Author: Momo Chan

“Now you’re scared?” The campus jock had me pinned against the wall, his body close, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against my ear. “You were so eager to flirt. Didn’t you think about the consequences?” “I wasn’t flirting.” I denied it, straining to breathe, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm. “No?” He clearly didn’t believe me. “We’re adults, Calla. You own your actions.” Oh god, what was I supposed to do? 1 “Strike three, Calla Jansen. How many times is this now?” He grabbed me by the collar of my jersey, lifting me like a kitten, choking the life out of my impending freedom. The exit gate was just a single, agonizing step away, but I couldn’t reach it. I flailed, desperately trying to twist out of his iron grip. I was going crazy. Why did Lachlan Shaw always manage to catch me every single time I tried to sneak off campus? It baffled me. I couldn’t figure out the surveillance setup, but if I didn’t get out soon, the boredom of this intense pre-season soccer camp would actually kill me. Why were we locked down for a whole month just for training? It was archaic. “Lachlan…” I turned my most pathetic gaze on the man behind me, clasping my hands together in a plea. “Just this once? I swear, it’s the last time!” Lachlan wasn’t buying it. He let out a dry, dismissive scoff. “Calla, that’s what you said last time.” “I mean it! If there’s a next time, you can call me Shirley.” I thumped my chest dramatically, raising a hand in a solemn oath, trying to look trustworthy. The corner of his mouth curved up, crinkling the skin at the edge of his eyes. His face—already unfairly handsome—looked even more devastating with the hint of a smile. But right now, it just terrified me. I swallowed hard. Lachlan bent closer, and I instinctively leaned back. “That’s a weak promise, Calla,” he murmured. “Why would I ever call you Shirley?” I paused. He had a point. My pathetic little promise had no teeth. Just as I was scrambling for a better guarantee, Lachlan cut me off, his resolve clear. “Rules are rules. Once the camp is over, you can spend a whole day off campus. I won’t stop you.” I refused to accept defeat and tried one last, dying gasp of a negotiation. But before I could get a word out, he shut me down with another threat. “Maybe the drills aren’t intense enough. You still have the energy to try and run away.” “If they’re too easy, I can always double the running for your entire squad tomorrow.” Seriously? The man was completely unreasonable. I immediately snapped my head up. I was not going to be the reason my teammates had to do suicide sprints. I bowed a full ninety degrees. “Coach! I was wrong! I’m heading back to the dorm now. See you around!” With that, I bolted, terrified that even a moment longer in his presence would lead to consequences for my friends. This pre-season camp was mandatory, a brutal month of daily drills and lectures. The main rule was no unauthorized leave. Lachlan, a graduate student and former star player, was the assistant coach assigned to my team. Which is why the entire campus seemed to be under his personal jurisdiction. But I strongly suspected Lachlan was deliberately targeting me. Every time I tried to slip away, he’d materialize like an angry spirit, a personalized surveillance system attached to my back. What made it worse? He even policed my love life. A cute guy from the track team asked for my Instagram handle the other day. I instantly lit up. Handsome strangers are a rarity around here. I was about to open my profile for him when Lachlan appeared out of nowhere and yanked me away. When I demanded to know what he was doing, he actually said, “Time for training. Get back to the field.” I checked my watch, furious. We still had an hour before the next session! What were we supposed to be doing so early? Sunbathing? I glared at him, then whipped my head around to find the track guy, but he was gone. “Lachlan Shaw! You owe me a dating prospect!” I yelled, stomping my foot. I didn’t even care that he was my coach; I used his full name. He just smiled. “Fine.” The next morning, I found a hideous, obviously fake bouquet of plastic roses taped to my dorm door. I was so angry I tossed them directly into the nearest trash can. Lachlan, your love life is a pathetic imitation of the real thing! May all your future relationships be as fake as these roses! 2 I had no idea what I had done to incur his constant antagonism. I spent my evenings soul-searching, but aside from my desire to escape the suffocating camp—which was a perfectly rational desire—I couldn’t identify any other transgression. I simply did not understand. In a fit of pique, I spent a week reworking the toxic male antagonist in my current novel, giving him Lachlan’s exact name and an equally infuriating personality. I had been struggling to name the character, but now the inspiration flowed freely. Even my readers seemed to pick up on the vitriol. A comment on the latest chapter read: “Something’s up with this ‘Lachlan Shaw.’ Did the author hate this guy in real life? Usually your villains are complex, both pitiful and awful, but this one is just pure awful.” My readers understood me completely. I didn’t reply, but my best friend, Tess Sullivan, commented on my behalf: “Haters to lovers, anyone?” I tried to stop her, but it was too late. Disaster. My readers instantly started shipping us. Every day, the comments were flooded with: “How’s the real-life Lachlan doing?” Wait! What about my status? Where did my authority go? I was even more determined to despise him. I rested my chin on my palm, gazing out the window of the off-campus coffee shop (a rare, illegal indulgence), nursing my iced latte. I sighed a long, dramatic sigh. Only two more weeks left of camp. Under Lachlan’s watchful eye, I didn’t dare slack off; in fact, I had to work even harder than everyone else. To mess up would be both humiliating and painful. When you’re dependent on a tyrant, you have to walk on eggshells. Tess took a long sip of her bubble tea, seeing my distress. She laughed. “What? Still thinking about Lachlan?” I gave a short, noncommittal sound. “I knew it.” Tess’s eyes crinkled with smug success. “Lachlan is hot. Of course you’re hung up on him.” “No!” I finally protested, gently pinching her arm, my cheeks feeling warm. “I’m just annoyed that training isn’t over yet. I want to escape his grasp.” “Are you sure you don’t feel anything?” Tess leaned closer, pressing me. “He’s the campus heartthrob. Soccer captain. The girls who like him could circle the entire field.” “Look.” Tess pointed to the campus field a short distance away. The air was filled with cheers and shouts. “Most of those girls are here for Lachlan.” I barely heard Tess. A different thought was forming in my mind: If I couldn’t escape his grasp, maybe I could disarm him. How could I make him go easy on me? What if… I made Lachlan like me? The idea settled into my mind. It was brilliant. This was a much better solution. I had never failed to get a guy’s attention. A tiny challenge like Lachlan Shaw couldn’t possibly be my match. I’d make him regret ever messing with a girl like me. No sooner had the thought solidified than I sprang to my feet. Tess was startled. “What is it?” “Back to the dorm to put on some makeup and a killer outfit,” I announced, finishing the last of my latte and tossing the cup. “I’m going to pursue Lachlan Shaw.” Tess was stunned. She hurried to catch up. “You figured that out fast!” I looked toward the field where Lachlan was running a drill, and a new wave of determination solidified. I nodded. 3 I swapped my camp uniform for a slinky sundress, applied a subtle layer of makeup, and headed to the campus market for a bottle of water and a fresh towel. I found an empty seat in the stadium stands. When I saw Lachlan take a break, I immediately called his cell phone. The moment he picked up, I launched into my plan. “Coach!” I chirped, making my voice extra sweet. “Could you do me a favor?” “I made a bet with some classmates yesterday. The deal was: if I gave you water and a towel and you accepted it, they owe me fifty bucks. If you refuse, I owe them. Please help me out!” I watched as Lachlan smiled, looking down at his phone. “What’s in it for me?” “Hmm…” I pretended to think deeply. “How about we use that fifty dollars to grab dinner? I heard that new Korean BBQ place downtown is amazing. Want to try it?” He was silent for a moment, taking a slow drink from his own water bottle. Then, slowly, he replied, “Okay.” “Awesome, Coach. See you after the next half.” I hung up, smiling triumphantly. Of course, there was no bet. It was a complete lie. I waited until practice was over and was gathering my things to go down and deliver the goods when I looked up and saw Lachlan was already sitting beside me. His face was suddenly inches from mine. I was caught completely off guard, staring right into his eyes. The faint, salty smell of sweat mixed with his cologne—the scent of pure male adrenaline—hit me, making my heart flutter inexplicably faster. I shivered, completely startled. He moved silently. Like a predator. He extended his hand, beckoning for the water in my grasp. I tried to act nonchalant, handing him the bottle. I could feel dozens of eyes on us now, along with the rising tide of whispering. I felt certain they were talking about me. I hadn’t planned for my grand gesture to be quite this public! “I said I was going to bring it down to you, so why did you come all the way up here?” I whispered through gritted teeth, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. “It’s more efficient,” Lachlan said, taking the towel to wipe his neck. “It saves me the trouble of having to reject other people. Saves my breath.” It might save him trouble, but I was probably going to be the hot topic on the campus message board for the next three days. No, wait, I was probably already being dissected by every girl with a smartphone. I hated him. I was even more convinced he did this on purpose. No! I couldn’t back down now! “Lost in thought?” Lachlan waved his hand in front of my face. I snapped out of my stupor and looked at him blankly. Lachlan’s lips quirked. “You’re totally zoning out. I said I’m free tonight. Just let me change first.” I nodded dumbly. Before he left, he added, “And don’t sit out in the sun. Your face is already bright red.” Once he was gone, I frantically touched my cheeks. They were burning. I took out my compact mirror and saw that the heat was rising through my foundation. No, no, this wasn’t right. It had to be the sun. We settled into a booth at the Korean BBQ. We hadn’t been there long when a whole team of guys rolled in. That would have been fine, except they immediately started yelling “Ma’am!” and “Future Mrs. Shaw!” Me: ??? Don’t call me that! We hadn’t even had a first date! But I couldn’t deny, I kind of liked the sound of it. I played the role of the shy, flustered girlfriend, a lamb ready for slaughter, but they only lingered for a moment before Lachlan shooed them away. I ate my food, my mind racing, trying to figure out what my next move should be to truly reel this man in. I still hadn’t figured out a surefire plan by the time we finished dinner. Just then, I overheard someone talking about the Campus Fall Fest. This gave me an idea. To keep him around longer, I suggested we check out the festival. The closer we got to the quad, the denser the crowd became. I seized my chance, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. “We have to hurry! We need to get a good spot!” As I spoke, I lightly dragged my index finger across his palm. I ran a few steps, then glanced back. I realized the hand I was holding belonged to Lachlan, and I instantly let go, feigning embarrassment. “Oh, sorry! I was so excited, I just instinctively grabbed your hand like I would my girlfriend’s.” It was a total performance. The light was dim; I couldn’t make out his expression. But I wasn’t worried. Men, after all, simply needed to be slowly tempted and they’d be yours. We arrived at the stadium quad. It was packed and noisy, but a gentle melody was floating over the crowd. We found a spot near the stage. Just as one song ended, someone yelled Lachlan’s name. We both turned. It was the guy who had just performed. “Didn’t you say you were busy tonight?” the singer asked. Then he noticed me standing next to Lachlan. He paused, then gave an exaggerated wink, thumping Lachlan’s chest. “Betrayal, Shaw! You’re breaking the bro code.” “Well, since you’re here, play a song before you leave.” Lachlan couldn’t refuse. He went up on stage and performed. He chose a mellow acoustic song—something like The Atlas Ghosts’ track, “Momentum.” He played the guitar, the stage lights bathing him in a soft, ethereal glow, making him so radiant I couldn’t tear my eyes away. “I thought I’d be drifting,” he sang. “Leaving all my looking back to the sunrise.” “…” That was a song I’d recently shared on my social media. I stared at him, and he met my gaze. His eyes were filled with a tenderness that made my heart pound wildly. I couldn’t help but wonder: Was this the same Lachlan Shaw who put us through hell during drills this morning? He felt like a completely different person. The event was winding down, and it was getting late. I told him I needed to head back. Lachlan nodded and walked me to my dorm building. Before leaving, I clasped my hands behind my back, tilted my head, and offered a sweet, innocent smile. “Coach, you were amazing tonight.” Then I took a step closer to him, looking up into his dark eyes, my smile genuine this time. My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, meant only for him. “And you also looked… kind of hot.” Oh, I was good. 4 The next morning at practice, I felt a new surge of confidence. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but he seemed a little kinder to me today. He smiled more frequently, too. Still, the revolution wasn’t over. I had to keep working. I learned that apart from the weekend pickup games, Lachlan spent most of his free afternoons in the library. So, clutching a few textbooks, I followed him. After checking two floors, I finally found him tucked away in a quiet corner on the third floor. I placed my books next to his stack and took out a pen. He looked up, gave me a small, acknowledging nod, and went back to his work. I sat down, twirling my pen, pretending to study. The truth was, my mind was elsewhere, and I hadn’t absorbed a single word. My pen slipped and clattered to the floor, landing exactly between our seats. I froze. A brilliant plan immediately formed in my mind. This is perfect. I waited for him to retrieve it. Sure enough, a second later, Lachlan bent down to pick it up. I bent down at the exact same moment, and our hands brushed against the pen simultaneously. The backs of our hands were touching. Our heads were close. I looked at him, and the world seemed to go silent. I was riding a wave of smug satisfaction. How could you not be into me, Lachlan? I’m gorgeous and smart. Just fall for it already. Fall for it, fall for it, fall for it. To my confusion, he instantly released the pen and stood up, leaving me to grab it myself. I was baffled. Why did Lachlan bail on the trope? This was not how it was supposed to play out. “Calla Jansen, come with me.” Lachlan’s voice was suddenly devoid of any of the warmth from the night before. He stood up and walked away. A strange feeling of dread washed over me, but I meekly followed. I frantically tried to figure out if I had accidentally made him angry. He didn’t seem like the type to get petty over a clumsy attempt at flirting, though. Before I knew it, he had led me to a deserted corner of the stacks. He abruptly slammed his hand down on the table right next to my waist, trapping me between the surface and his body. He leaned in close, staring down at me. Crap. I looked into his eyes and instantly realized I had walked right into a trap. I was too scared to move, swallowing hard. “C-Coach Shaw.” “Scared now?” Lachlan smiled, a slow, mesmerizing grin that made me hold my breath. His voice was a low, husky rumble. “When you were doing your little dance just now, didn’t you think about what would happen next?” I was caught. “I… I wasn’t doing anything.” “Oh? You think I didn’t recognize your game?” he challenged, raising a brow. As he moved closer, the heat of his breath washed over my face. I instinctively leaned back to keep a sliver of distance, and the intensity of the moment made my heart race wildly. My body was trembling, which was odd. I was a veteran of the dating scene, yet here, facing Lachlan, I completely lost my composure. “Calla, we’re both adults here,” he stated, his voice firm. “You’re going to take responsibility for what you started.” The moment the words left his mouth, a hand cupped the back of my head. The next second, his mouth was on mine, a kiss that was both passionate and deep. My eyes widened. I couldn’t react. This pace was insane. It was too fast. “I—” I pulled back an inch, trying to say something, anything, but before I could utter a word, he sealed my mouth again. He claimed my lips, his hand sliding down to the nape of my neck, deftly pulling out the hair elastic. He wrapped the strap around my waist, pulling me tight against him, as if he meant to melt me into his body. I suddenly recalled the thought from my novel: The highest-level predator often disguises himself as the prey. I had walked right into the ambush.

