Author: Momo Chan

After the miscarriage, I systematically erased every habit that Giles used to find irritating. I stopped asking where he was going. When he stayed out all night, I no longer paced the floor; I simply turned off the bedside lamp and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Even when I was injured during a training maneuver and the medic told me to call my family, I just looked at the sterile white ceiling and said, “I don’t have any next of kin.” The nurse recognized me. “You’re Mrs. Marshall, aren’t you? General Marshall is just in the next sector over. Should I send word to him?” I shook my head slowly. “No. There’s no need.” But thirty minutes later, Giles Marshall appeared anyway. He stood in the doorway, his uniform sharp, his presence commanding and cold. “You’re hurt. Why wasn’t I the first person you called?” I kept my eyes down. “It’s a scratch, Giles. Not worth bothering the Commanding General over.” That dismissive tone—the sheer lack of weight in my voice—made him visibly bristle. Before he could snap back, voices drifted in from the hallway. Two guards were gossiping, unaware of who was listening. “The General really has a soft spot for that girl, Maya, from the USO troupe. She twisted her ankle during the performance, and he practically commandeered a Black Hawk just to get her back. Carried her onto the bird himself. Didn’t let her feet touch the tarmac once.” I saw Giles’s chest tighten. His eyes flickered toward me, searching for the explosion, the accusations, the familiar fire of my jealousy. But my lashes didn’t even quiver. I just leaned back against the thin hospital mattress and closed my eyes, letting the silence settle between us. … It wasn’t until we were in his military Jeep that he finally spoke, his voice a low growl of defense. “Don’t listen to the gossip. It was professional. Maya was invited here to perform for the troops. She got hurt on my watch; it was my responsibility to handle it.” “Okay,” I said softly. I didn’t add anything else. Giles’s temper flared suddenly. “You don’t believe me? Is this still about that? God, Cassie… I’ve come back to you. I’m here. What more do you want?” I stared out the window at the passing barracks, my profile a blank slate. “I believe you,” I said. “I just didn’t think I was an emergency. I didn’t want to interrupt your work. Let’s just go back to the quarters.” The same scripted response. Autopilot. Giles slammed his fist against the steering wheel. The horn blared, a sharp, ugly sound that cut through the winter air, startling a group of performers who were just finishing their set across the road. One girl looked up. As the moonlight hit her face, the air inside the Jeep turned to ice. “Maya… what is she still doing out here?” Giles muttered. He glanced at me instinctively. In the past, every time I saw her, I’d lose my mind. I’d scream, I’d cry, I’d demand to know why she was wearing a coat that looked like mine. But now, I just gave her a fleeting glance and looked away. Nothing. Giles gripped the wheel, but his eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. It was a brutal December night. The girl was shivering in a thin stage costume, her arms wrapped tight around herself, her nose red from the cold. His hand was already on the door handle. The concern was practically leaking out of him. I understood the script perfectly. I opened my door and stepped out, giving him the exit he was dying for. “If you need to do a final sweep of the camp, I can walk back. It’s not far.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned toward the intersection. Giles jumped out and caught my wrist. “It’s over between us, Cassie. I didn’t know she was here. Why won’t you trust me?” I nodded. “I do trust you, Giles. She’s a young girl in a tough spot. Even if it’s over, it’s normal to care. I get it.” He stared at my face. There was no bitterness there. No hidden edge. That was what terrified him. I used to have an insatiable hunger for his attention. If I found a single long hair on his uniform, I’d interrogate him until dawn. Now, I was exactly what he’d always begged me to be: reasonable, quiet, undemanding. But it felt like he was breathing through wet cotton. I pulled my hand back and walked away. At the corner, I stopped and looked back. Beside the Jeep, Giles had already draped his heavy coat over Maya’s shoulders. He was cupping her face in his hands, leaning down to kiss her with a desperation that looked like pain. I wasn’t surprised. I should have seen it coming. I certainly wasn’t going to be the woman I was the first time I caught him—the “crazy wife” screaming, “Giles! Have you no shame? I’ve been with you since I was eighteen! We had nothing, and now you tell me you love someone else?” Back then, he had looked at the blood on his lip where I’d struck him and sneered, “Shame? You want to talk about shame? You were sleeping with me at eighteen. Your own parents didn’t even want you. I’m the one who took you out of that state home. I’ve raised you for a decade. You should be thanking me.” That sentence had been a poisoned blade, shredding twelve years of shared struggles, of shivering together in foxholes and building a life from dust. My phone vibrated, pulling me out of the graveyard of my memories. “Colonel Miller, the personal effects and pension documents for your biological parents have been verified. When can you come to the West Coast Command to finalize the claim?” I pulled my sleeve down to cover the faint white scar on my wrist. “Ten days. My divorce papers finish processing in ten days.” The voice on the line hesitated. “You and General Marshall… it’s been a long time. You can inherit the estate and the honors without transferring units.” I watched the lights of the base fade in the distance. “I don’t love him anymore,” I said. “I just want to go home to a place I’ve never been.” Back at the officer’s quarters, the first thing I saw was our wedding photo on the wall. We looked so young. Giles was laughing, his nose pressed affectionately against my temple. We grew up together in the state foster system. When I was eighteen, the director tried to marry me off to a bitter, middle-aged sergeant just to get me off the books. Giles was the one who grabbed my hand and helped me scale the back wall. The director had screamed after us, “Giles Marshall! You think you can protect her forever?” He had looked back, his eyes blazing with a reckless, beautiful light. “Watch me!” He used his enlistment bonus to rent the cheapest basement apartment in the city. “Once I’m through basic training and get my stripes, you can come with me as a registered dependent,” he promised. “No one will ever take you away again.” For the first three years, he crawled through the mud in Ranger school. Before every jump, every dangerous op, he’d tuck my photo into his breast pocket, right over his heart. I worked a desk job in logistics, saving every penny. During the leanest winters, we’d share a single bowl of instant noodles on New Year’s Eve and feel like royalty. Then he made Special Forces. I moved into Intelligence. We traded the basement for a dorm, the dorm for a house, and finally, for this villa. The stars on Giles’s shoulders got brighter, and the “colleagues” around him started looking different. Until the day I found a smudge of lipstick on the inside of his collar. “A girl tripped backstage at the gala, I helped her up, it was an accident!” he’d snapped, ripping his tie off. “Cassie, you’re a soldier too. Stop acting like a paranoid housewife.” “Do soldiers not betray people, Giles? We said forever. Not ‘forever until it gets boring.’” The screaming matches became our new language. I tracked his missions, his call logs, even snuck to the edge of the training grounds when he claimed he was pulling an all-nighter. Giles, out of spite, leaned into it. He cycled through women, sometimes coming home with scratches on his back just to see me break. “Satisfied?” he’d sneer. “You wanted to find something. Now you have.” I felt like a ghost, knowing I should leave but unable to find the door. Twelve years meant we were grafted together. Tearing apart meant losing skin. But a year ago, he “changed.” He cleared out the flings. He kept only one. When I saw Maya’s photo, I collapsed. That face. She looked exactly like I did at eighteen—innocent, wide-eyed, untouched by the world. Giles would rather love a ghost of me than the woman I had become to survive him. That night, I sat in a bathtub and opened my veins. Giles broke the door down, his hands shaking so hard he could barely apply the tourniquets. He carried me into the ER, his eyes bloodshot and terrifying. “Cassie! Are you insane? We’ll fix it! I promise, just you and me, no one else, ever again!” I lay in that hospital bed feeling nothing but a profound, hollow exhaustion. That was the day the JAG officer found me. He handed me a yellowed file. “Colonel Miller, the department re-investigated the casualty lists from the ’94 border conflict… These two officers? They were your biological parents.” I held the file, my fingers icy. After I hung up, I walked to the window of my private room. In the garden below, Giles was holding Maya. “I’m sorry, Maya. She’s unstable. Post-traumatic stress… I can’t leave her like this. Not now. But trust me, once she’s settled, I’ll make it right for us.” They kissed like star-crossed lovers. In that moment, the graft finally failed. The skin tore away. The hole in my chest was so large I couldn’t even make a sound. On my seventh day in the hospital, I realized the truth. I had to kill the woman who loved Giles Marshall to let the daughter of heroes live. For a week, Giles didn’t come home. I didn’t ask. I filed the divorce papers and the transfer request through official channels and started packing. I decided to return the keys to our first apartment—the small “temporary” housing we’d kept for years as a storage unit—to the base housing office. When I arrived at the unit with the housing clerk, the door was slightly ajar. I heard a woman’s soft laugh and a man’s rhythmic, heavy breathing. Through the crack in the door, I saw a discarded USO uniform on the floor. Giles had Maya pinned against the wall, his tactical pants around his knees. He was wearing his wedding ring. I squeezed my eyes shut, took a slow breath, and pulled the door closed. I turned to the clerk. “I’m sorry. Today isn’t a good day for the inspection. Let’s do it another time.” The clerk was a young officer. She’d heard the noises. She looked at me with a mix of pity and horror. “Colonel Miller… do you want me to report this?” I shook my head. “No. It’s a private matter. Let’s not bother the command.” What was the point of bursting in? To scream like a banshee? To beg him to remember our years in the trenches? A man whose heart has moved on is just an empty shell. You don’t fight over a shell. I hurried down the stairs, but Giles came charging out after me, his shirt untucked, his breath ragged. “Cassie? What are you doing here? What did you… what did you hear?” I pulled my wrist away, my face a mask of calm. “I was dropping off the keys. The door was closed, so I left.” He let out a visible breath of relief, thinking I was just being sentimental about our old place. “I was on maneuvers all week, just got back. Maya needed a place to rehearse, so I let her use the key… Don’t overthink it.” I didn’t bother pointing out the lie. I turned to leave. Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering erupted from inside the apartment, followed by the roar of a flash-fire! Giles’s face transformed. He grabbed my jaw, his eyes burning with a terrifying rage. “Did you do this? Cassie, I thought you were finally being rational, but this? This petty, dangerous bullshit?” “If Maya is hurt in there, I will personally see you court-martialed!” He shoved me aside and ran into the smoke. I started to walk away, but then I remembered—my parents’ original documents and the divorce filing were locked in the old safe in that bedroom. I grabbed a fire extinguisher from the hallway, smashed the window, and dived into the heat. The room was thick with black smoke. Giles was already carrying Maya out. When he saw me, his eyes went cold. “What are you doing? Get out!” I ignored him and ran for the bedroom. The curtains were melting. The safe was right next to the burning closet. “Cassie! You’re going to die for a safe? Get out!” Giles roared from the doorway. I knelt by the safe, spinning the dial. As the door clicked open, the overhead light fixture, heavy and wreathed in flames, buckled. Giles instinctively shielded Maya and jumped back toward the exit. The blast of heat threw me backward. Glass shards sliced into my arms, blood soaking through my shirt instantly. I clawed the envelope out of the safe and tucked it against my chest. The smoke filled my lungs. The world blurred. The last thing I heard was the sound of Giles’s boots running away from me, and the distant, lonely wail of a siren. When I woke up, I was back in the military hospital. Giles was sitting by the bed, holding the scorched envelope. Inside were two red booklets. “Marriage licenses? You almost died for our marriage licenses?” His voice was tight. “Cassie, you have a hairline fracture in your leg, smoke inhalation, and second-degree burns. You almost didn’t make it.” I reached out and took the envelope back. There were no marriage licenses in there. Just the documents I needed to leave him and the proof of who I actually was. Giles watched me clutch the envelope, his brow furrowed. “We all could have gotten out fine, but you had to make it a choice. You had to make me choose between you two just to see who was more important, didn’t you?” “Arson is a serious crime, Cassie. I saved Maya first because she had no gear, no training. You’re a soldier.” I stared at the white ceiling. “Okay,” I whispered. “Cassie.” His voice softened. “I told you, I’m committed to us. Maya… her family is in trouble. I was just helping her as a commanding officer. The apartment was temporary.” He helped her right into our bed. He talked about “family” while his body was still buzzing from someone younger. I finally looked at him. My eyes were like stagnant water. “I know. I understand.” The calm seemed to drive him crazy. He stood up abruptly, then caught sight of the massive bandage on my arm. “One scar wasn’t enough? You need more to keep me tethered to you?” “No more,” I said. “I’m done being stupid.” His comms unit buzzed. He stepped to the window to answer. I couldn’t hear the words, only the high, sobbing pitch of Maya’s voice. Giles whispered a few reassurances, then turned back to me. “There’s an emergency with the debrief. I have to go to HQ. Rest up.” He left without looking back. I stayed in the hospital for a few more days. Giles sent flowers and supplements, and he called every day. I had the nurses answer. “She’s stable. No visitors.” On the day of my discharge, I was limping toward the billing desk on crutches when an older woman shoved past me. “My son-in-law is a General here. Move aside.” I frowned. “Wait your turn, ma’am.” She sneered at me. “Do you know who you’re talking to? My son-in-law is Giles Marshall. If I don’t get my heart medication on time, he’ll have your badge.” Before I could respond, Giles and Maya appeared at the end of the hall. He pulled me aside, his voice a frantic whisper. “Maya’s mother has a weak heart. She can’t handle stress. You’re a soldier, Cassie. Set an example. Let the civilian go first.” Maya held her mother’s arm, her eyes welling up. “Cassie, I’m so sorry… my mom’s heart is acting up. I told her Giles was my fiancé so she’d agree to take the expensive meds… please don’t be mad at him. He’s just a good man who can’t stand to see an old woman suffer.” I looked at the three of them. So, because Maya’s mother had a cough, he left his wife—the woman with a broken leg and charred skin—alone in a hospital bed? Fine. It didn’t matter anymore. I nodded and turned to leave. I’d only taken two steps when I heard Maya’s shaky whisper: “Giles, is she mad? Is she going to do what she did last time? I’m so scared for your career…” Giles’s voice was soft, but it carried perfectly through the sterile air. “Don’t worry about her. She grew up without parents. she doesn’t understand what family means. She doesn’t have the capacity for that kind of empathy.” My fingers tightened on the crutches until my knuckles went white. I walked, one agonizing step at a time, down the long corridor. Giles’s boots echoed behind me. “Cassie, wait. I’ll give you a ride back to the quarters.” I didn’t stop. I tried to go faster. The tip of my crutch hit a wet patch on the linoleum. I went down hard. My burned arm hit the floor, and I felt the wound tear open. The pain was so sharp it broke something deep inside my chest. I grit my teeth, my nails digging into my palms, but the tears leaked out anyway. All my life, I had hated the holidays. I’d watch the warm lights in people’s windows, listen to the laughter, and feel a dull ache like a knife in my ribs. Giles knew that. He was the only person in the world who knew how much that scar hurt. And he had just used it to comfort his mistress. He ran over to pick me up, his voice laced with annoyance. “Cassie! Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Suddenly, a heavy thermos flew through the air and struck me in the face. Hot soup scalded my skin. My forehead began to swell instantly. Maya’s mother stood there, shaking with rage. “You hussy! Trying to steal my son-in-law? I’ll show you!” She lunged forward and slapped me. I fell back again, my head spinning. Then, she swung her own cane and caught me square in the shoulder. I heard a dull thud against my bone. Giles finally stepped in, catching the woman’s cane. “Ma’am! Please! Calm down! It’s not what you think!” “Then what is it?” she shrieked. “This tramp was throwing herself into your arms! I have eyes!” I forced myself up. “Control your daughter! Ask her who the tramp is!” Giles whipped around, his voice a desperate, low hiss: “She has severe coronary disease, Cassie! She can’t take the shock! I’m begging you, don’t make a scene now!” He turned back to the mother, his voice soothing. “You’ve misunderstood. This is Colonel Miller. She’s a fellow officer. She’s had some… mental instability since the war. She gets confused…” He actually pulled my medical file out of his pocket to show her. The old woman spat on the floor. “A crazy soldier? No wonder her parents died early. No one was around to teach her any manners.” Giles practically carried her away. He never once looked back at me. I sat on the floor and watched them go. I couldn’t even cry anymore. A kind nurse helped me back into a treatment room and re-dressed my wounds. “Colonel,” she whispered, “do you want me to call security?” I shook my head. “No. Just process my discharge.” I went back to the quarters and finished packing my single duffel bag. My phone buzzed. Maya had posted an update. A photo of her wearing Giles’s uniform jacket, leaning against his chest. The caption: Through the smoke and the fire, I found you. Worth every bit of pain. I scrolled past it and hit “Unfollow.” Downstairs, the transport I’d ordered was waiting. I climbed into the back. “To the military airfield,” I said. As we pulled out of the gates, a black SUV passed us in the opposite direction. Giles was in the back, talking animatedly to someone. Maya was leaning on his shoulder, laughing. We drove in opposite directions, faster and faster. In the rearview mirror, the base shrunk into a tiny dot and then vanished. I thought about being eighteen and climbing that wall. Twenty and standing at his commissioning ceremony. Twenty-two and exchanging rings in the chapel. Twenty-eight and watching the women cycle through his life. The images flashed by, then fell away. It was over. Now, I was going to finish the flight my parents never got to. I was going to the sky they died protecting.

