all the funds are being transferred to your name right now. We’ll fly out to look at the property next week.” The volume was loud enough that I could hear Karina’s delicate, breathy voice. “Jack, do you think Beth will be angry at me?” “Maybe we should leave a little more money for her. How is she supposed to survive without you?” “She brought this on herself,” Jack sneered, turning his head to glare at my back. “She owes you this.” Owed her? I stopped in my tracks, my fingernails digging into my palms. Did he forget how he built this empire in the first place? I was the one who stood by him when he had nothing. For five years, I worked thousands of late nights. I drank with investors until my stomach bled. I even drank myself into a hospital bed just to secure his first round of funding. We went through hell together. But a year ago, a car accident outside the office ruined everything. When the truck swerved toward us, I was the one who pushed Jack out of the way. But Karina, the new intern who hadn’t even passed her probation period, used the chaos to throw herself into Jack’s arms. She walked away with a scratched knee. But afterward, she was miraculously diagnosed with severe heart failure, supposedly caused by the “trauma of shielding someone from a deadly crash.” And Jack? Not only did he forget who actually pushed him to safety, but he slapped me across the face right outside her hospital room. “If she hadn’t tried to save me, she never would have gotten this sick! You owe her a life, Beth!” From the moment that slap landed, the five years of devotion I poured into him became a joke. Karina suddenly became his untouchable angel. And I became the ungrateful sinner who nearly got her killed. I shook my head, let out a scoff, and walked out the door. The sunlight outside was blinding. It was only May, but the temperature was already pushing a hundred and four degrees. People online had been complaining about the suffocating heat wave for days, but nobody realized it was just the prelude to a catastrophic solar storm. I got into my car and floored the gas pedal, heading straight for the west suburbs. An hour later, I pulled up to the foot of a barren mountain. This place was originally a military bunker dug out in the last century. Jack’s family bought it years ago intending to build a massive cold storage facility, but the project went bankrupt and it had been abandoned ever since. He threw it at me in the divorce settlement just to humiliate me. I waded through the tall weeds, shoved the rusty key into the heavy iron door, and wrestled with it for several minutes before it finally groaned open. The moment the door swung wide, a blast of damp, freezing air hit my face. I couldn’t help but shiver. It was over a hundred degrees outside, but inside the bunker, it couldn’t have been more than sixty. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and stepped inside. The further I walked, the more my heart raced with pure ecstasy. Because this place was massive. It was practically tailor-made to survive an extreme heat apocalypse. The main corridor was lined with two feet of reinforced concrete, buried deep within the belly of the mountain. Even if the surface temperature roasted at two hundred degrees, the bedrock would perfectly insulate the interior. Not only that, but it was already sectioned into living quarters, and there was even a natural underground river running through the back. No wonder the Jack from three months in the future was willing to trade his soul just for a spot in here. My hands shook with excitement as a dozen different plans started forming in my head. The bunker was perfect, but it was essentially a concrete shell right now. To survive the apocalypse, it needed heavy modifications and a massive stockpile of supplies. The ventilation shafts needed the highest-grade filtration systems to block the toxic heat waves that would come later. The main entrance needed a bank-vault-grade blast door to keep out the desperate, heat-crazed mobs who would inevitably try to take this place by force. But the most critical things were ice, drinking water, and thermal insulation coatings. I immediately pulled out my phone and called my broker. “Mark, I need you to liquidate my Porsche, and all the designer bags and jewelry my mother left me.” “As fast as possible. I need the cash tonight!” The broker sounded shocked. “Miss Beth, you’re going to take a massive hit selling them this fast. You’ll lose at least half their value!” “I don’t care. If the money isn’t in my account in two hours, I’m finding someone else.” I hung up and started searching for the largest ice factories and cold-chain logistics centers in the city. The five million from the divorce, plus the couple million from liquidating my assets. Seven or eight million dollars spent purely on ice and water could buy mountains of it. I dialed the owner of the biggest ice plant directly. “Is this Mr. Lee? I want to buy out your entire production of industrial ice blocks and food-grade dry ice for the next three months.” The owner thought I was insane. “All of it? Lady, that’s tens of thousands of tons of ice! What the hell are you doing?” “Building a cold storage empire.” “I’ll wire you a million-dollar deposit right now. I need the first shipment sent to the west suburb bunker tonight. And use the best thermal insulation packaging you have.” Just as I finalized the first order, my phone screen lit up. It was a text from Jack. [Beth, Karina is too soft-hearted. She’s been begging me to go easy on you.] [Here’s the deal. If you come back, kneel down, and apologize to Karina, I’ll give you a small subsidiary company to run. It’s better than rotting in that abandoned cave.] I laughed out loud, blocked his number, and deleted his contact. I didn’t waste a single second. I drove straight back to the city, pulling up to the best security engineering firm in the state. As soon as I walked into the reception area, I heard a sickeningly sweet voice drifting from the VIP lounge. “Jack, you are so good to me.” “With a lawn that big, and this top-of-the-line security system, I know I’ll recover quickly once we move into the manor.” Karina was leaning heavily against Jack’s shoulder, looking the picture of pure bliss. Jack wrapped an arm around her, his voice full of sickening devotion. “Whatever you want, baby. Money is no object.” Hearing the door open, they both turned around. The moment Jack saw me, the gentle look on his face vanished, replaced by disgust and annoyance. “Beth? Are you stalking me?” He stood up, his face hardening. “I already gave you the bunker and five million. What are you doing following me here?” Karina shrank back into his arms, acting like a frightened little bird. “Beth, please don’t be mad at Jack. If you’re really that upset, maybe we can all go to the manor together?” Watching these two put on their little show made me want to throw up the lunch I ate yesterday. I shook my head, walked right past them, and slapped a black card onto the receptionist’s desk. “Get your manager out here. I need a bank-vault-grade blast door and military-spec thermal insulation installed. And I need the work started immediately.” The receptionist took one look at the black card and scrambled to find the manager. Jack paused when he heard my request, then let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Have you completely lost your mind, Beth?” He walked over, looking at me like I was severely brain-damaged. “You took your pathetic little severance package and ran straight here to buy a vault door and insulation?” “What are you going to do? Install it on that rotting cave?” Karina covered her mouth and giggled softly. “Beth, even if you’re just doing this to get Jack’s attention, this is a bit much, isn’t it? That cave is deep underground. Spending millions to decorate it is just throwing money down the drain.” “I’m warning you one last time,” Jack said, taking a step closer. “Even if you line that filthy cave with solid gold, I will never look at you again. Take your little check and get lost. Stop embarrassing yourself.” “Embarrassing myself?” I turned my head and stared dead into his eyes. “Jack, if you’re not going to use those eyes, you should donate them to someone who actually needs them.” “I’m spending my own money. What the hell does it have to do with you?” “You—” Jack started, his face turning red, but the manager came rushing out. “Oh, Mr. Jack! Miss Beth! Please, calm down!” The manager looked at my work order and hesitated, his face twisting into an awkward grimace. “Miss Beth, we actually do have the exact equipment you’re asking for sitting in the warehouse right now.” “But the installation for a system this complex is extremely difficult. We only have one crew in the entire company capable of doing it: Foreman Chen’s team.” “The problem is, Mr. Jack just booked them.” The manager rubbed his hands nervously. “Mr. Jack wants us to install the security system for his overseas manor. Chen’s crew is scheduled to fly out next week. The earliest we could start your project would be three months from now.” Three months? Three months from now the heat apocalypse would hit. I wouldn’t need a door; I’d need a coffin. Hearing the manager’s words, the anger on Jack’s face instantly dissolved into smug triumph. He smirked. “Did you hear that, Beth? I just booked the best crew they have.” “Even if you got on your knees and begged me right now, I wouldn’t give them up.” Karina sighed, her face full of fake sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Beth. What bad timing.” Looking at their arrogant, punchable faces, I felt absolutely nothing. I turned back to the manager and asked point-blank, “Did he pay in full?” The manager froze, glancing nervously at Jack. “Well… Mr. Jack signed the contract and put down a ten percent deposit. The balance will be paid once the manor is finished. He’s one of our biggest VIPs, his credit is—” “I know how this business works. If it’s not paid in full, it’s fair game.” I cut him off completely. “How much for the blast door, the insulation, materials, and labor combined?” “Roughly six million.” “I’ll give you eight.” I pushed the black card across the desk. “Paid in full! Swipe it right now!” “My only condition is that Foreman Chen and his entire crew load up the equipment and head to the west suburb bunker tonight! The work starts immediately!” The manager’s eyes practically popped out of his skull. In this economy, contractors lived in constant fear of clients defaulting on final payments. So… “Beth, you dare try to steal my crew?!” Jack slammed his hand on the desk. “Manager! You give her that crew, and I swear to god, my family will blacklist your company from ever doing business in this city again!” The manager looked trapped, sweating bullets. “Mr. Jack, please don’t be angry.” “Company policy is very clear. Clients who pay the full amount upfront get priority scheduling. Unless… you want to pay the full ten million for the manor system right now?” “If you swipe your card for the full amount right now, the crew is yours!” Jack’s face turned the color of bruised liver. He didn’t have ten million in cash lying around right now. To buy that ridiculous vacation estate for Karina, he had emptied out every liquid asset the family had. Everything else was tied up in stocks and real estate. It would take at least a fiscal quarter to liquidate any of it. But Karina was still tugging on his arm, pouting. “Jack, she’s going too far! She’s doing this just to spite me.” “Just swipe the card! You can’t let her steal your crew!” “Shut up!” Jack furiously yanked his arm out of her grasp, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Seeing him squirm like that almost made me laugh out loud. “What’s wrong, Mr. VIP? Didn’t you just say money was no object?” “Don’t tell me the great prince of the city’s elite can’t even scrape together ten million in cash?” As soon as the words left my mouth, the manager returned with a huge, sycophantic smile and handed my card back. “Miss Beth, consider it done! Foreman Chen’s trucks will be loaded and ready in thirty minutes. They’ll start digging tonight!” “Beth! You are going to regret this!” Jack pointed a shaking finger at me, roared in frustration, grabbed Karina by the wrist, and stormed out without looking back. … Fueled by the massive upfront cash payment, Foreman Chen’s crew worked in three shifts around the clock. It only took them a month to completely retrofit the bunker. The massive, two-foot-thick blast door was anchored directly into the bedrock. The entire facility was lined with military-grade thermal insulation. Tens of thousands of tons of industrial ice blocks, and enough food and supplies to last three lifetimes, were packed tightly into the storage sectors. And on the exact night the final shipment of supplies was unloaded into the storeroom… The extreme heat apocalypse arrived early. Without any warning, the temperature skyrocketed from the low hundreds. Society collapsed completely within a matter of days. Three months later, the surface temperature stabilized at a constant hundred and sixty degrees. The city’s power grid was completely fried. Outside, thousands of people were being roasted alive every single day. While I sat comfortably inside my bunker at a cool sixty-five degrees, lazily scooping out the center of an ice-cold watermelon. Suddenly, the proximity alarm on the blast door blared. I tapped the monitor screen and saw Jack and Karina wrestling on the scorched earth right outside. “Karina! Let go! If I take this off, I’ll cook to death!” Jack was desperately clutching the temperature-controlled suit he was wearing. Karina’s face was twisted in pure malice. She grabbed a jagged rock from the dirt and smashed it directly into the side of Jack’s head. Jack screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding scalp. Karina ripped the temperature suit off his body and shoved her arms into it. Her eyes were full of absolute contempt. “You stupid idiot! Let me tell you the truth! That two billion dollars went straight into offshore accounts managed by me and my brother!” “That overseas manor? It never existed! I scammed you from the very beginning!” “Now that money is worthless, did you really think I was going to sit around and die with you?” She didn’t even spare Jack another glance. She turned around and sprinted into the hundred-and-sixty-degree heat wave. “Karina, come back here!” Jack reached out a desperate hand, but only grasped a fistful of boiling hot sand. The moment he lost the protective suit, the hundred-and-sixty-degree air hit him like a physical blow. Massive, agonizing blisters immediately began forming on his exposed skin. He shrieked as he dragged his body toward my blast door. He slapped his bloody, blistered hands against the reinforced steel, sobbing and wailing. “Beth! Beth, I know you’re in there!” “I was wrong! I made a mistake! It was all a trap! That vicious bitch set me up!” “The apocalypse is here! It’s a hundred and sixty degrees out here! Karina just ran off with my last temperature suit!” “Beth, let me into the bunker, please? I’m begging you, just give me a sip of ice water, and I’ll be your slave for the rest of my life!” Every single word matched the phone call from my memory, exactly as it played out three months ago. I swallowed my bite of watermelon and grabbed a paper towel to wipe my hands. Then I pressed the intercom button. “My slave?” I sneered. “Jack, do you honestly think you’re worthy of that?