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On my thirtieth birthday, I received a ghost from my past. It was a package, wrapped in cheap, crinkly brown paper. Inside sat a vintage handheld GameBoy—the exact model I had spent my entire childhood praying for. Becca, my senior colleague, leaned over my cubicle and let out a soft whistle. “Thirty years old and someone’s sending you vintage toys?” she teased, her eyes twinkling. “That’s either the mark of someone who knows your soul… or someone who really, really hates you.” I forced a smile, my fingers tracing the cold plastic buttons. “You’ve got a sharp intuition, Becca. You hit the nail on the head.” The person who sent this was the person I had been closest to in this world. And, without a doubt, the person who had carved the deepest scars into my heart. But it had been years. Hate, love—they were just different sides of the same exhausting coin. At this point, I didn’t want either. 1. Underneath the console was a handwritten letter. It was thousands of words long, a sprawling manifesto of supposed “sincerity” and “regret.” I didn’t bother reading past the first paragraph. I tossed the letter and the GameBoy straight into the trash can. Becca gasped, reaching out as if to catch them. “Sadie! If you don’t want it, let me have it. My son is obsessed with these ‘relics.’ This thing is probably worth fifty bucks on eBay. I’ll pay you for it!” “Fifty bucks?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Is that all it’s worth?” I waved her off, telling her to just take it. She felt guilty, though, and insisted on taking me out to lunch to make up for it. At the restaurant, I spent five minutes meticulously picking every piece of zucchini out of my pasta. It was a reflex, a twitch I couldn’t unlearn. I caught Becca watching me, her expression a mix of pity and confusion. “You probably think I’m ridiculous,” I said, my voice dropping. “A grown woman acting like a picky toddler. Dressing in these bright, ‘young’ colors, trying so hard to look like a girl who hasn’t been broken yet.” Becca shook her head vigorously, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Don’t you dare go there. Life is too short to eat things you hate or wear things that make you feel invisible. I tell my son all the time: we aren’t rich, but we aren’t so poor that we have to deprive ourselves of the small joys. You live once. You should be comfortable in your own skin.” Such a simple concept. And yet, it had taken me thirty years to even hear the words. I thought about that GameBoy, a toy that had never truly belonged to me. A sad, helpless smile pulled at my lips. “Becca, have you ever heard the saying? We spend our entire adult lives haunted by the things we were denied as children.” My list of denials was long. My obsessions ran deep. Becca opened her mouth to ask more, but she froze. I followed her gaze. Standing just outside the glass doors of the restaurant was my mother, June. She was clutching a thermal lunch bag, her eyes—dull and sunken—lit up the moment she saw me. Within seconds, they were brimming with practiced tears. “Sadie… oh, thank God. I finally found you.” She rushed inside, ignoring the stares of the other diners. “You’ve been gone for so long. Do you have any idea how worried your father and I have been? We’re a family, Sadie. We’ve missed you so much.” A small crowd began to gather, drawn by the drama. June saw them and leaned into the performance, dabbing at her eyes with a tattered tissue. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she sobbed softly. “Parents don’t hold grudges. It’s your birthday, honey. I made your favorite. I brought it all this way. Please, eat it while it’s hot.” She unzipped the bag and pulled out a container. Inside was a gray, congealed mess of zucchini and eggplant. No seasoning, no sauce, just a watery, slimy mush that looked like something a body had rejected. I stared at it. My vision blurred with a sudden, violent heat. I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat, but I couldn’t. I stood up and swiped the container off the table. It hit the floor with a wet thud, the gray slime splattering across the tiles. “June, you know damn well,” I hissed, my voice shaking with decades of repressed rage. “I hate zucchini and eggplant more than anything in this world. Almost as much as I hate that GameBoy!” The restaurant went silent. June’s bottom lip trembled. She looked around at the onlookers, then slowly lowered her head, looking small and defeated. “It’s my fault,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I forgot. You’re a ‘city girl’ now. My cooking isn’t good enough for you anymore. But it’s not dirty… I’ll eat it. I won’t let it go to waste…” She actually knelt down. She began to scoop the mush off the floor with her bare fingers, moving it toward her mouth. “Sadie, that’s enough!” a colleague from a nearby table shouted, stepping forward to pull June up. “How can you treat your own mother like this? She traveled all this way just to bring you lunch, and you act like a spoiled brat?” “She’s a monster,” another whispered. “To treat an old woman that way… no wonder people say she’s cold.” The judgment hit me like a physical weight. June’s sobbing intensified. She started apologizing for “failing as a mother,” telling the strangers how I had always been “difficult,” a “liar,” and nothing like my “sweet, successful brother.” My eyes stung, but I refused to let the tears fall. I reached into my bag and pulled out the legal document—the formal estrangement papers I’d had drawn up years ago. I slammed them onto the table in front of her. “You were the one who told me we were done, June! You signed these! Why are you here now, putting on this sick show? Do you want me to tell them? Do you want me to tell everyone exactly what you did?” 2. June’s mouth twitched. She let out a ragged breath. “What is there to tell, Sadie? The same old story? That we ‘favored’ your brother?” She turned to the crowd, her voice gaining strength. “We worked ourselves to the bone to put her through school, and she spent her time skipping class and getting into fights. She barely scraped through a community college. We didn’t even blame her! But then, she got herself pregnant at eighteen, brought shame on this family that we had to carry for years. Meanwhile, her brother… he’s a saint. He’s the one who told me to come. He’s the one who worried about his big sister being all alone.” She collapsed into a chair, looking like she was about to faint. Becca tugged at my sleeve, her voice a panicked whisper. “Sadie, just apologize. You’re up for a promotion. Don’t let her ruin this. You’ve worked too hard to let your reputation go up in flames over a bowl of vegetables.” I looked at June. I realized then that her timing wasn’t accidental. She hadn’t come for my birthday. She had come for my jugular. Was this “gift” supposed to be a peace offering, or was it a slow-acting poison meant to hollow me out? I had spent fifteen years being quiet. Fifteen years swallowing the “gray mush” of my life. Not today. I looked at the woman who shared my blood, my voice turning ice-cold. “Let’s talk about being ‘poor,’ June. That was your favorite word, wasn’t it? ‘We’re too poor, Sadie.’” Since I could remember, that word was a cage. June told me I was born sickly, that my medical bills had drained their savings. To “save money,” I was fed the cheapest scraps—discount zucchini that was practically rotting, bitter eggplant from a neglected garden patch. Boiled together until it was inedible. But Tyler? Tyler had steak. Tyler had roast beef. I remember the smell of it, how my stomach would cramp with hunger. Once, I reached for a piece of his food. June slammed a hot frying pan down onto my hand. I lifted my hand, showing the faint, jagged scar on my palm to the room. “You still want to tell them you weren’t ‘favoring’ him?” June shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Sadie, that’s not how it was! You were allergic to protein! I was trying to save you! I was terrified you’d go into shock. I bought you the best ointments afterward…” “The ‘ointment’ was toothpaste mixed with lard, June. It gave me an infection that turned into a fever so high I hallucinated for three days. You told me the hospital was too expensive and gave me a bag of frozen peas for my head. I missed my final exams because I fainted during the gym test. That’s why I didn’t get into a top-tier university. And then you used those grades as ‘proof’ that I was lazy and stupid.” June shifted in her seat, her expression flickering between embarrassment and defiance. “That was an accident. And I tried to make it up to you, didn’t I?” “Oh, you made it up to me alright,” I said, my laugh sounding like glass breaking. “With another bowl of zucchini.” 3. After I failed to get into the state university, I begged them to let me retake my senior year. I knew I could do it if I was healthy. But the answer was always the same: No money. “Sadie, it’s not that we don’t want to,” June would say, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “We’re still paying off your childhood medical debts. Just go to the vocational school. It’s the same thing. I’ll make you a huge feast for your birthday to celebrate.” I was naive enough to believe her. I told myself I’d work twice as hard, make them proud. On my birthday, I put on the only nice thing I owned—a hand-me-down dress from a cousin that was three years too small. June did make a feast. There was steak, lobster, a three-tier cake. She’d invited every relative we had. She said it was a “once-in-a-lifetime” day. But when I walked into the dining room, the banner on the wall didn’t have my name. CONGRATULATIONS TYLER ON GETTING INTO THE ACADEMY! The lobster, the steak, the cake—it was all for him. His “big day.” I was a ghost at my own party. June had pulled me into the kitchen, away from the guests. She pulled a small bowl out of the microwave. “You’re still recovering, honey. Rich food is bad for your digestion. I made you a special batch of zucchini and eggplant. I even put a little bacon grease in it for flavor. It’s all yours.” I watched through the kitchen door as my father sat in the living room, bragging to my aunt. “Twenty thousand,” my father said, patting Tyler on the back. “That’s what the tuition and the ‘donation’ cost to get him into that school. Worth every penny. A boy like Tyler is going to lead this family. He’s the legacy.” “Twenty thousand?” my aunt gasped. “That’s a down payment on a house!” “Tyler’s a star,” my father replied, his voice thick with pride. “Not like Sadie. That girl isn’t cut out for books. Once she’s eighteen, we’ll get her a job at the plant so she can start saving for Tyler’s wedding fund.” Tyler sat there, stuffing his face with cake, looking at me with a smirk that said he knew exactly what was happening. He was the prince; I was the cattle. I looked at June now, standing in the middle of the restaurant. “Twenty thousand dollars. You told me we were starving, but you had twenty thousand for Tyler’s ‘donation.’ And you wouldn’t give me two thousand for a tutor.” My teacher had come to the house back then, begging them to let me continue. They lied to her face, saying they were broke. When she suggested a student loan, June screamed at her, saying it would “ruin the family’s reputation” to have a debt-ridden daughter. The people in the restaurant were starting to look away now, their faces softening into something like shame. June, sensing the shift, tried one last desperate move. “I didn’t want you going away because I was afraid you’d get into trouble! I heard the rumors, Sadie! You were hanging around those boys, staying out late. I was trying to protect you!” I let out a harsh, jagged laugh. “The ‘boys’ you’re talking about were the only reason I didn’t starve. They were the ones who shared their sandwiches with me because they saw me fainting in class! If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have made it to eighteen!”

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The night before our wedding, my fiancée—a rising star Colonel in the Army—was in bed with my sister’s boyfriend. She was more than just a girlfriend; she was the woman my sister had treated like a soul-sister, the woman my parents had already welcomed into the family as a daughter. The shock of that betrayal was a jagged blade. It sent my sister, Natalie, spiraling. She crashed her car that same night and never woke up. My parents aged a decade in a single evening. I was hollowed out by grief, a ghost haunting my own life, looking for any way to join her. For months, our house was filled with nothing but the sound of muffled, broken sobbing behind closed doors. Eventually, my father made the call. We moved. We left the city, the memories, and the wreckage behind. Slowly, we stepped out from the shadow of that tragedy. I eventually found peace with Tessa, a woman whose love was a quiet harbor, and we had a beautiful daughter. Five years had passed. I honestly thought I’d never have to hear the name Maria Vincent again. Until my birthday. I walked into my office to find a box of maple-glazed pecans—the ones I used to crave—sitting on my desk. Taped to the lid was a note in a handwriting I recognized with a violent jolt of my heart: “Greg, it’s been a long time.” … My knuckles were bone-white as I gripped the box. Across the room, my senior advisor, Sarah, must have sensed the shift in the air. She hesitated before speaking. “Is it her?” I didn’t answer. I just kept my head down, focusing on the training schedules on my desk, though the words were blurring into meaningless ink. Sarah sighed. “I heard she put in for a transfer from the West Coast command. She’s back, Greg. Are you really going to keep doing this?” “Doing what?” I asked, my voice flat. “Avoiding the inevitable. You’re going to be colleagues again. And she was once your sister’s best—” “Sarah.” I cut her off, my pen digging so hard into the paper it tore. “In my sister’s life, there was no such person.” Sarah looked at me, her expression pitying. “Greg, it’s been five years. Do you still hate her that much?” “Yes.” The word was sharp, cold, and final. Sarah winced, shook her head, and quietly stepped out of the office. On my way out for the day, I ran into the Base Commander. She had been the instructor for both Natalie and Maria back at the Academy. After a brief briefing on the day’s exercises, her tone shifted, becoming uncharacteristically soft. “The orders came through today. Maria is officially back with the Eastern Command.” “Understood, Ma’am,” I said. The Commander stood silent for a few seconds. “Your sister was a soldier with a massive heart, Greg. If she were here, she wouldn’t want this bitterness to consume you.” Consumer me? Is that what people think? That the victim has to be the one to offer grace just to prove they have a ‘big heart’? I don’t understand why everyone is whispering for me to let it go. Does time somehow scrub away the blood? I’m the one standing on the moral high ground, yet I’m the one being held hostage by terms like “the bigger picture” and “comradery.” Comrade. Leader. Friend. Why is everyone speaking for her? I don’t want to understand her side, and I refuse to try. The early winter wind bit at my face as I walked to the parking lot. By the time I reached my driveway, I had carefully smoothed my expression into a mask of normalcy. Inside, my parents and Tessa were in the kitchen making dinner. My three-year-old, Zoe, was sitting on a stool, her small hands covered in flour, poking holes in a lump of dough. “Daddy!” Zoe dropped her dough and lunged for me. I scooped her up, kissing her dusty cheek. She held up her mangled creation with pride. “I made a biscuit for Auntie Nat!” My throat tightened, a sudden, familiar ache. “Good job, sweetie. It looks delicious.” When dinner was served, I filled a small plate and set it at the empty seat at the table. A neatly folded, older-style service uniform sat on the chair—it hadn’t been moved in five years. We kept it there like she was just away on a long deployment, a mission she’d be back from any minute. Zoe tugged at my sleeve. “Daddy, why does Auntie Nat only stay in the picture frame?” “Why doesn’t she come down to eat?” “When is she gonna play with me?” I looked at the photo on the wall. Natalie was frozen at twenty-four, her bars gleaming on her shoulders, her smile bright enough to break your heart. The room went silent. My parents’ hands faltered for a second before they went back to their plates. Tessa reached out under the table and squeezed my hand. I stroked Zoe’s hair, looking into her clear, innocent eyes. I couldn’t find the words. If Natalie were here, she’d be the perfect daughter, the best sister, the most amazing aunt. But there are no ifs in the cemetery. For five years, I thought I’d buried those memories along with the woman who caused them. I was wrong. It only took one box of pecans for the wound to rip wide open. The next morning, the moment I stepped into the training center, I ran straight into her. Five years hadn’t dimmed Maria. If anything, her edges were sharper. The softness of our youth was gone, replaced by a cold, striking beauty and the unmistakable, suffocating aura of a Special Ops veteran. A group of soldiers passed us, saluting me. I was so paralyzed I forgot to return the gesture. My eyes were locked on her face, and it felt like a giant hand was crushing my lungs. A dark, intrusive thought flickered in my mind: If only it had been her in that grave five years ago. If only Natalie were the one standing here today. “How have you been, Greg?” Maria spoke first. Her voice was steady, devoid of the emotion I was currently drowning in. I turned to walk away, but she grabbed my wrist. Her grip was iron. She was frowning, a hint of suppressed desperation in her eyes. “Greg, stop. I know I messed up back then, but I’m not some monster. I haven’t forgotten what your family did for me. I’ve carried that debt every single day. Can we just… let the past stay in the past?” I spun around, staring into her eyes. The hatred in me exploded, hot and stinging behind my eyelids. “You think it’s that simple? You think you just get to decide when it’s over?” Her frown deepened. “Greg, I know you’re angry. But it’s been five years—” “Time doesn’t change the facts, Maria!” She was silent for a moment. “What happened between me and Brooks… I’m sorry. To you, and to Natalie.” She looked at me with an agonizing sincerity. “The only reason I transferred back was to apologize to your faces.” That was the fuse. Five years of repressed rage caught fire. I wrenched my hand away with enough force to make her stumble. “Don’t you dare say her name!” My voice was a ragged whisper, and finally, the tears spilled over. I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and bolted. I had just made it into my office when the door slammed open. It was Riley, a close friend who’d just returned from a rotation at the border. She had been in Natalie’s unit back in the day. She grabbed my arm, seeing my red eyes. “I heard she was back. I finished my debrief early and hauled ass over here.” She searched my face. “You saw her?” I nodded. Riley started rolling up her sleeves, her eyes flashing. “That bitch really has the nerve. I’m going to go out there and break her arm. Right now.” I pulled her back, shaking my head. Riley stopped, looking at my pale face, her own eyes welling up. “Greg, if it wasn’t for your parents and Natalie, she wouldn’t have even finished the Academy. They paid for her mother’s funeral. They treated her like blood.” “And she turned around and climbed into bed with Natalie’s fiancé.” “People like that… they should be court-martialed for treason against the heart.” The pain in my chest was a dull, rhythmic throb. Riley was right. Maria Vincent deserved a reckoning that life hadn’t given her yet. Back then, Maria was Natalie’s best friend. They were inseparable. Maria came from nothing—her father died in the line of duty, and her mother was chronically ill. When her mom passed during our sophomore year, Maria didn’t even have the money for a casket. Natalie went to our parents, begging for help. My parents, being the people they are, didn’t just pay for the funeral. They became her safety net. Later, Maria worked herself to the bone to pay them back every cent, with interest. She even spent two years tutoring me in military theory to show her gratitude. We thought we had gained a family member. We thought we were looking at a woman of honor. We never imagined she would be the one to push our family into the abyss. And then there was Brooks. The man who was supposed to be my brother-in-law, the man who became the wedge between Maria and me. He was in the military band—charming, soft-spoken, exactly the kind of guy my parents loved. Back then, Maria and I were already engaged. The invitations were printed. But at every party, every dinner, I started noticing the way Brooks looked at Maria. It wasn’t right. It was a look of hungry, desperate longing. He never looked at Natalie like that. I tried to mention it to Maria a few times. She’d just laugh and ruffle my hair. “What are you imagining, Greg?” “He’s your future brother-in-law. There’s a code, remember? I’m not that kind of person.” She’d tease me, saying if Natalie knew I was being so paranoid, she’d think Maria was a bad influence. She was so convincing that I buried my instinct. But soon, they stopped hiding it well. The flirting became constant, even in front of me. Once, Brooks handed Maria his half-finished water bottle, and she drank from it without a second thought. My heart sank into my stomach. Maria and I had a blowout fight about it. “Are you really doing this? To Natalie? To me?” She stayed silent for a long time before looking up, promising me she’d keep her distance from him. For a while, she did. But the air between us turned cold. The intimacy didn’t just fade; it vanished. Three days before the wedding, I went to our new apartment to set up some decorations. I punched in the code and opened the door. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The bedroom door was wide open. On the custom red silk sheets—a gift for our wedding night—two figures were tangled together. Uniforms were scattered like debris across the floor. The box of decorations slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a deafening metallic crash. Maria bolted upright, her face draining of all color when she saw me at the door. “Get out!” she barked, her voice a low, defensive snarl. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. I turned and ran, stumbling down the stairs into the hallway. My phone buzzed. A text from Brooks: “Sorry, little brother. Some things just can’t be held onto.” I collapsed in the stairwell, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. How could they? To me? To Natalie? Natalie. She had to know. I reached for my phone with trembling hands, but before I could dial, a call came in. Natalie had been in a horrific accident. The world went black. Natalie was in the ICU in a coma for seven days. The military surgeon stood beside me, his voice a low rumble of clinical grief. “Her brain activity suggests she might be conscious, Greg. But the trauma is too severe; her body simply can’t respond.” He adjusted his glasses. “Talk to her. If she has the will to live, there’s a chance she might come back.” I nodded, my throat too tight for words. “What caused the crash?” “Preliminary report says excessive speed. She lost control on a sharp curve.” Speed. Natalie was the most cautious driver I knew. Unless something had shattered her focus. Three days later, the police returned her phone. It was cracked but functional. I held it for a long time before typing in the code. It was Brooks’s birthday. There was one unread notification on her messaging app. It was from Brooks, sent the very hour I had caught them. I played the voice memo. The sound of his disgusting moans and Maria’s heavy breathing filled the quiet hospital room. I barely made it to the trash can before I was retching. Tears mixed with stomach acid as I collapsed onto the sterile tile floor. The smell of bleach was suddenly overwhelming, stinging my nose and searing my brain. So that was it. She had heard that recording. She had heard them, lost her mind, and sped home to find the truth. They killed her. I wiped my face, deleted the recording, and cleared the trash folder. I kept the secret. I didn’t tell my parents; they were already broken enough. I spent every day by her bed, talking to her. I told her stories from our childhood, gossip from the base, anything to keep the air filled with sound. But I never mentioned Maria or Brooks. A week in, her finger twitched. Before I could even call for a nurse, Brooks appeared. Through the ICU glass, I saw him standing over her bed, leaning down and whispering something. When he saw me, he had the audacity to smile. “Hey, Greg. I was just catching Natalie up. Telling her how much we’re looking forward to your wedding with Maria.” “She needs to hurry up and get better so we can all celebrate together.” The provocation was so blatant, so cruel, that I saw red. I hadn’t made a scene yet, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten what he’d done. I didn’t even realize I was moving until I had him by the collar. I slammed him against the wall and buried my knee in his stomach. Brooks gasped, sliding down the wall. “Greg, have you lost your mind!” Maria screamed, charging into the room. I tried to speak, but the words were caught in a knot of rage. Suddenly, Brooks let out a pathetic moan. “Maria… my stomach… it hurts…” Maria glared at me with pure venom. She knelt down, her voice dripping with a tenderness she’d never shown me. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re okay. We’re going to get a doctor.” I watched them disappear around the corner, their footsteps echoing away. I stood there, alone. Brooks was fine, of course. The doctor said he was just “shaken up.” I was at my breaking point. But for the sake of my parents, I swallowed the glass and kept moving. That afternoon, after sending my exhausted parents home to rest, I walked back toward the ICU. I stopped dead at the glass. They were in there. Brooks and Maria, locked in a deep, passionate kiss. Right at the foot of my sister’s bed. I was paralyzed. Then I heard Brooks’s muffled voice. “When Natalie wakes up, I’m sure she’ll want us to be happy.” Maria held him tighter. “As soon as she’s stable, we’ll tell her the truth.” The words had barely left her mouth when the monitor let out a long, piercing shriek. Natalie’s fingers curled violently. The rhythmic mountain range of her EKG flattened into a single, terrifying horizon. “Doctor! Code Blue!” I screamed, lunging for the door. The hallway erupted. Doctors and nurses swarmed the room like white-winged birds. Everything was a blur of crashing equipment and tangled wires. The sound of the defibrillator echoed. “Clear! Two hundred joules!” “Again! Three hundred!” I charged into the room, shoving Maria and Brooks aside with a primal roar. “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” Maria’s face was ghostly. She tried to say something, but the sheer madness in my eyes drove her back. She grabbed Brooks and retreated. The door slammed shut. I collapsed in the corner, the tears finally coming—silent and devastating. The alarm kept ringing, a hammer hitting the final nail into my heart. “Nat, please,” I whispered. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me here with them.” I got on my knees and begged whatever god was listening. But no one was listening. I watched as the woman who had spent her whole life protecting me was wheeled into the morgue. An hour later, all that was left of her was a handful of ash. … I couldn’t stay here. Being in the same command as Maria was an impossible weight. I decided to put in for leave to go home. As I waited for the elevator, the doors slid open. Maria was there. She didn’t just walk out; she practically lunged at me, her hands gripping my shoulders. Her voice was trembling, her eyes bloodshot. “Greg… why is everyone saying… why are they saying your sister is dead?”