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When my driver’s son brought an unknown girl home and told me to take care of her, a stream of comments flashed before my eyes: “YES! The male and female leads are both reborn and they’ve met early! This time, they won’t be held back by society for years!” “This sweet romance would be so much better without the evil supporting female character messing things up.” “The evil rich girl uses her father’s position as a General to bully the male lead. She’s never once been nice to him.” “That evil girl thinks her family is the only reason the male lead got ahead. She wants him to worship her without any dignity. But honestly, without her, he could have become a powerful and untouchable figure all on his own.” The driver’s son looked at me, the polite deference he usually showed me completely gone. In its place was an arrogant disdain, a greedy glint in his eyes like a predator. I was curious to see how a reborn duo—an adopted orphan and a mysterious abandoned girl—planned to rise through the ranks and become untouchable tycoons in this day and age. 1 Nicholas sat on my living room sofa, opening a can of lychees for Amber and pouring them into my personal white porcelain bowl. He saw me staring at Amber and defensively shifted his body to block my view. “Beatrice, this is Amber, my girlfriend. From now on, you’ll be taking care of her personally.” “She has delicate skin, so her bedding needs to be the finest European linen. She’s not used to small rooms, so she’ll be staying in yours. You can move out.” He brazenly unwrapped a bar of exclusive, military-grade Swiss chocolate, handed it to Amber, and then shot me a look of disgust. “Beatrice, I’ll still be by your side, but I will never love you.” “If you continue to support my rise to power with everything you have, I might just let you live.” Amber leaned against Nicholas, as pliant as a vine. The shoes on her feet were the thick, woolen slippers my father had brought back from a trip to Europe especially for me. The comments before my eyes exploded with excitement: “Whoa, so dominant! He puts the rich girl in her place right from the start. Now THAT’S a real sweet romance.” “This double-reborn setup is awesome! The evil girl won’t get the chance to use her family’s power to force the ML to marry her or to ruin the FL’s reputation in a nightclub this time.” “In the last life, the evil girl forced the ML to study abroad in England for four years just to break them up. It was so tragic.” “Thank god when he returned, he found a powerful benefactor, destroyed the evil girl’s family, and framed them for treason so they could never recover.” Reading those words, a vein throbbed in my temple. Nicholas sat up straighter, his posture infused with the confidence and nobility of his past life’s power. “Mrs. Gable, peel me one of those heirloom pears. The ones freshly picked from the valley orchard.” The comments scrolled wildly, and I finally understood. I was living in a historical romance novel. And the evil, spoiled rich girl in the comments? That was me. According to the plot, Nicholas brings the homeless and destitute Amber back to my house for me to care for. They grow closer, and feelings blossom between them. I, unwilling to let my childhood friend be stolen away by Amber, begin a campaign of coercion and control. I use my family’s wealth and power to elevate him, hoping he’ll be indebted to me. I even use my connections to send him abroad to study, severing his ties with Amber. When Nicholas returns, he marries me, becoming the model husband in everyone’s eyes. But in his heart, he never stops yearning for the one who got away. Meanwhile, Amber, without Nicholas’s help, is forced to work in a nightclub to survive, losing her innocence in the process. Later, after finding a benefactor and gaining immense power, Nicholas sets Amber up in a life of luxury, spending every moment doting on her. He blames me for all the hardships she endured. He then conspires with outsiders to frame my family for treason, turning us into prisoners under investigation. By the time our names are cleared, my parents have died from the stress, and I am poisoned and killed by the two of them. They take my family’s fortune, flaunt their wealth, and travel the world. During a trip to the coast, they both drown—and are reborn. When they open their eyes, they are back on this very day, the day Nicholas first brought Amber to my home. My expression was cold. It was almost funny. An orphan adopted by my driver and a girl with no history to her name were going to turn my world upside down? The plot was utterly absurd. Nicholas, still believing he was the powerful son-in-law of the Wallace family, saw that our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, hadn’t moved. He snapped at me, “What’s wrong with your family? Even your maids are this clueless?” In response to his contempt, I slapped him across the face. “Who the hell do you think you are, shouting in my house?” 2 Amber shot me a venomous glare before turning to caress Nicholas’s face, her voice dripping with concern. “I never knew Miss Wallace was so spoiled and unreasonable. In that case, she’s certainly not qualified to take care of me.” She linked her arm through Nicholas’s, leaning into him like a delicate bird. “Don’t lower yourself to her level by getting angry over a maid. We can just fire her and hire another. As for Miss Wallace, if she’s going to be so difficult, we should just kick her out.” She spoke as if she were the lady of the house. I had to laugh. “What makes you think you’re worthy of my care, let alone living in my house? You’re delusional.” “Mrs. Gable is my father’s official aide, a salaried government employee under military jurisdiction, not some maid you can order around as you please.” “Mrs. Gable, please dispose of anything these two vagrants have touched.” Before I could finish, Nicholas tilted his head back, his tone dripping with arrogance. “Beatrice, you severely lack discipline. I’m going to have to teach you a lesson on your father’s behalf!” The comments were a flurry of surprise: “Wait, why does the evil girl suddenly have a brain? Isn’t she supposed to willingly take care of the heroine and be a stepping stone for the hero, completely subservient to him?” “Did the plot change? And why is the hero acting so high and mighty? He’s just the driver’s son living off their charity.” “Heh. She’s just trying to get the hero’s attention. Pathetic little tricks.” Nicholas still looked utterly confident. “If you’re going to be so undisciplined, then get out of this house!” I couldn’t help but laugh. Was Nicholas completely delusional? Kicking me out of my own home? It seemed he was still stuck in his past-life role as the cherished son-in-law. By what right did he think he could tell me to get out? I picked up the receiver of the rotary phone and dialed the guards at the gate. “We have two troublemakers in the house. Please come and remove them.” Nicholas and Amber looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke. “Remove us? We’ll see who gets removed when the General gets home! You or me!” He was utterly certain. “In our last life, the General supported my rise to power with everything he had because he recognized my talent and ability. For me, he’ll definitely kick you out!” In the last life, with my father’s support, Nicholas had climbed the ladder of power step by step. My father’s favor meant that even the household staff and guards deferred to him. This had fed his ambition, but for him to act so high and mighty now? He must have lost his mind. When my father arrived home and took off his uniform jacket, Nicholas immediately swarmed him, acting as if my father would undoubtedly take his side. “General Wallace, you’ve raised a real piece of work for a daughter. She’s trying to kick me out! All I asked was for her to look after a helpless orphan like Amber, and the heartless girl slapped me.” My father was a traditional man who valued family harmony above all else. In our past life, whenever there was a conflict, he often urged me to be the one to back down. But now, my father just looked at Nicholas with a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance. Without even looking up, he spoke to the guards. “From now on, I don’t want just any stray wandering into this house. Especially not the ones who aren’t right in the head. What if Beatrice gets hurt?” Nicholas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The General, who had always valued him, was being so callous. He composed himself and issued a command, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You should be kicking Beatrice out of this house. Only then will I fully support you and become your right-hand man!” My father actually laughed, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Sacrifice my own daughter for you? I’m a General. What makes you think I need a greenhorn who’s never seen a battlefield to be my right-hand man? Don’t be ridiculous.” “The only reason I ever let you come over was to keep Beatrice from getting bored.” Nicholas was stunned by my father’s attitude. “No, that’s not how it’s supposed to be! You’re supposed to admire me, to groom me to take your place! I’m meant to be your most prized subordinate, your favorite son-in-law!” My father just smiled and waved his hand, signaling the guards to drag him out. “I must have been too approachable. To think he’d dare to have designs on my Beatrice. How despicable.” A few quiet days passed before we got a call from The Grand Continental Hotel. Someone claiming to be General Wallace’s son was racking up a massive bill on our family’s account. The comments went wild again: “So cool, treating the heroine to a feast of delicacies. Is this the privilege of the upper class?” “After the hero gets the last tin of imported Russian caviar, he’s going to meet his benefactor. That caviar is his ticket to success. It’s only a matter of time before he crushes the evil girl’s family and uses them as a stepping stone.” “But wait, why is he acting like such a mooch, putting it all on the evil girl’s tab? That’s so scummy.”

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The people I was carpooling with wanted to kick me out. The only problem? It was my car. Since three of my colleagues lived in my neighborhood, I’d suggested we carpool to work. To keep things from feeling awkward or like they owed me a massive favor, I told them the driver, Arthur, was a distant relative who happened to work nearby. I had Arthur charge them a rate that was barely more than a bus pass. It was a steal, considering it saved them two hours of transit time and kept them out of the grueling Seattle rain. For two months, everything was smooth. Or so I thought. Then came today. I was in a stall in the office lounge when I heard whispering near the sinks. “I did some digging,” a male voice said—Mark, from sales. “A private car service for this route usually costs two hundred a day. We’re paying fifty between the three of us. If we could just get one more person in that fourth seat and charge them fifty, our own ride would be free.” The other two chimed in with murmurs of agreement. After a beat of silence, Mark spoke again. “Why don’t we just cut Riley loose? She’s always acting so precious about the car, telling us to be careful with the upholstery like she owns the place. If she’s gone, we can actually relax.” “I’m in,” Jessica added, her voice sharp. “I’m sick of that ‘better-than-you’ vibe she gives off. Let her go back to squeezing onto the light rail with everyone else. It’s where she belongs.” I leaned my forehead against the cold metal of the stall door and let out a silent, jagged laugh. Me? On the light rail? They had no idea. It was my car. 1 The conversation continued, dripping with a casual cruelty that made my skin crawl. “We haven’t paid for next month yet,” Mark said. “Let’s just tell her we’re done carpooling. Force her to drop out on her own.” “Exactly,” Jessica giggled. “And that story about the driver being her relative? Who actually believes that? They barely speak to each other in the car.” “God, the look on her face when she thinks she’s been dumped,” Mark laughed. “She acts like she’s the queen of the office. I already texted Arthur; he said he’d keep the same price for the rest of us.” I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. They didn’t know the car was a graduation gift from my parents. They didn’t know Arthur had been my family’s driver since I was in pigtails. I’d started this out of pity. One morning after a storm, I’d seen Mark and the others walk into the office looking like drowned rats. They’d mentioned they lived in a remote suburb to save on rent, which meant a soul-crushing two-hour commute each way. My parents had bought a house for me in that same area—not because they wanted me in the suburbs, but because I liked the quiet. They insisted Arthur keep driving me for safety. Out of a genuine desire to help, I offered them a ride. I cut their commute from two hours to thirty minutes, door-to-door. To protect their pride, I’d lied, saying it was just a relative’s car and they were doing me a favor by filling seats. Back then, their faces had been masks of pure gratitude. “Riley, you’re a lifesaver,” Jessica had said, clutching my arm. “I knew you were the sweetest person in this department.” Mark had even clapped me on the shoulder. “If you ever need anything, kid, you come to me. I’ve been at this firm the longest. I’ve got your back.” I realized now that my kindness hadn’t bought me friends; it had only bred resentment. To them, I wasn’t a benefactor; I was an obstacle to a free ride. I took a breath, composed myself, and stepped out of the stall. I walked to the sink and began washing my hands as if I hadn’t heard a word. The three of them jumped. Panic flared in their eyes for a split second before they masked it with practiced corporate indifference. I saw Mark catch Jessica’s eye in the mirror. Mark was the one to break the silence. “Hey, Riley. We were actually just talking about you. The three of us decided we’re going back to the train next month. It’s… cheaper. So, we’re out of the carpool.” I looked at him, feigning confusion. “But the carpool is barely more expensive than the transit pass.” It was fifty dollars a day for three people—roughly sixteen bucks each. The light rail was twelve dollars round-trip. When you factored in the time they saved and the fact that they were no longer getting docked for being late on rainy days, they were actually saving money with me. Not to mention, if someone stayed late, I’d tell Arthur not to charge them for the day. The gas alone cost more than what they were paying. Jessica stepped forward, her voice a sickly-sweet imitation of concern. “We’re just trying to be responsible, Riley. We’re working class, you know? Every dollar counts. And since we’re dropping out, it wouldn’t be fair for you to bear the cost of the car alone. You should probably just join us on the train.” I looked at her, seeing the predatory gleam in her eyes. They weren’t going to the train. They were going to tell Arthur they’d “renegotiated” and try to leave me at the station. “I think I’ll keep the car,” I said quietly. “I enjoy the comfort. If you’re out, I’ll just tell Arthur not to pick you up tomorrow.” 2 Mark’s face tightened. Jessica gripped his arm, stepping into my personal space. “Riley, be realistic. Your salary isn’t that high. Fifteen hundred a month for a private car? That’s a massive burden for a girl like you.” “You’re young,” she continued, her tone patronizing, like a mother lecturing a toddler. “You shouldn’t be so obsessed with luxury. A two-hour commute builds character. Don’t be lazy.” I pretended to think about it for a moment, tilting my head. “You’re right. It is a lot of money. But I guess I’m just a fan of luxury. I’ll keep the ride. Since you’re done, I’ll let Arthur know he doesn’t need to stop at your places anymore.” The third member of their group, Natalie, finally spoke up. Natalie was the one I’d considered a real friend. “Riley, honestly? We don’t really want to ride with you anymore anyway. Unless you’re willing to cover our portion of the fee as a ‘thank you’ for our company, we’re done with you.” The other two nodded aggressively. “If you were smart, you’d pay for us to stay,” Mark added. “Otherwise, enjoy the rain, princess.” I stared into Natalie’s eyes. She actually looked indignant. Six months ago, Natalie had botched a major data set for a five-million-dollar acquisition. The client had been ready to walk. I’d stayed up for forty-eight hours straight, fixing her errors and rewriting the proposal. I’d even put her name on the final slide so she wouldn’t get fired. She had sobbed into my shoulder afterward. “Riley, you’re my guardian angel. I owe you my life. I’ll never forget this.” Memory is a fickle thing, apparently. Looking at her now, I saw no gratitude. Only the cold, hard calculation of someone who thought they’d found a way to win. This was the “backstab” my father had warned me about. He always told me that unconditional kindness often leads to a sense of entitlement in others. I hadn’t believed him. I believed him now. “I see,” I said, my voice trembling slightly—not from sadness, but from a burgeoning, icy rage. “Good to know.” Natalie’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. She reached out to pat my hand. “I knew you were the most generous person in the office, Riley!” I pulled my hand back before she could touch me. I walked past them without another word, my heels clicking sharply on the linoleum. I sat at my desk and took a long, slow sip of hot tea until my heart rate leveled out. Then, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. I dialed. “Arthur?” “Yes, Miss Riley? Is everything alright?” “The carpool rate is going up,” I said. “Two hundred dollars a day, starting now.” “As you wish, Miss Riley.” I hung up. If they wanted to play the game of “market rates,” they could pay them. They’d forgotten what it was like to stand on a freezing platform at 6:00 AM. They thought they were the masters of the universe. I was just getting started. I was deep into a quarterly report when the three of them suddenly surrounded my cubicle, looking like a lynch mob in business casual. 3 “Riley! Did you tell Arthur to raise the price?!” Mark shouted, slamming his hand on my desk. “I can’t believe you,” Jessica hissed. “Two-faced much? I never realized how pathetic you actually were.” Mark’s face was beet-red. “You call him right now and tell him to drop the price back down, or we’re going to have a very serious problem.” I didn’t look up from my screen. “I told you, he’s a distant relative. He decided the extra mileage wasn’t worth the low rate. If you have an issue, take it up with him.” Jessica’s voice hit a glass-shattering register. “Take it up with him? You’re the one who set this up! You acted like a big shot, and now you’re trying to scam us? Were we just a paycheck to you this whole time?” My silence only fed their fire. Natalie stepped forward, looking “hurt” again. “Riley, I’m so disappointed. We were trying to be your friends, and you treat us like fools.” I felt a surge of nausea. If I hadn’t heard them in the bathroom, I might have actually felt guilty. “It’s work hours,” I said coldly. “Go back to your desks.” Mark’s hand blurred. CRASH. He swept my ceramic mug off the desk. It shattered against the floor, and a shard of porcelain sliced across my forearm. I gasped as a line of crimson began to bead on my skin. Mark froze for a second, then doubled down. “Don’t you dare try to play the victim! You probably moved your arm into it on purpose!” The office went silent. Colleagues started peeking over their monitors. “Are you crazy?” someone yelled from across the room. A few people rushed over with gauze, helping me wrap the cut. As the crowd gathered, Jessica took a breath and put on her best “concerned citizen” face. She raised her voice so the whole floor could hear. “Everyone, we didn’t want it to come to this. But Riley has been running a scam. she recruited us for a carpool at a low rate, and now that she’s got us hooked, she’s quadrupled the price to line her own pockets. We just wanted an explanation, and Mark got a little heated because we’re all struggling to make ends meet while she plays games with our livelihoods!” Mark nodded. “She probably cut herself just to get me in trouble. Look at her, trying to extort us even now.” The whispers started. The looks of sympathy from my coworkers turned into suspicious glares. “Riley, that’s not right,” someone muttered. “You can’t exploit your coworkers like that.” The cut on my arm stung, but the coldness in my chest was worse. I had given these people everything—my time, my car, my protection. And they had turned it into a weapon to destroy my reputation. I reached into my pocket and hit a speed-dial button. “Dad?” I whispered when he picked up. “How does the firm handle employees with severe character and integrity issues?” 4 When the clock hit five, I walked down to the parking garage. As I reached for the passenger door of the black sedan, a hand shoved me back. “You don’t get to ride,” Mark growled. “Not until you fix the price.” Natalie stood behind him, her voice trembling with fake pity. “Riley, it’s pouring rain out there. Your wound will get infected. Just be a big girl, pay our fees for the month, and we’ll let this go.” I looked at her—really looked at her—and felt like I was going to lose my lunch. The hypocrisy was suffocating. I ignored them and reached for the handle again. This time, Mark lunged to grab my shoulder, but a large, solid figure stepped between us. Arthur. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was a wall. He tucked me behind him. “Arthur, let’s go home,” I said. “Of course, Miss Riley.” The three of them froze. “Miss Riley?” Mark barked a laugh. “Give me a break. What is this, a period piece? What kind of ‘Miss’ are you exactly, Riley? The kind that charges by the hour?” He made a lewd gesture, his face twisting into something grotesque. Jessica joined in, smirking. “I always wondered how you could afford those designer bags on our salary. I guess the ‘driver’ is more than just a relative, huh?” The filth they were spewing was unbelievable. Arthur’s jaw tightened, his fist clenching, but I touched his arm. “Don’t,” I whispered. “Let’s just go.” I got into the front seat and immediately locked all the doors. Out of habit, the three of them tried to open the back doors. They pulled and jerked at the handles, looking like frantic monkeys. It was almost comical. I rolled the window down halfway. “With mouths that dirty,” I said, my voice level, “the bus is probably too good for you.” We pulled away, leaving them standing in the exhaust fumes, screaming obscenities into the rainy darkness. Inside the car, the heater hummed, and the scent of expensive leather filled my senses. I leaned back and watched the rain lash against the glass. “Miss Riley, they were incredibly disrespectful,” Arthur said softly. “Why didn’t you let me—” “Because, Arthur,” I interrupted, “when a dog barks at you, you don’t get down on all fours and bark back. You just shut the gate.” I looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Did you get the recording?” “Every word, Miss.” I went home, took a hot shower, and checked my phone. 59 unread messages. All from them. Threats, insults, and then—as the rain got worse—begging. I deleted the thread and blocked their numbers. I checked the local news. Red Alert: Record rainfall. Flash flooding on major highways. Light rail suspended due to track debris. Bus delays exceeding two hours. I took a sip of my wine and smiled. This was only the first night. They had a long way to go.