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “458736”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It was during a summer charity drive at Saint Jude’s Orphanage when I stumbled upon my future daughter. She claimed she had traveled back in time, twenty years from the future. I stared at her, my heart fluttering with a mix of dread and dizzying excitement. “You look so much like Todd,” I whispered, studying her face. “How old are you?” “Are Todd and I still happy twenty years from now? He swore to me that he’d cherish me even more after we tied the knot.” I kept babbling, eager for any scrap of our future. But the girl only let out a strange, hollow laugh. “Oh, your bond is spectacular,” she said, her voice dripping with something dark. “Twenty years later, he still treats you like his crown jewel. Last year, when you had a minor surgery, he practically lived outside the operating room, donating half his net worth to charity just to beg the universe for your safety.” A sweet warmth bloomed in my chest. “He always did have a flair for the dramatic,” I murmured, a soft smile tugging at my lips. Before the warmth could settle, her voice drifted over, light as a feather but cold as ice. “But then, a secret lover is always more thrilling than a real wife, isn’t she?” “When the woman on the outside gets a minor headache, the old bastard drops everything, leaving his actual family in the dust.” “Isn’t that right, stepmom?” Maeve seemed delighted by my sheer bewilderment. She wore a mocking grin, as if watching a tragedy unfold in real-time. “You didn’t actually think you were my mother, did you?” “A homewrecker like you doesn’t deserve a daughter.” She spoke with absolute certainty. But it made no sense. Todd and I had signed our marriage papers just last month. How could I possibly be his mistress? “That’s impossible. Who are you? What are you…” Maeve cut me off with a scoff. “Fine. Today happens to be my parents’ wedding anniversary anyway. If you don’t believe me, let’s go see for ourselves.” Half-doubting, half-terrified, I drove Maeve to the address she gave me. It was in the very same gated community where Todd and I lived. But while our townhouse sat on the cheap, dusty western edge of the estate, this grand brick villa stood proudly right in the center. Maeve sneered the moment she stepped out of the car. “Twenty years from now, everyone calls you his little side-chick. Quite the title, isn’t it?” “There. See for yourself.” I followed her gaze, and my entire body turned to stone. Todd, who had held me close and begged for a good morning kiss just hours ago, was leaning down, letting a woman wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. “Take a good look, stepmom. The woman in there is my actual mother.” “You’re saying… Phoebe is your mother?” My voice cracked, dry as ash. Maeve nodded without a trace of hesitation. It was absurd. Phoebe had been Todd’s executive assistant ever since she graduated college. Whenever she saw me, she would smile warmly, treating me like her closest friend and calling me the future Mrs. At our wedding last month, she had stayed late, drinking toast after toast on our behalf to keep the guests happy until she was completely wasted. I had even nudged Todd afterward, telling him to give her a massive bonus for being so loyal. And now, Maeve was claiming Phoebe was Todd’s real wife. Then what was the marriage certificate Todd and I had signed? “A forgery,” Maeve said. I froze, staring at her in sheer disbelief. She shrugged, her lip curling. “It’s all fake. The ceremony was a sham, the guests were hired actors, and the certificate is just a cheap piece of paper without an official state seal.” I refused to believe it. I couldn’t believe that Todd, the man who had swerved the steering wheel during a car crash to take the full force of the impact to protect me, would trap me in such a cruel, humiliating lie. My knees trembling, I stumbled back to our townhouse. With shaking fingers, I pried open the safe. The moment we got back with the certificate last month, Todd had playfully snatched it away before I could even open it. He had wrapped his arms around me, beaming with pride. “This is our family heirloom now,” he had whispered. “We have to lock it away safely.” Such sweet words. I had happily let him have his way. Now, holding the paper under the light, I realized how laughably fake it was. A child could have spotted the forged stamp. I collapsed onto the floor, the paper slipping from my hand as a cold void opened in my chest. “Why?” I whispered to the empty room. “Why would he do this to me?” Maeve made herself at home, wandering around the bedroom. “Because he’s a greedy bastard. He wanted a respectable wife, but he also wanted to keep his favorite toy.” “My mother’s family has money and connections. They gave him funding, resources, everything he needed to build his empire.” “But you? You stuck with him through his poorest years, so he threw you a bone. He put on a fake show to keep you quiet, locked up in this little cage.” I sat on the floor for hours as the afternoon light faded into dusk, entirely oblivious to when Maeve had slipped out. The moon was high by the time Todd finally returned. He paused at the door, surprised to see me curled up in the darkness of the sofa. “Gemma? Sweetheart, why are you sitting in the dark?” “My meeting ran incredibly late today. I’m sorry.” “But guess what I brought you?” With a boyish grin, he produced a small, elegant box from behind his back. “Strawberry shortcake. You said you were craving it yesterday.” He held it out to me, his eyes bright and warm, looking exactly like the man who had promised to love me forever. I pulled my knees tighter against my chest, staring at this man I had loved for a decade. How could he hold another woman, kiss her, and then come home to look at me with such convincing tenderness? Confused by my silence, his smile softened, and he slid onto the couch to pull me into his chest. “I’m sorry, honey. I promise I’ll be home early tomorrow.” He called me his wife so naturally, with such warmth. But I wasn’t his wife. I was just his dirty little secret. Maeve was like a ghost, appearing out of nowhere. The next morning, as I was about to take my medication, she snatched the bottle right out of my hand. I pressed a hand to my throbbing temple, reaching out. “Give it back, Maeve. My head is splitting.” She turned the bottle around, inspecting the label with mock curiosity. “Wow, stepmom, you started popping these this early?” “I don’t know what my dad saw in you. A pill-popper. How pathetic.” I froze. “What do you mean, pill-popper?” She rattled the pills. “These are heavy-duty psychotropics. Hallucinogens.” “Actually, the timeline fits. You get so hooked on these that you hallucinate, crash your car into someone, and end up in prison.” The moment the words left her mouth, she gasped, slapping a hand over her lips as if she had said too much. Shoving the bottle back into my hand, she quickly poured a glass of water and offered it to me with a tense, fake smile. “I was lying. It’s just ordinary pain medicine. Drink up.” I stared at the plastic bottle, my hands shaking violently. Todd had brought these pills home, claiming they were a cutting-edge prescription for my chronic migraines. Every time my head throbbed, he would look more panicked than I was, personally bringing the water and watching me swallow the pill before he could relax. I had thought it was love. But in reality, he was quietly, systematically driving me insane. Hysteria clawing at my throat, I threw the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall, pills scattering like teeth. We had been together since we were eighteen. Ten years. During our bleakest times, we shared a damp basement flat, living on instant noodles. I had worked myself to the bone helping him pitch to clients. When a wealthy investor humiliated him, I swallowed my pride and spent weeks kissing up to the investor’s snobbish wife just to secure the deal. When Todd found out, his eyes had burned with tears of shame and anger. “Gemma, never again,” he had choked out, holding my face. “I don’t care if I have to drink myself to death for a contract, but I will not let you degrade yourself for me.” The man who swore he would rather die than see me suffer had handed me the ultimate betrayal. I wiped the tears from my face, turning to Maeve, who was watching me with a blank expression. “What else?” I choked out. “What else did he do?” Maeve stared at me, a dark, unsettling smile spreading across her lips. “Stepmom, do you remember the orphanage where you found me today?” “Why do you think a girl from twenty years in the future would be wandering around that specific place?” My heart leaped into my throat. Before I could press her for answers, the front door clicked open. Phoebe walked in, dressed in a sharp pencil skirt and blazer. She froze when she saw me sitting on the floor, her face twisting into immediate concern. “Gemma? Oh my god, what happened?” I whipped my head around to look for Maeve, but she was gone. Vanished into thin air. Phoebe rushed over and knelt beside me, reaching out to help me up. “Gemma, let me help…” The fake warmth in her voice made my stomach turn. I slapped her hand away with all the strength I had left. “Should you be calling me that, or is it my turn to call you the lady of the house?” Phoebe stiffened. A heavy silence filled the room. Then, slowly, her worried expression melted away, replaced by a cold, amused smirk. “So, you finally figured it out.” “I was starting to think you were genuinely brainless. I left so many clues, you know.” She stood up, smoothing her skirt, and made herself comfortable on the sofa, her posture oozing the confidence of a rightful owner. “Todd and I registered our marriage a year ago.” “Yesterday was our anniversary. Did he tell you he had a late board meeting? He didn’t.” “He bought me a cake, gave me a diamond ring, and took me out to a beautiful dinner. Then he drew me a bath and tucked me into bed.” “My appetite hasn’t been great lately, so I told him to take the leftover cake home to keep you happy. Did you try it? The bakery is exclusive.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, sighing. “Look, Gemma, don’t hate him. He didn’t want to hurt you. He just didn’t have the heart to break the news.” “You did suffer with him through the lean years, after all. He still wants you around to take care of him when I’m busy.” “Besides, you’re a much better cook. He loves those honey-glazed pork chops you make. I can never get the recipe right, mine are always too sweet or too sour. I made them last week, and he barely took two bites before complaining they weren’t as good as yours.” Cold sweat poured down my neck. My head throbbed with white-hot pain. “When did it start?” I whispered. She tapped her chin, smiling. “Three years ago, on your anniversary.” “The office was in complete chaos. He’d pulled an all-nighter but was still insisting on rushing home to buy you flowers. I got annoyed, so I made him stay with me instead.” Her voice began to warp and fade. Spots of blinding color danced across my eyes, and then the world went entirely black. When I opened my eyes, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. Todd was asleep, his head resting on the edge of my hospital bed. His brow was furrowed, and his fingers were wrapped tightly around mine. I stared at his face, a face I had kissed ten thousand times. A faint white scar ran from his temple to his cheekbone, a permanent reminder of the day he threw himself over my body as the glass shattered around us. I slowly pulled my hand away. The movement startled him awake. He sat up instantly, his eyes bloodshot. Seeing me conscious, his face lit up with overwhelming relief. “Gemma, thank god. You terrified me.” He poured a cup of water, offering it to me. “The doctor said it was an anxiety attack. Sweetheart, have you been skipping your medication?” I stared down at my trembling fingers. “Todd, where is Phoebe?” He blinked, then offered a smooth, easy smile. “She’s my assistant, Gemma. She’s at the office, of course.” “I only sent her to our place yesterday to grab some files. Why do you ask?” Whenever he lied, his left eyebrow would twitch upward. It was a tell he had possessed since he was eighteen, one he had never managed to shake. I closed my eyes, unable to look at him for another second. “Leave. I want to be alone.” “Gemma…” “Go.” A long silence stretched between us. Finally, he sighed, gently tucking the blanket around my shoulders. At the door, he paused, looking back with soft, pleading eyes. “I love you, Gemma.” The words were filled with warmth, but they left me shivering. The moment the door clicked shut, the dam broke, and hot tears streamed down my face. “Oh? Stepmom, are those actual tears?” Maeve stood by the window, her voice dripping with mockery. She leaned over the bed, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she brushed a tear from my cheek. I froze, staring up into her face. Her wide, round eyes held a strange, haunting familiarity. In the next breath, her wicked smile returned. “I didn’t think bad women knew how to cry. How tragic.” “You deserve it. But don’t worry, there’s plenty more misery waiting for you in the future.” Remembering what she had whispered before Phoebe walked in, I lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. “What did Todd do to the orphanage?” Maeve fell silent. She stared down at my hand wrapping her wrist, her eyes glazed over. For a fleeting second, I could have sworn her eyes were swimming with tears. A sudden panic gripped my chest. “Maeve…” Before I could finish, she violently wrenched her hand away. “You brought this on yourself! It serves you right that my dad bulldozed that dump where you grew up and gifted the land to my mother.” My breath hitched in my throat. Maeve paced the room, her voice rising with forced, manic glee. “You were like a shadow, always playing the victim to keep my dad from coming home to his real family.” “But the moment my mother threw a tantrum, he threw you under the bus. He destroyed the only place you ever cared about just to make her smile.” “My mother told me you literally got down on your knees, begging him. She said you sobbed like a dog.” “Didn’t stop him though. They turned your precious orphanage into a waste processing plant.” “After that, you completely lost your mind, turning his life into a living hell with your psychotic episodes.” “You even caused a death. The old lady who ran the place threatened to sue, but she ended up dead in a convenient accident.” “It was my mother’s development project, so of course my dad cleaned up the mess. He swept the old lady’s death under the rug without blinking.” “And you, like a fool, kept screaming for justice. My dad had to hire a specialist to hypnotize you just to wipe your memories and shut you up.” I was discharged a few days later. I went back to the townhouse quietly. Every curtain, every piece of furniture had been chosen by me. I had built this place believing it was the foundation of my happiest years. Instead, it was a gilded cage built on deceit and blood. I had barely finished packing my suitcase when Todd burst through the door, throwing his arms around me in a desperate embrace. “Gemma, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Why did you leave the hospital without telling me?” Resting my head against his chest, feeling the frantic, terrified racing of his heart, I whispered, “Todd, do you love me?” “Of course I do,” he replied instantly, tightening his grip. “Gemma, without you, I would die.” Such grand passion. I let out a silent, bitter laugh. Before I could reply, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frown, his face instantly turning pale and conflicted as Phoebe’s name flashed on the screen. “Take it,” I said, my voice dead. He hesitated, then stepped back, moving into the hallway to answer. When he returned, the mask of the apologetic lover was firmly back in place. “Just some trouble at the firm. Get some rest, okay?” “Once this deal closes, I’ll take you on a vacation. Just the two of us.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and hurried out the door. I stared at the closed door, raising my hand to violently wipe his kiss from my skin. There is no vacation, Todd. There is no future. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out, never looking back. At the corner of the street, some inexplicable urge made me stop and turn. Maeve was sitting on the wooden swing set in the garden of the grand brick villa, swaying gently under the shadow of the trees. Seeing me watch her, she raised a hand, waving with a wide, bright smile. The sight sent a strange shiver through me. How odd. She looked absolutely nothing like Phoebe.

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My daughter always loved telling the truth. When I asked her if she thought I was pretty, she looked right at me and said, “Honestly Mom, you are the ugliest mom at my whole preschool.” When my mother-in-law pointed her finger in my face and called me a wasteful spender for buying her an expensive backpack, I asked my daughter how that made her feel. She smiled and said, “Honestly, I was pretty happy watching you get yelled at.” My husband once joked with her, asking if she would take care of me when I got old. She scoffed. “I am not taking care of her. When she gets old, she should just hurry up and be put six feet under.” My heart went completely cold. But her eyes curved into happy little crescents. “I am just telling the truth!” Later on, a detective came to our house doing a routine neighborhood canvas and asked my daughter a few standard questions. Once again, my daughter told the truth. But this time, it was a truth she would regret for the rest of her life. 1 The detective knocked on our door to update the local residential registry. My seven-year-old daughter, Brenda, blinked her big eyes and asked, “Why do you have to write our names down?” The detective gently patted her head. “It helps keep the neighborhood safe, and it helps us make sure bad people do not kidnap little kids.” Brenda nodded, her face suddenly lighting up with an exaggerated look of realization. “Oh, I get it! You want to catch kidnappers! Well, isn’t my mom one of those?” “She told me out of her own mouth yesterday that she kidnapped me!” The smile froze completely on the detective’s face. I stared at my daughter in absolute shock. Seeing the sly, calculating gleam in her eyes, my brain started to buzz. Brenda had a habit of saying “honest” things specifically designed to humiliate me and cause me pain. Just yesterday, I refused to let her eat too much junk food before dinner. She threw a fit, calling me an evil mother and screaming that she didn’t want to be my daughter anymore. I was exhausted and furious, so I snapped back, “You’re right, you aren’t my daughter! I kidnapped you!” At the time, she argued back saying she didn’t believe me. I never imagined she would take a sarcastic comment she didn’t even believe, package it as the “truth,” and feed it directly to a police officer. The detective was already looking at me with a completely different expression. I forced out a dry, awkward laugh. “She was misbehaving yesterday and I lost my temper. It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t think she would take it literally.” The detective’s brow relaxed slightly. He turned to Brenda. “Little girl, you can’t joke about things like that. If your mom gets mistaken for a kidnapper, she could go to jail.” Seeing Brenda nod, the knot in my chest finally loosened. I thought the ordeal was over. But a second later, Brenda looked up with an expression of pure, innocent sincerity. “But my mom can’t have babies. If I wasn’t kidnapped, where did I come from?” The scrutiny and suspicion instantly returned to the detective’s eyes. I panicked and quickly tried to explain. “I had an IUD put in right after she was born! When kids hear about birth control, they misunderstand what ‘can’t have babies’ means.” I tugged on Brenda’s sleeve, silently begging her to stop talking. She refused to listen. “Mom couldn’t have babies right after she got married! But I am already seven years old!” I had no idea how a seven-year-old girl possessed the mental capacity to connect those dots. But when you thought about what she was implying, it was impossible not to jump to horrible conclusions. My husband and I had been married for six years. I had an IUD for those exact six years. So how could we possibly have a seven-year-old daughter? The detective clearly did the math in his head. His expression turned dead serious. “Ma’am, I am going to need to see the child’s birth certificate.” My stomach dropped to the floor. There was no birth certificate for Brenda in this house. Six years ago, I had literally fought off human traffickers to rip this child out of their hands. When the police eventually pulled the files on her biological parents, the reality left everyone speechless. My husband and I had looked at each other with pale faces, sharing the exact same thought. If we sent this poor baby back to her biological family, living with them would be a fate worse than death. We simply couldn’t bear it. So, we went through the system, adopted her, and raised her to this day. Brenda probably thought my angry comment yesterday was just a cruel joke, but she had no idea that the joke was actually the truth. The only reason we never told her was that we didn’t want her to feel like an outsider in her own home. But now, if I didn’t confess, this detective might actually put me in handcuffs. Just as I opened my mouth to explain the adoption, Brenda suddenly shrieked in mock excitement. “Oh! I remember now!” “Mom got pregnant out of wedlock! She had me before she got married! When the grown-ups talk about women being loose, this is what they mean, right?” I stood frozen in place. If things were really the way she was describing them, I would have wanted the floor to open up and swallow me out of shame. But my silence in that moment wasn’t born of embarrassment. It was born of a chilling, profound heartbreak. Thinking she had successfully pierced my armor, the corners of Brenda’s mouth curled up into a thrilled little smirk. “Mom, I am just telling the truth to help clear your name! You shouldn’t be mad at me.” The detective withdrew his intense gaze from me, shaking his head slightly as he finished writing down our information. In a corner where no one could see, my hands were curled into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms as I desperately pushed down the surge of bitter emotion. This was not the first time she had done something like this. 2 Back when she was in preschool, she constantly praised other mothers in front of me, talking about how gorgeous they were. I asked her, “Do you think Mom isn’t pretty?” Brenda stared dead into my eyes and said, “Mom, you are not pretty at all!” “You are the ugliest mom at the whole preschool!” I was stunned. Seeing her eyes curved into happy little slits, clearly enjoying the moment, I couldn’t help but speak up. “When you say things like that, it really hurts Mom’s feelings.” To my surprise, she crossed her arms and put on a self-righteous face. “But my teacher said good kids always tell the truth!” I was left completely speechless. A strange, uneasy feeling took root in my chest. Logically speaking, young children usually have a natural, loving bias toward the people who raise them, especially regarding their looks. But Brenda was different. Later, when she started elementary school, I spent a hundred dollars buying her a shiny, branded Frozen backpack she had been begging for. When my mother-in-law found out how much it cost, she marched over, pointed her finger right at my nose, and screamed at me for wasting Chris’s hard-earned money. Brenda completely ignored the vicious scolding I was receiving. She treated the yelling as background music while she spun around the living room, dancing with her new bag. Later, I couldn’t help but ask her, “When you heard Grandma yelling at me, did you have any thoughts about it?” Brenda rolled her eyes around for a second before locking them tightly onto mine. “Yeah! I thought it was super fun!” Seeing the genuine, radiant smile on her face, my expression completely froze. She stared at me for a long time, drinking in my reaction, before adding her favorite line. “Don’t be mad, Mom. I am just telling the truth.” Just last month, Brenda caught a terrible flu. I didn’t sleep for weeks, staying by her bedside day and night to nurse her back to health. When my husband, Chris, saw that I had lost ten pounds from the stress, his heart broke. He asked Brenda, “Mom is working so hard to raise you. Are you going to take care of her when she gets old?” Brenda glanced at me, pouted her lips, and said, “No way! When Mom gets old, she needs to hurry up and go into the ground!” Chris stiffened in shock. Every ounce of color drained from my face. Yet, seeing our devastated reactions, Brenda actually started clapping and cheering, thrilled by the misery she had caused. I remained completely silent for the rest of the day. Brenda even had the nerve to ask me, “Mom, are you upset again just because I told the truth?” That night, I didn’t close my eyes for a single second. Chris tossed and turned beside me. Breaking the heavy silence, he suddenly whispered, “Whenever she says those things… she has to just be joking, right?” Even his voice trembled with uncertainty. Every single time her words tore me to pieces, a brief flash of malicious joy would appear in her eyes. Then she would deploy her favorite excuse, using “telling the truth” to silence any complaints I had. Remembering all of this, my emotions were reaching a boiling point. I rushed to the door, eager to see the detective out and be done with this nightmare. “Mr. Detective!” Brenda yelled out just as he stepped over the threshold. “If I find out my mom really is a kidnapper, can I call you to arrest her?” The detective gave Brenda a highly complicated look, then glanced back at me. Ultimately, he slipped a business card into Brenda’s hand before walking away. 3 After the detective left, Brenda tilted her head and studied my face. Seeing that I wasn’t breaking down or yelling, a flash of deep disappointment crossed her eyes. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Why did you say those things to the officer?” Brenda put her hands on her hips, lifting her chin with total arrogance. “Because I am a good kid who tells the truth!” “If you want to blame someone, blame yourself! You are the one who got mad and said I was kidnapped!” That confirmed it. She purposely fed that story to the police just to punish me for the angry comment I made yesterday. I tightened my fists and asked her one more question. “If Mom really did steal you from human traffickers, but your real parents were terrible people and I kept you to protect you… would you still call the police and send me to prison?” Brenda nodded without a single second of hesitation. “Of course I would! Mom, I told you, I am a good kid who tells the truth!” My heart plunged straight into an icy abyss. Chris had come home from work quietly and had been standing in the hallway for a while. His face was terrifyingly dark. Still, he suppressed his anger, walked over, and patted my shoulder to comfort me. “Maybe… maybe she will grow out of it when she gets older.” Seeing Chris upset made Brenda happy again. She completely ignored our pain. I couldn’t stop the thought from echoing in my head. If Chris and I spent half our lives pouring our blood, sweat, and tears into raising a vicious, ungrateful parasite, why shouldn’t we cut our losses right now? But we had raised her for so many years. I wanted to give her one absolute final chance. I looked at the detective’s business card sitting on the table and spoke deliberately. “Brenda, you really were kidnapped. Inside the safe in our bedroom, there is a file containing all your original records. It has the names of your biological parents on it.” “If you keep using your ‘truths’ to intentionally break our hearts, your dad and I are going to pack your bags and send you back to your real family.” Hearing my tone, the smugness vanished from her young face, replaced by a genuine, age-appropriate fear. She turned to Chris in a panic. “Dad, is she telling the truth?” Chris swallowed his disgust and sighed. “Your mom is just messing with you.” The panic slowly faded from Brenda’s face. She puffed out her cheeks and glared at me. “So it was a lie! I wish I actually had different parents! I hate you, Mom!” Chris’s expression darkened even further. But her entire focus was locked onto me. I played along, forcing a deeply wounded, heartbroken expression onto my face. Only then did her lips part into a satisfied, cruel smile. In that moment, everything became crystal clear. Brenda truly believed she was our biological flesh and blood. Because she thought that bond was indissoluble, she felt completely emboldened to hurt me without any fear of consequences. Any remaining warmth in my heart completely froze over. Late that night, as I hovered on the edge of sleep, I heard the subtle click of the bedroom door handle turning. A tiny shadow slipped into the room. A minute later, the shadow sneaked back out. From the hallway outside, a deliberately hushed, childlike voice whispered into a phone. “Hello, is this the police? Honestly, my mom really is a kidnapper. All the proof is hiding inside her safe. You need to come arrest her right now!” 4 The police response was incredibly fast. I barely had time to throw a cardigan over my shoulders before the front door was aggressively pushed open. Brenda ran crying into the arms of a uniformed officer, pointing a trembling finger at me while wearing a mask of absolute terror. “My mom is a human trafficker! She told me she kidnapped me!” The officer didn’t notice, but from my angle, I clearly saw the wicked, triumphant glint in Brenda’s eyes. It was that exact same thrill of successfully torturing me with her “honesty.” The lead officer stepped forward, his hand resting intimidatingly on his utility belt. His voice commanded authority. “Ma’am, we need you to open the safe in your bedroom immediately so we can inspect the contents.” Chris had been woken by the commotion. He rushed into the living room, panic flashing across his face when he heard the word safe. “You can’t open that!” Taking Chris’s panic as a sign of guilt, the officer signaled to a colleague carrying a heavy breaching kit to step forward. Looking at the heavy metal pry bars hitting the floor, I turned my gaze slowly to Brenda. “Brenda, your dad told you during the day that it was just a joke. Why did you still call the police? Is this what you call telling the truth?” Brenda clamped her mouth shut, conveniently ignoring what Chris had told her earlier. I looked at her with a heavy, loaded stare. “If that safe opens, you are going to regret it for the rest of your life.” Brenda snorted loudly and crossed her arms. “Mom never knows the difference between a joke and the truth. I have to punish Mom.” “This way, Mom will learn to only tell the truth, just like me.” The first lock on the safe popped open with a loud crack under the officer’s pry bar. The heavy steel door swung wide. Inside rested a single, tightly sealed metal lockbox. I looked at Brenda one last time. “If we prove right here and now that you are not my daughter, will you pack your bags and go back to your biological parents?” Brenda answered without missing a beat. “Yes!” “Every time I tell the truth, Mom gets mad. I hate Mom!” The very last microscopic shred of pity I held for this girl evaporated into thin air. The sealed lockbox was a high-density, tamper-proof container I had bought specifically for this. It was incredibly difficult to pry open by force. Watching the officer sweat as he struggled with his tools, I finally spoke up. “I can open it with my passcode. But only if Brenda signs a voluntary relinquishment of parental rights form with me.” Brenda didn’t understand the legal terminology of what a relinquishment form was. But she recognized that I desperately did not want that box opened. Because of that, she nodded eagerly. She pressed her thumb into an ink pad and stamped her print onto the document I printed out. I punched in Brenda’s birthday on the keypad. The box clicked open. Inside lay three neatly stacked files. The first was a legal adoption certificate. The second was a stack of official police reports and news clippings from the day she was rescued from the trafficking ring. The third was a detailed background file on her biological parents. The lead officer read the adoption papers and remained silent. He moved to the second file. His eyes widened in shock. He read the police reports over and over again. When he finally looked back up at me, the suspicion was gone, replaced by profound respect. “You fought off a gang of traffickers to get her back? Lady, you have some serious guts.” Brenda, expecting to see me handcuffed and dragged away, stood completely paralyzed when she heard the officer praising me instead of arresting me. The officer didn’t dwell on his amazement for long. Driven by professional duty, he opened the third file. With just one glance, he froze. He looked up at me in absolute disbelief. “Are… are you sure about this? These are the kid’s real parents?” “You actually want to send her back to them?” The other officers, confused by their sergeant’s reaction, crowded around to read the file. A moment later, every single one of them turned to look at Brenda with eyes full of deep, uncomfortable pity. Everyone was waiting for my answer. I simply closed my eyes and nodded. “The relinquishment agreement is signed. There is no going back now.” Looking at the strange reactions of the adults around her, the reality of the situation finally seemed to pierce through Brenda’s arrogance. Pure terror washed over her face.

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1 My roommate, Cassie, was the ultimate player. She was currently dating five different guys online. Since they all happened to ask her out on a first date for the exact same evening, she was terrified of being exposed. To solve her dilemma, she decided to hold a boyfriend auction right in our dorm room. The other four girls in our room happily bought up one guy each. But when it was my turn, Cassie’s face twisted into a mocking sneer. “Bridget, you’re hideous and dirt-poor. Shoving a man toward you would be a crime against humanity.” “The only way you’ll ever get a taste of a man is if you hang around the dark corners of the campus track field at midnight.” By telling me to go to the track field at night, she was mocking me, implying that only under the pitch-black cover of darkness would a man be blind enough to look at me. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch her underlying meaning. Instead, I stood up and asked in a small, tentative voice: “Can I buy the last one?” … Cassie was a master of scheduling. She juggled five online relationships simultaneously, her face glued to her screen all day, sweet-talking them one by one through voice calls late into the night. One minute she’d be sweet-talking Boyfriend A into carrying her to a higher rank in an online game, and the next she’d be sending a breathless, baby-voiced voice note to Boyfriend B, whining that she was craving boba. My bunkmate, Becca, watched this daily show with a mix of awe and deep envy. “Cassie really has all the luck,” she sighed. “Managing five guys at once? She’s single-handedly meeting the relationship quota for our entire floor.” “What if all five of them ask to meet up on the exact same day?” I couldn’t help but ask. Cassie poked her head out from behind her bed curtains, giving me a dismissive smirk. “I’m not an idiot, Bridget. I’d never let that happen. If you have so much free time to worry about me, why don’t you go jog on the track tonight? Who knows, maybe some blind fool will bump into you in the dark.” “Why the track at night?” Becca asked, genuinely confused. Only a cruel snicker from Cassie answered her. The others caught on instantly, their lips curling into nasty, quiet smirks. A familiar, sharp ache bloomed in my chest. I was born with dull, dark skin and heavy monolids. Growing up in grinding poverty meant years of hard labor in the fields, leaving my stature stunted. When she told me to run at night, she was mocking me, saying that only under the cover of pitch-black darkness would a man be blind enough to look at me. I silently climbed back onto my bunk and drew my curtains shut, sealing out their malice. The curtain was a tattered, hand-me-down piece left behind by a graduating senior. I had smuggled it back to our room while the dorm mother wasn’t looking. But none of us could have guessed that my idle question would turn into a prophecy. A few days later, Cassie was pacing the room in a frenzy, her fingers flying across her phone screen. In a fit of rage, she slammed her phone onto the desk. The sound made my stomach sink. That phone cost nearly a thousand dollars, equivalent to months of my living expenses. Sensing my gaze, her face twisted in fury. She stormed over to my bunk, hauled me down, and slapped me across the face twice, hard. My ears rang, and my head spun from the sheer force of it. The commotion drew the others, but they didn’t care about the red welts swelling on my cheeks. They only cared about why Cassie was so angry. “It’s all this peasant’s fault!” Cassie snarled, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Her jinx of a mouth actually worked! Every single one of my guys demanded to meet in person tomorrow night. They won’t take no for an answer. They said if I don’t show up, we’re over!” She was too blinded by rage to notice the brief, satisfying glints of schadenfreude passing over the others’ faces. “Oh, what a nightmare,” Valerie murmured. She was the prettiest girl in our dorm, crowned the department’s beauty queen, but she was also incredibly green with envy. She hated how many handsome guys Cassie juggled. Watching Cassie face a total romantic collapse was probably the highlight of her month. “I guess you’ll just have to make a choice and dump the rest.” But Cassie didn’t look defeated. Instead, she fell quiet, her lips curling into a secretive, chilling smile. “Do you guys want boyfriends? I’m offering a sister discount.” And just like that, a boyfriend auction began in our cramped room. I, the girl who had just been slapped for absolutely nothing, was instantly forgotten. 2 “First up is a varsity athlete from the neighboring college,” Cassie announced, scrolling through her photos. “Six-foot-two, tanned, rock-hard abs.” She passed the phone around. The girls gasped. “Tara, you’re always working out and you love extreme sports. This jock is perfect for you. You two would have so much in common.” She leaned in, whispering something into Tara’s ear. I sat on the edge of the room, but from her lip movements, I could make out three words: seven-inch prize. Tara bit her lip, hesitated for a second, then pulled out her phone to scan Cassie’s Cash App code. She sent over half her monthly allowance. One hundred and fifty dollars. To me, that was enough to buy cheap instant noodles and stale bread to survive for months. Seeing someone take the bait, Cassie struck while the iron was hot, pushing the next target. “Next, we have the starving artist type,” Cassie pitched, moving to the second profile. “He’s broke, but his face is pure luxury. A sugar mommy tried to buy him a Mercedes last term and he turned her down to keep his pride. He’s incredibly sweet and attentive. Perfect for Regina.” Regina was a rich girl with a spoiled princess attitude. During our freshman year, I had practically acted as her maid, fetching her water and hand-washing her delicate undergarments just to earn a few crumbs. But she found my face too repulsive to look at and quickly hired a poorer student from across the hall instead. Regina didn’t care about money. Spending a hundred and fifty bucks for a handsome plaything to massage her ego was a steal. Cassie turned her gaze toward Valerie, her smile sharpening. “This next one is four hundred dollars. But Valerie, I know you’ll want him. He’s a corporate VP. Sure, he’s a bit older, but he’s incredibly generous. That Chanel bag in my closet? He bought it for me.” “You’re gorgeous, Val. Your charm is way better than mine. Play your cards right, and he’ll probably clear those online credit cards you’ve been hiding from the dean.” It was a blunt slap to Valerie’s pride, a silent jab at her materialism. But despite her annoyance, Valerie paid up. She desperately needed a savior. If she didn’t clear her debts soon, the collection agency would notify the university. Becca grew anxious, grabbing Cassie’s arm. “What about me, Cassie? We’re best friends, you can’t leave me out!” Cassie let out a soft snort, showing her a profile screenshot. “Wouldn’t dream of it. A top-tier pro-gamer. He’ll carry you through every match, gaming queen.” Becca’s eyes lit up, and she squealed with delight. “What about the last one?” Valerie asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you going to introduce him?” Cassie waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, the fifth one is pretty average. He doesn’t have any outstanding qualities.” She sounded modest, but the smug triumph in her eyes was impossible to miss. “Average” meant he had no flaws. He was a perfect all-rounder: wealthy, handsome, athletic, and attentive. I didn’t catch her underlying meaning. I stood up, clutching my pockets, and asked in a small, trembling voice, “Can I buy the last one? I… I can pay a hundred dollars first.” 3 They all turned to look at me. The silence in the room was instantly filled with sneers, disgust, and disbelief. My face burned hot. I squeezed the crumpled bills in my pocket, bracing myself against their sharp, judging eyes. Cassie’s smile vanished. She slowly sauntered over to my corner. She pinched the sleeve of my pilling, oversized sweater between two manicured fingers, then yanked a strand of my dry, straw-like hair. “Bridget,” she drawled, her voice dripping with pity. “Do you even own a mirror?” “Look at yourself. You’re ugly, you’re dirt-poor, you can barely afford to eat, and you walk with a limp. Shoving a man toward you would be a sin.” Valerie giggled, covering her mouth. “Don’t be so harsh, Cassie. She really can’t afford a mirror. That sweater she’s wearing? I watched her fish it out of the communal recycling bin down the hall and scrub it like it was some designer piece.” Every ounce of my dignity was stripped bare before the very people I had to live with every single day. My face throbbed with a burning heat, and I could no longer tell if it was from the slaps I had received earlier or the crushing weight of my own shame. As they squealed and added their new targets on their phones, discussing what they would wear for their dates, I crawled back behind my curtain. I huddled in the dark like a sewer rat. But I had perfect vision, and a flawless memory. When Cassie had opened the contact page of the man she had kept for herself, I had memorized his username. Staring at my cracked screen, I typed in the username. His profile picture was an abstract, dark portrait that felt strangely cold. A spark of pure, quiet malice flared in my chest. I tapped the send button without a second thought. The request was accepted almost instantly. Hi, I typed. I’m Bridget. The next evening, the four girls spent hours putting on makeup and doing their hair. They left the room in a cloud of expensive perfume, laughing and chatting about their dates. Meanwhile, the mastermind behind all these dates remained in the room with me, with no intention of going out at all. Cassie was furiously tapping on her screen, the rhythmic, violent clacking revealing her mounting frustration. I curled up on my mattress, pulling my blanket over my mouth to muffle my silent, hysterical laughter until tears leaked from my eyes. Before curfew, the roommates began trickling back into the dorm. Only Tara sent a message to our group chat, telling us she wouldn’t be returning tonight and asking us to cover for her. It seemed she was already getting her money’s worth. As we lay in the dark, the girls began whispering about their encounters. Becca gushed about her gamer guy, saying he was witty, charming, and seemed to come from a wealthy family. She was completely smitten. Valerie came back with a delicate box. A shimmering Van Cleef bracelet now rested on her wrist. Regina didn’t say much, but she begrudgingly admitted her handsome artist was even more stunning in person than in his photos. But as the gossip died down, Valerie noticed how silent Cassie was. For someone who loved bragging more than breathing, keeping quiet about her “perfect” date made no sense. “Hey Cassie,” Valerie called out, her voice dripping with faux-innocence. “How did your night go? You haven’t said a word.” “It was fine,” Cassie muttered. Her voice was flat. Even Becca noticed the tension. “Cassie? Is everything okay?” Realizing the spotlight was on her, Cassie’s pride kicked in. She began to spin a beautiful lie, describing how incredibly attentive her date was and how he had fallen head over heels for her. “But you were in the dorm room the entire night, weren’t you?” I threw the words into the darkness like a bomb. The room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. In the quiet, I could hear Cassie grinding her teeth so hard they threatened to crack. “Ha,” I let out a sharp, ugly little snicker.

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1 Joey snatched my wrist as I plunged into the Antarctic crevice, gripping it white-knuckled. “I’ve got you, Julie! I’m never letting go!” But my name isn’t Julie. Rescued, I asked who Julie was. He looked away, voice strained. “You misheard.” I dismissed it as terror-induced hallucination until midnight. Waking to an empty bed, I found Joey’s pack overturned, papers scattered. Kneeling, I froze at a five-year-old accident report. Victim: Julie Coleman. Death: fall into Antarctic crevice. Beneath it, travel photos of a girl identical to me—same poses, clothes, locations as Joey and I had shared. Under those, today’s topographic map of our location, covered in calculations of my weight and terminal velocity. Handwritten at the bottom: This time, I will save her. Joey pushed me. I was his dress rehearsal to rewrite his trauma. Numbness hollowed my chest. Trembling, I texted our coordinator: Arrange transport out tomorrow. Don’t tell Joey. Antarctica faces months of total darkness. Joey’s world would be endless polar night. Mine was finally breaking dawn. I’m so sorry, Sylvia, the coordinator’s reply came a few minutes later. It’s peak season, and all transport is booked. The earliest boat we can get to you is in three days. Okay, I replied. Our trip was scheduled for five days. As long as I could leave before Joey noticed, I could survive three days. I tucked the photos back into his pack, smoothing the canvas to make it look untouched. But sleep was gone. The silence of the cabin pressed too hard against my ears, so I wrapped myself in a coat and walked out. At the cabin entrance, I saw Joey through the frosted glass. He was crouching in his heavy winter gear, painstakingly planting red roses into the pristine, powdery snow. In that blinding white wilderness, the crimson petals looked shockingly bright. To me, they looked like drops of fresh blood spilled from my own chest. “Julie, I brought your favorite roses,” he whispered to the wind. When Joey first pursued me, he brought me red roses every single week, without fail. I thought it was a symbol of his burning devotion. I never realized that intense, fiery love belonged to someone else. “It’s a pity I never got to capture your face when you saw them back then,” he murmured. “But I’ll make sure to capture it today.” Joey turned and caught my eyes. His frame went rigid for a fraction of a second before a smooth, easy smile slid onto his face. “Hey, why are you awake?” I forced my lips to curve. “Couldn’t sleep. Needed some air.” He sighed, a look of playful defeat in his eyes. “I wanted to surprise you, but you caught me.” If I hadn’t seen those files, if I didn’t know the ugly truth, I would have been a fool, weeping tears of gratitude at this romantic gesture. Roses in the snow, how poetic. But they were never meant for me. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m still surprised.” Joey didn’t seem to register the coldness in my tone. He waved me over. “Come out here. Let me take a picture of you.” “No, it’s too cold.” He unzipped his thick outer parka. “Take mine. I’ve already warmed it up. It’ll only take a second.” I shook my head. “No.” A faint, almost imperceptible frown creased his brow. He walked toward me, bringing a gust of freezing air with him. He reached for my hand, but I stepped back, repelled by his chill. He blinked, stunned. “What’s wrong? I thought we promised to document every beautiful moment.” We did promise. The last time I had refused to take a photo, Joey had thrown a tantrum and left me stranded on a street corner in a foreign city. I didn’t speak the language, got horribly lost, and was nearly dragged down an alley by a vagrant. Joey had shown up at the last second to rescue me. His explanation back then was simple: I just want to keep these memories for when we’re old. When you refuse to take photos, it feels like you don’t want a future with me. I had melted, blaming myself for not loving him enough, and swore I would never reject his camera again. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t about our future. It was my punishment for failing to play Julie well. I looked at him, my expression blank. “I don’t think a face frozen red with snot is particularly beautiful.” “Sylvia!” Joey’s patience was wearing thin. I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “What? Are you going to abandon me in the middle of Antarctica this time?” He flinched, his voice softening in an instant. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just… it wasn’t easy to bring these roses all this way. You’re being a bit of a buzzkill.” A buzzkill. So be it. I wasn’t Julie. I didn’t love red roses, I didn’t love traveling, and I hated this bone-chilling cold. “The biggest buzzkill, Joey, is forcing someone to do something they hate.” Without waiting for his reply, I turned and walked back to our room. He followed me, but I picked up my pace, slipped inside, and locked the door. He knocked repeatedly. “Sylvia, open up. Let’s talk this through.” I leaned against the heavy wood, my body trembling uncontrollably. It was too cold here. I wanted to go home. “Get another room,” I yelled through the door. “We both need to cool down.” The knocking stopped. I didn’t care if he stayed outside or went down the hall. I crawled into bed and shut my eyes. The night was a restless blur. When I opened the door the next morning, Joey slumped forward, falling right into the room. I gasped, stepping back. He lay on the floor, blinking sleepily at me. “Morning, Sylvia.” I frowned. “Did you sleep outside my door all night?” He pushed himself up, offering a tired smile. “Yeah. I couldn’t leave you alone.” A tiny, traitorous part of my heart twitched. Joey wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his voice turning soft and pleading. “Yesterday was my fault. I shouldn’t have been so pushy. Don’t be mad, okay? This is the last leg of our trip. Let’s make it perfect.” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. I was actually feeling touched by his little performance. The rescue was done, the path was halfway walked, and he was so close to healing his old wounds. He had to bow his head to keep his perfect puppet in line. After a long pause, I forced a single word past my lips. “Okay.” Not because I wanted to finish the trip, but because I decided to play my part in his theater one last time. Before we set out, Joey draped a heavy winter parka over my shoulders. One of our tour group members looked over, confused. “Isn’t that jacket style from five years ago?” Joey’s hand hesitated on the zipper. “I just think the older designs look better.” It wasn’t about the design. It was because Julie had worn it. “Joey, you know I don’t like blue,” I said. “You look great in blue. It brings out your eyes.” “But I don’t like it. You said you wouldn’t force me anymore.” “There’s no time to go back and change now. Let’s not keep everyone waiting.” There were still ten minutes before departure. Changing would have taken two. But to keep his perfect Julie fantasy alive, he chose to paint me as the selfish one. Today’s itinerary was to see the penguins. But I have a phobia of birds with sharp beaks. The moment we got out of the vehicle, I instinctively shrank behind Joey. But he didn’t notice. Instead, he pushed me toward the colony. “It’s a rare chance. Go get a photo with them.” “Joey, I’m scared.” He looked baffled. “Scared of what? You love penguins.” I wanted to scream that I wasn’t Julie, that he needed to stop forcing her dead ghost onto my living body. But I kept my voice low. “Joey, I hate sharp-beaked animals.” He froze, a flash of deep disappointment crossing his eyes. While the others were soccer-mom excited, snapping photos, Joey looked at me, then at the penguins, clearly unwilling to give up. He softened his voice. “Let’s just take one together. Just one. I’ll protect you.” Before I could object, he handed his camera to our guide and pulled me close in front of the flock. My skin crawled. I stared stiffly at the lens. The shutter clicked, and Joey immediately let go. “Stay there. Let me go see how it looks.” He abandoned me to check the camera. Suddenly, one of the penguins waddled toward me. Panic surged. I tried to run, but my boot slipped on the ice, and I tumbled backward toward the freezing lake. “Ah!” My scream made Joey’s face pale instantly. He whipped around and sprinted toward me, catching my falling body. The world spun, and I crashed into his chest. He was shivering violently, terrified. “Sylvia, are you okay?” His voice cracked with unshed tears. I looked up and saw his eyes were rimmed with red. “Joey, are you that afraid of me dying?” He went rigid. “Don’t say that word, Sylvia. I don’t want to hear it. You’re going to live a long, long life. We’re going to be together forever.” But he had written those exact words on the back of his photo with Julie. Who did Joey actually want to be with? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care anymore. Because my future would no longer include him. Due to an approaching blizzard, we were forced to stay in the cabin. Joey’s mood was visibly low. He was distracted during dinner. I thought he was still shaken by the morning’s near-accident. But when I leaned closer, I heard him whispering to a travel brochure. “What a shame. We can’t go after all.” He wasn’t traumatized. He was disappointed. Disappointed that the places he couldn’t reach five years ago would remain unvisited. A wave of cold mockery washed over me. I looked away and focused on my food. Joey suddenly turned to me. “Sylvia, are you disappointed we can’t make it to the polar coordinates today?” I never cared about that place. I wanted to say it, but instead, I murmured, “I never expected much from it anyway, so no.” Joey stared at me, his mouth opening and closing. I knew he wanted to call me a buzzkill, or lecture me on the beauty of the polar circle. But in the end, he only said, “Right. Everyone is different.” It was the first time he acknowledged my individuality. But it was far too late. That night, the heater in my room broke. Since it was late and no technician was available, I was forced to share Joey’s room again. His mood shifted dramatically. He pinched my cheek playfully. “Want a warm foot soak?” I wiggled my freezing toes and nodded. He beamed, rushing around to find a basin and fill it with hot water. He even bought dried roses from a lady next door at an exorbitant price. Our group chat was filled with envious comments about how attentive he was. As the hot water warmed my skin, the icy wall around my heart softened just a fraction. Until Joey pointed his camera at me. My body tensed. My mind flashed back to the photos in his bag. Julie had a photo just like this, soaking her feet, smiling at the camera. Every mundane detail of their lives had been lovingly recorded. And the warmth I was feeling now was just a cheap copy of that happiness. I had almost let my guard down over a basin of hot water. My face went cold. Joey noticed. “What’s wrong? Is the water cold?” I pulled my feet out. “No, I’m warm enough.” “Oh.” He looked crestfallen as he carried the basin out. As I dried my feet, I noticed a velvet box peeking out from under his pillow. Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out and opened it. Inside was a large, brilliant diamond ring. I slipped it out and saw the engraving on the inner band: S.Y.—Sylvia Young. He was going to propose. But I knew he wasn’t marrying me. He was marrying the vessel that looked like Julie. Hearing footsteps, I quickly put the ring back and pretended nothing had happened. Joey walked in, took off his coat, and lay down beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, smiling. “Sleep early tonight. The guide said the blizzard will clear tomorrow, and we can head to the polar spot.” “I’ve got a surprise waiting for you there.” My heart rate didn’t even flicker. Because tomorrow, I was leaving. The coordinator had messaged me that a spot on an earlier ice-breaker had opened up. No matter how grand Joey’s surprise was—even a proposal—I didn’t want it. The next morning, the storm had cleared. Joey got up early to prepare, trying to keep quiet, but I was already awake, pretending to sleep. Once the door clicked shut, I sat up and packed. There wasn’t much. Most of the gear was bought by him. I only took my own clothes and my passport. I left the blue parka behind. Anything he had bought me on this trip, I left. Within minutes, I was done. My eyes fell on Joey’s backpack. A sudden urge took hold of me. I zipped it open and pulled out the bundle of photos tied with a rubber band. The top photo was Julie at the South Pole, head tilted, flashing a silly peace sign. On the back, it read: Julie said this was the happiest day of her life. Me too. But beneath it, there was a new note written in Joey’s hand: Julie, this is the final stop. I’m here to say goodbye. From now on, there will be no more replacements. I’m going to love someone new. Her name is Sylvia Young. My hands shook slightly as I read the words. My phone lit up: The car is ready to pick you up. Can we head out? I hesitated for two seconds before replying: Yes. So what if Joey had finally woken up? Three years of deception wouldn’t magically vanish. Every moment he loved me as a ghost had grown into a thorn in my flesh, impossible to pull out, impossible to digest. I stuffed the photos into a small grey canvas bag and left it on the corner of the table. Joey came back to the room to get me. We ate breakfast, put on our coats, and walked toward the waiting vehicles. After a few steps, I stopped and pulled his arm. “Joey, I forgot something in the room. It’s in a grey canvas bag. Could you get it for me?” He blinked. “Is it important?” “Very important,” I nodded. He patted my head. “Alright, you scatterbrain. I’ll get it.” The moment he turned back toward the lodge, I took off. I ran like my life depended on it toward the black SUV parked in the distance. The freezing wind rushed down my throat like a mouthful of knives, but I didn’t stop, and I didn’t look back. The door of the SUV was open. The driver looked shocked as I bolted toward him. I threw myself into the back seat, scraping my knee hard against the doorframe. Tears stung my eyes from the pain. “Drive!” I screamed. “Wait, is there anyone else—” “Drive!” The engine roared to life, and the vehicle lunged forward. The cabin, the snow, and Joey all shrank into a tiny dot, dissolving into the white horizon. The suffocating weight on my chest finally began to lift. Back at the cabin, Joey searched the room frantically. When he finally spotted the grey bag in the corner, he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t open it. He just wanted to get back to me. But when he stepped outside, the spot where I had been standing was empty. His heart skipped a beat, but he quickly reassured himself: Sylvia must have gotten too cold and went to the car. He ran toward the tour vehicle. The guide rolled down the window. “Where’s your girlfriend?” Joey’s face drained of color. “She isn’t in the car?” “No!” Joey’s hand lost all strength. The grey canvas bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the hard pack. The contents spilled across the snow. “Hey! Your things!” the guide called out. Joey looked down, and his world began to spin. The pristine white snow could no longer hide his filthy secrets.

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1 The streets finally caught up with me. The doctors gave me a few days, maybe a week, before my body completely shuts down. Nobody cared. The only reason I was even in the hospital was because a Vice detective felt sorry for me and called 911. I lay in the drafty hallway, my trembling fingers dialing my little sister’s number. I had to hit dial three times before it went through. She is the youngest judge in the city circuit. She absolutely despises women like me, women who sell their bodies to survive. But she does not know that every single penny that put her through law school was earned on my back. The line connected. I wanted to tell her that her big sister would not be an embarrassment to her anymore. But old habits die hard. The words that came out of my mouth were completely different. “Hey, little sis. I am a bit tight on cash. Care to toss a few bucks my way?” A cold, mocking scoff echoed through the receiver. “You are not dead yet? What do you need money for, an urn?” I laughed so hard that tears and snot streamed down my face. My sister was always the pragmatic one. She even figured out I would need someone to cover my funeral costs. The amount she would probably send could buy me a gold-plated one. What a way to go out. A second later, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. Three thousand dollars. The memo attached to the transfer read: Buy your urn and stay the hell away from me. I stared at the screen and let out a genuine chuckle. A young nurse nudged my shoulder, looking annoyed. “What is so funny? Go pay your bill. You are making the whole hallway smell.” I pressed the phone against my chest. “Honey, this is the smell of money. You just do not get it.” Right after I paid the hospital fees, Marcus walked in. He was the detective from Metro Vice. He tossed a warm foil-wrapped deli sandwich onto my lap. “Roxy, where is your family?” I took a massive bite, speaking with my mouth full. “Dead to me.” “Thanks for this, by the way. Have not eaten in two days. This hits the spot.” Marcus furrowed his brow, looking irritated. “I heard that phone call.” “Was that your sister?” I flashed him a bright, greasy grin. “That was my creditor.” “You have no idea. I owe her so much, I could not pay it back if I worked ten lifetimes as a dog.” Marcus clearly did not buy it. His eyes drifted down to my badly infected, bruised legs. “The doctor said you need a family member to sign off on the surgery, or they cannot save that leg.” I swallowed the last bite of the sandwich. “Then let them chop it off. It is not like I need to spread my legs for business anymore anyway.” Marcus choked on his breath, his face turning a deep shade of red. “Roxy, I read your file. You came from a decent home. You had good grades.” “How the hell did you end up in the gutter like this?” “You are a human being. Have some damn self-respect!” I gave him a playful wink. “Detective, if you feel that bad for me, why do not you become a patron? Help a girl make a living.” Fifteen years ago, when I willingly walked into that cheap neon-lit motel to scrape together Sophie’s tuition, my self-respect was the first thing I left at the door. A bitter laugh scraped my throat. “Look, Officer, with the state my body is in right now, I probably could not even service you right. Just do me a favor and give me a cigarette.” Marcus let out a heavy sigh, pulled out a pack, and lit one for me. Through the curling gray smoke, I narrowed my eyes. I thought about Sophie when she was little. She did not hate me back then. She used to wear her hair in two messy braids, following me everywhere like a shadow. She would look up at me with her big, innocent eyes and say, “Roxy, when I grow up and make lots of money, I will make sure you get to eat a huge meal every single day. And I will never let anyone hit you again.” Well, she grew up. She made her money. And she bought me a coffin. I smiled, feeling completely hollow. “It is fine.” “My little sis keeps her promises.” My phone buzzed again. A text from Sophie. [Do not ever call me again. I have a massive trial tomorrow. Stop making me feel sick to my stomach.] I stared at the glowing letters, my fingers shaking as I typed a reply. [You got it, Judge. Wishing you a bright and shiny future.] I hit send. Then I transferred the three grand to my checking account and permanently blocked her number. I blew a smoke ring toward Marcus. “Detective, I am not fixing the leg.” “Just do me one last favor. When I kick the bucket, cremate me and dump the ashes in whatever trash can is closest.” “Just do not tell my sister. She thinks I am dirty.” 2 Clutching a plastic bag of painkillers, I limped my way to the steps of the District Courthouse. I just wanted to see Sophie one last time. I huddled behind a bus stop across the street, shivering in the morning chill. Just one look, I told myself. Then I will find a quiet corner to crawl into and wait for the end. Just as the sky began to turn a pale gray, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the courthouse steps. Sophie stepped out. She looked stunning. Cold, sharp, radiating an untouchable arrogance. The man stepping out behind her screamed old money and elite education. He thoughtfully placed a hand over the car door frame to protect her head, a soft, doting smile on his face. “Take it easy in court today, babe. I will come pick you up tonight.” Sophie gave him a sweet, genuine smile. “They look perfect together,” I muttered to myself. I drank in the sight of her profile, greedy for every detail. This was the life I bought for her. Clean. Respectable. Loved. She would never have to be like me, pinned under sweaty strangers in cheap motels for a handful of cash, forcing a smile and telling them they were the best she ever had. I was staring so hard I completely forgot where I was standing, and my bad leg gave out. I stumbled out from behind the glass partition. “Who is there?” The man’s voice was sharp with instant suspicion. He immediately stepped in front of Sophie, shielding her. “Come out! Stop hiding!” I panicked, desperately pulling my dirty jacket collar up to hide my face. “Sorry… just passing through, just walking by.” The man marched over and his polished leather shoe stomped down hard on my hand. “Ah! Damn it!” I could not hold back the scream. “Get off, I am not trying to do anything!” He pulled his foot back with a look of utter disgust. “Where did you crawl out of? Peeping around here at this hour?” I kept my head glued to the pavement. “Let it go, Preston. Do not waste your breath on trash like that.” It was Sophie. “We are running late.” She did not recognize me. Thank God. I was just about to drag myself away when I felt her gaze burn into the back of my neck. “Your voice… sounds familiar.” The air in the street instantly turned to ice. “Roxy?” Her voice spiked an octave. “Look up at me.” I froze. Every muscle in my broken body began to violently shake. “I said look at me!” The moment Sophie saw my face, the shock in her eyes morphed into absolute venom. “It is you.” Her face flushed a deep, furious red. “You actually have the nerve to show your face here?” “What do you want? Come to extort me in person?” She fired the questions like bullets, every single syllable ripping through my chest. Preston looked completely lost. He glanced between Sophie’s furious face and my pathetic form on the ground. “Babe, who is this? Is this your sister?” Sophie took a sharp breath and took a deliberate half-step backward. “No.” “I do not have a sister like her.” Her voice was like shattered glass. “She is just a stray mutt my father picked up off the street.” 3 I dragged myself up from the concrete, letting out a dry, rattling laugh. “The Judge is right.” “I am just a mutt.” I brushed the grime off my ripped jeans. “I am just passing through. Leaving right now.” I needed to get away before she could smell the stench of decay on my clothes. “Stop right there!” Sophie closed the distance in three strides, blocking my path. “Do not think I do not know what you are playing at, Roxy.” “You begged for money last night, and today you are stalking my workplace.” “You think because I am a judge, I am afraid of a scandal? You think you have leverage over me?” She unzipped her designer purse and yanked out a wad of cash. Smack. She slapped the bills directly across my face. “Take it and get out of my sight!” “If I ever catch you within five hundred yards of me again, I am calling the cops!” “I will have you locked up for extortion and harassment!” I slowly crouched down and picked up the scattered bills from the dirty pavement. Three hundred bucks. Add that to the three grand from last night, and I could live like a queen for the few days I had left. I shoved the money deep into my pocket and gave Sophie the most pathetic, obsequious smile I could muster. “You have a busy day, Your Honor. I will not get in your way.” “Wishing you two… a very happy life together.” I turned my back on them and limped away as fast as my ruined leg could manage. Behind me, Sophie’s voice dripped with raw disgust. “Absolutely hopeless.” “Trash belongs in the trash.” I ducked into a narrow, piss-smelling alleyway and leaned heavily against a dumpster, gasping for air. The tears I fought so hard to hold back finally broke loose. I fished out my phone, thinking I should text Marcus and tell him to call off his wellness checks. Otherwise, the poor guy would have to scrape my corpse off the pavement somewhere, and that was just too much paperwork. But then, a chillingly familiar voice echoed from the mouth of the alley. “Well, well, if it is not my favorite, dutiful daughter.” The sound of that voice made my blood turn to ice. I slowly turned my head. It was my father, Frank. His face was bloated, lined with years of cheap liquor and bad bets. “Heard you are finally dying, kid?” “Sophie sent you an allowance, right? Cough it up. I need it.” He advanced on me, his eyes gleaming with pure greed. “Hand it over.” He demanded it like it was his divine right. “That is my pension money from Sophie. You are about to drop dead anyway, what do you need cash for?” I clamped my hands fiercely over my pockets. “Back off!” “You will not get another cent from me, Frank! This is my money for my painkillers!” Frank let out a raspy sneer and flicked his cigarette butt at my feet. “Painkillers? Look at you, you are rotting from the inside out. What is there left to save?” “Just give me the cash. I will hit the tables, win it back double, and maybe I will buy you a decent plot of dirt to rot in.” He lunged at me, tearing at my coat. I fought back like a cornered animal. I scratched, I bit, I kicked wildly. But he was heavier. He drove his heavy boot right into my stomach. The white-hot agony instantly drained every ounce of fight out of me. I curled into a tight, trembling ball on the filthy ground. Frank dug his filthy hands into my pockets and yanked out the cash. A massive, rotten grin spread across his face. “That is a good girl.” “Listen to me. You were born to be nothing but a dirty mattress.” “Your job was to pave the way for your sister and buy your old man a drink.” “That is your destiny, kid. Better learn to accept it.” 4 Before he left, Frank spat a thick wad of phlegm onto my jacket. “Useless trash. Do not die in public, find a hole somewhere.” I lay there, broken and bleeding, staring up at the thin sliver of gray sky between the brick buildings. Screw destiny. I refuse to accept it. I am going back to Sophie. I am going to look her in the eyes and tell her the truth. I am going to tell her that the money that bought her textbooks, paid her rent, and put her in those tailored suits did not come from Frank’s hardworking hands. It came from me. From the hundreds of times I lay on my back in the dark so she could walk in the light. I dragged my shattered body back to the courthouse steps. When the security guards tried to chase me off, I screamed, cried, and caused a massive scene, shouting that I was the Judge’s sister. Half an hour later, Sophie marched out the doors. There was pure murder in her eyes. “Roxy, what the hell is wrong with you?” “Look at yourself!” “Are you not ashamed? Stop ruining my life!” She hissed the words, terrified her colleagues inside might hear. I looked at her perfectly manicured face, the tears streaming down my own bruised cheeks. “Sophie, I need to tell you something.” “About Dad. About where all that money came from…” “Shut your mouth!” Sophie glared at me like I was a diseased rat. “Do not you dare bring up Dad! You do not have the right to even say his name!” “Dad worked construction in the dead of winter, breaking his back just to pay for my tuition! He ruined his spine for me!” “He survived on two pieces of cheap bread a day just so I could buy law books!” “And what did you do?” “You were out whoring yourself, hooking up with every scumbag on the block! What did you ever do for this family?!” I felt the breath leave my lungs. I remembered standing outside the motel in the freezing snow, my hands covered in bleeding chilblains, trying to flag down cars. “Did Dad tell you that?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Does he even need to?” Sophie let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Every time he sent me a check, he told me it was his blood, sweat, and tears.” “He told me you were out living the high life, draped in cheap gold, not giving a damn about us.” “Roxy, how can you be this shameless?” “Now that you are sick and broke, you suddenly remember you have a family?” “Remembered you have a sister you can leech off of?” I opened my mouth to explain. But my throat locked up. A massive, suffocating weight crushed my chest, and I could not form a single word. Frank suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He rushed over and positioned himself squarely between me and Sophie. “Sophie, baby! Do not listen to a word she says!” “Is this con artist trying to shake you down again?” “Go back inside! Do not let her toxic garbage ruin your day!” Frank turned his head and shot me a look of pure, unadulterated malice. He slipped a switchblade out of his pocket, holding it down by his hip where Sophie could not see, and subtly aimed the point at my stomach. He mouthed the words silently: Say a word, and I will gut you. I watched as Sophie gently touched Frank’s arm, her voice softening completely. “Dad, are you okay? Did she hurt you?” “I am fine, sweetheart. Your old man is tough.” Frank put on a flawless performance of a humble, hardworking father. “Roxy, I know life has been hard on you, but you cannot drag your sister down into the mud with you.” “She is a respected woman now.” “All those dirty things you did… I kept them a secret to protect you.” “How can you bite the hand that feeds you?” Watching this sickening display of a loving father and a devoted daughter, the last shred of warmth in my heart turned to ash. I reached inside my torn jacket. I pulled out a thick, weathered stack of papers. Fifteen years of Western Union receipts, bank slips, and the letters I had secretly written to Sophie but never mailed. “Sophie… just take this…” I offered it to her. But before she could even raise her hand, Frank snatched the bundle away. “What kind of infected trash is this? Do not touch her things!” Without even glancing at the papers, he ripped them to shreds, tossing the pieces into the wind. “Dad! No, that is—” I lunged forward, desperately trying to catch the falling pieces. Frank swung his arm in a vicious backhand, striking me across the jaw. I collapsed backward, my head smacking hard against the concrete. Sophie just frowned, looking completely exhausted. “Are you done throwing your tantrum, Roxy?” Her voice was devoid of all emotion. “If you are done, then go die.” “Stay far away from me.” “The fact that you are even breathing the same air as me is an insult.” I lay on the freezing ground, staring up at the absolute resolve in my sister’s eyes. “Okay.” I whispered the word to the wind. “If you really want me dead that badly.” “I will go die somewhere far away.”

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Sid. Harvard Law valedictorian at twenty. By twenty-five, an undefeated corporate legend who could spot loopholes in his sleep. Yet for three years as an assistant at a top firm, I copied papers and fetched coffee. Senior Partner Harrington loved his patronizing sermons: “Sid, shredding builds character. We’re a family. Respect seniority. I’m shielding you from high-stakes cases so you don’t get reckless.” The others laughed while I bowed, thanking him. I was done being a workaholic; a stress-free life as a glorified copy boy was my dream. Until today. Our biggest client faced a hostile takeover. The opposition dropped a devastating $2 billion poison pill. Harrington was cornered, silent. He shoved a pen at me. “Sid, be a team player. Sign this as the minute-taker. We’ll say you grabbed the wrong draft. You’ll be fired, but you’ll save us all!” I sighed, tore the $2 billion contract in half, pulled out the head chair, and sat. “Forget taking the fall, Harrington,” I said. “Let me show these kids how it’s done.” ……. 1 My name is Sid. First in my class at Harvard Law at twenty. An undefeated corporate legend by twenty-five. It wasn’t an exaggeration. Even the most sophisticated cross-border acquisition traps, those poison pill clauses buried deep within a five-hundred-page contract, nested inside three layers of subordinate clauses, I could point to the fatal flaw with my eyes closed. Back then, I was a high-speed money-printing machine, billing by the minute. But after watching a senior colleague, barely past thirty, drop dead of sudden cardiac arrest right onto the negotiation table of a fifty-billion-dollar merger, I had an epiphany. To hell with the industry legends. I wanted to live. I wanted to keep my hair. So, I vanished from the scene, resigned, and returned home. To completely escape the hyper-competitive sharks of Wall Street, I put on a faded, cheap suit, donned a pair of thick, non-prescription black-rimmed glasses, and buried all my sharp edges. I plunged into a top-tier white-shoe firm as a bottom-tier assistant, living on a flat salary and leaving exactly at five. For three years, my daily routine had nothing to do with studying case files. My day consisted of making copies, replacing shredder bags, taping receipts to expense sheets, and perfectly memorizing the exact coffee orders of all eight people in our department. Who wanted oat milk, who wanted half-sweet, whose iced Americano could only have exactly three ice cubes. I was done being a high-powered workaholic. Now, being a stress-free copier mechanic and leaving on the dot to grab a steaming bowl of double-pork belly ramen at the little shop down the street was my ultimate dream. My direct boss, Harrington, was a greasy, master-class workplace gaslighter. His actual legal acumen was thoroughly mediocre. He couldn’t even read a basic foreign transaction agreement without Google Translate. But when it came to stealing credit and shifting blame, he was absolute world-class. This morning, I had just finished wrestling with a jammed copier tray, my hands covered in black toner dust. Harrington sauntered over, holding the hot Americano I had just sprinted two blocks to get, his beer belly leading the way. He began his daily show. “Sid, I noticed you took twenty whole minutes to fix that copier?” “Young man, you’re still too slow. In this business, efficiency is everything.” He took a sip, frowned as if the temperature wasn’t quite perfect, and smacked his lips. “Do you feel resentful? Do you think having you shred papers, tape receipts, and fix machines is beneath your talents?” “Don’t feel victimized, Sid. This is about building your character and testing your attention to detail. We’re a family here. Without eating some dirt first, how can you expect to fly?” He tapped his finger on my desk, looking down at me with supreme condescension. “These core cases involve hundreds of millions. If something goes wrong, can an assistant on base pay afford to cover the damage? I’m doing this to protect you. Don’t let my mentorship go to waste.” I pushed up my heavy glasses, bowed my head, and offered the timid, simple-minded smile I had spent three years perfecting in front of the mirror. “Thank you for the guidance, Mr. Harrington. I understand completely. I’ll go grab everyone’s lunch deliveries now.” They could laugh all they wanted. As long as I didn’t have to pull eighty-hour weeks analyzing garbage contracts, they could call me whatever they liked. But I never expected my peaceful slacker paradise to be shattered so violently. At three in the afternoon, the silence of the executive suite was broken by hurried footsteps. Our biggest client, Mr. Bennett, rushed into the VVIP conference room at the end of the hall, visibly sweating and panicking. Behind him came the hostile acquisition team. Leading them was a man with slicked-back hair and gold-rimmed glasses named Christian Crane. In our industry, he was known as “The Viper.” He specialized in using highly obscured contract loopholes and short-selling mechanisms to choke and swallow local businesses that didn’t know the international rules. As the lowest-ranking assistant, I was naturally hauled in to pour water, set up the projector, and take minutes. After serving the drinks, I retreated to a folding chair in the far corner, shrinking my shoulders and turning my recording pen, doing my best to look like furniture. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. Crane sneered, throwing a massive English agreement onto the table right in front of Mr. Bennett. The heavy thud made Bennett flinch. Crane’s eyes were filled with the contempt of a predator cornering its prey. “The joint venture agreement you signed with us last month,” Crane said, leaning forward. “As of this morning, it has officially triggered the hidden cross-default provisions.” “Under the joint and several liability clauses, you have two choices.” Crane held up two fingers. “First, immediately hand over sixty percent of your voting shares, giving us absolute control. Second, face a two-billion-dollar punitive cash penalty.” He didn’t give Mr. Bennett a chance to breathe. “We’re not here to negotiate. This is an ultimatum. I guarantee that within a week, your cash flow will dry up, and you’ll be forced into bankruptcy and liquidation.” Mr. Bennett’s face went white. His lips trembled. He turned, grabbing Harrington’s arm like a drowning man clutching a straw. “Harrington! You audited this entire acquisition agreement! You charged us millions in legal fees and swore to me it was bulletproof! Where the hell did this cross-default clause come from?! Fix this!” Cold sweat instantly burst across Harrington’s forehead, dripping down his jowls. His hands shook as he flipped open the English supplemental agreement. His eyes bulged as he stared at the pages for three solid minutes. Sitting in my corner, I saw his hands trembling violently. He couldn’t read it. “This… this isn’t right…” Harrington stammered, offering a pathetic, useless defense. “Mr. Crane, this is fraud! You buried a landmine in the text!” “Are you trying to make me laugh, Harrington?” Crane burst into a cruel, unprompted laugh. He tapped the contract with a manicured finger, his eyes dripping with disdain. “Is this your professional level? You’re a joke to the entire bar association.” Harrington slumped into his chair, completely defeated. He knew the fire had reached his own house. As the lead partner on this project, he would face massive malpractice claims, lose his license, and likely end up in a federal penitentiary. In a state of pure panic and desperation, Harrington’s eyes darted around the room. He needed a scapegoat. A low-level sacrificial lamb to take the fall for this multi-billion-dollar disaster. Suddenly, his gaze locked onto me, sitting quietly in the corner with my notepad. “Mr. Bennett! Mr. Crane! Wait! This is all a misunderstanding! A colossal administrative error!” Harrington suddenly shouted, bolting upright and storming over to me. He grabbed my collar, forcing a heavy executive pen into my hand. With a red-faced, self-righteous roar, as if he were making a heroic sacrifice, he announced to the entire room: “I remember now! Mr. Bennett, when we went to execute the documents last week, it was my intern assistant, Sid, who copied and collated the final files!” “He must have been incredibly careless, swapping the final negotiated version with a rejected draft sent by the opposing side!” “This is a grave individual error on his part! It does not reflect the professional standards of our firm!” Mr. Bennett stared, and Crane narrowed his eyes. Harrington turned his back to them, pressing down hard on my shoulders, whispering in a vicious, urgent hiss that only I could hear: “Listen to me, Sid. This is your chance to pay me back. I’ve kept you around despite your incompetence. The firm has fed you for three years.” “Now, we’re in a crisis. As a team player, you have to make a sacrifice. Sign this confession, take the blame, say you mixed up the drafts. If you don’t, I will use every resource I have to ensure you never work in this town again. I’ll sue you for every penny you have!” The conference room fell into a dead, chilling silence. Every eye in the room turned to me, filled with shock, pity, confusion, or amusement. Mr. Bennett was stunned. He was desperate, but he was a seasoned CEO, not an idiot. Making a six-thousand-dollar-a-month assistant take the blame for a two-billion-dollar disaster? Crane burst out laughing, leaning back in his leather chair like he was watching a circus performance. “Harrington, are you insulting my intelligence, or the law itself? Throwing an assistant under the bus? This is pathetic, even for you.” But the other associates in the room, eager to save their own skins, quickly chimed in. “Sid, Harrington has been so good to you. He tolerated all your mistakes. If you don’t step up for the team now, who will?” “Think of the firm, Sid! Sacrificing one person to save the reputation of the entire practice is a noble thing!” Their twisted, greedy faces, desperate to avoid responsibility, looked utterly grotesque under the harsh fluorescent lights. This was the loving family they always bragged about. I sat on my cheap folding chair, holding the cold pen, keeping my head down. Harrington thought I was paralyzed by fear. He reached out a sweaty hand, trying to grab the back of my neck to physically force my hand to sign the paper. “Sign it! What the hell are you waiting for? Sign!” Harrington hissed, his voice a vicious snarl. I let out a quiet sigh. I had wanted to remain a soulless copier mechanic in my quiet corner. Earning a modest living, clocking in and out on the dot. I didn’t want to care about multi-billion-dollar cash flows or navigate devious commercial traps. Why? Why did you have to force my hand? Why did you have to push a max-level, fully geared legendary player who just wanted to grow crops in the starter village back into the arena, forcing me to toggle the slaughter mode? I slowly raised my head. The submissive, vacant, easily manipulated look in my eyes vanished instantly. In its place was a cold, razor-sharp presence that commanded absolute authority. I didn’t look at Harrington’s terrified, distorted face, nor did I pay attention to the buzzing of the other associates. I simply reached out with my right hand, the hand that usually fixed jammed paper trays, and precisely pinched the two-billion-dollar ultimatum contract that Crane considered his masterpiece. While everyone watched in stunned silence, a clean, sharp sound shattered the quiet. Riiiiip. Without a shred of hesitation, I tore the hundred-page, multi-billion-dollar agreement right down the middle, directly in front of Crane’s face. With a casual flick of my wrist, I tossed the torn pages onto the polished mahogany conference table like a pile of rotting garbage. The paper settled like falling snow. The entire room froze. The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Mr. Bennett’s jaw dropped. Crane’s confident smirk shattered instantly, his eyes wide behind his gold-rimmed glasses. Harrington looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. His face turned a deep, angry purple. Pointing a shaking finger at the shredded paper, his voice cracked like a strangled rooster. “Sid! Are you insane?! Are you out of your mind?! Do you have any idea how much that contract is worth?! I’ll destroy you! I’ll throw you in prison!” I stood up slowly from my folding chair, casually brushing a speck of dust off my cheap, faded suit. Then, I brushed past Harrington’s wild, flailing arms, walked directly to the head of the conference table, pulled out the heavy leather executive chair, and sat down. I laced my fingers together on the table, leaning forward slightly, exuding an aura of absolute dominance. I looked at Crane, my voice calm, flat, but carrying an undeniable weight that filled the room. “Forget taking the fall, Harrington,” I said. “Let me go show these kids how it’s done.”