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I’m a corporate drone. Specifically, I’m a woman living a double life. By day, I’m the high-flying marketing strategist expanding my company’s empire. By night, I’m the on-call, “professional partner” for my boss. Before you get the wrong idea—no, this isn’t some tawdry, “morally bankrupt” scandal. It all started because I made the mistake of looking at him just a second too long in a crowded room. 01 It started on a Tuesday. I was leaning over Maya’s desk in HR, trying to read the tea leaves of the current economy. I was convinced the axe was about to fall. Maya’s jaw dropped. “How would you even know that? I haven’t heard a whisper.” “Haven’t you noticed Nate Blackwell stalking the floor lately?” I whispered, nodding toward the glass offices. “Not really.” “He’s walked past this cluster of cubicles three times today. He’s trying to look casual, but he’s scouting. He’s observing.” Maya shook her head, unimpressed. “I still don’t get it. Why are you so obsessed with the CEO’s walking patterns?” “Because, Maya, we’re in the department that spends money without bringing in immediate revenue. When the market turns, we’re the first ones on the chopping block.” I was laying it on thick, and Maya clutched her coffee mug like a life preserver. “He’s checking our ‘work state,’” I continued, my voice dropping an octave. “He’s deciding which unlucky soul to sacrifice first.” Just as I was hitting my stride, I looked up—and locked eyes with Nate Blackwell’s 24-karat hawk eyes. My internal sirens screamed. To make matters worse, my computer screen was currently displaying a TikTok livestream of a chaotic cooking show. I dived back into my chair, burying my face in a spreadsheet. The moment I was sure he’d passed, I sent a string of sobbing emojis to Maya. Me: It’s over. He saw me watching a guy make a grilled cheese instead of working. Maya: Riley, your job is marketing. Watching trends IS the job. Why are you spiraling? But I remained restless. Nate was the kind of boss who lived for “maximum efficiency.” Despite the grueling hours and his icy demeanor, the benefits were incredible. And let’s be real: I’m pushing thirty. In this market, an unmarried, childless woman of “a certain age” is treated like a ticking time bomb by recruiters. The sword of Damocles was hanging over my head. I could see my future: middle-aged unemployment, followed by a lonely retirement eating canned soup. No. I had to pivot. I needed to make myself indispensable. I needed to become his right hand. So, I started staying late. Every single night. The plan was simple: I wouldn’t leave until he did. I wanted to burn the image of my hardworking silhouette into his brain. Unfortunately, the universe has a twisted sense of humor. I wanted to be his “right hand,” not have his hands all over me. It was 10:00 PM. The cavernous office was a graveyard of empty desks and humming monitors. It had become a game of chicken between me and Nate—who would break first? My stamina failed. My eyes felt like they were filled with sand. Just as I shut down my laptop, Nate appeared. He stepped out of his office, bathed in the soft glow of the recessed lighting. He scanned the room and found me—the sole survivor. “Riley, how long have you been with the firm? Are you happy here?” “Three years,” I squeaked. “And I’m more than happy. I’m dedicated. I’d basically die for this company.” God, Riley. Dial it back, I thought. Is this an exit interview? Am I being fired right now? “Good,” he said, leaning against a pillar. “How would you feel about some… extra income?” My heart plummeted. Extra income? Was that code for a severance package? I couldn’t even speak. I just shook my head violently like a broken bobblehead. He arched an eyebrow, looking at me like I was insane. “You don’t want more money?” I immediately switched to a frantic, “woodpecker” style of nodding. “Good. I have a mission for you.” I held my breath. Was it a high-stakes project? A hostile takeover? “There’s an investor gala this Saturday. I need you to attend with me. You’ll play the role of my wife. We need this round of funding, and the lead investor is… traditional.” The request hit me like a Category 5 hurricane. When the wind stopped howling, my brain was nothing but mush. Now it was my turn to look at him like he was insane. Wasn’t he married? Wasn’t his wife living abroad for some high-profile art thing? Why did he need a fake one? What if we got caught? 02 “Don’t ask questions you don’t need the answers to,” Nate said, his voice dropping to that smooth, dangerous frequency. “If we pull this off, you get a promotion, a raise, and your choice: a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus, or more equity.” He looked like the god of deals emerging from the shadows. Do you want the gold axe, the silver axe, or the iron axe? My years of cynical conditioning kicked in. In those fables, the people who pick the gold always end up dead. “I’ll take the equity,” I blurted out. By the time I got home, I realized I’d picked the “iron axe.” In a startup, equity is just a very expensive pile of scrap paper unless the company actually succeeds. If my acting was terrible and the funding fell through, the company would go bust, and my equity would be worth less than my morning coffee. The next morning, Nate handed me a “Dossier.” It was three pages, double-sided, size 10 font. It was everything I needed to know about “us.” He expected me to memorize it in forty-eight hours. He promised “random pop quizzes.” During lunch, he summoned me to his office. I hadn’t felt this kind of academic pressure since the SATs. Standing before his mahogany desk, I stumbled through the details of our “fake” first date. He sighed, the sound sharp and cold. “Your memory is… disappointing. How did we even hire you?” I bristled. “Sir, I’m an efficient marketer, not a Shakespearean actress. If I’m so terrible, why me? Look at the floor out there—there are dozens of women who’d kill for this.” Nate cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. “First, you’re the only one near thirty. Second, you spend every waking hour here. I figured you didn’t have a boyfriend or a life to get in the way.” The truth stung. “Ouch. Point taken.” I stomped out of his office and headed straight for the breakroom to vent. Maya was there, and she snatched the paper from my hand before I could hide it. “What’s this? Height, weight, favorite color… Riley, is this a Tinder profile?” I lunged for it, shoving it into my bag. “It’s… nothing!” Maya narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t letting it go. “Fine,” I lied. “My mom sent me a dossier on a guy she wants to set me up with. She wants me to ‘study’ before the date.” Maya’s expression shifted to pity. “Oh, honey. That’s tragic. What’s he like?” “Him?” I scoffed. “He’s arrogant, ruthlessly pragmatic, and has the personality of a localized thunderstorm. Honestly, the only things he has going for him are his height, his legs, and that stupidly handsome face…” Maya’s eyes went wide. She started making frantic gestures with her eyebrows. I turned around. Nate was standing three feet behind me, holding an empty espresso cup. My mind went blank. How long had he been there? Had he heard the part about his legs? In a moment of pure, unadulterated panic, I blurted out, “Afternoon, Mr. Blackwell! Personally getting your own water? So down-to-earth!” Nate’s face was a mask of suppressed fury. “Riley. If this project fails, you can pack your desk.” “Understood! Have a great day!” I chirped, sounding like a demented cheerleader. He definitely heard the part about the thunderstorm. 03 Once he disappeared, I let out a jagged breath. “What is his problem? Is he on a permanent power trip?” Maya looked like she was about to have a heart attack. She pushed me toward the door. “Riley, you have a death wish. You gossip about his personal life, you interrupt his coffee break, and you basically insulted him to his face. You’ve broken every rule of corporate survival in under five minutes.” “Details,” I muttered. But the bravado was fake. Saturday was looming, and it was a life-or-death situation for my career. When Saturday finally arrived, I followed Nate’s instructions to the letter. I was polished, poised, and draped in a dress that cost more than my first car. The target was Madeline Montgomery—a powerhouse investor who valued “family stability” above all else. Apparently, Nate and his real wife had quietly signed divorce papers months ago, but he couldn’t let that leak before the funding closed. Hence: me. “Riley, you’re shaking,” Nate said. His voice was soft, but it still carried that edge. “I’m fine. I’m not shaking.” Inside, I was a wreck. One wrong word and the whole house of cards would collapse. “If you aren’t shaking, then stop gripping my arm like a tourniquet. You’re cutting off my circulation.” He gently pried my fingers loose as we approached the entrance. “Mrs. Montgomery is at ten o’clock. Switch it on.” “Right. Mr. Black—I mean, Nate? Babe? Honey?” We hadn’t rehearsed the nicknames. That was a tactical error. As Madeline Montgomery glided toward us, I felt a surge of adrenaline. “Hey, Hubby,” I said, my voice dripping with forced sweetness. Nate flinched almost imperceptibly. Fortunately, Madeline was charmed. “Nate, I had no idea you and your wife were so… affectionate.” “She’s a handful,” Nate said, sliding into his CEO persona. They started talking shop. He pivoted from ESG initiatives to sustainable business models, then to the domestic childcare market. He was lecturing her. He was being “The Smartest Man in the Room,” and I could see Madeline’s eyes starting to glaze over. He’s losing her, I thought. He’s mansplaining to a billionaire. I couldn’t help it. I cut him off. “What Nate is trying to say,” I said, stepping forward with a warm smile, “is that modern women aren’t looking for just a product. They’re looking for time. Our goal is to liberate mothers from the soul-crushing logistics of childcare so they can actually enjoy their children. Don’t you agree, Madeline?” Madeline’s face lit up. “Exactly! You hit the nail on the head.” Women get women. It’s that simple. I spent the next twenty minutes talking to her about the nuances of the modern middle-class experience. It was literally my job. It was easy. As we were leaving, Madeline gripped my hand. “Riley, this was delightful. We must do this again.” “It would be my pleasure!” “Nate, do you still collect vintage Bordeaux?” she asked. “He loves it,” I jumped in before he could speak. “We have a cellar full of it at the house.” “How wonderful. Perhaps I could come by sometime this week to see the collection?” “Of course! You’re welcome anytime!” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to die. I had been so deep in the “wife” character that I’d invited a billionaire to a house I didn’t live in to see a wine collection I didn’t own. 04 The car ride back was silent and suffocating. Nate looked like he was vibrating with rage. I’d basically kicked the door down and set the house on fire. “Do you ever think before you speak?” he snapped. His words were like needles. “Look, I know my ‘brain-to-mouth’ filter is a little porous, but don’t blame this on me! This was your crazy idea! If you hadn’t been boring her to tears with market stats, I wouldn’t have had to intervene.” “Riley, it is after hours. You are currently my wife… my fake wife. Not my employee. Stop talking to me like I’m a subordinate.” “I don’t know how to talk to you in any capacity where you aren’t a jerk!” I muttered, my voice getting smaller. “Next time,” he said, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen, “keep your mouth shut.” “There won’t be a next time. I quit this side gig. Find someone else.” “If you can’t do the job, then just leave—” “Fine!” I slammed my foot on the brake as we hit a red light. Nate was in the middle of taking a sip of water, and the sudden jolt sent the liquid flying. He ended up coughing and gasping, drenched. Corporate Survival Rule: Never make the boss choke while he’s drinking. I’d checked another box on the disaster list. The next day, I went to my usual volunteer spot at the Golden Oaks Senior Center. Being around the elderly was the only thing that kept me sane. They didn’t care about KPIs or funding rounds. “Riley, dear, you look like you’re chewing on glass,” the director, Martha, said as she handed me some fruit. “What’s wrong?” Before I could answer, a nurse ran up. “Martha, Mrs. Gable in the VIP wing is having an episode. she doesn’t recognize her grandson. She’s getting agitated.” “I’ve got it,” I said, standing up. I was good at this. In the VIP suite, a woman was shrinking into her armchair, looking terrified of the tall man standing over her. I rushed in. “Rose, honey, it’s okay. It’s just your grandson…” I looked up. My tongue tied itself into a knot. “Mr… Mr. Blackwell?” I felt like the world’s biggest idiot. “You’re Rose’s grandson?” Nate looked helpless. He was a titan of industry, but here, in the face of his grandmother’s dementia, he was just a confused boy. “It’s not the right pastry,” Rose was crying. “This isn’t from the bakery on 4th Street. You’re an impostor! You aren’t my Nate!” I took the box of pastries from his trembling hands. I did a quick “magic trick” behind my back, switching a cookie from one hand to the other. “Rose, look. I found the real ones. I had them in my bag the whole time. Taste this.” She took a bite. The familiar sugar seemed to anchor her. Her eyes cleared, and a smile broke across her face. “Oh, yes. This is it.” I pointed to Nate. “And see? There’s your Nate.” Rose grabbed his hand, tears welling in her eyes. “Nate! You finally came to see me.” It was a beautiful, heart-wrenching moment. Then, Rose looked at me and beamed. “And I know you, too. You’re Nate’s wife!” I just stood there with a frozen, awkward smile. Great. Even the universe was in on the lie.