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At the high school reunion, I scrolled past a post from the girl who used to make my life a living hell. [Ran into the girl I hated most in high school tonight. Seeing how pathetic her life turned out? Honestly, it’s better than sex.] The comment section was a sea of “LOLs” and “Karma is a queen.” I stared at the screen for a moment, then quietly typed out a reply: “By ‘hated,’ do you mean the way you turned the entire class against her? Or how you knew she and her best friend were in love, but you used the ‘just one of the guys’ act to wedge yourself between them until she was forced to move across the ocean just to breathe?” The second I hit send, the comment vanished. Deleted. I looked up to see Becca’s smirking face. “Joanna! God, you look so… modest,” she said, her voice dripping with that fake-sweet honey. “Is life in London that hard? I mean, look at you. No jewelry, no designer tags.” She leaned in, making sure the people at the nearby tables could hear. “Are you even married? Do you have a boyfriend? Or are you still just drifting, waiting in breadlines or something? If you can’t hack it over there, just come home. We won’t laugh at you. Or is the reason you stayed away for ten years because you’re still holding a grudge against me?” The room went dead silent. A dozen pairs of eyes—eyes that had watched me crumble a decade ago—were suddenly fixed on me, filled with the same old mix of malice and pity. But I wasn’t that trembling girl anymore. I didn’t flush, and I didn’t cry. I didn’t bother telling them that I owned the car I arrived in, the house I grew up in, and, incidentally, the very hotel they were holding this reunion in. I just looked Becca in the eye and asked one thing: “And what about you, Becca? It’s been ten years. Are you and Steve finally together, or are you still just ‘one of the bros’?” 1 The temperature in the room plummeted. Steve, my childhood best friend whom I hadn’t seen in a decade, finally stepped out of the shadows. He looked older, tired, but he still had that same defensive edge. “Jo, don’t start,” he said, his voice tight. “Becca and I are just friends. We’ve always been just friends. I know you’re still stuck in the past, but it’s been forever. I wanted to get everyone together so we could finally clear the air. Let’s just move past this, okay?” Becca seized the moment, raising her glass with a practiced, casual air—the same “tomboy” act she’d perfected in eleventh grade. “Come on, Jo. We were kids. If I did anything to offend your delicate sensibilities back then, let it go. I’ve always been blunt; I don’t do the whole ‘passive-aggressive girl’ drama.” The table erupted in supportive murmurs. “Exactly. Don’t be so sensitive, Jo. Becca’s always been one of us.” “Seriously, who keeps a grudge for ten years? It’s a bit pathetic.” “Becca was the one who insisted on inviting you. Don’t be ungrateful.” They framed her “invitation”—which was really just a summons to be mocked—as an act of charity. They expected me to clink glasses and play along, as if my silence was a debt I owed them. But I’ve never been good at doing what’s expected. I didn’t touch my drink. I just said quietly, “I can’t. I’m pregnant.” Clatter. Steve’s glass hit the floor, shattering against the hardwood. The table went still. Only Becca couldn’t hide the flash of genuine triumph in her eyes. Steve forced a jagged, painful smile. “If you don’t want to drink, just say so. You don’t have to make up a lie like that.” “I’m not lying,” I said calmly. “I’m married. I’m pregnant. I’m only back in the States to help my husband settle some business acquisitions.” Becca’s voice was practically singing now. “Oh my god! When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us? Congratulations, Jo!” It was the most honest thing she’d said all night. She was thrilled because, in her mind, the threat was gone. She wouldn’t have to pretend to be Steve’s “bro” anymore to keep him from me. Steve sounded like he’d swallowed glass. “Married… but you always said… you said you’d be my bride one day, Jo. You’re kidding, right?” One of the guys at the table scoffed. “Jesus, Jo. Why are you doing this? Steve’s been waiting for you for years. Everyone knows he never moved on.” He leaned forward, his tone patronizing. “Look, if you came here to make him jealous, it worked. But don’t ruin your life over a tantrum. A woman needs to know when to stop playing games if she wants a happy ending. Don’t blow it with a guy like Steve. You won’t find another one.” I remembered these people. I remembered how their words felt like sandpaper on raw skin. Now, they just felt like static. I smiled, a cold, empty thing. “I really am married. And as for those things I said when we were kids? It was just a joke, Steve.” I looked him right in the eye, handing him back the exact words he’d used to destroy me ten years ago. “You’re not going to be a baby about a little joke, are you?” 2 Steve and I were the “it” version of childhood sweethearts. We were inseparable from kindergarten through the start of high school. Our lives were a single thread. Until Becca moved to town. She was loud, athletic, and claimed she “only got along with guys because girls were too much drama.” She worked her way into the center of the boys’ circle, and that included Steve. Suddenly, they were sitting together in every class. They were gaming together until 2 AM. Our walk home, which used to be our sacred time, turned into a trio. At first, I tried to be the “cool friend.” I didn’t want to be the jealous girl. That changed the day Becca “accidentally” knocked my ceramic water bottle off my desk. It shattered into a million pieces. It was part of a matching set Steve and I had bought together. Becca gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh my god, Jo! I’m so sorry! I’ll buy you a new one, I swear. Don’t be mad!” I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s fine. It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.” Becca leaned down, her voice dropping to a whisper that only I could hear. “I’ll get you a new one. I know how you girls are—saying it’s fine to my face then crying to Steve about how mean I am behind my back.” I froze. “What?” She stood up and shouted to the room, “See? Look at that face! She’s totally mad. Jo, it’s just a bottle. Just tell me to buy you a new one instead of doing the whole two-faced thing. I seriously can’t stand girls who won’t just be real.” She nudged Steve with her elbow. “Hey, Steve, tell your princess to cheer up before she goes home and tells on me.” Steve looked uncomfortable, but he shrugged. “Come on, Jo. Don’t be like that. It’s just a bottle. I’ll buy you another one. It wasn’t even expensive.” “Steve,” I said, my heart sinking. “Do you really think I’m being petty right now?” I felt the blood rush to my face. “I’ll buy my own bottle. I don’t need anything from either of you.” Steve started to apologize, seeing the look on my face, but Becca threw her arm around his neck, pulling him away. “Whoops! The Princess is officially in a mood! Run for it, Steve, before she turns us into frogs. We’ll apologize when she’s finished her tantrum.” And just like that, I had a new nickname: Her Highness. If I handed out papers for a teacher, they’d whisper, “Watch out, don’t let Her Highness break a nail.” If I went to the bathroom, they’d line up in the hallway, snickering. “Make way! The Royal Procession is passing through!” The hallway became a gauntlet of muffled laughs and sidelong glances. Steve saw it all. He did nothing. Later, when I tried to talk to him, he just sighed with annoyance. “Jo, stop acting like a princess. You don’t have the crown for it, but you sure have the attitude.” 3 The cold war began then. Steve and I stopped talking, and Becca took that as a green light to escalate. If I wore a cute keychain on my bag, she’d point it out in the middle of the cafeteria. “Oh wow, Jo! Is that a Sailor Moon charm? Do you actually think you’re a magical girl, or are you just that desperate for attention?” The boys at the table would howl with laughter. If I wiped down my desk before lunch, she’d roll her eyes. “God, you’re such a try-hard. Do you think the rest of us are beneath you? If we’re too dirty for you, go get a private tutor and stay home. Why are you even here?” The other girls, sensing the social shift, started looking at me with sharpened eyes. During our weekly seat change, I was struggling to move a heavy stack of textbooks. Becca leaned her elbow on the books I hadn’t picked up yet and put on a high-pitched, mocking voice. “Oh heavens! I’m simply exhausted! Is there a loyal servant in the room willing to carry Her Highness’s heavy burdens?” The classroom exploded in laughter. It was a sharp, jagged sound that felt like it was drilling into my skull. Some people actually started mimicking my walk. Steve didn’t look back. He just muttered, “That’s enough, Becca.” Becca rolled her eyes. “Oh, look. Someone’s getting soft again.” Steve snapped. “I’m not soft! I’m not worried about her. She’s just a brat.” Becca grinned, satisfied. “Exactly. We’re just trying to toughen her up, Steve. She’s too sensitive. If she can’t handle us, how is she going to handle the real world?” Steve hesitated. “I mean, it’s okay for girls to be a little soft, isn’t it?” Becca punched his arm. “Who are you calling soft? I’m a girl, and I’m not like that!” Steve looked at her, and I saw the way he smiled—with total, easy trust. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. I thought if I just ignored them, the bullying would stop. But a month into our silence, Steve broke. He came to me, looking like a kicked puppy. “Jo, please. Don’t be mad anymore. Talk to me.” His eyes were soft, pleading. And because I was young and stupid, my heart melted. We had been together since we were toddlers. We were supposed to go to college together. I couldn’t just leave him behind. So, we “made up.” At least on the surface. I went back to sitting in the bleachers during his games, holding his jacket. We walked home under the streetlights again. But Becca was always there in the background, watching us with that knowing smirk. Whenever she caught my eye, she’d burst into laughter with the guys around her. It made me feel naked. Like I was a joke everyone was in on except for me. I tried to tell Steve how I felt. He just frowned. “You’re overthinking it, Jo. They’re just messing around.” When he saw the look on my face, he softened his voice. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell them to knock it off when you’re around.” He walked over to Becca and whispered something. She scoffed, her voice ringing out for everyone to hear. “Oh, god! We can’t even laugh now? Does she think she’s a Disney princess? Does she think the world stops because she’s in the room?” “Becca!” Steve barked. She just rolled her eyes at me. In those years, Becca’s voice and the malice hidden in her “jokes” were like invisible hands slapping my face daily. The whispers in the back of the classroom were like insects crawling over my skin. But back then, I was too weak. I kept telling myself: Just three years. Three years and then we all go our separate ways. Just endure it. I didn’t realize that in the middle of that endurance, Steve would choose to break my heart completely. 4 He invited me to the community pool. Since we grew up together, swimming was a normal weekend activity. I didn’t suspect a thing. Until a group of girls from our class suddenly became very interested in my plans. They gathered around my locker, asking what I was going to wear. I told them I was just going to wear my regular one-piece and then go to the library. They looked horrified. “You’re going out with the hottest guy in school and you’re wearing a grandma suit? Jo, live a little!” Was it boring? Maybe. But Steve and I had always been the “good kids.” We studied, we hung out, we were stable. But as I watched Steve and Becca wrestling and laughing in the halls, a dark thought took root: Is he pulling away because I’m too boring? So, the next day, following the “advice” of the girls in my class, I wore a bright magenta bikini. I’ve always been pale, but I’d hit my growth spurt early. I had curves I usually tried to hide under baggy sweaters. When I showed up, the look on Steve’s face was pure shock. He looked away, scratching his neck, but I could feel his eyes tracking me as I walked to the lounge chair. A secret thrill raced through me. This is what it feels like to be liked, I thought. When we sat down in the break area, he started acting fidgety. “Jo,” he said, his voice dropping. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.” My heart started thumping against my ribs so hard I could hear it in my ears. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real?” The blood rushed to my face. I waited a beat, then whispered, “If it’s you, Steve… then yes.” Because when we were six, he’d held my hand and told me I was the prettiest girl in the world. When I was bullied in elementary school, he’d fought the boys twice his size to protect me. Jo is my sister, he’d yelled. If you mess with her, you mess with me! Ten years of history. How could one girl like Becca change that? Steve asked me again, as if he hadn’t heard me. I gathered my courage and said loudly, “Yes! I like you too, Steve!” “HA HA HA HA!” A roar of laughter erupted from behind the chairs and the pool house doors. Half the class spilled out, phones in hand, faces twisted with mockery. Becca was at the front. “Oh man, Steve! You actually did it! You got the Princess to confess!” I looked at Steve. He looked at the ground. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Becca walked up to me, her eyes raking over my body with disgusting theatricality. “Oh my god, Jo. Did you really think wearing that slutty suit would make him love you? You look like a mid-life crisis in a Barbie box.” The girls who had “recommended” the suit were there, too. They looked away, snickering behind their hands. Becca suddenly reached out and flicked the fabric of my bikini top. “Whoa! I knew it! They’re padded! You’re literally faking it to get a guy. How pathetic are you?” “I’m not!” I screamed, clutching my chest. The crowd roared. “Is she lying, Becca? Let’s see!” Becca laughed. “I saw it with my own eyes. You want a closer look, boys?” The guys started whistling, their eyes wandering over me in a way that made me feel like I was covered in slime. I looked at Steve, my voice trembling. “What is this? What are they talking about?”