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1 My husband lived two entirely different lives. During the day, his face was a mask of cold stone. He rarely spoke more than three words to me at a time. “Ate.” “No.” “Go to sleep.” But the moment the clock struck eleven at night, he became someone else entirely. He would wrap his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck, whispering how desperately he had missed me all day. I checked, over and over. He was not faking. He genuinely had no memory of a single thing he said or did after midnight. The doctor called it a mild case of dissociative identity disorder. The nighttime version of him was clingy, childish, and possessively intense. And I, craving whatever warmth I could get, began to live for the dark. Until one morning, he found my phone. It was filled with late-night photos and voice recordings of us. He stared at the screen for a long time before looking up at me, his eyes devoid of emotion. “You saved so many of these,” he said, his voice flat. “Why isn’t there a single one of me during the day?” “Because the daytime you isn’t worth saving.” The moment the words left my mouth, Gary’s pupils contracted. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table with a heavy, hollow thud. “Eve, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I gripped the hem of my pajamas, forcing myself to look straight into his cold eyes. “It means, Gary, that you are a ghost in this house during the day. You brush me off with three-word sentences, as if looking at me is a waste of your precious time. All your warmth is reserved for Daisy on the other end of your phone.” His jaw clenched. “Don’t start this again. Daisy is practically family. She’s fragile, she needs looking after. Aren’t you a bit too old to be throwing tantrums over a little sister?” Too old. I was barely two years older than Daisy, yet in his mouth, I sounded like an ancient, bitter crone. I pulled a receipt from my pocket and slapped it onto the table. Gary’s gaze fell on the slip of paper, his breath hitching. The receipt was crystal clear. Yesterday, from two in the afternoon until seven in the evening, he had spent five hours at a home decor boutique with Daisy. And during those exact five hours, I was burning up with a fever so high I nearly blacked out. I had texted him, begging for help. He had ignored every single message. “We were just buying furniture,” he said, raising his voice, though his eyes darted away. “Our families have been close for decades. What’s wrong with helping her pick out a sofa? Stop overthinking everything.” “Five hours,” I whispered. “You spent five hours picking out a sofa for her. I asked you to buy me medicine, and you didn’t even bother to read my texts.” Gary looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I didn’t see them.” “You did,” I said, my voice dropping to a flat, dead calm. “Because at exactly 7:03 PM, you replied to Daisy’s voice note, telling her you’d just finished up and would see her tomorrow.” Left without an excuse, Gary sank heavily into the sofa, looking sullen. I turned on my heel and walked back to the bedroom. Lying on the bed, the image of his defensive, guilty face replayed in my mind. The clock ticked away. Eleven. Twelve. At one in the morning, the bedroom door clicked open. I had forgotten that locking it from the inside was useless; he always knew where the spare key was kept. Gary slipped under the covers, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist, burying his face against my back. “Eve… I missed you so much today.” His voice was muffled, thick with a childlike vulnerability. “Why did you lock the door? Are you mad at me?” I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word. He nuzzled closer, squeezing me tighter. “Please don’t be mad… I’ll be good, I promise.” My fingers slowly traced his soft hair, my eyes staring blankly at the dark ceiling. He didn’t remember a thing about the day. He was just acting on pure instinct, seeking me out, clinging to me. But this stolen warmth of the night could never heal the deep, bleeding wounds of the day. Gary mumbled against my skin, his voice drifting off. “Eve, can you stay home tomorrow? Just stay with me…” I closed my eyes and offered no reply. Because I knew that the moment the sun rose, the man who said those words would vanish. 2 The next morning, the sweet, heavy scent of boiling porridge woke me. For a fleeting second, I wondered if Gary had actually found a conscience. But when I walked into the kitchen, I froze. Daisy was standing there in a floral apron, carefully pouring hot porridge into a ceramic bowl. “Gary, look, it’s ready. Come taste it.” Gary took the spoon, sliding a bowl covered in crushed peanuts onto the dining table. He saw me standing in the doorway, but his eyes quickly darted away. “Daisy came over early to make breakfast,” he said coolly. “If you want some, get it yourself.” I stared at the bowl. The layer of crushed peanuts was thick and unmistakable. Just two weeks ago, I had been rushed to the emergency room due to a severe peanut allergy, spending a terrifying night under observation. On the day I was discharged, the doctor had explicitly warned Gary, right to his face, that every trace of peanuts had to be cleared from our home. He had nodded. He had promised. And now, here was this bowl, sitting right in front of me. “Gary,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “There are peanuts in that.” He frowned, looking mildly annoyed. Daisy immediately shrank back behind Gary’s shoulder, her eyes turning red as she squeezed out a tear. “Eve… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were allergic. I just wanted to make Gary some breakfast… please don’t be mad at me.” Her voice was soft, trembling with practiced innocence. Gary’s face darkened, and he instinctively stepped in front of her to shield her. “Eve, she went out of her way to make breakfast, and this is the attitude you show her?” “Gary, my allergy is life-threatening.” “Then just don’t eat it,” he snapped. “Is it really worth making a scene? Lose the dramatic princess act, it’s getting old.” Daisy peeked from behind his shoulder, her eyes watery, but the corners of her mouth twitched into a tiny, triumphant smirk. I didn’t argue. I walked past them into the bathroom and opened the cabinet beneath the sink. My toothbrush and toiletries had been swept into a messy pile at the bottom, my toothbrush bent out of shape. In their place on the counter stood a neat row of imported skincare products, each bearing a little label written in Daisy’s neat handwriting: Daisy’s Only. I stared at the little labels, a sudden, cold laugh escaping my throat. I went back to the bedroom, pulled out a suitcase, and packed a few changes of clothes. When I walked back through the living room, Gary was placing food onto Daisy’s plate, never once looking up. Daisy, however, watched me with a sweet smile. “Are you heading out, Eve? Have a safe trip.” I dragged my suitcase to the entryway. Before opening the door, I pulled out my phone and dialed the wedding planner. “Hello, this is Eve.” “I need to cancel the wedding ceremony scheduled for next Wednesday.” Behind me, the clink of chopsticks and the shared laughter of Gary and Daisy filled the apartment. Neither of them heard a word I said. The planner confirmed the cancellation and promised a refund of the deposit within three business days. I hung up, walked out, and let the door slam shut behind me. 3 By the weekend, it was time for the weekly family dinner at the Harrington estate. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Gary’s mother had called three times, her voice growing icier with each ring. “Eve, you are Gary’s fiancée. Skipping a family dinner is unacceptable.” When I arrived, the dining table was already crowded with relatives. Gary’s mother seated me at the very end of the table, right next to the drafty kitchen door where the servers passed through. Daisy, meanwhile, sat in the seat of honor right next to Gary’s right hand. His mother was beaming, placing freshly peeled lobster meat into Daisy’s bowl. “Eat up, Daisy. You’re so thin, it breaks my heart. A daughter raised right really is the sweet one. You always know exactly what I like.” Daisy smiled sweetly. “You’re so good to me, Auntie, of course I want to take care of you.” The relatives around the table chimed in with warm laughter. I quietly ate my greens, keeping my eyes down. Halfway through the meal, Daisy suddenly clutched her chest and let out a soft cough. “Gary… I feel a bit dizzy.” Gary immediately dropped his utensils and turned to me. “Eve, go to the kitchen and whip up some hangover soup for Daisy.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. My fingers tightened around my spoon until my knuckles turned white. Last winter, when I had a high fever coupled with acute gastroenteritis, I had curled into a ball on the bed, sweating and shaking from pain. Gary had stood at the bedroom door, looked at me, and said, “Take a cab to the hospital yourself, I have a meeting.” Then he closed the door and left. And now, because Daisy coughed twice, he expected me to play her maid. I let go of my spoon. It fell onto the small plate with a sharp clatter. The entire table fell silent, every eye turning toward me. “I’m not doing that.” Gary slammed his palm onto the table. “Eve! What is wrong with your attitude?” He pointed a finger at my face. “No manners, no breeding. How did someone like you even think about marrying into this family?” Daisy gently pulled at his sleeve. “Gary, don’t be angry, I’m fine…” His mother sneered. “Eve, if you don’t want to be here, leave. Stop embarrassing us in front of the guests.” I stood up, ignoring his mother, and looked straight into Gary’s eyes. “Gary, what day is next Wednesday?” He waved his hand dismissively, his face twisted in annoyance. “The wedding? Do you have to keep nagging about it? Get out of here, you’re ruining everyone’s appetite.” I let out a cold laugh and nodded. “Don’t regret this, Gary.” As I turned to leave, I caught Daisy lowering her head to take a sip of her soup, a smug grin playing on her lips. I walked out of the Harrington estate into a cold, drizzling rain. The drops hit my face, shocking me into absolute clarity. My phone buzzed. It was a confirmation email from the wedding planner. Dear Ms. Eve, the wedding reservation has been successfully canceled. Your deposit will be refunded within three business days. I stared at the screen. Next Wednesday was supposed to be our wedding. He didn’t remember. Or rather, he simply didn’t care. I typed back a single word: Acknowledged. 4 Next Wednesday arrived. I sat in the middle of my cleared apartment, looking at the empty closets. Every trace of my existence had been packed away into storage. There was nothing left of me here. My phone screen lit up with a text from Gary. Daisy is sick and needs someone with her. I’m staying at the hospital tonight. If you don’t apologize for your behavior at dinner, the wedding is postponed. Think it over. I stared at the words, whispering them to myself. Think it over. Because Daisy was sick, he was going to spend the night by her side. Which meant even the nighttime version of him, the one who held me and whispered that he loved me, was being locked away. I opened social media and saw a post Daisy had uploaded just a minute ago. It was a selfie of her smiling at the camera, with Gary asleep against the side of her hospital bed in the background. The caption read: He put our big day on hold just to stay by my side~ I’m so touched. Gary is the absolute best. The comments below were already piling up. Oh my god, he’s so devoted! True husband material. Is he a protective big brother or a boyfriend? Haha. Won’t his fiancée get jealous? This seems a bit much right before the wedding. Daisy had replied to the last one: Eve is very understanding, she wouldn’t mind at all! I slowly set my phone down. I opened my gallery. Inside were thousands of photos and hundreds of voice notes. All of them were of Gary. Selfies of him smiling foolishly while holding me at two in the morning. Voice recordings of him sleepily whispering “Eve, I love you so much.” Videos of him resting his head on my lap, begging for cuddles. I used to cling to these like a lifeline. No matter how much he ignored me during the day, no matter how much he hurt me, I would tell myself it was fine, because the nighttime version of him truly loved me. But now, his willingness to throw away those nights proved that even that part of him was just an inconvenience to him. I selected all the files. Every single photo, every single recording. Delete permanently. When the confirmation prompt popped up, I didn’t hesitate. Five years of late-night devotion dissolved into digital dust. I placed the apartment keys on the entryway table and dragged my suitcase out. Inside the elevator, I sent Gary one final text. “The wedding isn’t postponed. I canceled it five days ago.” Then, I deleted the chat, blocked his number, and turned off my phone. By three in the afternoon, Gary was jolted awake by a barrage of frantic calls from his relatives. He threw on his coat and rushed to the hotel. But when he arrived, the grand ballroom lobby was completely empty. No welcome signs, no floral arches, no guest registry. He ran inside, grabbing a passing manager by the arm. “Where is the Harrington wedding? Which hall is it in?” The manager flipped through his tablet and looked up with a polite, puzzled expression. “Sir, Ms. Eve canceled the entire venue booking five days ago. The catering, the decorations, the party favors, everything was canceled.” Gary stood frozen in the center of the grand lobby, the world spinning around him. He checked his phone frantically, but every call to Eve went straight to a dead-end busy tone. He was blocked. Just then, his mother’s voice pierced through the murmurs of the gathered relatives. “Gary! Where on earth is Eve? We went to pick her up, but her apartment was completely empty!” Panic, cold and sharp, flooded his veins. He opened his social media feed, his eyes landing on Daisy’s gloating post: He gave up his wedding for me~ Right beneath it, a newly added comment from a mutual friend stared back at him: So the bride ran away to let you two be together? Honestly, congrats!

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