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The third anniversary of the day my wife died saving my life was supposed to be a day of quiet mourning. Instead, I found myself standing at the entrance of a private banquet hall, watching her cradle a newborn—a child she shared with the man she’d told me was “just like a brother.” The room was packed with people. My heart hammered against my ribs as I recognized the faces: the very same friends and family who had sat in the front row of her funeral, eyes red and swollen, clutching my hands in sympathy. Now, they formed a human shield around Madeline, trying to block my path. “Nate, please, just stay calm!” Silas, my oldest friend, hissed, his hands trembling as he grabbed my shoulders. “Madeline didn’t have a choice back then. It’s complicated!” Ryan, the “brother,” dropped to his knees in front of me, his eyes brimming with tears. “Nate, please. The baby is innocent. She’s already here, and she needs her mother. Don’t destroy this family. I’m begging you.” I didn’t look at him. I didn’t even hear him. My entire world had narrowed down to a single point: Madeline. She flinched, shifting the baby to her other hip, her gaze darting to the floor. She couldn’t even look me in the eye. “Congratulations,” I said. My voice was eerily steady, devoid of the roar I felt inside. “Don’t let me stop the party.” To everyone’s shock, I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a chair. I simply turned and walked out into the cool autumn air. But halfway across the parking lot, I pulled out my phone and dialed the Provost Marshal’s Office at the nearby base. “I’d like to report a case of desertion, fraud, and the illegal collection of military death benefits,” I said, my voice cracking only slightly. “The subject is Captain Madeline Vincent—who is currently very much alive.” 1. The air in the bistro was thick with the smell of expensive wine and celebration. My hand froze on the door handle as I stared at the head table. Madeline was leaning down, cooing at the infant in her arms, a soft, radiant smile playing on her lips. Ryan sat beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. These were our people. Our inner circle. Three years ago, at Madeline’s memorial service, these same people had draped their arms over my shoulders, telling me I had to find a way to keep living. Now, they were toasted her “miraculous” return and the birth of her daughter. Someone finally spotted me. A glass shattered. “Nate?” The room went tomb-silent. Madeline’s head snapped up. The smile froze on her face, turning into a mask of pure terror. Her thumb began to rub the edge of her cuff—a nervous tic she’d developed back at West Point. I’d seen her do it a thousand times when she was under pressure. Ryan’s face went ghostly white. He gripped her arm as if he could pull her out of reality. Silas was the first to jump up, physically stepping between Madeline and me. “Nate, what are you doing here?” “I was just coming in for a quiet dinner,” I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. I’d spent the afternoon at the hardware store I managed, finishing the quarterly audit. The owner had offered to buy me a drink. I’d just happened to wander into this nightmare. Another friend, Mark, stood up, wringing his hands. “Nate, listen. Madeline… back then, she…” “She was forced? Is that the script?” I looked at the familiar faces around the room. Every single one of them looked away. Ryan handed the baby to a woman nearby and walked toward me. “Nate, I’m so sorry.” He clutched his chest, his breath hitching. Three years ago, he’d supposedly been injured trying to “search” for Madeline after the accident—a fall that had supposedly scarred his lungs. “Please, just let us have this. I love her. I’ve always loved her.” I expected to shatter. I expected to swing a fist or howl in agony. But all I felt was a cold, hollow silence. I almost wanted to laugh. For three years, I’d been trapped in a recurring nightmare of rushing water. The whole town called me the man who killed Madeline. It had been a week of record-breaking rain. The river had breached the levee. Madeline’s unit was deployed for emergency flood relief, and I’d been volunteering with the logistics team, delivering sandbags. I’d slipped. A rogue wave had pulled me toward the main current. Madeline had lunged for me, shoving me back toward the bank, only to be swept into the churning brown abyss herself. They searched for two weeks. They only found her torn uniform snagged on a downed cedar tree. At the service, her mother had screamed at me, calling me a curse, a black hole that swallowed everything good. My own parents had looked at their shoes, whispering that maybe I should move away for a while so I didn’t embarrass the family further. I accepted it. I believed I deserved the shame. On the seventh night after she “died,” I’d swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. A neighbor found me in time. In the ER, as they pumped my stomach, I heard the nurses whispering about the “coward” who let a hero like Captain Vincent die for him. No one knew the only reason I was at that dangerous section of the levee was because Ryan had called me, sobbing, saying Madeline was pinned under a fallen oak and the water was rising. I’d run there blindly. The levee gave way. Madeline “sacrificed” herself to save me. I walked over to an empty table and set my glass down. The clink of crystal against wood sounded like a gunshot. “Does the baby have a name?” Ryan blinked, confused. “Her… her name is Pax.” Pax. My fingernails dug into my palms. It was the name we’d chosen. If we ever had a kid, boy or girl, we’d name them Pax. Latin for peace. Because Madeline’s life in the military was so chaotic, she wanted her home to be the opposite. Madeline finally spoke. Her voice was thin, brittle. “Nate, it’s not what you think. The situation was complicated. There were… people watching me. I had to disappear.” “Madeline!” Ryan interrupted, his voice sharp with warning. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “She had to do it for national security, Nate. It was a classified situation. These last three years haven’t been easy for her either.” “Not easy?” I looked at her, my eyes like chips of ice. “How hard was it, Madeline? Was it hard watching the town label me a murderer? Was it hard knowing my parents were too ashamed to claim me? Was it hard watching me try to kill myself while you were playing house?” The room stayed silent. Not a single “friend” spoke up. “Nate, be reasonable,” Silas whispered. “It’s a Christening party. Think of the child.” “I am being reasonable.” I picked up my glass and raised it in a mock toast. “To Pax. May she grow up to be more honest than her parents.” I downed the whiskey. It burned all the way down, forcing tears to my eyes. “That’s enough!” Madeline stood up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. She marched toward me, her brow furrowed in that familiar look of frustrated authority. “Nate, if you have a problem, take it out on me, but don’t do this here. Three years later and you still don’t know how to handle yourself in public!” She reached out to grab my arm. I flinched back. “I told you. I’m just here for dinner. I walked into the wrong room.” She didn’t believe me. Her hand stayed extended, demanding. “Don’t act like a martyr. I’m sorry for what happened to you, okay? I’ll give you a ride home after the party is over.” Ryan called her name from the table, his voice trembling. Madeline glanced back, her expression softening into a look of pure devotion before turning back to me with a sneer. The absurdity of it finally hit me. “No thanks. You have a husband and a child now. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” I didn’t wait for her to respond. I turned and walked out. Behind me, the murmurs of “poor Madeline” and the sound of Ryan’s forced sobbing began to fade. A thousand days of bone-deep guilt and agonizing longing. All of it, rendered worthless by the truth. I stood on the sidewalk, the cool breeze hitting my face. Across the street, the neon sign of a 24-hour convenience store flickered. I walked to the payphone outside. I dialed the number. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Hello. I’d like to report a fraud. Captain Madeline Vincent, formerly of the 10th Mountain Division. She’s been collecting a pension and honors under false pretenses while violating the terms of her marriage and the UCMJ…” 2. I hadn’t gone two blocks before a hand clamped onto my wrist. “Nate! Stop!” Madeline was breathless, her grip so tight I could feel her nails digging into the bone. I yanked my arm back, but she held on. The touch that used to be my sanctuary now felt like a hot iron. “Let go of me.” Seeing my coldness, her expression shifted. She started babbling, desperate to contain the damage. “Nate, don’t be like this! It’s not what it looks like. I can explain everything…” She thought this was just a jealous outburst. She thought she could soothe me into silence. “Explain how you faked your death? How you were pregnant with Ryan’s kid while I was mourning you? Or how you let the world treat me like a monster for three years?” I started to laugh, but the laughter turned into tears. Three years of bottled-up agony finally broke. “Madeline, what makes you think I care about your excuses?” She swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a gentle, manipulative whisper. She reached for me again, and I recoiled. “Nate, I know I hurt you. But I had no choice. The current pulled me downriver. Ryan’s parents found me. I was badly injured, I couldn’t contact anyone. And Ryan… he took care of me while I was hiding, while I was recovering. When I woke up, I found out he’d nearly died trying to find me. He sacrificed his health for me. I couldn’t just leave him.” Nate. That nickname. It used to make my heart skip. She wasn’t always this cold-blooded. The Madeline I married had been the soul of integrity. She’d been the one who protected me. Back when she was first commissioned, a junior officer had tried to hit on her. One night during a storm, he’d offered her a ride in his truck. She’d called a taxi for him instead and rode her bike through the pouring rain to meet me, arriving soaked to the bone just to prove she was mine. The next day, she’d made it clear to the entire base that she was taken. She took a hit on her performance review because that officer had connections, but she just smiled at me and said, “I won’t have you feeling insecure. A little drama is worth your peace of mind.” She never let anyone get close. Except Ryan. He was the boy next door from her childhood. She always said she had to look after him. Our dates were constantly interrupted by his “emergencies.” On my thirty-first birthday, she’d booked a table at the best steakhouse in the city. We hadn’t even ordered appetizers when the waiter told her she had a call. It was Ryan. He was at her apartment, claiming he was having a panic attack. She’d looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes, apologized, and left. When I complained, she’d just rub my hair and say, “Why are you jealous of him? He’s like a brother. He’s all alone out here. Just be the bigger person, Nate. Once we’re married, it’ll be fine.” To prove it, she’d saved up for six months to buy me a vintage watch, proposing to me on one knee. “Nate, will you marry me? You’re the only one for me. Forever.” I believed her. I swallowed every bit of resentment. Then Ryan started wearing the clothes she bought for me. He’d leave notes in her car: Thanks for the talk, Sis. When I tried to set boundaries with him, Madeline blew up at me. “He’s family! Don’t be so disgusting!” She’d slammed the door, leaving behind a box of pastries Ryan had sent. The card read: Thanks for everything, big sister. Looking back, every “panic attack” and “emergency” had been a meticulously placed trap. I shook my head, clearing the memories. I looked at the stranger standing in front of me, and the pain in my chest was a dull, throbbing ache. Madeline saw my dazed expression and thought she’d won. She moved to put an arm around my shoulder. “Nate, let’s go somewhere private and talk this out.” I snapped back to reality and shoved her away. I stumbled back, my heart racing. She reached out to steady me, her strength surprising me as she pulled me toward her. “Madeline? What the hell is going on?” 3. Ryan’s voice was thin and raspy, but it cut through the air like a blade. I tore myself out of Madeline’s grasp, stepping back, my face twisted in disgust. Madeline panicked, spinning around to face the bistro door. Ryan was standing there, clutching the baby. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and—if I looked closely—a flicker of calculating triumph. His father was right behind him, his face dark with fury. “Dad, Ryan, why are you out here?” Madeline rushed forward to help Ryan, but he pulled away. The older man stepped forward, pointing a finger at us. “Madeline! You’re out here huddled with him? After everything Ryan has done for you?” Ryan’s mother chimed in, her eyes venomous as she glared at me. “Nathaniel, right? You cried like a baby when she ‘died,’ and now that you see she’s alive, you’re trying to steal her back? Have you no shame?” “Mom, don’t talk to Nate like that…” Ryan sniffled, tears streaming down his face as he looked down at the baby. “Madeline, do you still love him? Are you regretting us? Do you want to go back to him?” He started to sob, his shoulders shaking. The baby, startled, began to wail, making him look even more pathetic. Madeline’s face went white. She scrambled to comfort him. “Of course not! Ryan, honey, I didn’t mean anything by it! You’re my husband. Pax is my daughter. I would never leave you.” The words were like a rusted needle driven into my heart. How familiar. It was the exact same tone, the exact same promise she’d made to me. My mind drifted back to when I first met Ryan. I’d just started a job at the local manufacturing plant, and Ryan was an apprentice who was always being picked on by the older guys. I helped him out. We became friends. He told me about his “big sister” Madeline, the decorated Army Captain. Later, he introduced us, grinning. “This is Madeline. She’s the real deal. If you ever need anything, she’s got you.” Then he’d whispered to me, “Don’t get any ideas, though. She’s mine.” I’d thought it was a joke. Now I realized it was a marker. A territorial claim. But Madeline was the one who pursued me. She brought me breakfast every morning. She waited for me after my shifts. If I worked late, she sat in her car in the parking lot until I came out. When I hesitated, she told me, “Ryan is just a brother to me. I look after him. But you’re the one I saw and just knew.You’re different.” I believed her. I said yes. I remembered the dinner we had when we told Ryan we were dating. He’d been silent the whole night. At the end, he’d hugged me and cried. “Nate, you have to make her happy. If you don’t, I’ll never forgive myself.” I thought it was a blessing. Now I knew it was the start of the endgame. He’d been waiting. Waiting for the chance to kick me out of the frame. I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. No more tears. Just absolute, terrifying clarity. Madeline looked at me, her eyes flitting between guilt and annoyance. Ryan looked up, his gaze wary. “What’s so funny?” Ryan’s father barked. I looked at the whole wretched family. Then I looked Madeline in the eye. “I’m laughing at what a fool I was. Three years of grief, and it was all a punchline.” “Madeline, back then you said Ryan was a brother and I was the love of your life. Now you say Ryan is your husband and you’ll never leave him. Which lie is the one you actually believe?” Madeline opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Ryan grabbed her arm, looking at me with feigned pity. “Nate, let the past stay in the past. We’re happy now. Please, just stop harassing us.” “Harassing you?” I raised an eyebrow. “I never had any intention of staying. From the moment you held this party in secret, from the moment Madeline faked her death to steal honors from the military, there was nothing left between us but a debt.” I paused, looking at them with total indifference. “Don’t worry. I don’t want your wife, Ryan. I don’t want to break up your ‘home.’ A woman like Madeline? I wouldn’t take her back if she were the last person on earth. You two deserve each other.” “I hope you stay together forever,” I said. “Because nobody else should have to deal with either of you.” 4. My “blessing” hit Madeline like a physical blow. Her face went from pale to a mottled, angry red. She let go of Ryan and stormed back toward me, her voice trembling with humiliated rage. “Nate, do you really have to be this cruel?” “Cruel?” I tilted my head. “Compared to what you did? My words are nothing.” Ryan scrambled after her, eyes brimming again. “Nate, please. Madeline hasn’t had it easy. She told me she wanted to make it up to you. We’ll give you money—whatever you want—just please, stop this.” “Make it up to me?” Madeline caught onto Ryan’s suggestion, her tone shifting to something patronizing, almost charitable. “Yes. I’ll compensate you. I had my reasons for what I did, but I recognize that you were hurt. What do you want? A promotion at work? Money? If it’s within my power, it’s yours.” That was the final straw. The three years of suppressed fire inside me finally roared to life. I looked at her familiar face—the face I’d kissed every morning, the face I’d wept over in my dreams—and I felt a wave of pure nausea. I laughed again. “Madeline, what do you take me for? You think a check is going to erase the fact that you’re a fraud? That you stole a hero’s reputation while I was being treated like a pariah?” “What else do you want then?” Madeline snapped, her patience evaporating. Her brow knitted into a familiar scowl. “It’s over, Nate! I can’t just abandon Ryan and Pax! I’m offering you a way out so we can all move on. Don’t be greedy!” Ryan’s father stepped in, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “Nathaniel, she’s being more than generous. Take the deal and walk away. If you make a scene, it won’t end well for you. A grown man clinging to the past like this… it’s pathetic. It’ll ruin your reputation.” “My reputation?” I looked at him, my gaze freezing him in place. “Where were you three years ago when the whole town was calling me a curse? When I was the man who ‘killed’ his wife? You didn’t care about my reputation then.” Silas and a few others from the party had filtered out onto the sidewalk, forming a semi-circle around us. They started chiming in, a chorus of “Nate, calm down,” and “Don’t ruin everyone’s lives over a mistake.” I looked at them and finally understood. After Madeline “returned,” she must have gone to them. She probably gave them some bullshit story about a “classified mission” and “national security” to buy their silence. These people—people I’d called friends—had either been bought or fooled. They were accomplices. The familiar voices of “reason” sounded like a cult chant, overlapping with the ghosts of the mourners at her funeral. It made me want to retch. Madeline took a deep breath, trying to regain her commander’s poise. “Nate, I’m asking you. Please. Making a mess won’t help anyone. Let’s talk tomorrow. I know I owe you. I’ll give you whatever you want, okay?” She had no idea that I’d already made the call. She was still living in a fantasy where she could use soft words and a bribe to keep her perfect little life intact. I didn’t bother correcting her. I just leaned against the brick wall of the bistro and watched her performance. Ryan, sensing I wasn’t budging, turned up the volume on his theatrics. “Nate, think of my son! Madeline made a mistake, but she’s a good mother. Don’t take her away from us!” The baby in his arms began to scream louder, her face turning purple. I felt nothing. The child was innocent, yes. But that innocence wasn’t a currency she could use to pay for her mother’s crimes. Madeline pulled Ryan into a protective embrace, then looked at me with cold finality. “Nate, enough. I don’t want to get ugly. Either take the money, or we go our separate ways and you stay out of my life.” She reached into her designer clutch, pulled out a thick envelope of cash, and held it out. “This is a start. Take it. If you need more, call me.” I looked at the envelope. It was the most insulting thing I’d ever seen. I reached out and flicked it out of her hand. The bills scattered across the pavement, fluttering like dead leaves in the wind. Madeline’s face darkened. She was about to scream at me when two dark SUVs pulled sharply to the curb. Four men in crisp military uniforms and two others in suits stepped out. They moved with a terrifying, synchronized purpose. The lead officer, a Colonel with eyes like flint, locked onto Madeline. “Captain Madeline Vincent?” he asked, his voice cutting through the night. Madeline froze. “Yes? Who… what is this?” The Colonel didn’t hesitate. “I am with the Criminal Investigation Command. You are being detained for questioning regarding charges of desertion, fraud, and the unlawful acquisition of military benefits. You will come with us immediately.