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Ever since I was old enough to understand, my billionaire parents and my brother hammered one truth into my head: I was a stray, a placeholder, a counterfeit. If I so much as smiled at my brother, he’d sneer and call me a social climber. When I won a prestigious gold medal for piano, my parents didn’t celebrate; they had the Steinway smashed to pieces. They told me I was “drinking the blood” of their real daughter. The entire family lived in a state of constant vigilance. They were terrified of being kind to me, afraid that an ounce of warmth would whet my appetite and lead me to challenge the “rightful” heiress one day. So, when the real daughter finally returned, I was the one who asked to leave. I told them I wanted to find my biological parents. But they blocked me at every turn. They said that as long as I stayed in my place and kept my head down, I could remain their “daughter” and “sister.” I was stupid enough to believe them. Then came a mock exam. The real daughter failed. She cried, saying she could never be as good as me no matter how hard she tried, and then she staged a dramatic suicide attempt by nicking her wrist. In retaliation, they reported me for “cheating” during the SATs and orchestrated a sequence of events that landed me in a correctional facility. They called it the price for “occupying a throne that wasn’t mine.” To atone, I endured every slander and every cold shoulder in silence. The day I was finally released, they presented me with a “surprise.” It turns out, I was their biological daughter all along. They had kept it a secret because they were afraid their long-lost adopted daughter would feel heartbroken if she realized they had replaced her with a biological child while she was gone. Now that the “older sister” has finally “accepted” me, they’ve come to collect me, smiling and ready for a happy family reunion. 1. The day I walked out, the sky was a bruised gray, and the wind was a serrated blade that cut straight to the bone. The guard handed me a thin, worn-out coat. “Michelle Vance, you’re free. From now on… don’t be stupid.” He looked at my tightly clenched sleeves, his voice dropping an octave. “And tell your family… tell them to get you a therapist.” My eyes were hollow. I nodded, pulling my sleeves down even further to hide what lay beneath. Yes. I had served my time. I had paid my debt. Now, I could go find my real family. I hadn’t walked ten yards when a black Rolls-Royce, hazard lights blinking, pulled up to the curb. The window slid down, revealing a face as familiar as it was striking. Dominic. Sophie’s “loving” older brother. His gaze was exactly as I remembered: cold, clinical, devoid of any warmth. “Michelle. Get in. We’re going home.” I didn’t look at him. I kept walking toward the bus stop. Just as I reached the steps of the bus, a hand clamped onto my shoulder with bruising force. I was yanked back, my spine colliding with the icy metal of the car. Dominic loomed over me, his eyes filled with that familiar, reflexive disdain. “What are you doing? Throwing a tantrum like Sophie used to? Trying to make us feel guilty?” “Did two years in a cell teach you nothing but theatrics?” Ever since I went inside, my brain had felt like rusted clockwork—slow, heavy, grinding. I stared at him blankly, taking a long time to process his words. Finally, I shook my head. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, softened and frayed from being folded and unfolded a thousand times. I smoothed it out for him to see. “No,” I said, my voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on pavement. “Sophie came to see me last time. She told me she found my real parents. Look. The address is right here. I’m going to my actual home.” He froze for a split second. Then, his face darkened into a mask of fury. He snatched the paper from my hands and ripped it into a dozen pieces, tossing them into the roaring traffic of the wet highway. “Stop this madness,” he growled, grabbing my arm. “Mom and Dad are waiting. You’re coming with—” I let out a sharp, strangled scream. I wrenched myself free with a strength I didn’t know I possessed and bolted into the middle of the road. “Home… I have to go home…” I dropped to my knees on the freezing asphalt, frantically clawing at the scraps of white paper as they swirled in the wind. Tires screeched. Horns blared like dying animals. “Jesus! Are you trying to get killed?!” someone yelled from a car window. Dominic’s face was ashen. He lunged forward, shielding me with his body as he shouted apologies to the angry drivers. He practically dragged me back to the shoulder of the road. “Michelle!” His chest was heaving, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes, but it was quickly eclipsed by his habitual irritation. “If you want to die, do it somewhere I don’t have to watch! Using these cheap tricks for attention… the family really wasted years raising you.” I stared up at him, my mind lagging behind. I tilted my head, looking at him with genuine, quiet confusion. “Then… when Sophie cut her wrists… was she just doing it for attention too?” Dominic went rigid. Every muscle in his jaw locked. For the first time in my life, I saw him flinch. He couldn’t meet my eyes. There it was. Even he knew. “Sophie.” That name had been a crown of thorns around my head for as long as I could remember. I was the fake. I was the parasite. I was the intruder. That was why my mother fired the nanny who served me dessert first. That was why my father smashed my piano. That was why Dominic drowned the stray puppy I had rescued from the rain. They used every choice, every moment, to prove a point: they would never let the “shining pearl” suffer a single slight just because I had been the one physically present in their lives. The scale of their hearts was always tipped in her favor, by design. But I still didn’t get it. If she had all the love, if the world was served to her on a silver platter… Why did she have to bleed just because I beat her on a practice test? Sophie. What on earth were you so afraid of? 2. Dominic rubbed his temples, his frustration radiating off him in waves. “You know Sophie isn’t like you! She grew up out there, suffering. She didn’t even get to finish school properly. You? You were brought into this house and given every resource, every elite tutor!” “You had to be number one every single time? You just had to crush her? You knew it would trigger her!” I didn’t really hear him. I was shivering, trying to piece together the sodden scraps of paper in my hand. Three pieces were missing. “It’s gone…” my voice trembled. “The address… My home is gone!” I started to move toward the road again, desperate. Slap! The blow was so sudden and so sharp that my head snapped to the side. My ear rang with a high-pitched whine. Before I could recover, Dominic dragged me toward a stagnant, icy puddle by the side of the road. “You want to die, Michelle?” He let go, pointing at the dark, freezing water. “Then jump! Go on! Stop the performance!” With a violent sweep of his hand, he knocked the remaining scraps of paper from my grip. They fluttered like dying moths into the filthy, slushy water. I looked at him. His eyes were full of that familiar, towering condescension. I remembered Sophie’s first birthday back with us. She cried, saying the pearl necklace Dominic gave her was missing and that she’d seen me in her room. At first, I fought back. “I didn’t take it! Check the security cameras—” Before I could finish, Dominic took a baseball bat and smashed the camera right in front of me. I shut up instantly. He was teaching me a lesson: my truth meant nothing compared to Sophie’s tears. The necklace wasn’t in my room. It was eventually found at the bottom of the backyard pool, the string cut, pearls scattered across the tiles. Everyone in the family knew I had a near-death drowning experience as a child. I had severe aquaphobia. Even a full bathtub made me feel like I was suffocating. But that winter, Dominic had me thrown into the icy pool. “Get them,” he had said. “Every single one. Don’t come out until you find them all.” My parents watched Sophie sob into their shoulders and said nothing. They let it happen. I passed out in that freezing water multiple times. Each time, they’d wake me up with more cold water until my blue, numb fingers had found every last pearl. Since then, even the reflection of light on a water surface made me shake. Dominic knew this. He was certain I was too afraid of water—and too afraid of death—to actually jump. He didn’t know that in prison, when I used a sharpened piece of plastic to open my veins, all I felt was… peace. The ER doctor had told the guards: She has a profound desire for self-destruction. Without a support system, she won’t last. Dominic looked at my empty, hollow eyes and smirked. “Coward. You don’t even have the guts to look at the water. Think about how much Sophie must have suffered to—” He didn’t finish the sentence. I lunged forward and dove headfirst into the stinking, freezing puddle. The water closed over my head, burning my nose and throat. Getting back to my real family was my last hope for living. If I couldn’t have that, I didn’t want anything else. A second later, I was yanked out by the waist and slammed onto the muddy grass. I coughed violently, retching up dirty water. Through the blur, I saw Dominic. He was soaked, kneeling in the mud, his hands still trembling from the force of pulling me out. He was staring at me, his pupils blown wide. The look in his eyes wasn’t disdain anymore. It was disbelief. And… something else. A flicker of raw, unadulterated terror. I didn’t understand. What was he afraid of? If the “fake” died, wasn’t that what he—and everyone else—wanted? 3. I looked at the pulp in my hand—the wet, gray remains of the paper where the ink had bled into illegible clouds. A wave of exhaustion, a soul-deep weariness, washed over me. I was so tired. If I had a knife right now, could I finally just sleep? Dominic watched me, his voice finally losing its edge, turning soft, almost tentative. “Michelle… why? You weren’t like this before. Since when did you start taking my words so literally?” He was right. Since I was a toddler, he’d told me: “Michelle, you’re just a placeholder. Know your place. Sophie is my only sister.” Back then, I’d just smile and ask him for a hug. Later, I’d study until my fingers cramped to make him his favorite snacks, only for him to sneer, “You’re so pathetic, Michelle. Sophie would never beg for affection like this.” I’d still smile and hold the plate out to him. No matter how cruel he was, the little girl I used to be followed him around like a shadow. I was convinced he just had a temper, that he didn’t actually hate me. Until Sophie came back. Then I realized what he looked like when he actually loved someone. When Sophie and I were cornered by some older bullies in high school, he rushed in and pulled her behind him. He didn’t even look at me. Not once. He just walked away with her. His friend had pointed at me, stuck in the mud. “Hey, Dominic… what about the other one?” “She’s not my sister.” I watched them leave. I stayed behind to face the insults and the shoves alone. I struggled to sit up, my brain trying to conjure the ghost of the address on that paper, but the memory was fading. “Michelle, come home. Stop this,” Dominic said. It was that nauseating, self-righteous tone of “comfort” again. “The whole family is waiting. We’re having Christmas dinner.” “Dominic! You aren’t my brother! You have no right to tell me what to do!” I screamed, my voice raw and screeching. “I just want to go to my real home! To my real parents!” I swung my hand and slapped him. Hard. Dominic’s head snapped back. He froze, but his gaze dropped to my wrists. They were covered in a lattice of scars—some old and white, some jagged and fresh. He turned pale. His eyes turned red in an instant. “Michelle… your hands…” his voice shook with a sudden, sharp grief. “Did… did someone hurt you in there? I thought… I thought I paid the guards to look after you…” He looked sad. He looked… hurt. It was absurd. I had finally stopped chasing him, finally stopped calling him brother. What did he have to be sad about? I felt a surge of pure, physical nausea. “Dominic,” I said, my voice like dry ice. “Why are you acting like a martyr now?” He didn’t answer. He grabbed my arm and shoved me into the car, clicking the seatbelt shut with a snap. “We’re going to the hospital first,” he said, his voice tight as he started the engine. “I’m not going to a hospital! I’m going home! Let me out!” I thrashed against the belt, clawing at his collar, my nails leaving long, bloody furrows across his cheek. He didn’t move. He didn’t fight back. He just gripped the steering wheel, jaw set, blood dripping down his face. That silence—that suffocating, unresponsive wall—triggered a memory of the solitary confinement cell. My head began to throb. The last trace of the address vanished from my mind. I went limp. My hands fell to my sides. He glanced at me, misinterpreting my silence. He actually managed a small, pathetic smile. “Michelle… you… you still care about me, don’t you? You stopped.” I smiled back. Then, I lunged across the center console and grabbed the steering wheel, jerking it with everything I had. If I can’t go home, let’s just go to hell. SCREECH—!! The tires howled against the pavement. The car lost control, spinning and slamming into the guardrail with a bone-jarring thud. The airbags deployed with a bang. Dominic gasped for air, blood trickling from his forehead, his eyes wide with the terror of a survivor. He turned to see the look on my face. I wasn’t scared. I was disappointed. “Michelle… do you… do you want to die that badly?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at him with dead eyes. He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper, a desperate plea. “Fine. Okay. No hospital. We’ll go home, okay? Just… just stay with me.” I lowered my eyes and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible “okay.” Dominic’s shoulders slumped in relief. He thought I was being “good” again. He didn’t know. I just remembered: Sophie knows where my real home is. I was going back to find her. 4. The Blackwood estate was glowing with warmth and festive lights. When we pushed through the front doors, the scent of pine and expensive candles hit me. Sophie was sitting on the sofa in a designer dress, her cheeks flushed with health, leaning into our mother’s side. “Mom, I’m only back for a few days. You didn’t have to make such a fuss,” Sophie chirped. Our father was sitting nearby, patiently peeling shrimp for her, his eyes full of adoration. “The Dean called. He said you won another award. Our Sophie is so talented; of course we have to celebrate.” It was a picture-perfect scene of domestic bliss. Dominic cleared his throat, his jaw tight. “Mom, Dad. I brought Michelle back.” The laughter died instantly. Three pairs of eyes swung toward us. First to me, then to Dominic’s soaked clothes and the bloody scratches on his face. My parents’ brows furrowed in unison. Sophie was the first to stand. She walked toward me, her voice dripping with that “concerned older sister” act she’d perfected. “Michelle, Dominic went out in the snow to get you personally. How could you do this to him?” She sighed, playing the part of the mature one. “You’re college-aged now. Can’t you be a little more sensible? Must you always make the family worry?” My mother’s face hardened. “Michelle, this is unacceptable. Your brother just got over a cold.” My father let out a cold snort. “She was always a troublemaker. Fighting in high school, coming home bruised… I suppose two years with criminals only made it worse—” “Enough.” Dominic’s voice was sharp, cutting through my father’s sentence. He looked at Sophie, his expression unusually stern. “I did this to myself. It wasn’t Michelle.” He paused, then added, “And Sophie? Michelle never went to college. Maybe think before you speak next time.” The room went tomb-silent. They stared at him, shocked. Dominic—the golden son—had never once defended the “fake” sister, let alone snapped at his precious Sophie. Sophie’s eyes filled with tears instantly. Her lip wobbled. “Fine! She’s the sister you grew up with, and I’m just the outsider! I don’t have the right to speak to her! I’m sorry I even came back!” Dominic looked conflicted, his gaze flickering away. My mother rushed to Sophie, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Dominic! How could you speak to her like that?!” Then she turned her venomous gaze on me. “And you, Michelle! You just get back and you’re already upsetting your sister. Why are you so selfish?” I looked at this woman—dripping in diamonds, her face twisted with habitual annoyance toward me—and the word “Mom” died in my throat. She wasn’t my mother. It made sense that she hated me. “Let’s just eat,” my father sighed, trying to break the tension. “Your brother made us wait for hours just for you. Sophie is starving.” I looked up. “Did I ask her to wait?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “Dominic made that choice. It has nothing to do with me.” Sophie’s eyes went wide. “Michelle! Have you lost your mind? How dare you talk to him like that!” “He’s not my brother,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “He’s your brother.” I looked at them all. “I didn’t come here to eat.” I turned to Sophie. “I came to ask for the address. My parents’ address.” “Once I have it, I’m gone. I won’t ruin your family reunion anymore.” The color drained from Sophie’s face. My mother frowned. “What are you talking about? This is your home.” “I mean my real home. My biological parents,” I said, staring Sophie down. “You told me in prison that you found them. You gave me a note. I lost it. Give it to me again. Now.” The air in the living room turned to ice. My parents looked at Sophie, their expressions turning unreadable. Sophie stammered, “Isn’t… isn’t this family good enough? Why do you have to look for—” “I have to!” I was shaking now, my voice rising to a scream. “I want to go home! I want my own parents! Let me go!!” Dominic couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to our parents, his voice exploding with repressed rage. “Just tell her! Tell her the truth! We agreed, didn’t we? We were going to give her the ‘surprise’ when she got out!” I looked at him, confused. He wouldn’t look back. As the eldest son, Dominic held weight in this house. My parents exchanged a look. Finally, my mother sighed. She looked at me, her voice suddenly forced, sweet, like she was talking to a frightened animal. “Michelle… sweetheart. The truth is… you are our biological daughter.”