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391278”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I announced my pregnancy over Christmas Eve dinner, my voice thick with a joy I thought we all shared. My mother didn’t offer a toast. Instead, she set her wine glass down with a clinical click and looked at my husband. “Nathan, I should find you a young, healthy live-in nanny,” she said, her voice eerily calm. Nathan nearly choked on his brisket. I felt the color drain from my face. “Riley’s always been a bit lazy,” she continued, picking at her salad. “Now that she’s pregnant, she’ll be even more useless around the house. A young girl could handle the chores—and, you know, take care of your other needs. It’s only natural. Why should you have to suffer just because Riley’s all cooped up and bloated?” “Mom!” I slammed my fork onto the table, the silver clattering against the china. “What the hell kind of joke is that?” She looked at me, her eyes narrowing into cold, dark slits. “I’m not joking. What man stays faithful during a pregnancy? Your father was out running around the second I started showing with you. All men cheat, Riley. What makes you think yours is some kind of saint?” A wave of hot, silent fury crested in my chest. Just because her husband was a coward didn’t mean mine had to be. … Nathan looked like he wanted to crawl under the floorboards. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and reached across the table, lacing his fingers tightly through mine. “Lydia, please don’t test me,” he said, his voice trembling but firm. “I love Riley. I would never dream of doing anything to hurt her.” My mother’s smile didn’t just fade; it curdled. I saw the flash of pure, unadulterated envy in the depths of her eyes. “My poor, naive son-in-law,” she sighed, sounding almost pitying. “Riley’s already betrayed you. Why should you stay loyal to her?” I stared at her, my mouth falling open. “Mom, what are you talking about? I’ve never—” She reached into her vintage leather handbag with the practiced grace of a magician and pulled out a yellowed, crinkled piece of notebook paper. She slid it across the tablecloth toward Nathan, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “This is the love letter Riley wrote to a boy in high school. I intercepted it. I made a hundred copies and plastered them all over the school hallways myself.” She looked at Nathan with a sick kind of triumph. “She was eighteen, throwing herself at boys. I would never have done something so shameless. It proves that mentally, Riley was never ‘pure’ for you. She was used goods long before you met her.” She let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “I was a virgin on my wedding day and I still got treated like dirt. A girl like her? You shouldn’t be putting her on a pedestal. You should be looking for someone better.” I gripped the edge of the table so hard my fingernails bit into the wood. The room seemed to shrink, the air turning heavy and stale. I don’t have it, so why should you? That had been the mantra of my childhood. “I didn’t have a bra at your age, why should you? Just wrap a cloth around it,” she’d say. Or, “I never had fancy pads; I used rags. Figure it out yourself.” I grew up without new clothes, without basic hygiene products, without dignity. When I was eighteen, a boy in my chemistry class noticed I was struggling. He had seen the bloodstain on my skirt one afternoon and, red-faced and stuttering, had shoved a bag of tampons and pads into my locker the next day. He told me if I ever needed anything, to just ask. I was so moved I wrote him a thank-you note. A simple, heartfelt letter of gratitude. My mother found it and twisted it into a confession of lust. She told me I was a whore, that he only bought me those things because I’d slept with him. She dragged me to a clinic for a physical exam. When the doctor confirmed my hymen was intact, she didn’t look relieved. She looked devastated. But she recovered quickly. “Physically a virgin? Maybe,” she had spat. “But you’re a slut in your heart. You’re worthless, Riley. You were born for a man like your father—a piece of trash.” She had edited my thank-you note, adding graphic, desperate sentences, and then she’d destroyed my reputation at school. The boy never spoke to me again. My teachers looked at me with disgust. I was an outcast until the day I left that town for college. I worked hard. I built a career. I made more money than she ever dreamed of. She eventually apologized, claiming she was just “protecting my future” from teenage distractions. I thought she had changed. I thought she finally loved me. Nathan finished reading the “letter” and looked at my mother like she was a dangerous lunatic. “Lydia, I don’t care if this is real or if it happened twenty years ago,” he said, pushing the paper away. “I don’t live in the past. I live for our future. Riley makes me happy, and I am never going to betray her.” He squeezed my hand. The ice in my veins began to thaw under the warmth of his grip. My mother’s face twisted. Nathan’s loyalty was an insult to her. She couldn’t break him, so she turned her sights back on me. “How far along are you, Riley?” she asked, her voice dangerously sweet. “Nearly four months,” I replied, my guard up. She let out a long, satisfied breath. “Four months… hmmm. You’ll be getting the marks soon.” She leaned in, her eyes bright with a terrifying excitement. “The stretch marks. God, they’re coming for you, Riley. My stomach was ruined because of you. Deep, purple gashes that never went away. Your father couldn’t even look at me. He called me ‘mutilated.’ Just wait until you’re covered in them. Nathan won’t be so sweet then.” A cold shiver raced down my spine. This wasn’t a mother talking to a daughter. This was an enemy savoring a victory. Why did she want me to be ugly? Why was she praying for my husband to stray? She wouldn’t stop. She was animated now, her hands fluttering as she spoke. “The marks are just the beginning. Your hair will fall out in clumps. Your skin will blotch. You’ll leak when you sneeze, you’ll be loose, you’ll be repulsive. He won’t want to touch you. He’ll find someone who hasn’t been ‘ruined.’” Even Nathan, the most patient man I knew, snapped. “Lydia, stop. That’s enough.” “It won’t be like that,” Nathan continued, his voice hard. “I’ve already booked Riley into a luxury postnatal retreat for after the birth. We have a top-tier doula and specialists to help her recover. She’s going to be fine. And even if her body changes, I’ll only love her more for the sacrifice she made. I would never leave her.” My mother froze. Her eyes went blank, as if she were processing a language she didn’t understand. I expected her to scream. I expected her to wail about how she never got a postnatal retreat, so why should I? But she didn’t. She just sat there, robotically spooning potatoes onto Nathan’s plate, whispering, “Eat, you need to eat.” In her eyes, I saw envy, yes—but beneath it was a hollow, echoing void of pain. My heart throbbed with a misplaced pity. She had raised me alone. She was broken, and I told myself that her cruelty was just a symptom of her suffering. I decided to endure it. For the sake of “family.” A few weeks later, Nathan and I went to the postnatal center to finalize our paperwork. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance,” the receptionist said, looking confused. “But your mother called yesterday. She canceled the luxury suite and requested a full refund.” My heart plummeted. I drove straight to her house. When I walked in, I was blinded by the flash of a heavy gold cuff on her wrist. She didn’t even try to hide it. “I gave you my wedding jewelry because you complained you never had anything nice,” I said, my voice shaking as I grabbed her arm. “I would have bought you this, Mom. Why did you cancel my retreat? Why did you steal that money?” At the mention of the retreat, her eyes turned a feral, bloodshot red. She ripped her arm away and slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. “How dare you!” she shrieked. “I never had a day of rest after I popped you out! I was back on my feet in forty-eight hours, bleeding and hurting! Why do you get to be pampered? Why are you better than me?” I touched my stinging cheek, staring at her. Because I didn’t have it, you can’t have it. As I stood there, stunned, she suddenly lunged at me. She grabbed the hem of my maternity shirt and yanked it up. “Five months,” she hissed, her eyes scanning my midsection with a desperate, hungry light. “You must have them by now. Show me! Show me how disgusting you look!” When she saw my stomach—smooth, pale, and unblemished—her face crumpled. She rubbed her eyes, leaning in close, refusing to believe it. My skin was clear. She began to cry, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of rage. She hiked up her own shirt, pointing at the faded, silvery lines etched into her skin. “I turned into a monster for you! Your father left because of this! I have them—why don’t you have them?” She let out a guttural scream. Despite the horror, I felt a pang of sorrow for her. Her life had been nothing but bitterness and lack. I reached out, my arms trembling, wanting to hold her, to finally bridge the chasm between us. “Mom, everyone’s body is different,” I whispered. “I’ll pay for laser treatments for you, okay? We can fix it—” She opened her arms. For a split second, I thought she was going to embrace me. Instead, she buried her jagged, unkempt fingernails into the skin of my belly and raked them downward. She clawed at me with a sickening ferocity. “Liar! You’re spending money on creams and treatments behind my back! You’re trying to stay pretty to spite me!” I screamed, the pain so sharp I nearly blacked out. “I’m your mother! If I have them, you have them too!” I looked down through blurred eyes. Deep, bloody furrows ran across my stomach, mimicking the very scars she hated. She hadn’t stopped; she was digging in deeper, trying to ensure the marks would be permanent. “Nathan! Help me!” I shrieked. Nathan burst through the door. I saw his face go pale with horror before the world tilted and went black. I woke up in the hospital. Nathan was holding my hand, his eyes red from crying. “She’s insane, Riley. I’m looking into specialized facilities. We’re done with her. We have to be.” I nodded, too weak to argue. When we finally returned home, we found her sitting in our living room. I’d forgotten she had a spare key. She looked at my hospital gown and rolled her eyes. “I gave birth in a shack,” she scoffed. “You lose a little blood and you run to the ER? You’re so dramatic, Riley. Nathan, you shouldn’t indulge her. It’s a waste of money.” My heart, already shattered, felt like it was being ground into dust. The doorbell rang. My mother perked up and hurried to the door, returning with a young woman in tow. The girl was pretty, in a sharp, hungry sort of way, wearing a short, ruffled “maid” costume and sheer black stockings. Nathan and I exchanged a bewildered look. “Nathan,” my mother said, presenting the girl like a prize. “This is Jade. I’ve hired her as your ‘helper.’ She’s young, she’s hard-working… isn’t she much better to look at than a bloated housewife?” Jade looked down, biting her lip with a rehearsed shyness. My mother was doing it again. Because her husband cheated, mine had to, too. Nathan didn’t even hesitate. “Get out,” he said, his voice vibrating with rage. “You look ridiculous, and you’re clearly not here to clean. Lydia, take your ‘friend’ and leave our house before I call the police.” My mother gripped the doorframe. “Jade is very talented,” she said with a wicked glint in her eye. “Just give her one day. A trial run. You can’t judge a girl by her clothes. She needs the work, Nathan. If she doesn’t find a job, her family will sell her off to some old man in the countryside. Have some heart!” Jade looked up with watery eyes. “Please, Mr. Vance. Just one chance.” My head was pounding. I just wanted them gone. “Fine,” I muttered. “One day. If they aren’t gone by tomorrow morning, Nathan, call the cops.” My mother and Jade shared a look. It was a look of pure, predatory triumph. The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. I called Nathan’s name, but the house was silent. I walked down the hall to the guest room. The door was ajar. I pushed it open and the world stopped spinning. Nathan and Jade were lying in the bed, completely naked, their skin flushed, the sheets tangled around them in a way that left nothing to the imagination. The pain that ripped through me was physical. I let out a jagged cry and swept a glass vase off the nightstand. It shattered against the floor. My mother walked in, leaning against the doorframe. She looked at me with the most radiant smile I had ever seen on her face. “Your father did it. Why shouldn’t your husband?” she purred. “I married a loser, why should you get a man like Nathan? Jade is young and beautiful. They’re a much better match.” She grabbed my arm, her grip like iron. “Come on, don’t make a scene. Let the lovebirds be. We’re going to the clinic to get rid of that baby, and then I’ll introduce you to someone who actually suits you. Stan from across the street is looking for a wife.” Stan. A forty-year-old alcoholic who lived in his mother’s basement and had a history of domestic calls. This wasn’t just jealousy. This was hatred. Then I saw the empty bottle of heavy-duty sedatives and an industrial-strength aphrodisiac on the dresser. My stomach turned. I wrenched my arm away from her, severing the last thread of “family” I had left. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a poisoning and a sexual assault. The address is…”

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The boy I’d loved for a lifetime was throwing himself into the Atlantic, and the entire neighborhood was screaming for someone to save him. The salt air was thick with panic, but I didn’t move. Instead, I grabbed my brother, Griffith, by the collar and shoved him back inside. I slammed the heavy oak door shut and slid the iron bolt home with a resounding clack. Griffith lunged for the door, his face a mask of frantic desperation. I didn’t give him the chance. I took the heavy brass key, shoved it into my mouth, and swallowed. It scraped against my throat, a cold, metallic weight sliding down into my gut. “Nora!” Griffith screamed my name, his eyes bloodshot as he watched me through the small glass pane in the door. He threw his shoulder against the wood, the impact rattling the entire frame. “Spit it out! Nora, goddammit, spit it out!” I leaned against the wall, my body racked by a violent, reflexive cough. Tears pricked my eyes—not from grief, but from the physical toll of what I’d just done. I looked at him through the blurred glass, my expression dead and cold. “Griffith,” I said, my voice raspy but steady. “If you try to find a way out of this house today, I’m going out that window. And I won’t be looking for a way to swim.” The look in my eyes stopped him cold. He knew me. He knew I meant it. 1 I stood by the window, my hand resting on the sill, watching the chaos outside. I wasn’t joking. Not about this. Not after living through what I’d already lived through. By the next morning, the news that I had “stood by and watched a boy drown” had spread through our small coastal town like a wildfire. In a town where everyone knew everyone’s business, I had become the local pariah overnight. “Did you hear? The Rivers girl… she’s got a heart like a stone.” “I know! She watched Bennett jump and locked her own brother inside so he couldn’t help. Can you imagine?” “It’s jealousy, plain and simple. Just because Bennett’s been seeing that Miller girl, Melanie. A girl’s spite can be a poisonous thing.” The whispers followed me everywhere, thick enough to drown in. In my previous life, I spent forty years being praised for my “devotion” to Bennett. Forty years of nursing a man who never loved me, all because I felt I owed it to the world. In this life, I simply wanted to keep my brother alive, and for that, I was a “vixen.” It was almost funny. Around noon, Bennett’s parents showed up at our door. His mother, Martha, didn’t even wait to be invited in. She marched into our living room, her finger pointed inches from my nose. “Nora Rivers! You black-hearted girl! What did my Bennett ever do to you? You grew up together! How could you be so cruel?” She had a voice that carried, and within minutes, the porch was crowded with nosy neighbors looking for a show. My brother, Griffith, turned pale, stepping in front of me to shield me from her wrath. “Martha, watch your tone! My sister had a medical emergency yesterday—she was seizing! I couldn’t leave her side!” “A seizure? Pull the other one!” Martha barked, hands on her hips. “She’s got a sickness in her soul, is what she has! She couldn’t stand to see Bennett happy with someone else!” My parents, hardworking people who had never had a cross word with a neighbor in thirty years, stood there with their faces flushed deep red, unable to find the words to defend me. I gently pushed Griffith aside and met Martha’s fire-filled eyes with a chilling calm. “Mrs. Sandra,” I said. The room went silent. My voice was flat, devoid of the frantic energy everyone expected. But the coldness in my gaze made Martha take an involuntary step back. “You should be thanking me today.” Martha blinked, stunned. “Thanking you? I should thank you for the fact that my son is lying in a hospital bed in a coma?” “Yes.” I nodded, my eyes scanning the crowd at the door. “Because if I hadn’t ‘gotten sick’ exactly when I did, and if I hadn’t kept my brother here, there would likely be two bodies in the morgue today instead of one boy in a hospital bed.” A heavy silence fell over the room. People looked at each other, confused. I took a step forward, my voice low but carrying to every ear in the house. “Bennett didn’t go to the cliffs alone, did he?” I let the question hang. “I could have sworn I saw Melanie Miller running toward the water, too. Crying her eyes out.” The crowd erupted. In this town, in this era, reputation was everything. A young man and a girl running to the cliffs together, followed by a suicide attempt? That was a scandal that could fuel a hundred rumors. Melanie’s parents, standing at the edge of the porch, went ghost-white. Martha choked on her next insult. She wanted to argue, but facts were facts. People had seen Bennett and Melanie arguing by the water’s edge. I didn’t look at her again. I turned to my parents, my face softening into a look of feigned exhaustion. I leaned into Griffith’s arm, letting out a small, hollow cough. “Dad, Mom… my head hurts.” Then, in a whisper that sounded broken and terrified, I added: “I just… I didn’t want my brother to die for someone else’s secret affair.” 2 A single sentence turned the tide. In an instant, I wasn’t the “jealous girl” who let a boy drown. I was the “protective sister” who sacrificed her own reputation to keep her brother out of a messy, dangerous drama. The judgmental glares shifted. Now they were directed at Martha and the Millers. “So that’s what it was…” “My goodness, young people these days. No sense of shame.” “Exactly. If he wants to go play Romeo and Juliet on the rocks, why should a good boy like Griffith have to pay the price?” Martha’s face went from red to a sickly purple. She opened her mouth to scream at me, but I’d already backed her into a corner. If she kept pushing, she’d only confirm that her son was a fool who’d tried to die over a girl. She eventually grabbed her husband’s arm and scurried out, the crowd parting for them like a tide of judgment. The house finally went quiet. Griffith looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of worry and a confusion I’d never seen before. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it. I didn’t explain. The truth was too brutal for him to handle yet. I just leaned my head against his shoulder. “I’m tired, Griffith.” He sighed and guided me to my room, tucking the quilt around me. “Sleep, Nora. Don’t worry about anything. I’m here.” I closed my eyes, feeling the dull, lingering ache in my stomach from the key. It was nothing. Not compared to the forty years of slow-motion agony I’d endured in my last life. Bennett. Melanie. This was just the prologue. Everything you took from me—everything you took from my brother—I’m taking back. With interest. Bennett woke up two days later. He’d been pulled out by Old Man Miller, the fisherman, but his lungs were infected from the seawater. He was weak, tethered to an oxygen tank. Griffith couldn’t stay away. He dragged me along to the hospital. “Nora, look, we’ve lived next door to them forever. We were kids together. Now that he’s awake, it’s the right thing to do.” That was Griffith. Always too kind. Always too good. In my previous life, his kindness was what killed him. “Fine. Let’s go.” I agreed without hesitation. I wanted to go. I wanted to hand-deliver my first “gift.” I wanted to see the look on the face of the man who ruined my life when he realized I wasn’t the girl he remembered. The hospital room was crowded. His parents were there, along with a few neighbors. And sitting right by his bed was his “muse”—Melanie Miller. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, her eyes red-rimmed, tenderly spooning water into Bennett’s mouth. She looked every bit the grieving fiancee. 3 When we walked in, Melanie jumped like a startled rabbit. “Nora… Griffith,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She looked at me with a flicker of resentment and a strange kind of triumph. Bennett saw me, too. His face was already pale, but the moment he saw me, the blood drained from it entirely. His eyes were a storm of guilt, curiosity, and the raw panic of a man whose secret had been exposed. Griffith didn’t notice the tension. He set a basket of fruit on the nightstand. “Bennett, man, glad to see you’re back with us. Don’t do something that stupid ever again.” Bennett forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. But his eyes remained fixed on me, unable to look away, as if I were a ghost. I ignored him. I ignored Melanie. I walked to the window and yanked the heavy curtains open, letting the harsh afternoon sun flood the room. “It’s too stuffy in here. Patients need air to heal.” I turned around, walking slowly toward his bed until I was standing right over him. I smiled—a gentle, harmless smile. “You’re lucky to be alive, Bennett.” I leaned in closer. “But next time you feel like ending it all, try to pick a spot where there aren’t any witnesses. Poor Old Man Miller spent half a day in that cold water saving you. His arthritis is so bad now he can’t even get out of bed. His medical bills are going to be a lot more expensive than your stay here.