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1 After relinquishing my seat as the billionaire’s wife to a penniless university student, my former mother-in-law compensated me with fifty billion euros and promptly shipped me off to Eastern Europe. During those years in Eastern Europe, I opened a small flower shop in a quaint seaside town. I found a new social circle, fell in love with a new boyfriend, and was on the verge of getting married and starting a family. Then one day, the door to my flower shop burst open. An old friend stood there, her face a mask of shock as she blurted, “You’re still alive? Why didn’t you go back to London to find Aaron Britton? Do you have any idea how frantically he’s been searching for you all these years?” I simply offered a faint smile, holding up the ring on my finger. “But I’m already married and have a child.” The words hung in the air, instantly chilling the atmosphere to an unsettling silence. At my friend’s urgent, silent prompting, I turned my head. Aaron Britton stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his noble, frosty eyes fixed on me. But my mind drifted back to our third year of marriage, when Aaron confessed he’d fallen for a university student named Alice. He asked for a divorce, offering to leave with nothing. I cried, I raged, I even begged him, casting aside all my dignity. Yet Aaron merely looked at me with cold indifference. “Mora, I’m sorry, but I don’t love you anymore.” I ran to Alice’s university like a madwoman, creating a scene that solidified her reputation as the other woman. Alice, in turn, hated me enough to run me over with her car. Lying in a pool of my own blood, my first thought was to send Alice to jail. But Aaron rushed back that very night, kneeling by my hospital bed, pleading. “Mora, please, let her go. She’s so young. I won’t divorce you; I’ll come back to the family. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” In that moment, watching him beg so humbly for another woman, I felt my heart twist into a knot of agony for the first time. But I loved him too much, loved him enough to agree to his terms. For the next three years, Aaron indeed cut all ties with Alice. Everyone said he’d turned over a new leaf. He came home punctually every day, remembered all my preferences, brewed me ginger tea during my period, and held me tight when I had nightmares. But once, while we were dining at a restaurant, he got into a furious brawl defending a harassed waitress. The moment I recognized her face, a chill colder than ice spread through me. He pulled a business card from his inner pocket and handed it to Alice, his voice low. “Go see this person. He’ll arrange a decent, easy job for you.” Alice suddenly looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears, and knocked the card to the floor. “I don’t want any of this. What I want, what I’ve always wanted, is just you. Aaron Britton, only you.” Alice’s tears streamed down her face. “For three years, I thought about you every single night, unable to sleep.” “I secretly went to our old dating spots and just sat there all day long.” “Aaron, why can’t we be together when we clearly love each other?” Her sobs were heart-wrenching. Aaron looked at her anguished face, his eyes swirling with profound pain and struggle. “How do you think I feel? But only by returning to my family could I protect you.” “Alice, please listen.” He turned to leave, but Alice suddenly lunged at him from behind, kissing him fiercely, heedless of their surroundings. Hidden behind a planter, I watched, transfixed, as Aaron’s Adam’s apple bobbed, making a final, desperate struggle. Then, he cupped the back of her head with one hand and passionately, fiercely, returned her kiss. I stood there, my blood seeming to freeze in my veins. I thought my heart had died three years ago, that it couldn’t ache anymore. But I was wrong. A dead heart could still be tormented. Now, seeing the undisguised passion and adoration in his eyes, I suddenly felt like those three years of steadfastness had been a colossal joke. 2 I couldn’t bear to watch any longer. I turned and stumbled towards the elevator. A large hand suddenly reached out from the side, clamping over my mouth. It was the drunk man Aaron had beaten. “That was your man, wasn’t it? He beat me up, so I’m going to make you pay.” “Thump!” A heavy punch landed on my abdomen, followed by a rain of fists and slaps on my body and face. My consciousness slowly blurred, and I finally collapsed onto the floor like a broken rag doll. Just as I thought I was going to die there, passersby rushed in and saved me. The doctor’s expression was grim after the examination. “Multiple contusions, possibly fractured ribs. We need a family member’s signature.” The nurse in charge dialed the top contact on my phone. It rang for a long time before being answered. The other end was quiet, then came a series of sounds that made my cheeks flush. A few seconds later, Aaron’s voice, feigning calmness, came through the phone. “Hello, Mora, I’m sorry, the company has an urgent overseas video conference. Drive home safely yourself. I’ll be back once I’m done.” He didn’t even wait for my reply before hastily hanging up. Lying in the hospital bed, I forced a smile that was uglier than any cry, my voice hoarse and broken. “I don’t have family. I’ll sign myself.” With the final stroke, my vision completely blackened, and I passed out. When I awoke again, I was in a hospital room permeated with the smell of disinfectant. A familiar, concerned voice spoke by my bedside. “Mora, you’re awake. How do you feel? Does it still hurt?” Looking at his face so close to mine, at the distinct dark red mark visible on his neck, I felt a wave of nausea. Seeing no response from me, he took my hand, his eyes sincere. “Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with the man who hit you. No one who harms my Mora gets away with it.” I looked at Aaron, this man I had loved for over a decade, who was now so unfamiliar that he chilled me to the bone. Some mistakes, once crossed, should have been corrected completely. Now I finally understood that some hearts, once they fly away, can never truly return. I slowly withdrew my hand, masking the surging pain and deadness in my eyes, and then nodded gently. Aaron immediately let out a sigh of relief. He thought I had, as always, chosen forgiveness and endurance. 3 After being discharged, I returned to the villa, opened the safe, and took out a yellowed divorce agreement. Aaron’s signature, made three years ago, was in the bottom right corner of the paper. At the time, he had said, “Sign it, Mora. Let’s part amicably.” I had torn the agreement to shreds like a madwoman, throwing it in his face, crying, “Aaron, I’d die before I’d sign this.” Now, looking at this agreement, which I had carefully pieced back together and preserved, I felt nothing but profound irony. With each stroke, I wrote my own name. Once done, I took a picture of the signed agreement and sent it to my lawyer. [Attorney Miller, please expedite my divorce proceedings. All terms as per the agreement, the sooner the better.] After sending the message, I started packing. It turned out that living in one place for so long, leaving only required one night. Aaron didn’t return until the next evening. He carried an exquisite gift bag, a gentle smile on his face. “Mora, look what I brought you. The limited edition bracelet from your favorite brand. I had someone bring it back from abroad.” He walked in and saw me sitting by the window, lost in thought. “You must have been bored from being in the hospital for a few days. There’s a business gala tonight; it’s a good chance to get some fresh air.” I didn’t take the gift, just raised my eyes to look at him. Only then did Aaron notice my suitcase by the wall. “What’s this?” “Just tidying up some old things. Planning to donate them.” I explained calmly, then stood up. The gala was held in the ballroom of a five-star hotel. When Aaron walked in with my hand in his, he attracted many glances. He introduced me to several important partners, behaving thoughtfully, chatting and laughing, giving the impression of a deeply loving couple. I smiled and nodded cooperatively, but my heart was utterly cold. Until a server carrying a tray of drinks approached. It was Alice. Suddenly, without warning, the crystal chandelier overhead detached and plummeted towards Aaron. In a flash, Alice, standing nearby, threw herself forward with all her might, pushing Aaron violently aside as if her life depended on it. “Crash!” The massive chandelier smashed down, landing squarely on Alice. She fell into a pool of blood, instantly losing consciousness. “Alice!” Aaron’s eyes widened with horror, and he lunged forward, kneeling beside Alice like a madman. He suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes roaring, “Call an ambulance, now!” He scooped up the blood-soaked Alice and rushed out, heedless of everything. In his panic and urgency, he even bumped into me, who was standing in his way. I staggered from the impact, hitting my forehead hard against a cold Roman pillar beside me. Sharp pain shot through me, and warm liquid trickled down my temple. I clung to the pillar, barely steadying myself, and when I raised a hand to touch my forehead, it came away scarlet. Aaron, meanwhile, cradling Alice, had vanished from the ballroom like a gust of wind, never once looking back at me. The surroundings were chaos – gasps, murmurs… Someone came over to ask if I was alright, but I felt as if I couldn’t hear anything. Clutching my bleeding forehead, I stumbled out of the chaotic ballroom. I didn’t go to the hospital, but found a nearby clinic for simple disinfection and a bandage. Back home, the villa was empty and still cold. I washed the blood from my face and sat on the sofa, opening my phone. The top trending video in the city was of Aaron. The video was filmed at the renowned St. Michael’s Cathedral on the city outskirts, known for its 999 steep stone steps. It was said that a truly devout person, climbing the steps on their knees, would find their prayers for safety answered most effectively. In the video, Aaron had shed his blood-stained designer suit, wearing only a thin shirt. His expression was solemn, his gaze resolute, as he arduously climbed towards the cathedral at the summit, one step, one kneel, one bow at a time. A reporter nearby held a microphone, asking, “Mr. Britton, who are you praying for? Is it for your family?” Aaron looked into the camera, his eyes tender and firm. “For the person I love most, praying for her safety.” The person I love most… I slammed my phone shut, but the suffocating pain in my chest refused to subside. 4 In the following days, Aaron never returned. Until one day, as I stepped out to throw away the trash, two police officers approached me. “Are you Ms. Mora Thorne? We’ve received a report from Ms. Alice Davies, accusing you of hiring someone to assault her, specifically instructing them to throw acid on her. We need you to come with us to assist with the investigation.” My pupils constricted. I couldn’t believe it. “I hired someone to throw acid on her?” Just then, Aaron walked over. Hearing the police’s words, his face instantly changed. “There must be a mistake, right? My wife couldn’t possibly do something like that.” The police officer’s expression was serious. “We have preliminary evidence: the suspect’s confession and relevant transfer records.” He handed a document to Aaron. Aaron took it, flipping through it quickly. The more he read, the darker his face grew, the colder his eyes became. Finally, he slammed the document onto me, the papers scattering across the floor. “Mora Thorne, tell me, what is this?” I looked down at the papers on the floor, which contained blurry screenshots of bank transfers and a handwritten confession. It stated that a woman named Thorne had instructed him to throw acid on Alice. Before I could explain, Aaron’s voice was icy and resolute. “Take her. Handle it as you see fit.” Then, he didn’t spare me another glance, turning and quickly walking away. He was rushing to see Alice. I spent an entire night in the cold detention center. The next morning, the police informed me that Alice had agreed to a settlement. I signed the papers and walked out of the detention center. Just as I was about to hail a taxi home, someone from behind covered my mouth and nose with a towel. When I regained consciousness, I felt myself stuffed inside a sack, my mouth gagged with a cloth, my hands and feet tightly bound. Faint voices reached my ears; it was Aaron and Alice. “Aaron, do we really have to do this to her? Isn’t it too much? She’s still your wife, after all.” Aaron’s voice was icy. “Too much? Did she think it was ‘too much’ when she hired someone to throw acid on you?” “You’ve undergone three skin graft surgeries, enduring unimaginable pain! I’ll use my own methods to give her a lesson she’ll never forget.” Lying in the sack, my blood seemed to freeze instantly. It was Aaron. He was the one who had me kidnapped, all to avenge Alice. The man I loved most, my husband of seven years, was doing this to me for another woman. Then, I felt the mouth of the sack tighten. Something heavy was then forced inside, pressing down on me. It was rocks. “Mmm… mmm…” I struggled wildly, trying to scream, but only muffled whimpers escaped. The sack was roughly lifted, and with a splash, I was thrown into the icy cold river. The river water instantly surged in from all directions, submerging my mouth and nose, filling my lungs. Suffocation, cold, despair. I thrashed desperately in the sack, but my hands and feet were bound, and the rocks dragged me down to the bottom. Just when I thought I was certainly going to die, the sack was suddenly pulled out of the water. I choked, greedily gasping for the freezing air. But a few seconds later, I was forced back under. This was repeated over and over. Pulled up, pushed down; pulled up, pushed down… a cruel game of cat and mouse. In the fear of imminent death and the extreme cold and pain, countless images flooded my mind uncontrollably. Sixteen years old, a blushing boy handing me a love letter under a cherry tree, clumsy handwriting, burning sincerity; Eighteen years old, at the departure gate of an international airport, he hugged me tightly: “Mora, wait for me to come back. I’ll definitely marry you.” Twenty-two years old, his first attempt at cooking for me; Twenty-five years old, at our wedding, the tears glinting in his eyes as he lifted my veil… Those beautiful, sincere affections and promises I thought would last a lifetime, it turned out they were all lies. Or perhaps they were once true, but later given to someone else. And I, like a fool, clung to the phantom of the past, unwilling to let go. The next time I was pulled out of the water, I finally couldn’t hold on any longer, and I coughed up a large mouthful of blood mixed with river water. Before my consciousness completely faded, I thought I heard Aaron’s cold voice from the bank. “That’s enough! Throw her ashore and let her fend for herself.” I don’t know how long I lay on the riverbank until a faint glimmer of dawn light stung my eyes. I struggled, using my last ounce of strength to open my phone. The screen lit up, and two unread messages popped up. The first was from Aaron: [Mora, since I chose to return to the family, I won’t do anything to betray you again. Please stop hurting Alice. She almost had her face ruined this time, and her mental state is very fragile. I’ll stay with her for a few days and then come back to you.] The second was from my lawyer: [Ms. Thorne, all divorce procedures have been completed. Your divorce certificate has been sent to your home by express delivery. I wish you all the best for your future.] I looked at these two messages and suddenly laughed. I laughed so hard I coughed up more blood, laughed until tears streamed down my face. I blacklisted Aaron’s number without hesitation, then, supporting my bruised and battered body, I shakily stood up. Every step felt like treading on knife blades, and the fractured part of my leg sent excruciating pain shooting through me. But I just bit my lip, moving forward with difficulty, one step at a time. Returning to that cold, empty villa, on the living room coffee table, there was indeed an express delivery envelope. I tore it open, and inside were two dark red divorce certificates. I picked up the one belonging to me and opened it. In the photo, I was wearing the white shirt from our wedding, smiling gently and serenely. I did not pick up Aaron’s. I gently placed the blank divorce certificate in the most conspicuous spot on the coffee table. Then, I turned and picked up the suitcase I had already packed. I took one last look at this place I had lived in for seven years, loved for seven years, and dragged myself through for seven years. No lingering attachment, no looking back. I opened the door and walked out.

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I bought four roasted duck legs, and my son ate two of them. When he saw me pick one up for myself, his face flushed with anxiety. “Why didn’t you save any for Dad?” I was confused. “There’s still one left for him on the plate, isn’t there?” He was on the verge of tears, reaching out to snatch the duck leg I had just taken a bite of. “Couldn’t you have saved two for Dad?” I froze. So in his eyes, I had no right to eat the duck legs I had personally bought and cooked? 1 For a moment, I couldn’t believe the words coming out of the son I had raised with my own two hands. I thought maybe he just hadn’t seen clearly. I explained to him, “There were four in total. You had two, I’m having one, and we saved one for Dad.” He dodged the point. “Well, why didn’t you tell me?” I was baffled. “Tell you what?” He raised his voice, shouting, “You were supposed to tell me before you ate it! How else was I supposed to know you took one?” I was struggling to understand. “I have to ask for your permission to eat a duck leg now?” His face turned crimson with anger. “Are you crazy? Stop changing the subject and answer my question! Why didn’t you save more for Dad?” I pointed to the plate. “I did. There’s one right there.” He looked as if he’d been deeply wronged, wiping away tears as he said resentfully, “Why didn’t you save two for him?” I was dumbstruck. So he wasn’t bad at math. I suppressed my anger and questioned him, “So, in your opinion, is Mommy not even allowed to eat a single duck leg?” He didn’t answer, just stood there with his chin up and his neck stiff, looking sympathetically toward his father. “Dad works so hard every day, of course he should get an extra one. You could just eat something else. Why do you have to fight him for it? Can’t you stop being so selfish for once?” At this, my husband, Mark, who had been sitting by silently, grinned and pushed the plate of duck legs closer to our son, Alex. Alex’s eyes immediately welled up again, his lip trembling as if his suffering had just been validated. It finally clicked. I looked at the child I had painstakingly raised, my voice filled with disbelief. “So Mommy doesn’t work hard? Mommy goes to work every day, does all the housework, and takes care of you. Isn’t Mommy tired? Doesn’t she deserve to eat one single duck leg?” He said nothing, just kept wiping his tears away. Seeing this, my husband finally decided to speak, playing the peacemaker. “Alright, alright, why are you arguing with a child? He’s so young, what does he know? He’s just fooling around with you.” 2 I stared silently at the dishes on the table. Every day after work, I’d rush to the market, always picking the freshest, most expensive ingredients, terrified that anything less would affect my son’s health. Then I’d race back home to get dinner on the table before he returned from school, just so he wouldn’t have to wait hungry. Every morning, a neatly folded set of clean clothes was waiting for him by his bed. The house was always spotless, a result of me fighting off sleep every night to clean. The snacks, the fruit, the household supplies—they never ran out, and he never once wondered where they came from. He was used to it, so he never saw it. He only saw his father leaving early and coming home late from “work.” A knot of pain tightened in my chest. I couldn’t help but ask him, “Mommy is very tired and works very hard, too.” He pushed the plate back toward his father, his tone dismissive. “You barely make any money. How hard can your job be?” “Dad is the pillar of this family. He’s the one who works the hardest.” My eyes locked onto my husband, Mark. He looked away guiltily, forcing a laugh. “Anna, don’t take it out on the kid.” His job was a cushy, low-stress position, and his salary was significantly lower than mine. But he’d always said that a father needed to maintain a strong, positive image to encourage his son to become a responsible, upstanding man. So, he lied to Alex about his income, inflating his own while drastically downplaying mine. I thought it was for our child’s benefit, so I never said anything. I never imagined that in my son’s eyes, his father was the sole provider, and I was just a pathetic freeloader who didn’t even deserve a duck leg. The thought made my anger boil over. I swept my arm across the table, sending dishes crashing to the floor. “Then nobody eats!” Mark gasped. “Anna! Are you insane?” I laughed coldly. “If I don’t go insane, I’ll probably end up not being allowed to eat at all in this house.” My son shrieked and hid behind Mark. “The tigress is on a rampage again!” Tigress? Is that what they called me behind my back? Mark looked uncomfortable and turned away, pretending to scold our son. “How can you talk about your mother like that?” Alex didn’t care. He ran over, shoved me hard, then ducked back behind his father and made a face at me. A chilling cold spread through my heart. This was the child I had carried for ten months and raised with my own hands? When he was born, he was frail and sickly, constantly in and out of the hospital. Mark always had an excuse, an “urgent meeting,” leaving me to take him to the emergency room alone in the middle of the night. My milk supply was low, so I spent hours researching and preparing nutritious baby food to make him strong. And now, he was indeed strong. Strong enough to push me onto the sofa with one shove. It didn’t hurt physically, but my heart felt like it had been stabbed. Clutching my chest, I went back to the bedroom. 3 Lying in bed, I couldn’t understand how things had gotten to this point. Mark had stopped “working late” around the time Alex started recognizing faces. He’d come home early, bringing little toys and playing wildly with Alex until I had dinner ready. Then, his tone would change. “Okay, okay, time to eat, or Mommy’s going to get angry.” And the two of them would go wash their hands, giggling together. At the time, I thought it was wonderful. I thought he was a good, family-oriented man who was willing to play with his son. But thinking back… Why was I always the villain? “Hurry up and eat, or Mommy will get mad.” “Stop fooling around, you’ll make Mommy upset.” “Still playing? Just wait until your mother comes to deal with you!” “No, Mommy won’t let you eat that.” “Mommy won’t let us go.” “Here comes Mommy to get you…” … I had never hit him, never even yelled at him. Yet “Mommy” was always the consequence, the threat that followed every restriction and every unpleasant moment. And “Daddy” had neatly extracted himself, comfortably playing the “good guy.” Soon, Mark came in to “talk” to me. Every time Alex and I had a conflict, he would play the mediator. To Alex, he’d say, “Your mom’s just got a temper. All women are like that. You be the bigger person and let it go.” To me, he’d say, “Kids don’t mean what they say. It’s our job as parents to teach them. He was so upset he was crying just now, you shouldn’t hold it against him.” My heart would ache for my son, and listening to Mark, I’d start to feel like it was my fault he wasn’t being raised right. Guilt would wash over me. I’d reflect on my actions and then go make up with Alex. Over time, this became our routine. Right now, Alex was sitting in the living room like a little prince, waiting for me to come and appease him. And Mark, as usual, started his tirade of clichés. Before, I would just stew in my anger and not pay him much attention. But this time, I watched him quietly. And I saw it. In his eyes, there was excitement. A strange sense of triumph. He was happy. He was proud that his son was so devoted to him, so much so that he would belittle and even attack his own mother. He was enjoying this. How had I never noticed it before? He talked until his mouth was dry, but it was all the same: invalidating my feelings and emotionally blackmailing me. I gradually began to see his true intention. He was showing off. Showing off how close he was with our son, while I, the actual mother, was treated with contempt. But hidden within that pride was a sliver of jealousy I couldn’t quite place. I didn’t understand. We were a family. My salary paid for them, for this home. What was he jealous of? He was the one who couldn’t handle a demanding job and chose the easier, lower-paying one. 4 After waiting a long time for me to come and grovel, Alex started throwing a tantrum in the living room, breaking things. Specifically, my things. When I walked out, he was using a small knife to slash at my handbag. Mark glanced at my face and quickly rushed over to play the good guy. “Quick, apologize to your mother. If you apologize, she won’t be mad anymore.” I picked up the ruined bag. I had worked on a project for months, and I’d used my bonus to finally treat myself to this. Alex huffed. “She makes so little, and she has the nerve to make you buy her such an expensive bag. Dad, you just spoil her too much.” I had to laugh. I threw the bag at Mark’s feet. “You bought this for me?” He avoided the question, pulling Alex behind him. “Don’t drag the child into our problems. He’s still young.” Alex was immediately moved, hugging Mark’s arm tightly. “Dad, just divorce her. We don’t need this tigress.” Mark’s expression stiffened. He cleared his throat and ruffled Alex’s hair. “What are you talking about? Mom and Dad would never get a divorce. We’d never separate, especially not for your sake.” Alex snorted in my direction. “You’re just lucky you found a husband like my dad, who’s willing to support you.” The two of them exchanged a smile. Mark ushered Alex into his room, then turned to face the mess, sighing dramatically. “Anna, you’re a mother now. Can’t you be more mature? Look at this place, what a mess.” I pressed him. “You said you bought this bag?” He looked down. “It’s just a bag. Do you really have to be so petty?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “You’re right. It’s just a bag. So buy me a new one.” He scoffed. “Fine, I’ll buy it. It’s not like I’ve never bought you anything before.” True. He had bought me things. An apron for International Women’s Day. Laundry detergent for Mother’s Day. A rice cooker for my birthday. He looked a little embarrassed, pulling out his phone to order one. “Is that what this is about? You just wanted a gift? I’ll get it for you, you don’t have to be so relentless.” But his face changed when he saw the price. He jumped to his feet. He pointed a finger at me, yelling, “Anna! How can you be so wasteful!” Hearing the commotion, Alex ran out, crossing his arms and sneering. “See? I told you. She’s just a lazy, wasteful woman.” I glared at him. He glared back defiantly. “I’m not wrong! You spend Dad’s money on bags and makeup for yourself, but you won’t even save him a duck leg! You’re so selfish! How can you be so shameless? I’m so embarrassed to have a mother like you.” 5 Without a moment’s hesitation, I slapped him across the face. He was too stunned to react, just stared at me blankly. It was the first time in his life I had ever laid a hand on him. After a few seconds, his face contorted with rage, and he pointed his finger right at my nose. “You hit me!” I slapped his pointing hand down. Furious, he tried to head-butt me. I sidestepped, and he slammed his head into a cabinet. He burst into tears. “Dad, Mommy’s bullying me! Go hit her!” Mark rushed to hug him, then roared at me, “What is wrong with you tonight? Do you have to turn this house upside down?” “Is it all because of a stupid duck leg? Fine! Alex and I won’t eat them! You can have them all, is that what you want?” I walked right up to Mark. He snorted, lifting his chin, as if waiting for me to back down and apologize. After all, I was always the one who compromised for the sake of our family, for our son. I stopped in front of him. I raised my hand. And I slapped him, hard, across the face. “I was so focused on the kid, I forgot about you.” 6 Mark looked up, stunned. “You hit me.” I picked up my ruined handbag. I had just gotten a promotion. I needed something professional for client meetings, so I had saved for a long time before finally splurging on this bag. I was always so careful with it. Now, it was covered in scratches. He felt I didn’t deserve it, just like he felt I didn’t deserve a single duck leg. I held up the bag, my eyes filled with disappointment as I looked at Mark. “Let’s get a divorce.” Children are incredibly perceptive. Mark’s tacit approval of our son’s behavior, coupled with his own teasing put-downs of me, had shown Alex that my position in the family was at the very bottom. That I could be treated however they pleased. That’s why he felt I didn’t deserve nice things. He had become this way because of his father’s influence. Mark panicked, forgetting his swollen cheek. “Honey, we were just kidding around, don’t take it so seriously. Why are you talking about divorce over something so small? Think about how it will affect Alex’s mental health.” In the past, any mention of our son would make me back down. But now, I glanced at the boy who had absolutely no room for me in his heart and let out a cold laugh. “Isn’t this what our good son suggested? Don’t you always say we should respect our child’s wishes? Well, I’m just doing what he wants.” He was speechless for a moment, then frowned at Alex. “That’s not what I meant. Look at you, always blowing things out of proportion. Can’t you take a joke?” Alex snuggled into his father’s arms, glaring at me. “Dad, don’t give her another chance. Divorce her. I’d like to see how she survives without us. She’ll regret it then.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. I looked at Mark and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure without a burden like me holding you back, the two of you will live like kings.” Alex pumped his fist in the air. “We will! And when you come crawling back, you tigress, we won’t take you back!” Mark awkwardly tried to quiet him. “That’s enough.” Alex didn’t know the truth, but Mark certainly did. I bought everything for the house. I paid for all the monthly expenses. His salary was just his own pocket money. 7 The next morning, the house was clean, and breakfast was on the table. Mark, wearing an apron, was acting as if nothing had happened. “Honey, breakfast is ready,” he said with a cheerful smile. I was taken aback. The last time he’d been this helpful was when I was pregnant. Back then, I thought I was so lucky to have found such a caring husband. After our son was born, he never set foot in the kitchen or lifted a finger to clean again. As I ate, Alex glared at me resentfully from across the table. “You’re a woman making a man do housework. Have you no shame?” “If other people find out, they’ll call Dad henpecked.” “Besides, this is all your job. Don’t keep bothering Dad. Even if he spoils you, you can’t just take it for granted. At least say thank you. You have no manners.” “Can you just stop making trouble? Let Dad have some peace. He works so hard to support us, it’s already hard enough for him.” I looked at the son I had raised for ten years, and a deep chill settled in my heart. Did he have no empathy for the mother who gave birth to him and raised him? Mark cleans the house and makes breakfast one time, and my son’s heart breaks for him. What about me? I had cooked for him for ten years—three meals a day, his clothes, his home, everything taken care of—why had he never felt sorry for me? Why had he never once said thank you? The boy I once thought was lively and cute suddenly seemed monstrous. I looked down at my plate, unable to look at him any longer. After breakfast, I walked out of the bedroom with a suitcase. Mark stared at me. “What are you doing?” I said flatly, “I’m serious about the divorce.” He rushed to grab my suitcase. “No, I don’t agree. I’m not divorcing you.” But Alex pulled on his arm, a happy look on his face. “Dad, let her go! You’re handsome, gentle, caring, and you make good money. You can find any woman you want without her.” “Let her go. Once she’s gone, she’ll realize how good she had it here. She can just wait and regret it.” I snorted and looked at Mark. He was decent-looking, I suppose. As for gentle and caring… please. I walked out the door with my suitcase. The moment it clicked shut, I could still hear Alex chattering on to his father about all the benefits of divorcing me. And on Mark’s face, a look of pure bewilderment.