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word hit him like a hammer. I’d stripped away the romantic veneer of his “tragedy” and exposed it for what it was: a selfish act of vanity that hurt innocent people. “Cough… cough!” Bennett’s face went beet-red, and he began to cough violently, his thin frame shaking. Melanie turned on me, her eyes flaring with anger. “Nora! How can you be so heartless? He’s suffering!” “Is he?” I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes on Bennett. I leaned down, whispering so only the three of us could hear. “By the way, while you were out, the nurse said you kept mumbling something. You kept saying, ‘Melanie, don’t leave me.’” I paused, watching his pupils dilate with terror. I let my lips curl into a cold smile. “That’s funny. Because forty years from now, when you’re taking your last breath by my bed, those are the exact same words you’ll say.” Boom. The words hit him like a thunderclap. Bennett’s eyes went wide—impossibly wide—filled with a primal, soul-deep horror. His hands gripped the bedsheets so hard his knuckles turned white. He started to tremble, looking at me as if I were a monster from the depths of the sea. He… he was back, too. He had returned with his memories, just like I had. The realization made my heart race with a dark, intoxicating mix of adrenaline and hatred. Good. Wonderful. If I were the only one who remembered, this revenge would be far too lonely. Now, you’ve brought your filthy secrets back with you. And I’m going to make sure you stay awake for every second of it. I’m going to make you watch as I dismantle every single thing you think you own. 4 I savored his look of absolute dread for a long moment before straightening up and smoothing my hair. I turned back to my brother, who was looking on with a confused frown. “Let’s go, Griffith.” “I think Bennett’s got plenty of company. We wouldn’t want to crowd him.” I put a sharp emphasis on “company,” glancing at Melanie, who was blushing a deep, guilty crimson. “Let’s leave the happy couple to their private talk.” I took Griffith’s hand and walked out without a backward glance. Behind us, I could hear Bennett’s ragged, panicked breathing and the sound of Melanie’s stifled sobs. Outside, the summer sun felt warm and clean on my skin. I took a deep breath. The weight that had been sitting on my chest for forty years finally began to lift. Bennett, from the moment you chose to drag my brother into your suicide pact, you sealed your fate. In the last life, I protected you for forty years. In this one, I’m going to walk you straight into hell. Bennett was smarter than I remembered. Or perhaps he was just better at survival. Once he realized I was playing the same game of time-traveling shadows, he spent exactly one night formulating a plan. The next day, despite his fever and his rattling lungs, he checked himself out of the hospital. Within hours, his parents were at our door again, but their arms weren’t empty this time. They were loaded with expensive gift baskets and fine wine. They weren’t there to accuse. They were there to propose. Martha’s face had undergone a miraculous transformation. The bitterness was gone, replaced by a fawning, oily smile as she took my mother’s hands. “Oh, Mary! Our Bennett has been talking nonstop about Nora! He says we all owe her so much! If she hadn’t stopped Griffith from jumping in, and if Griffith had been hurt… Bennett says he could never have lived with the guilt!” She was rewriting history in real-time, turning my “refusal to help” into a “noble sacrifice for the family.” “So, the Mr. and I got to talking. Bennett feels the same way. We think it’s time to stop dancing around it. Let’s set a date for the wedding! Let’s fulfill the wish our families have had for years. Let Bennett spend the rest of his life making it up to Nora!” My parents were simple, honest people. They were completely blindsided by this “happy news.” They’d always liked Bennett—he was the “golden boy” of the neighborhood, after all. Seeing the Sandras humble themselves and ask for my hand was, in their eyes, the ultimate honor. My mother’s face lit up. She was already nodding. “Well, if the children are willing…” Griffith was pacing in the corner, his brow furrowed. He’d seen the tension between Bennett and Melanie, but he was a man of few words, and he didn’t know how to challenge the parents without sounding like a jerk. I watched the scene with cold, detached amusement. Nice move, Bennett. He knew my parents were traditional. He knew they valued reputation above all else. He figured if we were engaged, I’d be bound to him. To protect my own future, I’d have to help him bury the scandal with Melanie. He even assumed he’d “sacrifice” Melanie for a while just to tie me down. He’d done it before. In my previous life, after Griffith died, the Sandras made the same offer. They said Bennett would “take care of me” in Griffith’s place. My parents, drowning in grief, agreed instantly. And just like that, my life was locked in a cage labeled “gratitude.” But there was one thing Bennett didn’t account for. Nora Rivers was no longer a naive girl who could be bullied by “duty.” I was a wraith who had crawled back from the grave. I looked at Bennett. He was standing behind his parents, pale and swaying, but his eyes were sharp. He was sending me a silent message: We’re even now, Nora. You smeared my name, so I’m taking your freedom. We’ll be ‘happily’ married, just like last time. He was so arrogant. So sure of himself. I smiled. Just as everyone expected me to nod shyly, I stood up. I walked over to the coffee table and reached under a stack of old magazines. I pulled out an envelope. It was slightly damp, the ink a little blurred at the edges. “What’s that, honey?” my mom asked. I held the envelope up to the light, my smile widening. Bennett’s face went from pale to a ghostly, translucent white.

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The night before our wedding, my fiancée—a rising Colonel in the Army—was in bed with my sister’s boyfriend. She had been my sister’s best friend, the woman my parents treated like a second daughter, the “perfect” bride we all believed in. The scandal didn’t just break our hearts; it shattered our lives. My sister, Claire, was so devastated that she crashed her car that same night. She never woke up. My parents’ hair turned white overnight. I spent months drowning in a grief so heavy I looked for any way out. For a long time, the only sound in our house was the muffled, rhythmic sobbing behind closed doors. Eventually, it was my father who made the call. We moved cities, seeking a ghost-free zip code where we could breathe again. I found a good woman. We had a beautiful daughter, Maya. Five years passed, and I honestly thought I had cut the cord connecting me to Morgan West forever. Then came my birthday. I walked into my office to find a box of almond shortbread—my absolute favorite—sitting on my desk. Next to it was a note. Nate, it’s been too long. … 1 My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edges of the pastry box. My supervisor, Sarah—who knew enough of my history to see the blood drain from my face—hesitated. “Is it her?” I didn’t answer. I just went back to my tactical reports, my pen trembling. Sarah sighed. “I heard Morgan West requested a transfer back from the Western Command. Are you going to keep doing this, Nate? You’re going to be colleagues again. Besides, she was your sister’s—” “Sarah,” I snapped, the tip of my pen tearing through the paper. “My sister didn’t have a ‘best friend’ like that. Not in this life.” Sarah looked at me, her gaze softening. “It’s been five years. Do you still hate her?” “Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. The word felt like a shard of ice in my throat. She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head and walked out. On my way out, I ran into the Base Commander, who had been Claire and Morgan’s instructor back at West Point. After a brief debrief, his expression turned complicated. “The orders came through today. Morgan is officially joining the Eastern Command.” “Understood, sir,” I said, my voice flat. He remained silent for a few seconds. “Your sister was a soldier with a huge heart, Nate. If she were here, she wouldn’t want things to be like this.” Like what? Since when did the victim have to offer forgiveness just to prove they had a “big heart”? I didn’t understand why everyone was suddenly a spokesperson for letting go. Does time erase the physical reality of what happened? I was the one with the moral high ground, yet I was the one being held hostage by “the bigger picture” and “service camaraderie.” My peers, my superiors… why were they all suddenly on her side? I didn’t want to understand. I refused to. The early winter wind bit at my face on the walk home. I took a deep breath, smoothing the tension from my forehead before I opened the door. My parents and my wife, Elena, were in the kitchen making dumplings. My three-year-old, Maya, was perched on a stool, poking holes into a lump of dough with her tiny fingers. “Daddy!” Maya dropped the dough and lunged for me. I scooped her up, kissing her flour-dusted cheek. She held up her mangled creation. “I’m making these for Auntie Claire!” A lump formed in my throat. “You’re doing a great job, sweetie.” When dinner was served, I filled a bowl and placed it at the empty seat at the table. A neatly folded, older-style dress uniform sat there, undisturbed for five years. It was a ritual—as if Claire was just away on a long deployment and would walk through the door any minute. Maya tugged at my sleeve. “Daddy, why does Auntie Claire always stay in the picture frame?” “Why doesn’t she come out to eat with us?” “When is she going to play with me?” I looked at the photo on the wall. Claire was frozen at twenty-four, her shoulders straight, her smile radiant, her rank pins gleaming. The room went silent. My parents froze for a second before continuing to pleat the dumplings. Elena reached out and squeezed my hand under the table. I looked into my daughter’s clear, innocent eyes and stroked her hair. I didn’t have an answer. If Claire were here, she’d be a devoted daughter, a protective sister, and the best aunt in the world. But “if” is a cruel word. For five years, I thought I’d buried those memories deep enough that they couldn’t hurt me. I was wrong. All it took was a box of cookies to rip the scabs right off. 2 The next morning, I stepped onto the training grounds and walked straight into Morgan West. Five years hadn’t just changed her; they’d sharpened her. She’d lost the soft edges of her youth, replaced by the cold, lethal precision of a Tier 1 operator. She carried an aura of command that made the air feel heavy. Soldiers saluted as they passed. I was so stunned I forgot to return them. My eyes were locked on her face, and my chest felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. I couldn’t help but think: If only she had been the one buried in the national cemetery five years ago. If only it were my sister standing here today. “How have you been, Nate?” Morgan spoke first. Her voice was steady, unreadable. I turned to walk away, but she grabbed my wrist. Her grip was iron, her brow furrowed with a flicker of impatience she couldn’t quite hide. “Nate, look. I know what happened back then was wrong. But I’m not some ungrateful monster.” “My family did everything for you, and I’ve remembered that every day I was gone,” she continued. “Can’t we just let the past stay in the past?” I spun around, staring into her eyes. The heat of my rage was so intense it made my vision blur. “How dare you, Morgan? What gives you the right to decide when it’s ‘over’?” Her frown deepened. “Nate, I know you’re angry, but it’s been five years…” “Time doesn’t change what you did!” I shouted. Her expression shifted, a shadow of something—guilt, maybe, or just annoyance—crossing her face. She went quiet for a few beats. “What happened between me and Blake… I’m sorry. To you, and to Claire.” She looked at me with an agonizing sincerity. “I requested this transfer so I could apologize to your face.” That was the spark. The five years of repressed fury exploded. I shoved her hand off me so hard she stumbled back a half-step. “Don’t you dare say her name!” I roared, my voice echoing off the concrete. I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and stormed into the office. The door flew open a moment later. It was Riley, my best friend and Claire’s former teammate in the recon unit. She had just returned from a border rotation. She grabbed my arm, her eyes searching mine. “I heard she was back. I cut my leave short to get here.” She saw my bloodshot eyes. “You saw her?” I nodded. Riley started rolling up her sleeves, her face darkening. “That bitch actually showed her face? I’m going to go out there and break her arm.” I pulled her back, shaking my head. Riley stopped, looking at my pale face, her own eyes tearing up. “If it weren’t for your parents and Claire, she wouldn’t have even finished the Academy. They paid for her mother’s funeral. They treated her like blood.” “And she repays them by sleeping with Claire’s fiancé? She’s a goddamn parasite. She should have been court-martialed.” The pain in my chest was a dull, throbbing ache. Riley was right. People like Morgan West deserved a reckoning. Back then, Morgan was Claire’s world. They were inseparable at West Point. Morgan came from nothing—her father was killed in the line of duty, and her mother was chronically ill. When her mother passed away during their sophomore year, Morgan couldn’t even afford the burial. Claire went home and begged my parents for the money. My parents, being the people they are, didn’t just pay for the funeral; they became her benefactors. Later, Morgan worked herself to the bone to pay them back, every cent. She even spent two years tutoring me in military theory. We thought we had brought a grateful, loyal person into our inner circle. We never imagined that the person we called family would be the one to drive a knife into our hearts and push our entire world off a cliff. 3 The man who nearly became my brother-in-law—the man who became the wedge between me and Morgan—was Blake Montgomery. He was in the military band, a golden boy with a charming smile that my parents adored. Back then, Morgan and I were engaged. The invitations were already at the printers. But at every gathering, I started noticing the way Blake looked at her. It wasn’t right. It was a look of desperate, aching longing—a look he never gave my sister. I brought it up to Morgan a few times, gently. She’d always laugh it off. “Nate, stop being paranoid. He’s your future brother-in-law. Why would anything happen?” She’d even tease me: “If Claire heard you saying this, she’d think I was corrupting you.” Her innocence was so convincing that I buried my anxiety. But soon, the boundaries began to blur. They’d flirt and joke right in front of me. Once, Blake handed Morgan a half-empty water bottle he’d been drinking from. She didn’t hesitate. She took it and drank. My heart sank. That night, Morgan and I had a massive fight. “How could you do that? To me? To Claire?” Morgan was silent for a long time. Finally, she looked up and promised she’d keep her distance from Blake. For a while, she did. But I felt the temperature in our relationship drop to sub-zero. The fighting stopped, but the intimacy vanished. Three days before the wedding, I went to our new apartment with some decorations. I punched in the code and pushed the door open. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The bedroom door was wide open. On the custom red silk sheets we’d picked out together, two figures were tangled. Their uniforms were scattered across the floor like discarded skins. The decorations in my hand hit the floor with a deafening metallic clatter. The two on the bed jumped. Morgan bolted upright, her face draining of color when she saw me standing in the doorway. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t cry. She just snarled, “Get out!” I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. I turned and stumbled out into the hallway. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Blake: Sorry, man. Some people you just can’t keep. I collapsed in the stairwell, a grown man sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. How could they? To me? To Claire? Claire. She couldn’t stay in the dark. I fumbled for my phone to call her, but before I could dial, a notification popped up. Claire had been in an accident. My world didn’t just crack; it vanished. Claire was in a coma in the ICU for seven days. The military doctor stood beside me, his voice a low drone. “Her brain activity suggests she might be conscious, Nate. But the trauma is so severe her body can’t respond.” He adjusted his glasses. “Talk to her. If she has the will to live, there’s a chance.” I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. “The cause?” “The police report says excessive speed.” Excessive speed. The words looped in my head. Claire was the most disciplined driver I knew. She would never speed unless something had broken her. Three days later, the police returned her phone. It was cracked but functional. I hesitated, then typed in the passcode. It was Blake’s birthday. The last message was from Blake. It was sent the same day I found them. I pressed play on the voice memo, my hands shaking. The sounds that came out of the speaker—Morgan’s voice, Blake’s breath—were obscene. I ran to the trash can outside the ward and retched until I was dry-heaving. Tears mixed with stomach acid dripped onto the linoleum floor. The smell of bleach and antiseptic became a physical weight, pressing into my skull. So that was it. Claire had heard that recording. She was speeding back to confront them, to find me, to do something—and she crashed. They killed her. I wiped my face, deleted the recording, and cleared the trash. I told no one, not even my parents. They couldn’t take any more. I spent every day at her bedside, talking. I talked about our childhood, the Academy, everything. But I never mentioned Morgan or Blake. A week later, Claire’s finger twitched. Before I could even process the hope, Blake Montgomery walked in. Through the ICU glass, I saw him standing over her bed, whispering something. 4 When he saw me, Blake actually smiled. “Hey, Nate. I was just talking to Claire. We were talking about your wedding to Morgan.” “She needs to wake up soon,” he continued, his voice dripping with malice. “We all want to celebrate together.” The provocation was so blatant I felt a surge of pure, electric fury. I hadn’t made a scene yet, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten his betrayal. It didn’t mean he got to stand by her deathbed and gloat. I didn’t even realize I was moving. I grabbed his arm and drove my knee into his gut. Blake wasn’t ready for it. He slammed into the wall with a dull thud. In that second, Morgan rushed in. “Nate, are you crazy?” she screamed, her voice echoing in the sterile hall. I tried to speak, but the words were stuck. Blake groaned, clutching his stomach. “Morgan, it hurts… God, it hurts.” Morgan glared at me, then leaned down to whisper to him. “It’s okay, honey. We’re going to get a doctor.” She helped him up and hurried him down the hall, their footsteps fading away. I was left standing there, alone. A few days later, after sending my exhausted parents home, I returned to the hospital. As I approached the ICU, I saw a scene through the glass that froze my soul. Morgan was in Blake’s arms. They were kissing—deeply, passionately—right in front of Claire’s bed. I was paralyzed. Then I heard Blake’s voice through the door. “When Claire wakes up, she’ll be happy for us. She’s always wanted us to be happy.” Morgan smiled. “As soon as she’s better, we’ll tell her.” As the words left her mouth, the heart monitor flatlined into a long, shrill, terrifying scream. Claire’s fingers curled once, sharply. The jagged peaks of the EKG vanished into a single, horizontal line. “Doctor! Doctor!” I screamed like a madman. The hallway exploded into chaos. Nurses and doctors swarmed the room, their white coats like the wings of panicked birds. The room was a blur of crashing equipment and tangled wires. The defibrillator hummed. “Clear! Two hundred joules! Everyone back!” “Again! Three hundred!” I charged into the room, shoving Morgan and Blake aside with a strength I didn’t know I had. “Get out!” I roared, my eyes wild. “Get the hell out of here!” Morgan’s face turned ashen. She saw the sheer madness in my eyes and backed away, dragging Blake with her. The door slammed shut. I collapsed in the corner, sobbing silently. The alarm kept ringing—a rhythmic stabbing in my heart. “Claire, please,” I whispered. “Don’t go. Please.” I knelt on the floor and prayed to a God I hadn’t spoken to in years. I begged Him not to take her. But He wasn’t listening. I watched as my big sister, the woman who had protected me since I was a boy, was wheeled into the crematorium. A short time later, all that was left of her was a handful of ash in a ceramic jar. … Being in the same Command as Morgan was proving to be impossible. I rubbed my eyes, preparing to put in for leave. The elevator dinked. Morgan ran out, nearly sprinting toward me. She grabbed my shoulders, her voice trembling. “Why is everyone saying… why are they saying your sister is gone?”

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When I saw the “Unattainable Queen” of my college years again, her empire had crumbled into dust. Her company was bankrupt, her daughter was permanently injured, and the “perfect” high-school-sweetheart husband she’d once worshipped had vanished into thin air. At a park in downtown Chicago, Margot Vance—now a shadow of her former self—approached my food truck with trembling hands. “Can I… can I just buy half a sandwich?” she whispered, her eyes avoiding mine. I didn’t say a word. I just nodded and handed her two full meals, on the house. Years passed. We built something new from the wreckage. We became a power couple, rising back to the top of the city’s elite. On the day Margot’s new firm went public and her daughter, Maya, received her acceptance letter to Harvard, a ghost appeared at the celebration. Sebastian looked exactly as he did in the old photographs—young, handsome, wearing a crisp white shirt that made him look like a tragic hero from a classic novel. He moved with a practiced, gentle grace. Ignoring my parked Rolls-Royce, he pulled out a stack of hand-drawn “Daddy Coupons” and handed them to Maya as a graduation gift. “Maya, remember these? You loved them when you were little. With these, you can have Daddy’s time whenever you want.” Then, he placed a heart-shaped river stone into Margot’s hand. “Margot, this represents my heart. It hasn’t changed. Not for a single second.” Only after this performance did he turn to me. His eyes were cold, dripping with effortless disdain. “During the years I was lost with amnesia, I appreciate you looking after my wife and daughter,” he said, his voice smooth. “But now that the original is back, the substitute can leave.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at Margot. When Sebastian first disappeared, she had spiraled into a clinical depression that lasted three years. She had tried to end her life seven times. I was curious. I wanted to see how the woman who swore she would never forgive him would choose today. 1 Margot stood there, the stone clutched in her palm, staring at Sebastian with an expression I couldn’t read. But I knew. The moment Sebastian appeared, the grip she had on my hand tightened so hard it bruised my skin. I smiled inwardly, keeping my face a mask of calm, and gently patted her hand. “Sebastian,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension. “You regained your memory right after Maya’s accident and just as Margot’s first company went under? That’s a hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” I wasn’t just accusing him; I was throwing a lifeline to Margot’s logic. Margot set the stone down on a nearby table. “Sebastian, please leave. You aren’t welcome here.” The rejection hit him like a physical blow. Sebastian’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Margot, how can you do this to me? I had amnesia. I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t stop loving our daughter.” He turned his gaze toward me, pointing a finger. “How could you betray me while I was lost? You’re only with him because he’s a vulture circling the family assets. Can’t you see that?” Before anyone could blink, the sound of a sharp crack echoed through the hall. Margot hadn’t hesitated. She had slapped him across the face. “George is my husband,” she hissed. “I won’t let anyone slander him.” Sebastian touched his cheek, tears streaming down. “You hit me for him? Fine. If this is how it is, I don’t want to live. I’ll give you what you want.” He turned and bolted toward the roof of the hotel. The guests gasped, some rushing to stop him, but Margot stood like a statue. “Let him go,” she said coldly. “Don’t stop him.” But Maya broke. “Mom! That’s my father! Do you want him to die?” In her rush to follow him, she knocked over the twenty-three-tier custom cake and the champagne tower I’d ordered for her. Glass shattered, and gold-leaf frosting smeared across the floor as she ran for the elevator without a second look at me. The party was a ruin. Margot insisted on seeing me to the car first, but I’ve known her long enough to see the cracks. She was already gone, her soul hovering somewhere on that rooftop. Sure enough, as soon as the valet closed my door, she leaned in. “George, I just remembered something urgent at the office. I need to handle it.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and ran back into the building. Ten minutes later, my contact inside the building sent a video to my phone. In a deserted stairwell, Sebastian had Margot pinned against the wall. He was kissing her—hard, desperate. Margot didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t push him away either. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, her knuckles white. After a long, suffocating silence, Sebastian pulled back. “Admit it, Margot. You still love me. Why are you lying to yourself?” He grabbed her hand and forced it open. “Look at your palms. You’ve dug your nails in so deep you’re bleeding.” “Enough,” Margot whispered, pulling her hand away. “When you left me, you should have known there was no coming back.” Sebastian stared into her eyes. “Fine. Then I’ll go finish what I started on the roof.” As he turned, Margot’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist. “I thought you didn’t care?” he mocked. “Why are you holding me?” She didn’t answer with words. She pulled him in and kissed him back—an aggressive, hungry, devastating kiss. The wet, rhythmic sound of their breathing filled my earbuds. Finally, she pulled away, her hand moving to his throat, gripping it almost like she wanted to choke him. “Sebastian, hate lasts longer than love. I want you to spend the rest of your life drowning in the guilt of what you did to us.” I felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. The string I’d kept pulled taut since Sebastian appeared finally snapped. I turned off the feed. That night, I called my lawyer. I started the inventory of our shared assets and pulled out the divorce papers Margot had signed months ago as a “legal precaution” for the merger. I signed my name next to hers. I had always hoped this was a safety net I’d never need. I didn’t expect to fall into it so soon. 2 Eight years ago, Margot Vance was the undisputed titan of the Chicago tech scene. I was a nobody, a ghost in the back of the room. I remember watching her on a stage at a tech summit; she looked like an untouchable marble statue—cold, elegant, and brilliant. I was in the last row, clutching a brochure, not even brave enough to clap too loudly. Six months later, I found her in a crowded night market. I was running a food truck to scrape together seed money for my startup. Margot was pushing a wheelchair; Maya, with a heavy cast on her leg, sat inside. The glory was gone. She was so broke she had to ask if she could buy half a sandwich. From the whispers on the street, I learned the truth. Margot had been defrauded by a partner she trusted like a brother. Her empire collapsed in a month. Then Maya broke her leg in a freak accident, and Margot’s mother suffered a stroke from the stress. In the three days following the collapse, Sebastian’s family scrubbed any mention of the Vances from their lives. Sebastian himself vanished that same night. Margot broke. The depression hit her like a tidal wave. I couldn’t get the image of them out of my head. Every night, I watched for them. I started giving them “samples”—full meals hidden in small bags. Eventually, we talked. I brought her into my world—AI development. I had the vision; she had the sharp, serrated edge of a veteran CEO. We were a perfect match. Naturally, we fell in love. Or so I thought. While Sebastian was in Europe, reportedly marrying a French heiress and spending his days at spas, I was cleaning Margot’s mother’s bedpans. In the dead of a Chicago winter, my hands were cracked and bleeding from washing their linens in cold water when the heater broke. While Sebastian was learning floral arrangement and sipping Earl Grey, I was studying physical therapy techniques to massage Maya’s atrophied leg muscles. I carried that girl—already five-foot-five back then—up and down the stairs for her rehab sessions. While Sebastian was traveling the world for “inspiration,” I was sleeping two hours a day to keep our new company afloat, terrified to close my eyes because I was afraid Margot might try to hurt herself again in the middle of the night. And now, Sebastian’s heiress had gone bankrupt. After ten years of being a lapdog, he wanted to come back and harvest the fruit I had planted. He wanted me gone. The hell he does. I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of the front door. Margot walked in, her phone on speaker. Her legal team was asking if she wanted to file a defamation suit against Sebastian for his comments at the party. I looked at her. Her eyes flickered away. She hesitated, then shook her head. “Forget it,” she said. “Let’s just let today go.” She noticed me then and hung up quickly. “George… I just don’t want any more drama with him. It’s cleaner this way.” “What if I say no?” I asked. “What?” She looked startled. I had never used that tone with her—cold, clinical. “What if I told you I don’t agree? What if I want him prosecuted for slander? What will you do?” “Do you have any idea how important today’s IPO was for our stock price?” I continued. “This isn’t just a ‘squabble.’ It was a calculated attack on our brand.” Margot sighed, looking at me with a touch of patronizing exhaustion. “George, it was a minor scene. Don’t blow this out of proportion. I’ve already handled the PR team.” Her voice was soft, but it made my chest tighten. “Come on,” she said, reaching for my hand. “Don’t be like this. I’ll take you to dinner.” She started pulling me toward the door, not waiting for my consent. 3 She took me to a bistro I hated. I had told her a dozen times the salt air there made me nauseous, but she never remembered. We hadn’t even looked at the menus when Maya walked in, leading Sebastian by the hand. “Mom, Dad didn’t have anywhere to eat, so I brought him,” Maya said, her voice defiant. I stood up to leave, but Margot grabbed my arm. “George, it’s just a meal. Don’t be petty.” Sebastian shot me a smirk that was gone in a flash, replaced by a humble, “house-guest” smile. He sat down and started arranging the silverware for Margot and Maya as if he were the master of the house. I sat back down. Fine. I wouldn’t starve myself for his sake. I pulled out my phone to scan the QR code for the menu. As I looked through the options, Margot and Maya began ordering in sync—both picking the heavy, cream-based dishes Sebastian loved. They caught each other’s eyes and shared a small, knowing smile before correcting the duplicates. I ignored them and ordered what I liked. Sebastian suddenly turned “thoughtful.” “This is so much food. The four of us can’t possibly finish all this, can we?” Margot glanced at the digital cart. Without a word to me, she deleted everything I had ordered. I snatched the phone back and added them back in. Margot looked embarrassed for a second, then rubbed her temple and stayed quiet. While we waited for the food, Sebastian leaned toward Maya. “Show me that school form you mentioned. The emergency contact one.” Maya pulled a paper from her bag. In the “Mother” column was Margot’s name. In the “Father” column, she had already written Sebastian’s. I stared at the ink. I remembered when Maya’s leg had finally healed, but she still walked with a limp. The kids at school called her “The Broken Doll.” The local bullies used to corner her after class. She never told Margot; she didn’t want to add to her mother’s stress. I found out when I saw the bruises. That day, I went to the park where those kids hung out. I didn’t even bring a weapon. I just stood there. They hit me with a wooden bat until my legs gave out, but every time I fell, I stood back up. I didn’t stop until they were terrified of me. They never touched her again. After that, I spent every evening helping Maya with her stretches, retasking her brain to walk without the limp. From that year on, her emergency contact had always been me. But Sebastian comes back, does nothing, and the world resets to his orbit. I ate my meal in silence. Sebastian took a bite of a spicy dish, and both Margot and Maya reached out simultaneously to stop him, knowing his stomach was sensitive. He laughed, took the half-chewed bite out of his mouth, and dropped it into Margot’s bowl. “Don’t want to waste it,” he said. Margot didn’t even blink. She just picked it up and ate it. After dinner, Sebastian said he wanted a private word with me. He told Margot and Maya to head to the car. I tried to walk away, but he followed me like a shadow. It turns out, the man was truly unhinged. We reached a Y-junction on the sidewalk, near the parking lot entrance. Suddenly, he shoved me. The two branches of the Y divided us. Margot’s SUV and Maya’s sedan were both pulling out of the lot, accelerating toward the street. When they saw us in the middle of the road, their headlights flared. The screech of brakes filled the night. To the left: me. To the right: Sebastian. In that split second, the laws of physics and the loyalty of hearts collided. Both cars veered. CRASH. It wasn’t a clip. It was a solid, bone-shattering impact. The pain was a physical wall that slammed into my senses. My body felt weightless, then impossibly heavy as I hit the asphalt. I heard the wet sound of my own bones snapping. Blood, warm and metallic, poured from my forehead, filling my mouth. Through a haze of red, I saw Sebastian standing perfectly fine on the other side of the road. He mouthed two words at me: “You lose.” I could hear Margot and Maya’s voices, frantic and high-pitched. They weren’t calling my name. They were screaming for Sebastian. I woke up in the hospital to the sound of an argument. “Sebastian, do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You can’t play games with traffic! I told you, I have a life now. Get out of my house!” “No! If I can’t have you, no one can. I only left because I was sick. It wasn’t my fault! You’re mine, Margot. You’ve always been mine.” “Admit it, Margot. You and Maya still love me.” The shouting went on for half an hour. Neither of them would back down. Maya was in the middle, playing peacemaker, trying to soothe them both. They looked like a family. A messy, dysfunctional, perfectly matched family. I tried to reach for the water glass on my bedside table. My hand shook, and the glass shattered on the floor. The room went silent. Margot finally walked over, taking my hand with a look of practiced concern. “George, you’re awake. Thank God. I was so worried.” “Get out,” I croaked. “All of you. Get the hell out.” My roar was enough to finally clear the room. For the next few days, Margot tried to “prove” her loyalty by making Sebastian act as my nurse to “atone” for the accident. He used the time to torture me. He put insects in my food. He “accidentally” tripped over my oxygen line while I was sleeping. He switched my meds. I ended up back in the ICU twice. Margot yelled at him, but she never kicked him out. I saw her then for exactly what she was. I banned all visitors, hired my own private security, and finally discharged myself. 4 The first thing I did was head to the office for the final asset split. But when I walked through the doors, the world had changed again. The minimalist, professional grey-and-glass interior I had designed was gone. It had been replaced by gaudy gold accents and velvet furniture. I walked toward the boardroom. Usually, I led these meetings. Today, Sebastian was at the head of the table. “I don’t care who you thought was the man of the house before,” Sebastian was saying to our senior leads. “From now on, I’m the one in charge. I’m the legal husband here. Certain people who stole what wasn’t theirs will be escorted out soon. I suggest you choose your side wisely.” When he finished, several industry titans—men who wouldn’t have looked at Margot if I hadn’t brokered the deals—started clapping. Margot had used her remaining social capital to buy him a seat at the table. I remembered when I was sick during our first year. I had a rare, agonizing nerve condition. I asked Margot to use her contacts to find a specialist. She told me she “didn’t want to call in favors” for something personal. I spent two months in agony, just white-knuckling through the pain. Love and indifference are two different universes. I reached for the door handle, but someone grabbed my arm. It was Maya. She handed me a legal notice. “This is from Mom. It’s a formal transfer of shares. My dad is going to be a founding partner, just like you.” She looked at me with a cold, detached pity. “Look, you don’t have kids. This company was always going to come to me anyway. My dad joining now is just moving up the timeline. There’s no point in fighting it.” “You don’t have kids.” I laughed. When we first married, Maya was so fragile I agreed not to have more children so she wouldn’t feel replaced. Later, as the company grew, the stress of the Vance family’s internal board-room wars took such a toll on my health that I missed two windows for IVF. By the time the dust settled, my body was too broken to try again. Margot had held me while I cried from the physical pain of my surgeries, swearing she would never let me suffer again. And all that sacrifice earned me was: “You don’t have kids anyway.” I shoved past her, went to my office, and started packing. Margot walked in as I was clearing my desk. “George, what are you doing?” “Taking out the trash,” I said. She winced at my tone. “Are you mad about Sebastian? Look, don’t misunderstand. Maya said his presence is good luck for the brand this year. It’s just branding. Think of him as a mascot. After the fiscal year ends, I’ll phase him out. Don’t overthink it.” “And the shares? Does a ‘mascot’ need voting stock?” Margot stammered. “He… he has no degree, George. He has no job. How is he supposed to survive in this city without an equity stake? It’s just…” “Stop.” I opened the door to escort her out. Suddenly, Sebastian came stumbling down the hallway. His clothes were torn, and there was blood on his face. “Margot! Save me!” he gasped, clutching her sleeve. When he saw me, he flinched, shrinking back. “George… I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I’ll leave Chicago. I’ll never see her again, I promise…” He let out a single, perfect tear. Then he turned and limped toward the exit, looking like the loneliest man on earth. I was stunned. His acting was so good I almost believed I’d hired a hitman to beat him. I looked at Margot. She was expressionless. “Do you really think I did that?” I asked. She stepped forward and hugged me. “I know you, George. You wouldn’t do that.” I felt a tiny spark of relief. At least she wasn’t completely gone. But the next morning, my lawyer called. “George, Margot just used her tie-breaking vote to remove you from the board. Your entire stake has been ‘temporarily’ reassigned to Sebastian under a loyalty clause. And… she’s issued a gag order. No one is allowed to tell you the time or location of the IPO bell-ringing. She’s taking Sebastian instead.” I sat in the silence of my empty apartment. The IPO was the culmination of a decade of my life. And she was giving my moment to a ghost. My heart didn’t break. It just went cold. The day of the IPO, Sebastian was dressed in a custom-made tuxedo that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. He looked every bit the victor as he led Margot onto the podium at the exchange. The host invited Sebastian to the center of the stage. Margot took his hand, lifting it toward the bell. Just as they were about to strike…

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The screech of twisting metal was still echoing in my skull when I opened my eyes to find a man kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of practiced devotion. He was holding a ring—a cheap, thin band that looked like it had been salvaged from a discount bin—and asking me to spend the rest of my life with him. “Say yes, Mara!” a voice chirped from the bedside. “You’ve been waiting seven years for this. Don’t keep him hanging!” My head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic ache behind my eyes. For a moment, the world blurred, and then the memories hit me—not just the crash, but the suffocating weight of a life already lived. In my first life, I had nodded. I had been dazed, my memory a fractured mirror, and I had reached for his hand like it was a life raft. Because of that one choice, my best friend, Jade, had stepped into my shoes. She became the long-lost heiress, the miracle daughter of a billionaire couple from Chicago, while I was whisked away to a dead-end town in rural Ohio to become Grant’s dutiful wife. I spent thirty years in that town. I spent thirty years bleaching the stains of his indifference out of his shirts and nursing his paralyzed mother while she cursed my name. Grant would leave for “work” months at a time, sending back barely enough money to keep the lights on. I remembered the end. I remembered lying in a bed that smelled of damp and old age, my lungs failing. Grant had looked at me then, his eyes sharp with a terrifying kind of relief. “You know,” he’d whispered, leaning close enough for me to smell the expensive bourbon on his breath—the bourbon my ‘parents’ had likely paid for. “The couple who came looking for their daughter back then? They were yours. They’re worth hundreds of millions. But look at you, Mara. You were always so plain, so ordinary. You would have been miserable in that world. So I gave the DNA results to Jade. She was born for that life. She’s beautiful, she’s smart. She deserved it more.” As the monitors flatlined, he’d actually smiled. “I felt guilty sometimes, watching you rot here. But now that you’re finally dying, I can let it go. My conscience is clear.” The rage had been the last thing I felt before the darkness claimed me. And now, I was back. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was the same. The cheap ring was the same. And Grant was right there, waiting for me to forfeit my life again. 1 “Mara! Mara! Come on, don’t just stand there—say yes!” My friends’ voices were a blurred cacophony of excitement, pressing in on me from all sides. They kept reminding me that I’d been waiting seven years for this moment, that I should just grab my happily-ever-after while it was being handed to me. Looking at the scene before me, a violent shudder ripped through my body. The sterile smell of the hospital, the cheap bouquet of carnations, the expectant faces—it was all too familiar. The realization hit me like a physical blow: I was back. I had actually come back. In my previous life, my parents had tracked me down at the orphanage. They had run DNA tests on several girls, myself included. But before the results came back, the accident happened. I woke up with my memories shattered, a blank slate for Grant to write his lies upon. I’d spent thirty years as a ghost, a shell of a woman in a dead-end town, scrubbing floors and caring for his paralyzed mother while he spent “working” months in the city, barely sending back enough for bread. I had died in a cold bed, gasping for air, while Grant leaned over me and whispered the truth: that my parents were billionaires, that he’d swapped my DNA results with Tessa’s because “a girl like me” didn’t deserve that life. He said Tessa was the one who belonged in high society. He said he felt “guilty” watching me suffer, and he was glad I was finally dying so he could have a clean conscience. I felt a surge of bile rise in my throat. I looked down at Grant, who was still hovering on one knee, his face a mask of practiced devotion. “Mara, honey, you must be in shock,” Grant said, his voice smooth as oil. “I get it. You don’t even have to say it. I know what’s in your heart.” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed my hand, eager to slide the ring onto my finger. It was a pathetic thing—a thin, silver-plated band with a cloudy stone, likely picked up from a pawn shop on his way here. It was two sizes too small. He didn’t care. He just gripped my knuckles, forcing the metal over my skin with brutal, clumsy strength. “Enough!” I wrenched my hand back, the movement so sudden that the ring went flying. It hit the linoleum floor with a sharp, hollow ting and rolled under a cabinet. The room went silent. Grant’s face froze, his expression caught between a fake smile and genuine irritation. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice cold and steady. “I don’t know who you are. Get out.” Grant’s jaw tightened, but he quickly pivoted to his “doting boyfriend” persona. His eyes turned glassy with forced tears as he reached for me again. “Mara, I know the accident scrambled things, but we’ve been together for seven years. I’m your only family. I’m the man you love. You have to trust me.” He looked so sincere that the people in the room started whispering, casting judgmental looks my way. In their eyes, I was a girl from nowhere—an orphan with no degree and no future. Grant, though not rich, was “handsome” and “loyal.” They thought I was the one winning the lottery by having him. But I remembered. I remembered the seven years of “devotion” that had preceded the accident. I remembered washing his grease-stained clothes by hand, even his socks and underwear. I remembered him forbidding me from eating out, bringing home half-eaten leftovers from dinners with his friends as if they were a prize. I remembered the cramped, moldy apartment where I used his lukewarm bathwater to save on the utility bill. He didn’t do it because we were poor. He did it because he despised me. He wanted to strip away every ounce of my dignity until I believed I was worth nothing. He told me I was plain, that I was lucky a man like him would even look at a girl with no parents. And then, when the chance came for me to be found, he stole my life and handed it to Tessa on a silver platter. 2 “Even if you had gone back to the city, a girl as mediocre as you would have been a laughingstock. I was doing you a favor.” Grant’s parting words from my deathbed echoed in my mind. He’d spent decades gaslighting me, and even as I was dying, he was still framing his treachery as an act of mercy. He was a parasite who had convinced himself he was a savior. “If you actually cared about me,” I said, my voice cutting through his performance, “why would you pressure me the second I wake up? If you were truly looking out for me, you’d wait until I had my bearings. You’d wait for me to remember.” Grant flinched, his brow furrowing. He looked at me the way a master looks at a dog that has suddenly stopped obeying commands. Suddenly, Tessa stepped forward. She took my hand in hers, her touch light and feminine, her face a picture of concerned friendship. “Mara, sweetie, Grant is just so happy you’re okay,” she cooed. “He knows how much you’ve always wanted a real home, a family. That’s why he wanted to make it official right away. You two are perfect together. If you don’t believe us, just look at the photos on your phone.” I almost laughed. I knew why Tessa was so desperate. We had grown up in the same foster system, but she had always looked down on me. Anything I had, she wanted. If a teacher gave me a sticker, it would be on her notebook the next day. In my last life, after she stole my identity, she came to visit me once. She was draped in designer silk, her skin glowing from expensive treatments. I had greeted her with cracked lips and hands calloused from labor. She had recoiled as if I carried the plague. “God, Mara, you look so old,” she had sneered. “Poor Grant. He really got the short end of the stick marrying a townie like you.” That was the day after I had miscarried. I was alone, bleeding, and forced to cook dinner because Grant “needed to eat.” I had looked at him, hoping for a shred of defense, but he had just smiled at Tessa. “She can’t help it,” he’d said. “You’re a princess, Tessa. She’s just a farm girl. It’s just her nature.” But I knew better now. It wasn’t nature. It was theft. I pulled my hand out of Tessa’s grip. “I don’t know you either. Please leave. I need to rest.” Tessa’s hand hung in mid-air, a flash of pure venom flickering in her eyes before she masked it with a tight smile. “Fine. If that’s how you feel… rest up.” Grant tried to argue, but Tessa grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the door. The rest of the “friends” followed, sensing the shift in the air. Finally, I was alone. My head throbbed, but I couldn’t sleep yet. I needed the DNA results. I managed to limp down to the records office, but the nurse behind the counter looked confused. “The results for Mara Vance? A young man picked those up an hour ago.” The floor felt like it was tilting. Grant. He was moving even faster this time. My parents were supposed to arrive tomorrow, and he couldn’t even wait twenty-four hours to secure his lie. 3 I made it back to my room just as Grant was waiting by the door. “Where were you?” he demanded. I dodged his hand as he tried to steady me. “You took my DNA results, didn’t you?” The hallway went dead silent. Grant’s eyes darkened, his lips thinning into a hard line. For a second, he looked like he might actually strike me. “Who told you about the DNA tests?” he hissed. I stayed calm, feigning indifference. “I overheard some nurses talking. They mentioned I was part of a screening. So, what did it say?” Grant visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. “I checked for you. It was a bust. You weren’t a match.” He adopted that condescending, “teaching” tone he loved so much. “Don’t get your hopes up, Mara. Life isn’t a fairy tale. You need to keep your feet on the ground.” He stepped closer, gripping my shoulders. “What I love about you is that you aren’t vain. You aren’t like those other girls. Let’s just focus on our life together and stop chasing things that don’t belong to us.” I looked at him, feeling a deep, visceral disgust. He had stolen my birthright and then had the audacity to call me “unambitious” for not having it. In my previous life, he’d tricked me into a quick courthouse wedding and then disappeared to the city for “work.” Years later, I’d saved every penny to take a bus to see him, only to find him at a lavish wedding—marrying Tessa. When I tried to confront him, his security guards threw me into a literal dog kennel. Afterward, he didn’t apologize. He screamed at me. “Why do you have to be so difficult? I keep you fed in that house, isn’t that enough? I’m trying to climb the ladder for us, and you’re just dead weight!” He’d given me a few hundred dollars to shut me up and sent me back to the middle of nowhere. Now, Grant started packing my hospital bag as if the matter was settled. “The room is too expensive anyway. You don’t have much in savings, and we need to save for a down payment. Let’s go home and—” “I’m staying,” I interrupted. “And don’t come back.” I grabbed the suitcase from him. Grant’s face turned a bruised purple. “What is wrong with you? I’m doing this for your own good! Once your memory comes back, you’ll see how much you need me. You’re penniless and alone, Mara. Don’t be stupid.” “I don’t know you,” I repeated, my voice like ice. “Get out before I call security.” Grant looked like he’d been slapped. “Are you breaking up with me?” I shrugged. “If that’s what helps you understand. Goodbye, Grant.” Before he could respond, the door swung open and Tessa rushed in, looking frantic. “Mara! What are you doing? You can’t break up with him, you’re practically married!” I ignored her. I pulled up my phone and showed her a notification. “Did you use my card for a two-hundred-dollar salon appointment this morning?” Tessa froze, her hand instinctively going to her fresh, honey-blonde highlights. She forced a laugh. “Oh, that? We’re best friends, remember? You gave me your backup card ages ago. You’re always so generous, Mara. Don’t be petty.” I opened my Venmo app and held up the QR code. “Cash or transfer?” They both stared at me. “What?” “The two hundred dollars. Pay me back. Now.” 4 Tessa’s eyes welled up with tears, her “victim” act kicking into high gear. Grant exploded. He lunged for my phone. “You’ve gone insane! You’re really going to shake her down for a couple hundred bucks? Have you no shame?” I stepped back, dodging him. “Is she a beggar? If she can’t afford it, she shouldn’t spend it. If you’re so generous, Grant, you pay it.” “Enough!” Tessa shrieked. She dropped the sweet act, her face contorting with elitist disdain. “Fine! I’ll tell you the truth. I’m the heiress to the Whitaker estate. My parents are coming for me tomorrow. Once I’m in New York, I won’t just have hundreds, I’ll have millions. You’re just a pathetic loser, Mara. You have no right to talk to me like this!” She turned and ran out of the room. Grant turned back to me, his expression grim. “Happy now? You’ve chased off your only friend. You really did hit your head too hard. Pack your things. We’re leaving.” “I’m stayng.” “What are you trying to do?” Grant roared, losing his composure. “Are you trying to ruin everything for everyone?” He stopped abruptly, realizing he’d said too much. I tilted my head. “Ruin what, Grant?” “Nothing! Just… just come with me!” “No. If you touch me again, I’m calling the police.” The room went deathly still. Grant’s teeth were gritted so hard I could hear them grinding. He turned on his heel and slammed the door so hard the framed hospital charter rattled on the wall. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Tomorrow, when the Whitakers arrived, I would dismantle Tessa’s lie. Nobody was stealing my life again. But the next morning, my door didn’t open for my parents. It was kicked open by Grant’s mother. She charged at me like a bull, grabbing my wrist with nicotine-stained fingers. Her sharp nails dug into my skin, drawing blood. “Get up! You’re coming home!” “Let go of me! Help! Somebody help!” I screamed. A crowd began to gather in the hallway. Grant’s mother immediately pivoted, her eyes overflowing with crocodile tears. “Please, she’s my daughter-in-law! She lost her memory and doesn’t recognize her own family! We raised her since she was a girl—we gave her every scrap of food we had!” The onlookers softened. One man even stepped forward to lecture me. “Young lady, they’ve done so much for you. Don’t be ungrateful.” I was panicking. “She’s lying! I’ve never taken a cent from her!” In reality, I had spent thirty years being her servant while she screamed at me and cursed my name every time I didn’t fluff her pillow correctly. Grant appeared then, pulling a beat-up van around to the hospital entrance. He hopped out, his face dark, and helped his mother shove me toward the vehicle. He clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my screams, while his mother produced a length of rope to tie my hands. Then, I saw it. A sleek, black sedan pulled into the lot. Two people stepped out—the Whitakers. My parents. They looked exactly as they did in my memories, rushing toward the hospital entrance with frantic hope in their eyes. They were getting further away. My heart hammered against my ribs. I did the only thing I could—I clamped my teeth down on Grant’s hand as hard as I could. “Argh!” He screamed, his grip loosening. I kicked his mother in the shins and threw myself out of the van, stumbling onto the pavement. “Mara! Get back here!” Grant was on my heels like a demon. I didn’t stop. I sprinted through the crowd, my lungs burning. Up ahead, I saw Tessa. She was already throwing herself into my mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. Grant caught up to me, grabbing me by the throat from behind, trying to drag me back into the shadows. The rage finally boiled over. I dug my nails into the open wound on his hand, and the moment he flinched, I screamed with every bit of air I had left. “Mom! Dad! I’m your daughter!”

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