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I went undercover at the company my sister owns. Three months into my internship, HR informed me that I wouldn’t be offered a full-time position. And that they were docking my entire probationary salary. “The reason?” “You took three days off.” I had to stop myself from laughing. “First, it was bereavement leave.” “Second, I followed all legal procedures.” “Third…” I turned my head and looked at Ryan, another intern from my cohort. “He took a total of twenty-one days off to take care of his girlfriend’s period cramps.” “On what grounds was he offered a full-time position?” The HR manager shot me a look of pure contempt. “This company is his family’s. On what grounds do you think?” “Besides, his girlfriend has severe cramps. It can be life-threatening.” “You? It was just your grandmother who died. What right do you have to take time off?” 1 On the last day of my internship, I was summoned to the office of Sharon, the HR manager. “Cole, your application for a full-time position has been denied by the company.” I wasn’t surprised by the outcome. “Furthermore,” she continued, a smug look on her face, “due to your excessive absences during the probationary period, which severely impacted your work progress, your entire three-month intern salary will be forfeited as per company policy.” This time, I did laugh out loud. “Sharon, I’m going to need an explanation.” My reaction seemed to infuriate her. She sat bolt upright, her sharp, narrow eyes fixing on me like a hawk. “An explanation? What is there to explain? It’s written in black and white: absences cannot exceed two days. How many did you take?” “Three,” I answered calmly. “First, it was bereavement leave for my grandmother, which is a legally protected right.” “Second, I submitted all the required documentation, and it was approved by my department supervisor.” “Third…” My gaze drifted past her to a figure clowning around with colleagues just outside her office. “Ryan, who started at the same time as me, took three separate leaves of absence over the last three months, each one for seven days, to care for his girlfriend during her period. That’s twenty-one days total. Why was his position made permanent?” Sharon scoffed, leaning back in her chair with an air of lazy superiority. “Cole, did your internship turn your brain to mush? You’re comparing yourself to Ryan?” “Don’t you ever bother to find out who runs this place?” “Besides,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain, “Ryan’s girlfriend has menstrual pain. It’s excruciating. It could affect their ability to have children one day. That’s a serious matter. And you?” She looked me up and down, her lip curling. “It was just your grandmother who died.” “Old people die. It’s not a big deal. Was that really worth taking three days off? So dramatic.” I lowered my eyes and stopped arguing. As she continued her tirade of sharp, petty insults, I silently reached into my pocket. My finger slid along the side of my phone and pressed the lock button. Just before the screen went dark, I saw it clearly: the bright red, pulsing timer of a voice recording. Perfect. I had all the evidence I needed. 2 I walked back to my desk in the Marketing Department, my expression blank, my water bottle in hand. The usually bustling office fell silent. Every eye in the room swiveled toward me like a searchlight. I could sense the pity, the curiosity, but mostly, the schadenfreude. The low hum of whispers was like the buzzing of flies. I ignored them all and walked straight to my desk to pack my things. My keyboard, my mousepad, a coffee mug I’d had for three years, a few textbooks. My fingers paused as I picked up the proposal for “The Starlight Initiative.” This plan, born from countless sleepless nights, had ended up being the crowning achievement on Ryan’s resume. I remembered it vividly. My direct supervisor, Greg—a middle-aged man with a receding hairline whose favorite phrase was “better to let sleeping dogs lie”—had presented the proposal to Ryan in front of the entire department, praising him for his “raw talent and promising future.” And me, the actual creator, had received a dismissive, “Cole contributed as well. Keep up the good work.” All of this happened because everyone in the office was convinced that Ryan was the CEO’s fiancé. “Hey, Cole, what are you doing?” Ryan sauntered over, looking down at me with a disgusting, feigned surprise. “Packing up so suddenly? Did Sharon say something harsh?” “Don’t take it to heart. Her bark is worse than her bite.” He reached out to hold down the flaps of my cardboard box, but I sidestepped him. I couldn’t be bothered to look at him, continuing to sweep the last of my belongings into the box. He seemed to lose interest, his voice taking on the gloating tone of a victor. “Well, don’t feel too bad about it. Just because you didn’t make it here doesn’t mean you won’t make it somewhere else. Tell you what, in a few days, I’ll have my girlfriend keep an eye out for you, find you a good job somewhere. How does that sound?” I finally stopped and looked up at him, saying nothing. My direct gaze seemed to make him uncomfortable, but he puffed out his chest anyway. I picked up my box, turned, and walked away. “Cole!” Jenny from reception ran over and grabbed my arm, her eyes red. “They’re being awful! This is just bullying!” Jenny was the only person in the company who had treated me like a friend. I patted the back of her hand and discreetly slipped the digital recorder into her pocket. “Keep this safe for me,” I whispered. She blinked, then nodded firmly. I didn’t look back again. I walked toward the elevator, one step at a time, the box in my arms. As I passed the large glass wall of the office, I could see the faces inside, all scheming and self-satisfied. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing me off from their world. 3 Three days later was the company’s welcome gala for new employees. I had no intention of going. An intern who’d just been fired attending a party to welcome himself sounded like a bad joke. But Jenny’s calls kept coming, one after another, until my phone was about to die. “Cole, are you really not coming?” “The food is free! It’s a waste not to eat it!” I looked at my pale face in the mirror. The refusal was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. Maybe I should go. Maybe I should see Ryan in his moment of triumph, accepting everyone’s congratulations. Before I could decide, I received an unexpected call. It was my sister, Seraphina. “Cole, where are you?” Her voice on the other end was familiar—a little tired, but as steady as ever. “At home. Sis, aren’t you supposed to be in Europe for business? Did you finish early?” “Change of plans. I just landed.” She paused, a hint of a smile in her voice. “I have a surprise for you tonight. A gift, to celebrate my little brother’s successful new job.” My stomach dropped. “What kind of surprise?” “I’m not telling you yet. Get ready. I’m on my way to pick you up.” She hung up before I could ask anything else. I stared at the dark screen of my phone, a sense of foreboding creeping over me. Meanwhile, in the grand ballroom of the Starlight Hotel, the gala was in full swing. Seraphina, dressed in an elegant, custom-made gown, captured every eye in the room the moment she entered. Her presence seemed to suck the air out of the room for a few seconds. No one had expected the rarely-seen, almost mythical CEO to personally attend a simple welcome party for new hires. She ignored the executives who rushed over to greet her, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room as if searching for someone. Once. Twice. A slight frown creased her brow. Cole wasn’t here. Her eyes finally settled on the reception desk area, where she spotted a familiar face—Jenny. She knew about Jenny; Cole had mentioned she was his only real friend at the company. Seraphina strode toward her. “Ms. Vance!” Jenny was so startled she nearly dropped her champagne flute. She shot to her feet, a nervous wreck. “Where is Cole?” Seraphina’s question was direct. Her voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable weight of authority. “C-Cole… he…” Jenny’s eyes darted around nervously. “He… he wasn’t feeling well today, so… so he didn’t come.” Seraphina stared at her, her fingers unconsciously twisting the ring on her finger. “Not feeling well?” she repeated, her tone unreadable. “I just spoke to him on the phone a few minutes ago. He didn’t mention anything about not feeling well.” The color drained from Jenny’s face. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. Her reaction was more telling than any excuse. Seraphina’s heart sank. Something was wrong. 4 Just as Seraphina’s patience was wearing thin, the ballroom lights dimmed. A single spotlight hit the center of the stage. The host cheerfully announced that the welcome gala had officially begun. HR Manager Sharon, dressed in a brand-new suit, walked onto the stage, beaming. She savored the attention, cleared her throat, and began in a dramatic, sing-song voice. “Good evening, leaders, colleagues, and friends!” “Today is a day for celebration, a day we welcome fresh talent into our company.” “After three months of rigorous evaluation, a group of outstanding interns has distinguished themselves and will now officially join our big family!” Polite applause rippled through the room. Seraphina sat in the VIP section in the corner, her fingers tightening around her wine glass, her icy gaze locked on Sharon. “And now, I will announce the names of the interns who have successfully been offered full-time positions!” Sharon’s voice rose with unconcealed pride. She lifted her cue card. “From the Tech Department, Kevin Wang and Michael Lee…” “From Administration, Jessica Zhao…” With each name, a small pocket of cheers and applause would erupt from the crowd. But Seraphina’s expression grew darker by the second. The atmosphere around her became so cold that several executives who had planned to offer her a toast thought better of it and stayed away. “And finally,” Sharon drew out the word, a sycophantic grin plastered on her face, “I want to introduce a true prodigy from our Marketing Department. Not only did he contribute several brilliant ideas during his internship, but his performance was leagues ahead of everyone else. He is the future star of our company—Ryan!” The spotlight instantly swung to Ryan in the audience. He rose gracefully from his seat, dressed in a designer suit, and waved to his colleagues with the smug, self-assured air of a winner. The entire room erupted in the loudest applause of the night. Sharon continued to gush from the stage. “Mr. Ryan’s excellence is clear for all to see! His joining our team will undoubtedly bring a new wave of energy to the Vance Corporation! Let’s give him one more round of applause to officially welcome him aboard!” The applause was thunderous. Seraphina’s gaze swept over Ryan without lingering, then returned to Sharon’s face. She listened silently. She listened until Sharon closed her cue card and, with a triumphant smile, announced, “That concludes the list.” She had not heard the name she was waiting for. Cole. Her brother, Cole’s name, was not on the list.

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After our daughter died, I removed every part of myself that my husband—head of a global arms syndicate—had despised. I stopped questioning his whereabouts. When he stayed out all night, I slept soundly. When I was injured in an explosion, the surgeon told me to notify my family. I simply said, “I have no family.” A nurse recognized me. “You’re Mrs. Ivanov, aren’t you? Roman is right next door. Should I tell him you’re here?” I shook my head softly. No. Half an hour later, Roman arrived anyway. His sharp features were tense, his presence heavy with hostility, like gunpowder smoke. His voice was low and cold. “You’re hurt. Why didn’t you call me?” I lowered my eyes. “Just a graze from shrapnel. I’ll live.” My detached tone seemed to irritate him. He was about to speak when the guards’ conversation drifted in. “The boss is really something with Miss Isabelle. She just twisted her ankle, and he called a helicopter. Carried her on and off himself, wouldn’t even let her feet touch the ground.” Roman’s heart clenched. His eyes darted toward me, expecting the storm of questions and accusations my old self would have thrown at him. But I didn’t flinch. I just leaned back against the bed and closed my eyes to rest. … The pressure in the room dropped several degrees. Roman’s voice was a low growl of an explanation. “Don’t listen to their gossip. Isabelle is a key specialist on the compound. An injury could compromise the mission. It was purely professional.” I gave a soft, “Mm-hmm,” and said nothing more. A sudden rage flashed in his eyes. “You don’t believe me?” “I believe you.” I answered every word, but my heart wasn’t in any of them. “Isabelle is your protégée, your subordinate. It’s only natural for you to look out for her.” A volatile pressure built in his chest. This was wrong. All of it was wrong. Just then, the clatter of falling medical equipment echoed from the hallway. Isabelle was clinging to the wall, stumbling dramatically right at my doorway. Roman was at her side in an instant, sweeping her into his arms. “What are you doing wandering around? I told you to stay in bed.” “I heard the Madame was hurt.” Isabelle’s eyes, shimmering with tears, fixed on me. “I came to see how she was.” Then she shrank into Roman’s embrace as if I were some kind of monster, her voice breaking. “Sera, please don’t hate me… I never meant for what happened to Lily to happen.” The old me would have been hysterical. I would have grabbed Roman by the collar, screaming, demanding to know why he was protecting the woman who killed our daughter. But now, I said nothing. I just stared quietly at the ceiling. Roman’s voice dropped to a murmur. “I’m taking her back to her room. I’ll be right back.” He turned and left, carrying Isabelle. He never came back that night. Instead, a call came from the Defense Technology Agency. “Engineer Ross, are you certain you want to join the ‘Aegis’ project? This is top secret. Once you’re in, you’ll be stationed at the research base for a minimum of twenty years, completely cut off from the outside world. That includes your husband.” “I’m certain,” my voice was flat. The person on the other end hesitated. “Understood. You have three days to withdraw your application if you change your mind. We know how much Mr. Ivanov used to mean to you…” I didn’t let him finish. “I won’t change my mind. Because I don’t love him anymore.” The words had barely left my lips when the door was thrown open. Roman stood there, his eyes chips of ice, his voice laced with danger. “Don’t love me? Seraphina, say that again.” Hearing the noise, I silently ended the call and feigned sleep, my eyes shut tight. Roman stalked closer, a frigid aura rolling off him, but he stopped short when he saw my closed eyes. She was talking in her sleep. His brow relaxed slightly, but the nameless fire inside him only burned hotter. Even in her dreams, he wouldn’t allow me to erase him. He grabbed my wrist, shaking me awake. “Sera, were you having a nightmare?” I looked down. “I dreamt of Lily.” A sharp pain lanced through Roman’s heart. He pulled me into his arms, his voice hoarse. “Sera, we can have more children. Lots of them.” I didn’t respond. My heart was a barren wasteland, too dry even for tears. My daughter was dead. Did he think another child could just replace her, as if nothing ever happened? “Roman, why are you here so late?” He stiffened, his expression turning slightly unnatural. “Sera… Isabelle’s stomach is bothering her. She was hoping for some of the calming broth you make.” My body went rigid, a chill seeping into my bones. I had just survived an explosion, with shrapnel still embedded in my skin, and he was waking me in the middle of the night to make soup for another woman. A humorless smile touched my lips. “Get me a pen and paper. I’ll write down the recipe.” Roman immediately had one of his men fetch them. But as I handed him the finished recipe, his fingers trembled. He suddenly remembered what I’d said years ago when he’d asked for it. “I’ll give it to you the day we part. As long as we’re together, I’ll be the one to make it for you.” And now, I had given it away so easily. “Sir, Miss Isabelle is in a lot of pain. She’s calling for you,” a guard reported urgently from the door. Roman frowned, then turned and strode out of the room. I was already used to it. I closed my eyes and lay back down. But I had barely drifted into a light sleep when a brutal force yanked me upright. “Seraphina, why did Isabelle start vomiting blood after she drank the broth?” Roman’s fingers dug into my chin, his gaze as cold and deadly as the barrel of a gun. “What the hell did you put in that recipe?” I lifted my heavy eyelids and gave him a faint glance. “If you think there’s a problem with the recipe, have your medics test it.” Roman’s chest tightened. His tone softened, but only just. “Sera, if you have a grievance, you can talk to me. Don’t be like this, so cold. I’m your husband, not your enemy.” I just closed my eyes again. “There’s nothing left for us to talk about.” His heart felt like it stopped. “What do you mean, nothing left to talk about?” I didn’t answer, treating him as if he were no longer there. Outside, a subordinate reported in a low voice, “Sir, Miss Isabelle’s stomach has been pumped. She’s out of danger, but she’s frightened and keeps asking for you…” “I know,” Roman bit out. He looked back at me, a long, deep look. “Sera, you get some rest. Tomorrow, I’m taking you back to the main compound.” The night was as long as an eternal winter. I stared into the darkness until dawn. The daughter I had carried for nine months, the daughter I had brought into this world, would be turned to ash tomorrow, sealed in a cold urn, and buried in the dark earth. The next day, Roman arrived on time, driving me himself back to the mountain fortress that served as their main base. I leaned on a cane, moving one slow step at a time toward the memorial hall, wanting one last look at my daughter. But as soon as I stepped inside, his mother lunged at me like a madwoman. “You venomous bitch! How dare you come back here?” She slapped me hard across the face, twice, her voice a shriek. “You killed my granddaughter! You knew Lily was terrified of heights, yet you took her to the observation deck! You did it on purpose!” An icy numbness spread through me. It was Isabelle who took Lily to the observation deck. Why was I the one being blamed? I turned to Roman. He looked away. At the same time, the other Ivanov family members in the hall swarmed forward, joining his mother in beating and cursing me. “Kill her! She murdered her own child!” “Get out! You don’t deserve to mourn Lily!” Clubs rained down on my body, stones cut my forehead, and my own cane was snatched away and used as a weapon against me. I fell to the ground, blood and dirt smearing my face. “Enough!” Roman finally roared, pushing through the crowd to shield me with his body. “Lily’s death was an accident. It had nothing to do with Sera. Anyone who touches her again will be dealt with according to family law.” His hawk-like gaze swept over them, and the crowd slowly backed away. Roman’s face softened slightly as he lifted me into his arms and carried me back to our bedroom. He took out a first-aid kit and began to clean my wounds himself. But my eyes were empty, devoid of any emotion. I stared at him coldly. “Roman, Isabelle was the one who took Lily to the deck. Why does your mother say it was me?” The gauze in his hand stilled. His voice was dry. “Sera, Isabelle is a weapons specialist, groomed by the family. Her position is… sensitive. If the family knew she was indirectly responsible for what happened to Lily, her career here would be over.” “But you are my wife,” he continued, his voice strained. “With my protection, no one will dare to truly harm you. If you take the blame this time, I’ll compensate you. I’ll transfer thirty percent of the Ivanov Corporation’s shares to your name.” He finished, looking at me with a flicker of unease. He expected me to scream, to fight, to question him. But my expression was so calm it terrified him. I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I just glanced at him. “Do what you want. I don’t care.” I had agreed. Roman should have been relieved, but his heart only twisted tighter. “Sera, don’t overthink it. My feelings for Isabelle are purely professional. She’s an asset,” he explained, though I hadn’t asked. “I understand,” I said, my gaze dropping. “No need to explain.” Explanations are for those who still love you. I didn’t. His words were meaningless noise. Frustration coiled in Roman’s gut. He opened his mouth to say more, but a guard burst in. “Sir, it’s an emergency! Miss Isabelle came to pay her respects and ran into your sister, Cassandra. They’re fighting!” Cassandra was a true Ivanov, born and bred in this world of violence. The color drained from Roman’s face. “Sera, finish bandaging yourself. I have to handle this.” He was gone in a flash. The moment he left, his mother stormed in with several of her loyalists. “Seraphina. No one’s here to protect you now.” Her eyes were filled with venom. “You killed Lily. I’m going to let you taste what it feels like to fall.” She had her men drag me to an abandoned ventilation shaft on the compound. The opening was a deep, dark maw, a cold wind howling up from its depths. “Lily fell from the thirtieth floor observation deck. Do you have any idea how hopeless that feels?” His mother grabbed my hair, forcing the upper half of my body over the edge. “You were right there. Why didn’t you save her?” Vertigo hit me instantly. The darkness below was like the mouth of a great beast. Again and again, she shoved me to the brink of falling, only to yank me back at the last second. “Breathe! Can’t you breathe?” she screamed in my ear. “When my granddaughter fell, she didn’t even have time to cry!” After several agonizing rounds, a sharp pain tore through my chest. The metallic tang of blood filled my throat, trickling from the corner of my mouth. “She could have internal injuries!” someone shouted. “She’ll die if this keeps up!” Only then did his mother let go. I collapsed to the ground, my consciousness fading. When I woke again, I was in the compound’s med bay. Roman was sitting by my bed. “Sera, you’re awake.” He took my hand, his eyes bloodshot. “I’m sorry. I failed to protect you.” “Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with the ones who hurt you. And I warned my mother. She won’t touch you again.” A profound chill settled over me. I had nearly died, and his response was to “warn” his mother, still concealing the truth. When it came to disappointing me, Roman never missed.

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The day I “woke up” was supposed to be the dramatic climax of this trashy Hollywood melodrama. According to the script, I should have been wearing a limited-edition couture gown at the Metropolitan Museum’s charity gala, publicly dousing Gavin Harrington’s fiancée, Bella Whitmore, with a glass of vintage red wine. Then, I was meant to break down in hysterical sobs, screaming: “I’ve loved you longer! We’ve known each other for ten years!” Then, Gavin would coldly shove me aside, delivering the killing blow: “Maddy, you make me sick.” The next morning, the headlines would be brutal: #MaddyBeckettDesperate, #HarringtonIndustriesBlacklistsMaddy, #MaddyBeckettIsOver. Three months later, my family’s business would go bankrupt. I would lose my mind and eventually freeze to death on a snowy night outside a psych ward. But right now, I’m standing in the wings of the gala, clutching the very glass of Cabernet I’m destined to throw, staring at my perfectly contoured reflection in the vanity mirror. 1. “Ms. Beckett, Mr. Harrington has arrived. Miss Whitmore is on his arm,” my assistant, Jo, whispered, her eyes brimming with pity. She knew how much I supposedly loved Gavin—a love so consuming I’d lost my dignity, my friends, and my sanity. I blinked, then tipped the glass back and drained the wine in one go. “Not bad,” I remarked, smacking my lips. “A ’82 vintage? The Harringtons really didn’t skimp on the bar tonight.” Jo froze. “Maddy… that… that was a prop. For the scene…” “Prop or not, I was thirsty.” I shoved the empty glass back into her hand. “By the way, call the PR team for this dress. I’m keeping it. Put it on my personal tab.” “You’re not… you’re not going to find Mr. Harrington?” I touched up my lipstick in the mirror—a limited-edition Chanel red. It was bold, lethal. Before today, I’d only ever worn pale nudes to look “innocent” for him. “Why would I? He’s not going to reimburse me for the dry cleaning,” I said, fluffing my train. “Let’s go. I heard the catering tonight is by a Michelin-star chef. I’m starving.” Jo looked like she’d seen a ghost. I stepped into the ballroom, my four-inch stilettos clicking rhythmically against the marble. The spotlights found me instantly—after all, I was the designated villainess of the evening. Gavin and Bella were at the center of the room, the quintessential power couple, basking in the sycophantic praise of the elite. Bella was in white, looking ethereal and fragile, like a lily about to wilt in a light breeze. Per the script, this was my cue to charge. Instead, I plucked a miniature wagyu slider from a passing waiter’s tray and found a plush velvet sofa in a quiet corner. The slider was incredible—the truffle aioli was perfect. I closed my eyes, savoring the richness, completely ignoring the fact that half the room was whispering behind their hands, waiting for the explosion. “Why hasn’t she moved?” “Maybe she’s playing hard to get?” “I heard she was willing to trade her father’s shares just for a date with him…” The gossip drifted over like a foul scent. I didn’t care. I reached for a macaron. Gavin eventually noticed my lack of initiative. He kept glancing toward my corner, his brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and annoyance. He was probably wondering why his “number one stalker” wasn’t following the plan. Bella tugged gently on his sleeve, whispering something. Gavin shook his head and began walking toward me. Ah, here it comes. The narrative’s “corrective force.” I finished my last bite of dessert and daintily wiped my mouth with a silk napkin. “Maddy.” Gavin stopped in front of me, his voice as icy as a New York winter. “What kind of game are you playing now?” I looked up. Objectively, Gavin had the credentials of a leading man—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of bone structure that made photographers weep. Unfortunately, the “author” had nerfed his brain to make him a stubborn ego-maniac. “Mr. Harrington,” I smiled. “Can I help you?” He flinched, clearly not expecting the polite distance. “I’m warning you, don’t you dare try anything with Bella. If you do—” “If I do, you’ll ruin my career? You’ll make sure I never work in this town again?” I finished the sentence for him. “Yeah, I know. You’ve said it a thousand times. It’s getting a bit repetitive, don’t you think?” Gavin choked on his next word, his face flushing a dark, angry red. “Maddy, I have no feelings for you. Give it up.” “Done and done,” I said, nodding vigorously. “Anything else? If not, I was going to grab a third slider before the tray disappears.” Gavin stood there, paralyzed like a marble statue. I bypassed him, headed straight for the buffet. As I passed Bella, she shrank back, her eyes wide and watery. “Maddy, please don’t be mad at Gavin, he just…” “Oh, I’m not mad at all,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “You two are perfect together. A match made in heaven. Send me a Save the Date, okay?” Bella’s mouth fell open. For the rest of the night, I ate four sliders, three crab cakes, and drank two glasses of premium champagne. I even spent twenty minutes talking to a high-profile producer about a new pilot—purely professional, no strings attached. When it was time to leave, Gavin intercepted me in the parking garage. “Maddy, what is this?” He stared at me, his eyes burning with a strange, frustrated intensity. “Some new psychological tactic? It won’t work.” I let out a small, satisfied burp and patted my stomach. “Gavin,” I said, using his first name without the usual tremor of devotion. “Seriously, do you actually think you’re that irresistible?” “…” “Okay, sure, you’re hot,” I shrugged. “But even the best-looking face gets boring after ten years of rejection. As of tonight, I’m retired from the ‘Gavin Harrington Fan Club.’ You’re free. Be happy.” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I hopped into the back of my town car and looked at Jo. “Let’s go home. Oh, and tomorrow, delete every piece of contact info I have for Gavin Harrington.” “All… all of it?” Jo stammered. “Everything. The private cell, the office, his Instagram, his burner accounts… and there’s a folder on my laptop labeled ‘Future Mr. Beckett’ full of his schedules and photos. Wipe the drive. Burn it if you have to.” Jo’s hands shook as she took notes. As the car pulled away, I caught a glimpse of Gavin in the rearview mirror. He was still standing there, looking remarkably… lost. I smiled. Giving up felt better than winning ever had. 2. The Script is Breaking The day after I blocked Gavin, I was jolted awake by a ringing phone. It was my mother. “Madeline! What on earth have you done? Gavin’s mother called me, livid! She said you humiliated him at the gala?” My mother’s voice was high-pitched with panic. “Go apologize! Right now!” In the original story, I would have sobbed, begging my mother to help me win him back. My family would have liquidated assets and sacrificed board seats just to keep me in Gavin’s orbit. But that Maddy was dead. “Mom,” I yawned. “I’m tired. Call me in three hours.” “Madeline! Do you have any idea how important the Harrington connection is to your father’s new project?” “Then tell Dad to find a better partner,” I said, rolling over. “Mom, Gavin doesn’t like me. You can’t force a guy to fall for you. It’s pathetic.” “Feelings can be nurtured! You two grew up together—” “Ten years of ‘nurturing’ and I’m still the villain in his story,” I lied through my teeth. “Mom, I had a dream last night. A spiritual awakening. A voice told me if I keep chasing Gavin, I’ll bring a curse upon the family. We’re talking ‘fall of the House of Usher’ levels of bad.” Silence on the other end. Before she could process that nonsense, I added, “Gotta go, Mom. Sleep is the new self-care. Love you.” I hung up and turned the phone off. The world was finally quiet. I slept until noon, and when I finally checked my phone, I had 99+ notifications. Aside from thirty voicemails from my mother, there were three texts from Gavin: Pick up the phone. Maddy, are you being serious right now? We need to talk. I ignored them all, ordered a massive amount of extra-spicy Thai food, and opened Twitter. Unsurprisingly, #MaddyBeckett was trending. A “source” from the gala had leaked that I had “suffered a nervous breakdown” and “was seen wandering the buffet in a daze after Gavin rejected me.” The attached photo was of me in the corner eating a slider. The angle was terrible—I did look a bit like a woman who had lost her mind, but mostly I just looked like a woman who really enjoyed wagyu. The comments were a cesspool: Can Maddy Beckett just take the hint already? Get a life! Gavin wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Bella Whitmore is a literal saint. Maddy is just a social climber with a trust fund. I slurped my noodles, scrolling through the hate with total indifference. I even “liked” one particularly creative insult: If Maddy put as much effort into her acting as she did into stalking Gavin, she’d have an Oscar by now. Then, I switched to my secret burner account and posted: Extra spicy Pad Thai is the only soulmate I need. #Blessed. Ten minutes later, my doorbell rang. I thought it was the delivery guy returning for a forgotten drink. I threw the door open, wearing my silk pajamas and hair that looked like a bird’s nest. Gavin was standing there. We stared at each other. He looked uncharacteristically disheveled. His suit jacket was slung over his arm, his tie was loosened, and he had a slight five o’clock shadow. This version of him was actually more tolerable than the “Golden Boy” persona. “How did you get up here?” I frowned. This was a high-security building. “The guards know me,” he said stiffly. “You… you gave them standing orders to let me up whenever I wanted.” Right. I remembered now. In my previous life, I’d bribed the security staff and put his plates in the system just so he could “surprise” me. God, I was a loser. “What do you want?” I didn’t move to let him in. Gavin stared at me, his eyes searching mine for a flicker of the old devotion. “Why did you block me?” “Because I didn’t want to talk to you,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “Isn’t that usually why people block each other? Is the billionaire life so sheltered you’ve never been ghosted before?” “Maddy,” he stepped forward, “what is this really about?” “It’s about me wanting you to stay the hell away from me,” I said sincerely. “Honestly, looking at you right now is like looking at a cake that went past its expiration date. It looks fine on the outside, but I know if I take a bite, I’m going to regret it for a week.” Gavin’s face turned several shades darker. In that moment of tension, the elevator dinged. The delivery guy walked out, clutching my Thai food. He looked at the two of us and hesitated. “Ms. Beckett? Delivery for…” “Thank God,” I said, taking the bag. The smell of peanuts and chili filled the hallway. Gavin looked at the bag in disbelief. “You’re eating… that?” “What, you want me to order a five-course meal for one?” I pulled out my phone to tip the guy. “Gavin, can you move? You’re blocking my dinner.” He didn’t budge. “Maddy, is this about Bella? What happened at the gala, she didn’t mean to—” “Stop.” I held up a hand. “I don’t care about Bella. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about whatever ‘us’ you think existed in my head. Are we clear?” I pointedly tapped my phone, paying the delivery guy via the app. “Enjoy your meal!” the guy said, practically running back to the elevator. I looked Gavin in the eye one last time. “I’m revoking your security clearance. Don’t come back.” I slammed the door in his face. I heard him linger for a few minutes before his footsteps finally receded. Finally. I set my food on the table, turned on a mindless reality show, and started eating. Two bites in, my phone rang again. This time, it was my manager, Tracey. “Maddy! Have you seen the news? What is going on with you and Gavin?” “Nothing is going on. I’m officially retired from the Harrington hunt,” I said around a mouthful of noodles. “Tracey, if there’s work, send it over. If not, let me enjoy my retirement.” Tracey was silent for a beat. “Did you hit your head?” “I had an epiphany,” I said. “By the way, all those scripts, shows, and endorsements I turned down to stay close to Gavin? See what’s still on the table. I’m not being picky anymore.” “Seriously?” Tracey’s voice jumped an octave. “What about “The Crimson Crown”? That prestige period drama? The director loved you for the Duchess, but you turned it down because Gavin wanted to go skiing in Switzerland that month…” “I’ll take it,” I said without hesitation. “What about that reality competition, Off the Grid? High ratings, but Gavin said he ‘didn’t want his woman making a fool of herself on TV’…” “Sign me up.” “What about the luxury jewelry campaign? The one that competes with the Harrington family brand? You were afraid he’d be angry—” “Take it all, Tracey,” I interrupted. “From now on, my professional philosophy is simple: high pay, high exposure, and legal. Everything else is up to you.” I could hear Tracey catch her breath. “Maddy… you’ve finally grown a backbone.” “It was always there,” I laughed. “It was just buried under ten years of bad decisions.” I hung up and went back to my Pad Thai. Outside, the sun was shining. The world felt bigger, brighter. And the noodles were delicious. 3. The Villainess Goes to Work A week later, I was on the set of “The Crimson Crown”. At the table read, I met my co-star: Nate Miller. He was the current “It Boy” of Hollywood—sharp jawline, brooding eyes, and a reputation for being intensely private. According to the old script, I should have kept my distance from him. Gavin was the jealous type, even when he didn’t want me. But the new Maddy walked right up to Nate with a thermos of herbal tea in her hand. “Mr. Miller, looking forward to working with you,” I said with a bright smile. Nate glanced at me, gave a curt nod, and went back to his script. Cold. I liked it. The director, sensing the tension, hurried over. “Maddy, Nate, you two have a lot of scenes together. Try to build some chemistry.” “Of course, Director,” I said. “Nate, can I get your number? For, you know, ‘character research’?” The crew went silent. Everyone knew Maddy Beckett was Gavin Harrington’s “property.” She never looked at another man. Nate raised an eyebrow, but he pulled out his phone. Once we exchanged numbers, I sent him a quick text: I’m Maddy. Please be patient with me, I’m a bit rusty. He replied with a single word: Fine. Hey, it wasn’t a “no.” Our first scene was a confrontation. I played the Duchess—a woman of cold ambition, masking a ruthless heart. She was supposed to frame the protagonist, only to be caught by the King (Nate). “Action!” I shifted instantly. My posture straightened, my expression softened into a mask of wounded pride. I trailed a finger along the edge of a silver chalice, looking up at Nate with eyes that were 30% hurt and 70% calculation. “Does my King truly believe her word over mine?” My voice was a velvet whisper, laced with poison. Nate was visibly caught off guard by the intensity. He paused for a fraction of a second before delivering his lines, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused. When the director finally called “Cut,” the set remained silent for a few heartbeats. “Beautiful!” the director shouted, clapping. “Maddy, that was incredible! Nate, great reaction!” I exhaled, slipping out of the character and back into my “tea-drinking girl” persona. “Thanks, Director.” Nate walked over to me, leaning in close. “You’re better than they said.” “And what did they say?” I asked, amused. “A spoiled brat with no talent who bought her way into the industry.” I laughed. “The ‘spoiled’ part is true. The ‘bought my way in’ part is also true—my family did invest in the production. but the ‘no talent’ part? I’m working on proving them wrong.” Nate didn’t say anything, but there was a new glint of respect in his eyes. The following weeks were a blur of hard work. I spent my days filming and my nights studying scripts and taking notes. I occasionally grabbed coffee with Nate to discuss our scenes. I was so busy I almost forgot I was supposed to be a “bitter ex-lover.” Until Bella Whitmore showed up on set. She was there under the guise of “visiting” her uncle—one of the executive producers. But everyone knew why she was really there. I was in the middle of a scene with Nate—a moment of dangerous intimacy where the Duchess tries to seduce the King to save her own life. I was draped across a velvet chaise, my gown slightly loosened, looking up at him with predatory hunger. “My Lord…” I purred. Nate’s pulse was visible in his neck. It wasn’t in the script, but he was playing it perfectly. “Cut! That’s a wrap on that scene! Perfect!” As I stood up and Jo draped a coat over my shoulders, I saw Bella standing by the monitors. Her face was pale, her expression pinched. During the break, she approached us with two cups of expensive coffee. “Maddy, Nate,” she said with that trademark “angelic” smile. “You guys are working so hard. I thought you might want some caffeine.” “Thanks,” I said, taking the cup and immediately handing it to Jo. “I don’t drink coffee on shoot days. It makes me jittery.” Bella’s smile faltered. Nate was even more blunt: “I don’t take drinks from strangers.” Ouch. Bella’s eyes immediately welled up. “Nate, I just wanted to be nice…” “Miss Whitmore,” I interrupted, “we’re in the middle of a production. If you don’t have a job here, please stay behind the yellow tape. You’re distracting the talent.” She bit her lip, looking like I’d slapped her, and scurried away. Nate looked at me. “You don’t pull any punches with her, do you?” “I don’t pull punches with anyone who wastes my time,” I said, sipping my herbal tea. “Time is money, Nate.” He actually smiled. It was a small, fleeting thing, but it was there. That evening, after wrap, I received a text from Gavin: Did you harass Bella on set today? I rolled my eyes and typed back: Who is this? The “typing…” bubbles appeared for a long time. Finally: Maddy, stop this. Come home. We need to talk. Talk to the hand, buddy. I blocked that number, too. The world was quiet again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391783”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel