Author: Momo Chan

My husband, a decorated undercover agent, was on a mission to dismantle a drug cartel. To rescue a hostage girl, he endured a month of torture at the hands of drug dealers. When he was finally rescued, his body was not only covered in scars, but he also developed a severe physiological disorder. The doctor said it was psychological trauma and couldn’t be forced. My heart ached for him. For three years, I didn’t even dare to breathe loudly in my sleep, afraid of disturbing his fragile nerves. I not only spent all our savings on his treatment but also supported the poor rescued girl through school. On the day of the police commendation ceremony, the large screen mistakenly played an unreleased surveillance video. In the footage, the man who was so meek and mild with me was pinning the girl to a table, wildly unleashing his frustrations. His mouth was full of obscenities, and his movements were as violent as a beast. He frantically covered my eyes. “Don’t look! That was just an act to gain the drug lord’s trust!” “Tech team! Who put that video on?! Shut it down immediately!” Chief Miller’s roar echoed through the auditorium. The blinding white light vanished from the large screen, and the entire hall plunged into a dead, silent darkness. I was frozen in my seat, my hands and feet icy cold. The hand covering my eyes carried the familiar scent of his tobacco. But it was this very hand that, moments ago on the screen, had been fiercely clutching another girl’s hair. “Eleanor, don’t look.” Ethan’s voice was in my ear, as steady as ever, but with a hint of imperceptible tension. I didn’t move, nor did I speak. My fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of my dress, wringing the soft fabric into a hard knot. This was my nervous habit. The lights flickered back on with a ‘snap’, stinging my eyes. The gazes of colleagues, family members, everyone around me, focused on me like spotlights. Pity, curiosity, disdain, schadenfreude. Ethan released my eyes, his face pale under the lights, but his gaze remained calm. He took off his crisp police jacket and draped it over me, shielding my slightly trembling shoulders. “It’s a misunderstanding. Just a special tactic during an interrogation.” He explained to the people around him, his voice not loud, but clear enough for the first few rows to hear. “Everyone, please continue. Don’t let this little interruption affect the commendation ceremony.” His tone was calm, as if the video on the screen, which bordered on explicit, was truly just an inconsequential work recording. Chief Miller hurried over, his face etched with apology and concern. “Eleanor, are you okay? Those tech guys messed up; I’ll deal with them later!” His gaze towards me was one of pure, elder-like concern. For three years, the entire police force knew about Ethan’s condition. They also knew that to care for him, I had quit my job and stayed by his side constantly. In their eyes, I was a great, enduring, self-sacrificing police wife. But now, that greatness had become a huge joke. “I’m fine, Chief Miller.” I spoke, my voice dry. Ethan put his arm around my shoulder, his grip firm, with an undeniable force. “I’ll take her back to rest first.” He didn’t give anyone a chance to ask further questions, moving through countless complex gazes and leaving the auditorium. Cold wind gusted into the hallway, and I shivered. It wasn’t until we were in the car that he released me. The space in the car was narrow. The scent of sweat and wildness mixed on him now smelled incredibly nauseating. I turned to look out the window, my stomach churning. “That was fake.” He started the car, finally speaking. “What was fake?” “What happened in the video was an act for the drug dealer, to gain trust.” His explanation was exactly as I had expected: calm, rational, and flawless. “That girl, Maya, she was deeply entrenched at the time. Without some special tactics, she wouldn’t have spoken.” “I thought that kind of material had been destroyed long ago. I didn’t expect the tech team to make such a mistake.” He drove, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “I know it’s hard for you to accept, but that’s my job.” “Eleanor, you need to understand me.” Understand. Those two words again. For three years, I had understood the trauma he suffered from his failed mission, understood his physiological disorder, understood all his sensitivities and vulnerabilities. I cared for him like a fragile porcelain doll. But I couldn’t understand how he could, with a poker face, be intimate with another woman on a table. In front of me, even a touch felt like torture. The car stopped downstairs. I didn’t move. Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over. His face was very close to mine. The eyes that once captivated me were now filled with fatigue and a complex emotion I couldn’t decipher. “Don’t sulk, okay?” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “Maya is still waiting for us upstairs. She was terrified today.” This sentence was like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. I suddenly turned, staring intently at him. “Why is she in our house?” Ethan’s brows furrowed, and a hint of impatience flashed in his eyes. “She’s scared to live alone. She just moved in a few days ago.” “I thought I told you.” He said it as if it were a given, as if this wasn’t my home, but just a hotel that could take in anyone. I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. He hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t said a word. I pushed open the car door, stumbling upstairs. The key slid into the lock, taking several turns before it clicked. As the door opened, an unfamiliar perfume scent wafted out. In the entryway, a pair of pink high heels, not mine, stood. On the living room sofa, a woman’s jacket was tossed. On the coffee table, half-eaten snacks and a fashion magazine lay. Everything here announced the presence of another mistress. Maya emerged from the master bedroom, wearing my pajamas. That silk nightgown was something I had bought for my birthday, gritting my teeth, never daring to wear it. Now, it hung loosely on Maya’s slender body, the neckline wide, revealing large patches of intimate red marks. “Ethan, Eleanor, you’re back?” She saw us, her face showing a terrified, rabbit-like expression, and instinctively pulled at her neckline. “I’m sorry, Eleanor, your pajamas… all my clothes were in the wash. Ethan told me to wear yours for now.” She looked at me timidly, her eyes watery, as if I were the villain who had usurped her place. Ethan walked in, naturally taking the water glass from Maya’s hand and taking a sip. “Scared, weren’t you? It’s okay now.” He patted Maya’s head, a gesture intimate and natural. That kind of tenderness, I had only seen in him when he first returned from his mission, when he was at his most vulnerable. “I’m going to cook.” I dropped the words, fleeing into the kitchen. Cold water rinsed my hands, but I felt no coolness at all. My body was like a ball of lit cotton, burning from the inside out. I could hear them talking in low voices in the living room. “Ethan, is Eleanor angry? It’s all my fault.” Maya’s voice was tearful. “Don’t overthink it, she’s just having trouble processing it.” Ethan’s voice was heavy. “You’ve been through a fright today. Go back to your room and rest early.” “But I’m scared. The moment I close my eyes, I see the images from the surveillance footage.” “Then I’ll keep you company for a while.” The door closed softly. I turned off the tap, leaning against the cold countertop, trembling all over. So, he wasn’t unable to perform. He just… couldn’t perform for me. For dinner, I made three dishes and a soup, all of Ethan’s favorites. At the dinner table, for the first time, I didn’t serve him as usual. The atmosphere was terribly stifling. Maya kept her head down, picking at her rice in small bites, her eyes red. Ethan’s face wasn’t good either. He put down his chopsticks after only a few bites. “I’m full.” He stood up, pulled a wad of money from his wallet, and placed it on the table. “This month’s living expenses. Let me know if it’s not enough.” I looked at the stack of crisp red banknotes, finding them incredibly jarring. Since when had our relationship been reduced to this? “Maya’s tuition and rent, are they also coming from this?” I asked on a whim. Ethan’s movements paused. He turned to look at me, his eyes turning cold. “She’s just a girl, alone and helpless. It’s only right that I help her.” “Eleanor, I thought you weren’t so petty.” Petty? I had spent all our savings on his so-called “illness.” I had sold the jewelry my mother left me to support the “poor” girl he spoke of through school. In the end, all I got was being called petty. My heart felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing it, aching to the point of breathless. “Yes, I am petty.” I looked up, meeting his gaze. “Ethan, make her move out.” “This is our home.” Maya’s chopsticks clattered to the floor. She flinched, her shoulders hunched, and tears fell. Ethan’s face completely darkened. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he walked to Maya, bent down, and picked up the chopsticks. “Don’t be scared.” He pulled Maya up, shielding her behind him, as if facing some heinous enemy. “Eleanor, have you made enough of a scene?” I looked at him protecting another woman, and let out a laugh, though tears streamed down my face against my will. “Ethan, who’s making a scene?” “For three years, because of you, I’ve lived like a ghost.” “I didn’t dare to speak loudly, didn’t dare to sleep with the lights off, afraid of disturbing your fragile nerves.” “I treated you as my world, my everything, but what about you?” “You were intimate with other women outside, then came home and told me it was for work!” “How can I believe that? How can I understand?” My voice grew louder and louder, almost a scream. Three years of accumulated grievances and pain completely erupted at this moment. Maya trembled even more violently behind him, crying, “Eleanor, don’t blame Ethan. It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for saving me, he wouldn’t have…” “Shut up!” Ethan suddenly roared, cutting Maya off. The coldness in his eyes almost froze me. “Eleanor, do you think I’m lying to you?” I bit my lip, not speaking, but the distrust in my eyes said it all. He suddenly smiled, a smile filled with self-mockery and an indescribable weariness. “Fine, since you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the evidence.” He took out his phone, rapidly tapped the screen a few times, then threw the phone in front of me. On the screen was a hospital diagnostic report: severe PTSD, accompanied by serious physiological dysfunction. The words, stark black on white, stung my eyes. Below it were several videos, recordings of his psychological hypnotherapy sessions. In the videos, he was like a helpless child, curled up in a ball on the sofa, covered in cold sweat, babbling words I couldn’t understand. It was a side of Ethan I had never seen, his most vulnerable. “Did you see?” His voice was extremely hoarse. “The doctor said my trauma stemmed from that month of torment. I have an instinctive aversion and fear of all intimate contact.” “The reason for the ‘accident’ with Maya.” He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “The doctor analyzed that it might be because she went through the same hell as me; my subconscious saw her as safe, so it deactivated its defense mechanism.” “This is a pathological reaction, not a betrayal.” His explanation sounded flawless, even with scientific rigor. It turned out I wasn’t his exception. I was the unsafe factor that was excluded. “So, I’m the cause of your illness, am I right?” I mumbled. Ethan seemed not to expect me to say that, and he paused. He walked over, tried to hug me, but I abruptly took a step back. His outstretched hand froze in mid-air, his expression complex. “Eleanor, it’s not what you think.” “I love you. I just want to live a good life with you.” “Give me some time, okay? I’ll cure myself.” His voice was very soft, with a hint of pleading. I felt like I was going crazy. That night, for the first time, Ethan didn’t sleep in the study. He lay beside me, his body rigid, but our hearts were separated by an uncrossable chasm. The next morning, I woke up, and Ethan was already gone. I listlessly packed a few clothes into my suitcase. I needed to leave here and cool down. I sent Ethan a message, telling him I was going to stay at my mother’s for a few days. He didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase downstairs. At the community gate, I saw Ethan’s car parked not far away. He hadn’t left. A mix of emotions flashed through me. I pulled my suitcase, walking step by step towards his car. The car window rolled down, but it wasn’t Ethan’s face that appeared. It was Chief Miller. “Eleanor, where are you going?” Chief Miller’s expression was very serious. “I… I’m going home to stay for a few days.” Chief Miller sighed and opened the car door. “Get in, let’s talk.” The car didn’t head towards my parents’ house. Instead, it circled the city’s most congested main road, round and round. “That kid, Ethan, he’s stubborn and difficult.” Chief Miller said, driving. “I know you’ve been wronged, but you also know what he’s been through these past three years.” “That month was hell; if it were me, I might have gone crazy long ago.” I lowered my head, my fingers again unconsciously twisting the hem of my dress. I had heard these words countless times. “I know.” “Not only do you know, but you’ve done very well.” Chief Miller glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Everyone in the team says Ethan accumulated good karma for eight lifetimes to marry such a good wife like you.” “But Eleanor, some things can’t be solved just by being ‘good’.” My heart clenched sharply. “Chief Miller, do you know something?” Chief Miller was silent for a long time, so long that I thought he wouldn’t speak again. He parked the car by the river and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag. “Regarding Maya, what Ethan told you wasn’t entirely true.” My stomach suddenly cramped, and a wave of nausea washed over me. This physical reaction was even faster than my brain. I didn’t expect his next words to completely push me into the abyss.

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Her disappearance was sudden, unexpected – my fiancée, vanished the night before our wedding, just hours before she was due to hand over crucial evidence in a high-stakes smuggling case. Even when the authorities declared her fallen in the line of duty, I refused to believe it. For five long years, I searched. Then, I saw her. Standing beside a forensic expert hired by the very police department that had declared her dead, her belly subtly rounded, her eyes holding nothing but the blankness of a stranger. Overjoyed, I brought her home, and slowly, painstakingly, helped her reclaim her memories. She made a resolute decision, ending that pregnancy, and married me. The man by her side that day, Dr. Vance Holloway, simply vanished from her life. It wasn’t until a critical operation, when she threw herself in front of a bullet meant for me, her lifeblood staining the ground, that she whispered in my ear: “I’ve repaid what I owed you in this life, Julian.” Her voice, barely a breath, added, “Next time… don’t look for me. Let me live my life with him.” I understood then. She regretted it all. And then, I opened my eyes again. I was back at the airport, back to the day we first reunited. … The afternoon sun, fractured by the terminal’s glass walls, cast shifting patterns of light and shadow across the polished floor. Beside me, a sharp intake of breath, laced with disbelieving shock. “Boss, is that… Elaine? She’s alive!” “Lucas, keep your voice down.” I bit out the words, my gaze, however, was already magnetically drawn, pinned to the figure across the concourse. “Captain Thorne, it really is her! Five years!” Lucas’s voice trembled. We’d been classmates at the academy, and he, more than anyone, knew the hell I’d walked through these past five years. I snapped back to reality, my knuckles white from gripping nothing but air. In front of me, a woman in a cream-colored trench coat leaned in, listening to the man beside her. Sunlight painted a soft curve across her slightly swollen abdomen. As she turned her head, her eyes met mine. They were clear, but held only polite detachment, as if she were looking at a complete stranger. This was it. The place we’d reunited. The genesis of every tragedy in my previous life. My instincts screamed, and I instinctively moved, cutting off my colleague, who was poised to charge forward. “Don’t.” Lucas looked utterly bewildered. “Why not? That’s Elaine! She’s not dead!” In my previous life, I’d seen her here too. I’d rushed forward like a madman, desperate to claim her. I’d pleaded, pulled strings, even called in her parents. Eventually, I brought her home. We’d found the best psychologists and neurologists, working day and night to retrieve her memories. The day she finally remembered everything, she wept, silently went to the hospital to terminate the pregnancy, and then married me. But the day we signed the marriage certificate, Vance Holloway vanished from her world as if he’d never existed. Her silence, the deep-seated sorrow in her eyes, became an unbreachable chasm between us, a forbidden zone in our marriage. It wasn’t until that mission, when she took that fatal bullet for me, that her final request was to be released, to be free, to live her life with Vance in another existence. The thought squeezed my throat, and my voice came out raspy, “She’s pregnant.” I took a deep, shuddering breath, swallowing the metallic tang in my mouth. “And the man with her… that’s Vance Holloway, the expert the International Criminal Police Organization hired.” Lucas’s urgency flared. “Then all the more reason to bring her back! You searched for her for five years! We all thought she was blown to bits with the evidence in that smuggling case…” “She’s doing well now.” I cut him off, my gaze sweeping over Vance’s hand, instinctively resting on her lower back. My heart felt like it was being pummeled by a blunt object, again and again. “Look at her. She doesn’t recognize us. Does she look like someone clinging to the past?” Lucas still tried to argue. “But she’s Elaine! You two were inseparable, childhood sweethearts, graduated the academy together, even had your wedding date set…” “After five years in the thick of it, dodging bullets and accumulating scars, my body isn’t suited for building a family anymore.” Lucas froze. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Captain Thorne, don’t talk nonsense. Modern medicine is so advanced…” “It’s true.” My voice was eerily calm, as if discussing someone else’s fate. Five years chasing criminals on the border had left me with chronic back and knee issues. The internal injuries from the bullet graze in the last mission hadn’t healed properly either. “My last check-up confirmed permanent functional damage.” But none of that was the real reason. I couldn’t forget Elaine on that operating table in my past life, couldn’t forget her tracing her empty womb, saying, “Now we’re even,” couldn’t forget the look of release in her eyes as she was shot, that blood-flecked “Next time…” A moment of silence stretched between us before Lucas’s voice softened. “Even so, she should be allowed to choose.” I shook my head, my Adam’s apple bobbing. “I owe her enough already. If I hadn’t pushed for her to go undercover in that smuggling operation, none of this would have happened. Now she’s forgotten the past, she has a new life. Why would I drag her back into the mud?” In my past life, I’d forced her back to my side, believing it was salvation, but it ultimately became a living hell for us both. She guarded her guilt towards Vance, and I clung to my obsession with her. We exhausted every last ounce of affection in endless arguments. It wasn’t until that look of liberated relief in her eyes as she shielded me from the bullet that I fully understood: Some missed chances are for a lifetime. Lucas sighed, finally relenting. “So… we just watch?” “First, we finish the mission. Command is waiting for Professor Holloway.” The escort process went more smoothly than anticipated. Vance Holloway was polite and composed, his gaze towards the woman beside him filled with quiet indulgence. At the end, he requested our assistance in helping “Elara Vance” find her family in the country. “She hasn’t been well, and she’s been through a lot. We’re not pushing her to recover her memories; we’ll let it happen naturally. But we’ll need official identification to get married, so we’d appreciate your help.” I handed back the form with “Elara Vance’s” basic information, my tone strictly professional. “It’s our duty, Professor. Congratulations to Miss… Vance, on starting a new life. We’ll verify the information and issue the necessary documents as soon as possible.” Elara nodded and offered a polite, distant smile. “Thank you, Captain Thorne.” For the next few days, I forced myself not to inquire about any progress. Until Vance brought her to the precinct himself to confirm the paperwork. The office door opened. Seeing me, she instinctively shrank back behind Vance, her already pale face draining of color. I knew. The internal inquiries into Elara’s identity over the past few days must have unearthed fragments of her past, putting both her and Vance on guard. Now, she sat on the visitor’s sofa, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her trench coat, her eyes darting away, refusing to meet mine. Her thin face radiated an obvious unease. “Captain Thorne, are all the documents in order?” Vance spoke first, his tone polite but unmistakably distant, lacking the previous warmth. I pushed the neatly compiled file across the table. My voice was steady. “Everything’s in order. The registry system has confirmed: Elara Vance is Elaine Monroe. Her parents… we’ve informed them.” At the mention of her parents, Elaine’s shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly. I guessed she had probably already seen them, and vaguely learned something of her past. Vance took the file. When he looked up at me, the wariness in his eyes was undisguised. “Thank you for your diligence, Captain. However, I’m curious, you seem particularly invested in Miss Vance’s situation?” The question was blunt, a clear demarcation. Behind me, the muffled footsteps of my colleagues told me they’d sensed the shift in atmosphere, discreetly avoiding our conversation. I replied calmly, “Elaine Monroe was a cadet at the academy, and a former colleague. Verifying the identity of a missing person is simply part of my duty.” Vance persisted, his voice hardening slightly. “But from what I understand, Captain Thorne, you’ve been searching for her for the past five years?” Before I could respond, the office door burst open. “Julian!” Mrs. Monroe spotted me instantly, rushing forward, her eyes reddened. “Thank heavens for you, we wouldn’t have found Elara without you. This girl…” Mr. Monroe clapped me on the shoulder, his voice filled with emotion. “You’ve worked so hard all these years. We all thought… we all thought she was gone, and only you never gave up.” Their warmth and familiarity made the atmosphere even more charged. Elaine instinctively edged closer to Vance. Mrs. Monroe gripped my hand, chattering on. “Isn’t it ironic? You two were supposed to get married right after graduation, then all this happened. Now, she’s back, but…” She glanced at Elaine’s stomach, then at Vance. “Aunt Eleanor, you’ve misunderstood.” I was about to explain, but Elaine suddenly stood up, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. She walked to Vance’s side, gently took his arm, and looked at her parents, her gaze exceptionally firm. “Dad, Mom, I think you already know. Vance is my fiancé. Captain Thorne and I… we just knew each other before. We don’t have any special relationship now.” “Please don’t bring up the past. I’m doing very well now.” Mrs. Monroe was stunned, then sighed. “Elara, you and Julian were so good together. School, training, you said you’d never marry anyone else…” “Mom!” Elaine cut her off, her eyes welling up. “That’s all in the past. Now, I just want to build a life with Vance.” Vance reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, his gaze settling on me, a distinct possessiveness in his eyes. “Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, I understand your affection for Captain Thorne, but Elara has chosen me.” Vance, at just the right moment, put an arm around Elara’s shoulders, looking at me, his tone calm but with an undeniable declaration. “Captain Thorne, thank you for helping my fiancée find her family. I trust Captain Thorne is a man of integrity and would not interfere in another’s relationship.” A heavy silence fell over the office. I looked at the older couple, who once treated me like a son, then at Elaine, her eyes full of defensiveness, and Vance, shielding her. My heart felt like it was submerged in ice water. I took a deep breath, gently led Mr. and Mrs. Monroe aside, and spoke in a low voice, clear enough to be heard. “Uncle David, Aunt Eleanor, finding Elara again is wonderful. But her safety and happiness are paramount now. If she doesn’t remember, forcing it won’t help.” I paused, my throat tightening. “Elara and I… we were not meant to be. Congratulations on your family being reunited. From now on… I won’t intrude.” Mrs. Monroe’s tears immediately began to fall. She clutched my arm. “Julian, don’t say that! For these past five years, if it weren’t for you holding things together, our family would have fallen apart… we remember everything you’ve done for us…” Mr. Monroe also let out a heavy sigh, his voice hoarse. “Foolish boy, what’s this about intruding? Even if you’re not our son-in-law, this will always be your home! Come back for dinner anytime!” “That might not be appropriate.” Vance suddenly spoke, his tone cool. “Since Captain Thorne has decided to let go, it would be best to completely cut ties, to avoid further disruption to our lives.” Elara, head bowed, softly echoed, “Vance is right, Captain Thorne. In the future… perhaps we shouldn’t meet again.” Mr. Monroe’s face immediately darkened. He shot Vance a sharp glance, his voice laced with suppressed anger. “My wife and I aren’t so muddled that we’d discard someone once they’re no longer useful! What Julian has done for Elara these past five years, we’ve seen and remembered. We already consider him a son. It’s not for an outsider to comment on.” Mrs. Monroe, her eyes red-rimmed, held my hand tightly. “Exactly! If you find Julian’s presence an inconvenience, then don’t come back to this house! We recognize him as our kin, and that has nothing to do with you!” Vance’s face tightened. He attempted to explain, “Mrs. Monroe, you’ve misunderstood. We just feel that since Elara has chosen to start a new life, some unnecessary ties might…” “Unnecessary ties?” Mr. Monroe cut him off, his voice now chilling. “Professor Holloway, you saved our daughter, and we’re grateful. But we’ve seen how Julian has lived these past five years, and it pains us. Now you dismiss him with a phrase like ‘unnecessary ties’? Isn’t that taking advantage of him?” Seeing the escalating tension, Elaine quickly took her mother’s arm, her voice pleading. “Mom! Dad! Please don’t be like this… Vance didn’t mean it that way. We don’t dislike Captain Thorne. He just wants me to focus on my pregnancy. The past is a burden to me, and I just want a peaceful life now.” Watching her instinctively defend Vance, my heart felt like it was being crushed, a dull ache spreading through me. Five years of searching, and in her eyes, it had become a past that shouldn’t even be mentioned. I took a deep breath, gently pulling Mr. and Mrs. Monroe away, who were still ready to argue. “Uncle David, Aunt Eleanor, I understand your feelings. But Elaine is right, maintaining some distance is necessary.” I looked at Vance and Elaine, then continued. “Professor Holloway’s concerns are valid. I will be mindful in the future, and try not to intrude on your time with her parents, to avoid any awkwardness.” Mrs. Monroe was distraught. “Julian! What nonsense are you talking about! That is your home!” I shook my head, my voice softening. “That will always be your home, Uncle David and Aunt Eleanor, and I respect that. But Elaine has her own family now. My frequent presence really isn’t appropriate. If you wish to see me, you can always come to the precinct or my place. I will gladly host you. There’s no need to hurt your relationship with your daughter over me.”

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Victoria Ashford confessed her love to me on the third day of the ‘conquest’ challenge. But the Affection Meter floating above her head was clearly, definitively, Zero. After we made it official, she elevated me to the sky, showering me with a devotion that felt like an obsession. On our sixth anniversary, she orchestrated a lavish, public proposal. I was nodding, tears blurring my vision, when a block of floating text—a corrupted digital overlay—drifted into my line of sight: [It must be exhausting for the second female lead, pretending to love the cruel sidekick for six years just to protect the male lead!] [LOL, the replacement really got into character!] My blood turned instantly to ice. That’s why the number had never moved. At the exact same moment, a cold system alert screamed inside my mind: “Final Phase Initiated. Conquest Countdown: Ten Days.” “Failure will result in your immediate obliteration.” I forced a smile, gently pulling my hand away—the diamond ring still hovering between us—and wiped the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry, Victoria,” I said. “But I’m tired of playing your game.” 1. The text overlay scrolled relentlessly: [Wait, did the sidekick’s eyes just change?] [He should have woken up sooner. The second female lead only has eyes for the male lead.] [Can’t wait for him to blacken and go feral—] Feral? No. I was just suddenly remembering the details. The way she insisted I couldn’t see anyone alone, calling it her “fear of me choosing bad company.” The way she always gently cut me off when I mentioned work: “But darling, I just want to be with you every second.” It wasn’t affection. It was a gilded cage. I wandered back to our sprawling, isolated villa, mechanically throwing things into a suitcase. As I passed her study, the digital overlay intensified: [Look at the computer! The second female lead forgot to log out of her chat!] [Oh no, oh no, if he sees the conversation history…] [CRISIS! Male Lead Protection Initiative Activated!] The chime of an incoming message echoed from the study. I pushed the door open. The screen was bright, showing a conversation between Victoria and Jasmine Cole. Victoria’s latest message read: “He suddenly rejected the proposal. Keep Chase safe these next few days. Don’t let Kai near him.” Jasmine’s reply came quickly: “Don’t worry. You’ve sacrificed so much these past six years.” I laughed, a ragged, dry sound. How ridiculous. My existence had unified two women who were supposed to be bitter rivals. I scrolled up. The record was a blunt knife, slowly and methodically slicing through my skin. Jasmine: “I remember the original plot—Kai ruined Chase’s career, maybe even his looks, and hired thugs to rough him up.” “It’s a travesty that you had to share a bed with that psycho for six years.” Victoria: “As long as Chase is safe, it’s worth it.” Jasmine: “He seems to love you more and more. If he ever found out the truth, do you think he’d go even more insane?” Victoria: “He won’t find out.” “And if he does, and if he dares to touch Chase—” “I’ll break his hands and feet and have him locked up in a psychiatric ward for life.” She had added an exclamation point to the last sentence. I stared at the screen, my fingers numb with cold. The overlay was a frenzy: [‘It’s worth it’… Second female lead is obsessed! But with who, I won’t say!] [Am I the only one who thinks this is terrifying? Using someone for six years, just to protect their true love?] [It’s the cruel sidekick! She’s protecting the true love and doing the world a favor. It’s a win-win!] [Look at the sidekick’s expression… Is he about to blacken?] [Sidekick, stop it! Just run!] Run? I looked down at my wrist. Yes. I had to run. The night was thick and dark as I dragged my suitcase out the door. I stood on the curb, suddenly realizing I had nowhere to go. The overlay seemed to panic on my behalf: [Is he really leaving?] [Go! Don’t hold up the second female lead and the male lead’s romance!] [Wait… isn’t that Victoria’s car in the distance?!] Headlights stabbed the darkness, and her familiar black sedan screeched to a halt beside me. Victoria scrambled out, her silk blouse slightly askew, her breathing ragged. Her face held the perfect, heartbreaking blend of panic and sorrow. “Kai, I’m so sorry, I rushed things… I thought you’d be happy.” She reached out to grab me, her eyes wet. “Don’t go, please. We can talk this through. Just tell me what I did wrong.” Once, that performance would have broken me. Now, all I could hear was the chilling echo of the chat log: break his hands and feet and have him locked up. I took a step back, dodging her touch. “It’s not you,” I heard my own voice say, light and distant. “It’s just… I’m bored.” “Bored…?” Her lashes fluttered, as if the word were a foreign language. “You don’t love me anymore?” In the harsh glow of the streetlamp, her eyes were filled with fractured light. Her acting was Oscar-worthy. A new message floated by: [Honestly, not all of her goodness to him was fake, right… This is kind of painful.] That single line clicked something into place. I raised my head, looking straight into her eyes. “Victoria.” “In these six years, was there ever a second… that you genuinely felt happy?” Her pupils contracted, microscopically. She didn’t answer. But the overlay exploded: [!!! Did he find out?!] [HOLY SHIT HIGH ALERT—] [Second female lead, what are you waiting for?! Lie!] The wind was brutal. I grabbed my suitcase and turned, vanishing into the night. No footsteps followed. Only the countdown, ticking loudly in my mind: 9 Days 23 Hours 59 Minutes. The game wasn’t over. But the player was done following the rules. 2. I hailed a cab and leaned against the window, my hands trembling. It wasn’t fear. It was exhilaration. Shedding six years of pretense felt like finally gulping air after drowning. The countdown blinked relentlessly: 9 Days 23 Hours 10 Minutes Less than ten days left. All because of someone who would never love me. The absurdity was staggering. “Where to, son?” the driver, an older man with a gray beard, asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror. I gave him the address of a small, unpretentious café down by the river—the place I loved most. Victoria had called it “too noisy, too messy.” She’d forbidden me from going back. The overlay drifted past: [Where is he going? Shouldn’t he be hiding?] [Victoria’s last look was terrifying…] [Am I the only one who thinks he looked incredibly hot just now?] The city lights blurred past the window. For six years, I’d lived in a bubble, seeing only the world Victoria had filtered for me. Now the glass had shattered. The wind rushing in carried the scent of street food, the dampness of the river, and the casual laughter of strangers. It was so real it made me want to weep. The café was just as I remembered. The bell above the door jingled as I walked in. The owner, a kind, middle-aged man, looked up and paused. “Kai? Is that really you?” “Uncle Chen, it’s been a while.” “It is you!” He wiped his hands on a towel and walked out from behind the counter. “It must be five or six years, right? You used to take that window seat, one latte, and write screenplays all afternoon…” I remembered then. Before Victoria, I was a film student, dreaming of winning an Oscar, filling the margins of my scripts with notes. And then? Victoria had said: “Acting is too stressful.” She’d said: “Hollywood is toxic. It’s not for you.” She’d said: “I’m all you need, Kai.” And I had believed her. I gave up the auditions, canceled the contracts, locked my dreams in a drawer, and handed her the key. “The usual?” Uncle Chen asked. “The usual,” I confirmed. I paused. “And add a slice of Tiramisu.” I’d never allowed myself to eat it—Victoria said I “gained weight easily and wouldn’t look good on camera.” But I only had ten days left. Who cared about a camera? The window seat was empty. I sat down, the river breeze cool on my face. The lights of the opposite bank shimmered on the water, a dizzying sheet of moving gold. The moment the first bite of Tiramisu hit my tongue—the sweet cream and the bitter, boozy coffee—I closed my eyes. It was glorious. This was what it felt like to be alive. The overlay was silent for a moment, then a few lines drifted across: [He’s eating so intensely…] [I feel weirdly sorry for him.] [If you only have ten days left, I guess you’d want a good meal.] [Do we actually think Victoria is going to let him be this free? I doubt it.] I doubted it too. So, when my phone vibrated, flashing Victoria Ashford, I wasn’t surprised. I answered without speaking. “Kai, where are you?” “I’ve been worried sick about you.” Her voice held a hint of manufactured exhaustion. “I’m eating.” “Come home, Kai.” Her tone softened, the classic manipulative lull. “We both need to cool down. I promise, I won’t bother you tonight; you can sleep in the guest room. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” I knew that cadence. For six years, whenever I caused a ripple, she used it to gently, patiently, guide me back into the cage. Then everything would reset. “Victoria.” I looked out at the river. “Do you remember my graduation film?” She paused. “Why bring that up now?” “I played a man who was held captive, and in the end, he burned the whole house down, taking himself with it.” I dug my spoon into the cake. “You said my performance was too extreme, that no one in real life would be that foolish.” “Now I understand.” “He wasn’t foolish. The fire was the only thing he had left.” The breathing on the other end of the line deepened. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “I’m trying to say this,” I finished the last bite of Tiramisu. “For the next ten days, I’m living my own life.” “Don’t look for me. Don’t contact me. Don’t threaten my family.” “And after ten days, if I’m still alive…” I smiled. “We can play your game again.” 3. I checked into the most expensive penthouse suite in the city, charging it to the supplementary card Victoria had given me. The overlay was still buzzing: [The Penthouse??? He’s really living it up.] [Using the second female lead’s money for a hotel is legendary.] [He’s got ten days left, let him be extra!] I tossed my suitcase near the door and sank into a rose petal-filled bathtub. The countdown flickered: 8 Days 14 Hours 32 Minutes Eight and a half days. My phone remained eerily silent. Victoria hadn’t called back. That was unlike her. Late that night, I lay in the three-meter-wide bed. The overlay was sparse: [He actually fell asleep? Balls of steel.] [The second female lead is tracking his phone location, I think.] [Seriously, this surveillance dynamic is suffocating.] Just as I was drifting off, a violent slamming sound ripped through the room. I sat up instantly. The overlay exploded: [What was that sound?!] [Someone’s kicking the door in!!!] [Is it Victoria???] [Help! I’m terrified!] Before I could react, the door to the suite was violently kicked open. Victoria stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing with red streaks, radiating a level of pure rage I had never seen. “Kai Jensen.” Her voice was hoarse as she walked, step by slow step, toward the bed. I instinctively clutched the collar of my robe. She stopped in front of me, glaring. “Where is Chase?” I blinked. “What?” “Don’t play dumb.” She suddenly grabbed my wrist, the strength in her grip making my bones ache. “Where did you take him? Tell me!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” I tried to pull free, but her hold tightened impossibly. The overlay scrolled madly: [What’s going on? The male lead was kidnapped?] [The sidekick did it? Impossible, he’s been at the hotel.] [The timeline doesn’t add up. When would he have planned a kidnapping?] [Victoria has lost it!] “Victoria, let go!” I gasped, the pain a cold shock. “I haven’t seen Chase Donovan! I’ve been right here for two days—” “Kai, I underestimated you.” “You act heartbroken, then turn around and kidnap Chase? You’re truly vile.” “I didn’t.” I gritted my teeth. She shoved me roughly onto the bed, leaning over me, hands braced on either side of my head. “I’m giving you one last chance. Where is Chase? What did you do to him?” Her breath was hot on my face, carrying a ferocious, almost psychotic intensity. In six years, I had never witnessed this Victoria. The overlay was starting to split: [The second female lead is terrifying…] [But if the sidekick really did kidnap the male lead, he deserves it, right?] [Look closely! The sidekick didn’t have time to do this!] [Maybe it’s a misunderstanding?] “I told you, I don’t know.” “Victoria, look at me. Have I lied to you in these six years?” Her pupil’s flickered. There was a moment of hesitation. “The location where Chase’s phone tracking disappeared,” she leaned in, her eyes like poisoned daggers, “was the vicinity of the café you went to.” My blood ran cold. A trap. Someone had set a trap. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t—” My voice was starting to shake. “Enough!” She abruptly stood up, pulling a small, folding knife from her pocket. Victoria grabbed my hand and pressed the blade against my wrist. “Kai,” her voice was a chilling whisper. “I know you hate Chase, that you hate him for ‘taking’ me. Even though I was never yours to begin with. But you cannot touch him.” “I’m asking you one last time! Where is Chase?” The blade bit into the skin of my wrist. A warm, immediate river of blood spilled out. The excruciating pain shot through my body. My vision tunneled. I thought I might pass out. The overlay went wild: [The second female lead is completely unhinged!] [I’m starting to pity the sidekick… he genuinely looks lost.] [Say something! Lie to her if you have to!] I opened my mouth, a broken gasp escaping my throat: “I… didn’t…” 4. The crimson blood stained the pristine white sheets. Victoria’s hand was an iron vise, clamped tight around my wrist. The blade was embedded in my flesh; every heartbeat brought a fresh, tearing wave of pain. “Last chance,” her voice sounded miles away. “Where is Chase?” I tried to speak, but no sound came out. My vision blurred. I could only make out her tightly controlled jaw and the near-feral crimson in her eyes. The overlay flooded the air: [He’s going to die…] [Victoria let go! He’s really going to die!] [Can someone call the police?! This is attempted murder!] [System! Why isn’t the system doing anything about this level of physical harm?!] The system remained utterly silent. Right. In a conquest game, the sidekick’s life was never a priority. I was just an NPC, a stepping stone for the protagonists’ love, a villainous backdrop to showcase the hero’s virtue. But I could feel the pain. It was horrifically real. “You won’t talk?” Victoria’s grip pressed the blade another fraction deeper. I heard the thin slish of skin parting, followed by a warmer, faster gush. Black spots started to dance in my vision, like static on an old TV. Just as I believed this was how I would die— Victoria’s phone rang. The moment she saw the caller ID, her pupils shrank. She answered instantly: “Chase?” A man’s broken, shaky voice came through the speaker: “Victoria… I, I got away…” “They’re at the abandoned factory on the West Side… they all ran…” “…I’m so scared…” “Don’t be scared! I’m coming now!” Victoria’s voice instantly transformed. The harshness vanished, replaced by a tenderness, a near-trembling devotion I had never been the recipient of. “Are you hurt? Find a safe place and hide.” She didn’t even hang up. She dropped my wrist and sprinted toward the door. The blade was dragged across my skin as her hand left, sending another jolt of pure agony through me. I slumped onto the bed, watching her figure disappear into the hallway. The overlay was silent for a moment, then erupted: [She just left?!] [The sidekick’s wrist is still pouring blood!] [She could at least call an ambulance?!] [Is this her ‘love’? Hurting someone without hesitation for the male lead?] [How could I ever have thought she was sincere…] I struggled to raise my uninjured hand, reaching for the phone on the nightstand. My fingers shook, centimeters from the device, yet it felt like a thousand miles away. More and more blood pooled on the sheets, the deep crimson spreading across the white linen. I bit down on my jaw, using the last of my strength to inch forward— My fingertips finally brushed the edge of the phone. The overlay was frantic: [Keep going! You got it!] [Call 911! Hurry!] [Don’t pass out! Hold on!] I unlocked the screen, but my vision was too blurry to make out the numbers. I fumbled for the keys, pressing 9, 1, 1, then the call button. I heard the dial tone. One ring. Two rings. My breathing grew shallow. The black spots consumed my sight. “Hello, 911 Emergency…” I opened my mouth, trying to speak, but only a wet, choked sound came out. “Hello? Can you hear me? What is your emergency?” I tried to tell them I was in the hotel, bleeding, dying. But my throat was choked, unable to form words. “Hello? Hello?” The voice on the line faded away. The phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the carpet with a dull thud. The overlay was in chaos: [NOOO!!!] [Someone save him!!!] [Where are the hotel staff?! Didn’t anyone hear the noise?!] [Victoria, you BITCH!!!] My consciousness began to fracture. In the haze, I felt like I was floating, looking down at my pale, curled-up body in the spreading pool of blood. Then I saw the overlay messages again. [Victoria met up with Chase.] [Chase is hugging her.] [She’s comforting him, saying ‘It’s okay, it’s all over.’] [Chase just kissed her.] […They are kissing.] [While the sidekick is lying here bleeding out.] The overlay paused for a few seconds. Then the tone shifted: [I suddenly feel… sick.] [What did the sidekick do wrong? He just loved the wrong person.] [He was genuinely dedicated for six years.] [How dare Victoria do this to him?] [If the sidekick dies, she’s a murderer.] [I want to see her regret this.] [I want to see her on her knees begging for his forgiveness.] [But he might not make it.] [Can someone go to that hotel and save him? I can’t watch this anymore.] The countdown was still lit, faintly blinking: 8 Days 9 Hours 01 Minute The game wasn’t over. But the player seemed to be making an early exit.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391203”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It happened again. I took the top spot in the senior class rankings. And, naturally, Gemma Sterling’s childhood sweetheart wasn’t happy. He filed an official complaint, accusing me of cheating. My guidance counselor, Mr. Harrison, cornered me. “Kai, you’re too young to be chasing notoriety with this kind of dishonesty. You have two options right now: either you admit you cheated and promise to stop trying to outshine certain students. Or, per school policy, we will have to—” “—expel you.” Jesse, my desk mate, tugged anxiously at my sleeve. “Kai, the SATs are around the corner. Just bite your tongue, man. You know how protective Gemma is of Braden. We can’t afford to cross her.” They were all waiting for me to concede. To nod, apologize, and retreat back into the shadows they expected me to inhabit. But this time, I just pulled my backpack off the back of my chair. “Then expel me,” I said quietly. 1 The moment the words left my mouth, the classroom went silent. You could hear the fluorescent lights humming. Mr. Harrison looked stunned. His voice was a frantic, desperate whisper. “Kai, do you have any idea what you’re doing? Look, just write a formal letter of apology and the school won’t pursue this.” I managed a dry smile. Of course. He didn’t actually want to kick me out. He just wanted a quick win to appease Braden, who was a legacy student with an influential family. In the past, I would have swallowed it. Like the time Braden intentionally slashed my bike tires, making me late, and I took the detention without a word. Like the dozen times Braden and his buddies dumped the trash on the floor while I was on cleaning duty, and I simply swept it up. I was tired. Bone-deep tired. I nodded. “I know exactly what I’m saying.” I started packing my books. Jesse was frantic, kicking me under the desk, trying to stop me. I gave him a slight, reassuring smile. I was okay. He was the only one in this whole place who treated me like a friend, and he’d been targeted plenty because of it. Now that I was leaving, he’d be free of that burden. I zipped up my bag and turned to leave. That’s when Gemma, who must have heard the commotion, rushed in and grabbed my wrist. Seeing her chest rise and fall slightly with exertion, I felt a flicker of stupid hope. I thought, Maybe she’s here to tell me not to go. The dream lasted one second. Her face was cold as she warned me, “If you walk out of Northwood High with an expulsion on your record, no reputable college prep school in the state will touch you.” “You’ve thought this through?” She wasn’t exaggerating. She was Gemma Sterling, the heiress to Sterling Industries. Our headmaster practically polished her shoes. Ensuring a scholarship kid like me never saw the inside of a university would take her nothing more than a few phone calls. “I have.” I took a deep breath and started walking toward Mr. Harrison. Gemma let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. Braden, smirking, leaned back in his seat, ready for the show of my complete defeat. Then I stopped in front of the counselor’s desk and raised my voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrison, but I shouldn’t have posted that anonymous tip online about you accepting cash payments from Braden Sterling’s family to inflate his academic record.” I flashed my phone screen at him, pivoted, and walked out. 2 Gemma chased me down the hall. She reached out and blocked my path, her voice tight. “Are you really willing to torch your entire future over this?” My future? It was a future she had built for me, so in her eyes, it was hers to command. The summer before high school, my parents told me they couldn’t afford to keep me in school. They wanted me to move south and join them working factory shifts. I spent a full night on my knees, weeping, begging them not to take away my education. I promised I would earn every penny, that they wouldn’t have to pay a cent. So, from the start of freshman year, I lied about my age and took every odd job I could find. After late study hall, the only place hiring a kid like me was a smoky BBQ joint downtown. One night, Gemma and a few of her friends came in. I didn’t know her then. She was in the class next to mine, but I was always either rushing to class, frantically doing homework, or sprinting to work. I hadn’t even registered her existence. It was her friend, Piper, who recognized me first. “Isn’t that Kai Lancer? The scholarship kid from our class? No wonder he always smells like grease. He works here, huh? You guys, you should have been there one day when I passed him—I swear the smell nearly choked me.” She sounded genuinely perplexed. “I just don’t get it. Do poor people love money that much? Honestly, with his looks, you’d think he’d find a faster way to earn a living.” Every word felt like a slap. My face was on fire, and the glass of beer I was carrying began to tremble. I wasn’t paying attention and slopped a bit onto a customer’s shirt. I apologized immediately, terrified. The drunk man was about to explode, but then he took one look at me, his rage turning into a lecherous grin. He grabbed my arm. “It’s fine, little man. Come on, have a drink with your big sister, and we’ll call it even.” I froze, paralyzed with fear and humiliation. Bang. The man went flying. He’d been kicked so hard he’d slid off his seat. A faint, expensive scent of jasmine and citrus wafted around me. I turned, my eyes meeting Gemma’s. She handed me a packet of bar napkins. “Don’t worry. It’s over.” Her friends rushed forward and joined the brawl. It didn’t take long for the group of creeps to stumble out, bruised and defeated. Gemma wiped her hands on a napkin and looked at me. “It’s too late for a guy—or anyone—to be working out here. It’s not safe.” Piper giggled. “Yeah, next time you might not be lucky enough to have beautiful girls like us save your ass.” Then they left. I looked at the furious expression of my boss. I knew I wouldn’t have to work late shifts anymore. Just as I suspected, the owner picked up my backpack and threw it at me. “Get out! You’re done here, kid. I’m deducting the damage from your paycheck. Don’t come back.” 3 I was devastated. I couldn’t find another job that quickly, and the absolute worst part? Rent for my cheap attic apartment and next month’s food allowance were due. In desperation, I went back to the BBQ joint and begged the boss for my money. It was pouring rain outside, blurring my vision. All I could hear was the owner’s sneering laugh. “Broke? Why don’t you hit up those rich friends of yours? The ones who were so brave! I’m telling you, the money you had coming is less than the cost of the broken chair. Want more? Dream on!” My lips were trembling with cold. I opened my mouth to argue. And then the rain stopped, and the insults faded. Gemma stood over me, sheltering me with an umbrella. She slammed a thick wad of cash onto the owner’s counter. Her voice was icy. “Is this enough to cover the damages?” The owner quickly snatched the money. “Y-yes, ma’am. More than enough.” “Then give him his pay.” The owner counted out my measly wages and shoved them at me. Gemma looked at me with an expression that was almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, Kai. I’m afraid I got you fired.” I shook my head, my hands still shaking with the shock and cold. Gemma shifted the umbrella, leaned in, and gently ruffled my wet hair. That was the exact moment I fell in love. After that day, I never worried about money again. Gemma found countless ways to funnel cash my way. She bought me clothes and gifts. She hired me as her “tutor” for a ridiculous fee. She asked me to be her “dinner partner” for a stipend that covered all my meals. Our relationship blossomed in that intense proximity. Everyone called us the perfect couple, the golden children. She took care of me beautifully. Then, during senior year, Braden transferred back. He was her childhood best friend. He’d been whisked away when his parents divorced in middle school. But now, in his last year of high school, his mother had remarried and didn’t want him, so he was sent back to his father. When Gemma told me, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy, this stranger I’d never met. Later, I learned the one thing she hadn’t mentioned: Braden was deeply, possessively in love with her. 4 I assumed Braden would transfer into Gemma’s advanced placement class. But no, he transferred into my standard track. The first time we met, Gemma helped him move his books. He walked up to me, grinning a little too brightly. “You must be Kai. The guy Gemma is absolutely obsessed with, huh? You’re definitely good-looking, I’ll give you that.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “We’re friends now, right?” I felt a little awkward but nodded. Jesse muttered under his breath, “Didn’t he used to be a total bully in middle school?” I hadn’t heard. As soon as the bell rang, I grabbed the gift I’d spent weeks saving for. “Braden, I heard you like the limited edition Adidas line. This is a welcome gift.” He reached for the box with a smile. But just as his fingers brushed the cardboard, he jerked his hand away. The box tumbled to the floor and picked up dust. I stared, stunned. Braden’s easy smile turned into a sneer. “You’re a charity case, Kai. Without Gemma, you probably wouldn’t even know what Adidas stands for, would you?” He scoffed. “Too bad. Now that it’s been touched by your hands, I don’t want it anymore.” I stared at him, unable to reconcile this venomous person with the friendly face from moments earlier. He’d changed like flipping a switch. Later that afternoon, I was still distracted when I went to meet Gemma after school. Braden was already there. He was leaning over her desk, his body practically boxing her in. They were laughing about a new designer sneaker release I’d never heard of. I stood there silently, feeling useless. Gemma finally noticed me. She walked over and squeezed my hand. “Kai, I need you to go home alone tonight.” “Braden just got back, and his dad invited me for dinner. It’s a welcome-back thing.” “Oh.” I managed a blank nod and glanced over at Braden. He caught my eye. He gave me a slow, triumphant smile. 5 The next day, I couldn’t help myself. I told Gemma what Braden had done. She just laughed, a soft, indulgent sound. “Kai, are you being a little sensitive? Braden can be a bit blunt, but he certainly doesn’t mean any harm. It must be a misunderstanding.” “Tell you what,” she said, seeing my crestfallen face. “When he gets here, I’ll talk to him. If it’s true, I’ll make him apologize to you, okay?” Braden didn’t show up for class. Gemma grew worried and called him. The moment she hung up, her face went rigid. She looked at me, her expression instantly cool. “What is it?” I asked, confused. Her voice was suddenly flat. “Nothing. I’m going to check on him.” She and Braden didn’t return until lunchtime. Gemma called my name at the classroom door. “Kai, come out here.” My stomach tightened. It was the first time since we started dating that she had used my full name in that formal tone. I stepped outside. Braden was standing beside her. He held up the sneaker box, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, and shoved it into my hands. “Kai, I genuinely thought we were friends. I was happy about the gift. Why would you write something so cruel?” Braden looked genuinely distraught. “If you didn’t want to be my friend, you could have just said so!” He hadn’t even accepted my gift. Why was he lying? My mind went blank when I read the note. It was scribbled in a familiar hand. Gemma is my girlfriend now. Did you come back to steal her, you unwanted little bastard? I stammered, trying to explain. “That’s not my writing. And you didn’t even take the gift—” “Enough, Kai!” Gemma interrupted, her voice heavy with disappointment. “The handwriting is yours. The gift is the one you bought. And you still won’t admit it?” “Why are you turning into such a liar?” she continued, each word a needle in my heart. “You came to me this morning and spun a story just to turn me against him. Kai, I hate people who play games. I don’t want you to become the person I despise most.” She took Braden’s hand and walked away. I stood there, clutching the note, trembling from head to toe. The handwriting was so similar to mine, but it wasn’t mine. Why didn’t she believe me? 6 Gemma gave me the silent treatment for days. Then, during gym class, I took a hard fall. I was limping back to the classroom when Gemma saw me in the hall. She saw the blood on my knee, rushed over, and helped steady me. “Your knee is bleeding! You couldn’t text me? Do you even remember I’m your girlfriend?” She walked me to the nurse’s office. I buried my face in her shoulder. Gemma’s tone softened. “Okay, look, let’s forget about the note. I only see Braden as a brother, so stop being so hostile toward him.” I grew more agitated. “It’s not me. It really isn’t!” A thought flashed through my mind. The pair of sneakers I’d bought was an incredibly rare, limited-edition model. I’d found a unique serial number on them. If Braden’s shoes had a different number, it would prove his were not the ones I’d purchased. I was about to speak when Braden burst into the nurse’s office. “Heard you were hurt, G. Just came to check on you.” I looked away, not wanting to engage. Braden spoke to Gemma. “Hey, your history teacher was looking for you. Why don’t you go back, and I’ll stay with Kai for a bit?” Gemma nodded. “Thanks, Braden. I owe you.” As soon as she was gone, Braden’s demeanor shifted. He looked at me with cold indifference. “She’s gone. You can stop playing the wounded puppy now.” Braden chuckled. “I don’t know if I should call you oblivious or if I simply underestimated how much sway you have over Gemma.” He paused. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. Even the heaviest weight will be eroded eventually.” He left, and a sudden, sharp anxiety pierced me. After the nurse wrapped my knee, I slowly walked back toward class. As I rounded the corner on the stairs, I saw Braden—and Piper. They knew each other? Well, of course they did. They were from the same exclusive circle. I lowered my head and continued up. But as I passed Braden, he suddenly shouted and pitched himself backward, tumbling down the flight of stairs. I froze, shocked by the sudden, violent sight. Then I looked up and saw Gemma’s face, pale and filled with icy disappointment, staring down from the landing above. Students rushed over. They started pointing fingers at me, their faces twisted with disgust. “He’s truly unhinged with jealousy.” “They’re childhood friends. Kai is just a stray who got picked up and now thinks he’s a prince.” My head began to spin. An anxious reflex made me shake my head wildly. “I didn’t push him! He fell on his own!” I looked desperately at Piper. “You saw it, didn’t you? Please, just tell everyone the truth!” Piper looked away, her voice flat. “All I heard was you telling him you were Gemma’s fated one, and that a childhood friend could never beat you.” I stared at her, the last tight string in my mind snapping completely. My throat seized up. Every defense died there. In that agonizing second, I knew who had written the note. Gemma listened, and then she let out a quiet, painful laugh. “Your fated one? Not anymore.” She looked at me, then back down the stairs. “And for the record, a childhood connection is deeper than anything a flavor-of-the-month could ever hope to be.” I stood there, numb, registering nothing. 7 Gemma left with Braden. The rest of the students scattered. I stayed where I was, motionless. A wave of pain washed over my chest, receding until there was only a vast, empty calm. Gemma ended things with me. She demanded that I wait outside Braden’s house, kneeling on the doorstep until he woke up. It was a cold, bitter night. Gemma walked past me, looking down from her height. “When Braden transferred back, he specifically chose a different class, saying he wanted to respect our relationship and befriend you.” “You’re so stupid, Kai. You shouldn’t have pushed my boundaries like this, over and over.” She paused, seemingly waiting for me to argue, to explain. But I remained silent. I offered no defense. The next day, Braden woke up. I hauled myself to my feet, my knees raw and numb, and stumbled away. After that, I avoided Gemma completely. I poured every ounce of my energy into my studies. I endured Braden’s veiled insults and petty attacks. But Braden still wouldn’t let it go. He couldn’t even stand for my name to appear on the same honor roll Gemma might see. I was truly, fundamentally done. I just wanted to disappear.

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When I was dating my boyfriend, Bradford “Brad” Jennings, his best friend, Declan Shaw, was constantly running me down. “She’s got nothing going for her but a pretty face.” “Checking up on him just for a drink? She’ll walk all over you once you put a ring on it.” “Be a man, Jennings. Don’t be a doormat, alright?” Goaded by Declan’s constant jabs, Brad ended up dumping me without a second thought. Two months later, he had second thoughts. He called late one night, desperate to get back together. But it wasn’t Brad who answered the phone. It was Declan Shaw. “Buddy, truth is, the moment I first laid eyes on your girlfriend, I knew you and I were going to be lifelong friends.” “Oh, and by the way, we’re getting married next month. Don’t forget the gift.” 1 Declan Shaw was introduced to me by Brad at some high-status mixer. “Baby, this is Declan. The big man.” Brad’s tone, as he introduced us, was clearly deferential. I looked over, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Declan was sitting at the center of a small, admiring group, his expression casual, his face arresting. He exuded an air of undeniable generational wealth, far surpassing Brad’s inherited fortune. He was far more valuable than Brad. I offered a polite greeting: “Declan, nice to meet you. I’m Delaney Wells.” Declan didn’t nod or speak. He simply stared at me. He stared for two, maybe three, seconds. Finally, he asked Brad: “Your girlfriend?” “Yeah, man. The one I told you about.” “Huh.” Declan suddenly turned away, his expression bored and impatient, dismissing me completely. I shifted awkwardly, scratching my head. Even my generally optimistic nature couldn’t ignore the creeping feeling: this alpha male did not like me. 2 My intuition was confirmed quickly. It was Brad’s birthday, and he’d invited a lot of his wealthy friends to celebrate, including Declan. I was held up late at the office and arrived slightly behind schedule. Just as I reached out to push open the private room door, I heard Declan’s lazy, drawling voice from inside. “Brad, seriously. What do you see in that girl? She’s got nothing going for her but being hot.” Oh. Even the ruling class enjoys a little petty gossip, apparently. I felt a wave of embarrassment, pulling my hand back from the door handle. I tried to recall if I’d done anything specific to offend the prince of the Shaw dynasty. Inside, Brad replied, “The face and the body, obviously. She’s that ‘pure but secretly wild’ thing, right? Who wouldn’t be into that?” “You agree, right, man?” “…” Declan went eerily silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “So, are you going to marry her?” Brad hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe eventually.” “Look, Delaney is beautiful, no doubt. But she’s… a little simple, and her parents are just working-class people from out-of-state. I can’t afford to lose this family trust battle to my half-brother just because of my choice of wife.” I knew about the illegitimate half-brother and the ongoing fight for control of the family business. I also knew that my parents, who ran a small auto shop and never asked for anything, couldn’t give him the social or financial leverage he needed. Declan hummed in response. “Right. You need to be cautious about who you align yourself with. Don’t drop the family mansion for a simple distraction.” Brad sounded touched. “Thanks for looking out for me, Declan. I needed to hear that. A toast to you.” A new round of sycophantic praise and toasting started up inside. I stood outside the door, my chest tightening. I was hurt by Declan’s words, by the chasm between my background and Brad’s, and, most of all, by Brad’s shaky commitment to me. It’s only been two months, I told myself. We have time to work this out. When the conversation shifted to a different topic, I collected myself, took a breath, and pushed the door open. Brad, acting like nothing had happened, rushed over and piled food onto my plate. The other guys were polite to my face. Only Declan, from the moment I walked in, maintained a cold, irritated expression, as if my presence alone ruined his evening. Fine. He clearly still hated me. I resolved to just keep my distance. 3 After that night, Brad seemed to have officially latched onto Declan Shaw’s coattails. He was always out drinking and socializing with Declan and the rest of the exclusive crew. He’d come home reeking of stale alcohol and a faint, cloyingly sweet scent of cheap, club-girl perfume. His dissatisfaction with me, fueled by his friends, grew daily. He’d criticize me for not drinking, for being quiet, for being too dependent. One night, after Brad had been gone late yet again, I called him, worried. “Brad, what time are you actually coming home tonight?” There’s a strange, fragile masculinity that absolutely hates being “checked up on” during a night out with the guys. Brad’s tone was immediately terse. “Delaney, I’m not done yet. I’ll come back when I’m done drinking.” “Can you maybe not drink anymore? I miss you and want you to come home.” “Just go to sleep, okay? Stop waiting up for me.” As soon as Brad hung up, a low chuckle came from the man beside him. It was Declan. “Bradford, you’re always getting checked up on the second you walk out the door. You let her do that now, she’ll be telling you when you can breathe after you get married.” The entire group burst out laughing. “Seriously, man. If my girl pulled that, I’d ditch her for a new one.” “Yeah, Brad. Are you a man or not?” Brad, embarrassed, bristled. “I’m going to talk to her. I’m not letting a woman run my life.” Declan smiled, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. 4 Brad finally came home the next day. He looked hungover, his clothes wrinkled, and the cheap perfume scent was now overpowering. I chose my words carefully. “Brad, can you stop going out with those guys? Especially Declan. I really don’t trust him.” He was fiddling with his tie and frowned instantly. He remembered the sting of being mocked the previous night. My request hit a nerve. “Are you kidding me? He’s the sole heir to the Shaw fortune. My family’s entire net worth is just a rounding error to him. If I land him, I’m set for life.” “…But I don’t like him always taking you out drinking.” “Delaney, be sensible. Your call last night made me look like an absolute joke in front of everyone.” “I am being sensible.” “Then be more sensible, okay? Stop calling me and checking up on me. It’s annoying.” I felt a cold wave of disappointment. My concern was an inconvenience. I met his eyes for a moment, picked up my purse, and walked past him. “Brad, if you’re not going to distance yourself from Declan and those guys, then we need a break. Let’s cool off for a few days.” “Delaney! Are you actually walking out on me?!” Brad yelled a few times, but I didn’t look back. The cold war began that day. He didn’t come after me, and I didn’t go back to the apartment, opting to crash at a friend’s place near the office. But then, an unknown number started sending me pictures of Brad over the last few days. They showed him, looking dazed and indulgent, wrapped around different women in different clubs. He looked like he was having the time of his life. I didn’t know who was sending them. But someone was clearly trying to sabotage my relationship with Brad. And, I had to admit, they were successful. Furious and hurt, I sent Brad a simple text: We’re done. 5 To my surprise, Brad didn’t go out drinking that evening. Instead, he made dinner and asked for a second chance. I was shocked. In the month we’d lived together, he hadn’t so much as taken out the trash. Brad looked genuinely apologetic. “Baby, I don’t want to lose you. Let’s just stop fighting, okay?” “And what about your friends? What about Declan?” “I can’t completely cut him off; he’s a huge asset to my career. But I’ll minimize going out with them. I won’t neglect you anymore.” I sighed in relief. That was a fair compromise. I nodded, and we agreed to meet halfway, ending the cold war. Brad went happily to the kitchen to dish up the soup, and I went, equally relieved, to wash my hands in the bathroom. Someone else’s mood, however, was about to take a turn for the worse. In a private lounge downtown, Declan lit a cigarette and called Brad. “Declan, hey, what’s up?” “Bradford, why aren’t you here drinking?” Brad sighed. “Can’t tonight, man. My girlfriend and I had a fight, so I’m cooking dinner to make it up to her.” Declan’s voice instantly turned cold. “Making what up? Be a man, Brad. Stop being a simp. Got time to lick her boots? You should be here instead. I lined up a reliable investor for that new project you need. He’s here tonight. Talk business first. Don’t let a woman distract you.” Brad hedged. “But I just—” Declan’s voice was icy and cutting. “Don’t come, and I’ll tell him you’re not serious. I was hoping this project would help you crush that half-brother of yours, but forget it. Go back to being whipped.” “No! No, man, I’m coming. I’m on my way.” “Hurry up.” Declan hung up, blowing a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. A flash of cruel calculation crossed his dark eyes. 6 When I came out of the bathroom, Brad was hastily putting on his jacket. “I thought we were having dinner. Where are you going?” “I have a meeting. A really important meeting. I have to go drink.” I felt a familiar frustration. “Can’t you go tomorrow? We just made up.” Brad’s voice was sharp. “Delaney, I thought after the cold war you’d be more understanding. Why are you acting so needy?” My buddies were right, he thought. Can’t give them an inch. I compromise slightly, and she starts trying to control my most important professional obligations. I didn’t want another fight, so I didn’t try to stop him. “…Okay. Just come home early.” “I’ll try.” Brad snorted and walked out the door. Midnight came and went. No Brad. No text. I was about to go to sleep but realized he hadn’t grabbed his key fob. Reluctantly, I called him. 7 In the private room, the meeting had gone mysteriously sideways. Brad was fuming. The investor was bafflingly difficult, eventually walking out without a deal, and Declan hadn’t said a single word in his defense. As he was stewing, angrily running his hands through his hair and drinking too much, my call came in. “Brad, what time are you coming back?” That simple, check-in question detonated the entire night’s accumulated frustration. “Delaney, are you seriously doing this again?” “I told you I’m in a meeting. Stop calling.” “Why are you suddenly so unreasonable? So whiny and clingy?” I was so blindsided by the torrent of anger that I automatically tried to explain myself. “I just wanted to ask if you grabbed your—” “Just what? You really are nothing but a pretty face, aren’t you? You can’t offer me an ounce of help.” “Get lost. We’re done. Move out of my apartment tonight. I don’t want to see you again.” The sheer viciousness of his words confirmed what I already knew. There was nothing left to save. I said, simply: “Fine.” Brad slammed the phone down first. His hangers-on, who’d overheard the gist of the call, immediately started congratulating him. “Wow, Brad. That was the most masculine thing you’ve done all year.” “Attaboy! You can’t let women get away with that. You’re talking business, not staying home to warm the bed.” “Don’t sweat it, man. We’ll line you up with some better-looking models.” The praise worked its magic, easing his frustrated mood. He thought: Whatever. Delaney’s just a nice piece of decoration. I can do better. As he clinked glasses with his buddies, Brad suddenly noticed someone was missing. “Hey, where did Declan go?” Someone replied: “He left a minute ago. Took his car keys. Said he was going to pick up his girlfriend.” “Wait, he has a girlfriend? Whose daughter is she? I never heard anything about her.” Brad frowned. “I have no idea.” The group started speculating, running down a list of eligible socialites—from the oil heiress to the shipping magnate’s granddaughter—but none fit. “Weird. So who is it?” 8 I’d only been living with Brad for a month, so my belongings weren’t extensive. I packed quickly. I left the apartment keys on the kitchen counter, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and dragged my two large suitcases out the door. It hurt to be dumped, sure, but I was focused on logistics: securing a hotel room for the night, figuring out a new apartment lease. It was daunting. I stood on the curb, pulling out my phone to hail a ride to the hotel I’d just booked. A sleek black Bentley Mulsanne pulled up slowly right in front of me. Assuming I was blocking the curb, I stepped back to let it park. The car crept forward again, right up to me. What? Confused, I looked up as the driver’s window rolled down. A familiar, handsome, and impeccably aristocratic face looked out. Declan Shaw. Declan looked straight at me, dropping the arrogant scorn he’d worn in all our previous meetings. He was surprisingly gentle now. “It’s… Delaney Wells, right?” “What a coincidence. Where are you off to so late?” “It’s not safe here. Let me drive you.” 9 I half-suspected this was some kind of elaborate con. But that face, that composure, that seven-figure car—it was unmistakable. Since he was one of the primary reasons I was now single and homeless, I shook my head, keeping my voice cool and polite. “No, thank you.” “Brad and I broke up. I don’t need to inconvenience you.” Declan gave a small, smooth smile. “A breakup doesn’t prevent us from being friends, does it?” Friends? We were not friends. I hesitated. “Declan, really, I’m fine.” “Don’t you want to know why Brad really broke up with you?” “No.” “…” Declan silently gritted his teeth, then tried again. “Don’t you want revenge? I can help you get back at him.” “No, I don’t.” “Then why—” “Declan.” I cut him off, tilting my head. “Are you trying to steal my ride-share fare?” “…Yes.” Declan paused, then didn’t deny it. My God. Has the economy sunk so low that the heir to the Shaw Empire is moonlighting as a late-night ride-share driver? But a working stiff is better than a leech, I supposed. I asked, “How much are you charging?” “Five dollars.” I pursed my lips. That was a bargain. The regular SUV I was about to call was charging thirty dollars late at night. Declan’s $5 Bentley was clearly the superior choice. I’d save twenty-five bucks. I quickly canceled my ride, looked up, and smiled. “Then I’d appreciate the ride, Declan.” “It’s no inconvenience at all.” Declan’s lips curved slightly. He got out and opened the trunk to load my suitcases. Phew. He’d almost resorted to forced love.

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It was New Year’s Eve—my thirtieth birthday, actually—and I was struck three times by my own brother, Brad Davis. He stood over me, chest puffed out, spitting the words like venom. “This is my house, Jen. You don’t get to come in here and run your mouth like some outsider.” “You toxic waste of space. Get out, or I’ll hit you again!” He seemed to forget that this apartment was the one I’d bought for our mother’s retirement. He forgot his wife, Tiffany, was still wearing the gold bracelet I’d bought for Mom just last month. And he forgot his kids, Tyler and Jake, were still clutching the generous cash gifts I’d just handed them. I felt the burning sting on my face and looked around. Tiffany’s smile was a sneer, a cold, mocking noise escaping her lips. The two boys stared at me, eyes wide with antagonism. Carol, my mother, who had called me here tonight for my birthday, stood silently in the corner, her eyes red and averted, just as they always were. And I realized, with a sudden, bone-deep weariness, that I was done. … New Year’s Eve. My birthday. Mom had called me first thing that morning. “Jen, honey, it’s your birthday. Why don’t you stop by the nice bakery on Fifth and pick up a cake? We’ll have a lovely holiday dinner and celebrate you.” Tiffany’s brassy voice immediately chimed in on speaker. “Make sure you get one of those fancy gourmet cakes, the kids love the organic whipped cream! And make it a big one!” Mom quickly agreed. “Yes, yes, Jen, you heard Tiffany. A big, expensive one. And hurry up, don’t keep your brother waiting.” Then she hung up. I stared at the call record—less than a minute—and took a moment to just breathe before grabbing my coat and heading out. When I arrived with the cake, Brad answered the door. He glanced at the box in my hands and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That’s it? Just a cake? Coming over to someone else’s house for a holiday dinner, you’d think you’d bring something decent.” I didn’t bother arguing. It was New Year’s Eve; I’d had to pull strings and pay a premium just to get this one. Tiffany backed him up. “Seriously. If not for us, at least think of your mother and your nephews. So cheap.” I noticed the thick gold bangle on her wrist. I’d bought it for Mom’s last birthday. Now it was Tiffany’s. A few years ago, I would have been furious, demanding an explanation. Now, there was just an unnerving calm. This was hardly the first time. Mom poked her head out from the kitchen, trying to smooth things over. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Jen can make it up next time.” Tiffany shot her an impatient look. “Keep an eye on that chicken stock, will you? You ruined it last time. Pay attention.” My mother flinched, mumbled a couple of “yes, dears,” and disappeared. I watched, a cold, sharp blade of mockery twisting in my gut. At the dinner table, the cake meant for my birthday celebration was devoured by Tyler and Jake before a single candle could be lit. Mom placed a spoonful of broccoli on my plate. “Tyler and Jake start private school next year, Jen. We thought, as their favorite aunt, maybe you’d like to… pitch in?” I pushed the broccoli aside. “I gave them cash earlier. That was their holiday gift.” Tiffany shrieked. “That was a New Year’s bonus! You can’t use that as school tuition! Don’t try to redefine the terms!” I finally looked up, meeting their eyes. “So, now you want me to pay for their entire private school education, too?” The table fell silent. All three of them stopped chewing. I paused, letting the quiet settle before delivering the final line. “I don’t have it. If you need money, maybe Brad could, you know, find a job next year.” CRASH. Brad kicked his chair back, sending it slamming into the wall, and his palm connected with my cheek. The force stunned me. Tiffany continued eating, placidly picking up a piece of turkey for Tyler as if nothing had happened. My mother started to rise, then froze. Brad’s voice was grating, full of spite. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my house and telling me what to do?” SMACK. Another stinging blow. He paused, glaring at me, the fury in his eyes raw. Unsatisfied, he raised his hand one last time and delivered the third slap. “I’m the one who takes care of Mom! Asking you for money is a favor! You think you’re some kind of saint? Ha! You’re toxic waste. Consider those three slaps your lesson.” Tiffany chimed in with her usual condescending tone. “He’s right, Jen. We’re doing this for your own good. You’re not married, you don’t have a family. When you’re old, you’ll rely on Tyler and Jake for care. You need to contribute now so they’ll feel like honoring you later.” Their voices were a duet of smug, superior condemnation. The brutal pain spread across my face. I could see my reflection in the polished wood of the dining table: red, swollen, ugly. Like a tomato left in the sun too long. I lifted my eyes and looked at my mother. She avoided my gaze. After a long moment, she looked back, a flicker of resentment in her expression. “Jen, this is your brother’s home. Why do you always have to be so difficult? You see what you’ve done, ruining the holiday for everyone. Are you happy now?” I managed a faint, bitter smile, stood, and walked toward the front door. Behind me, Brad was still yelling, his voice laced with indignation. “Let her run! That useless bitch! If she ever shows her face in my house again, I’ll hit her harder!” I closed the door, and the ringing curses were instantly cut off. His house? I had bought this apartment for Mom’s retirement, and when they moved in, I hadn’t raised a complaint. They’d successfully squatted. But what they didn’t know was that the name on the deed, the original title to this day, was mine. The cold air hit me, harsh and biting. I wrapped my coat tighter and began the long walk back to my own apartment. It wasn’t far. Years ago, right after Brad got married, Mom had come to me, crying, saying Tiffany couldn’t stand her and didn’t want her living with them in their cramped rental. I knew Brad was essentially unemployed, living off Mom’s social security. I felt bad for her. “Why don’t you just move in with me, Mom?” I’d offered. “I’ll give you three thousand a month, and all you have to do is cook for me occasionally.” I had an extra bedroom already waiting. But Brad had refused, yelling that I was only after Mom’s pension, forbidding her to live with me. I hadn’t pushed it then, but now, after all this, I thought she might agree. Instead, she hemmed and hawed before finally shaking her head. “You’re a young woman, Jen. It wouldn’t be convenient for me to live with you. Why don’t you buy me my own place? A nice two-bedroom. Then I’ll be set for life, and my heart will be at peace.” I was stunned. Before I could respond, she started crying again. “Jen, you’ve always been the sensible one. Just help your mother one last time.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, checked my savings, and finally agreed. I found a two-bedroom condo quickly. Mom was overjoyed when she moved in, her face beaming as she called me her perfect daughter. But soon after, Tiffany got pregnant. That very day, Brad moved his entire family into the fully paid-off condo I’d bought. Mom was ecstatic, welcoming them in as if she hadn’t complained about Tiffany a few months prior. They had lived there for five years. I exhaled a cloud of frost, not feeling the bone-deep cold recede until I was safe inside my own home. I sat on my balcony without turning on the lights. In the darkness, I took out my phone and disabled the large-limit credit card linked to my account that I had given Mom. She had cried that Brad had taken over her bank accounts, leaving her penniless. I had set up the card so she could make purchases. A quick glance at the history revealed the same pattern: small, inexpensive purchases were necessities for her. The expensive ones were frivolous—gifts, electronics, or clothes, all clearly for Brad and his family. I closed my eyes. Then, I pulled the dusty condo deed from my fireproof drawer and scrolled through my contacts for the realtor who had handled the purchase five years ago. “I need you to sell this unit. Immediately. The price doesn’t matter. Get it done as fast as possible.” It was New Year’s Eve, so the reply was slow, but it came. “Whoa, Jen! Didn’t I sell you that place? Selling on the holiday? You’ve got guts.” The realtor—Mitch—joked, but he was serious about the work. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. It’s a great property, and if you’re willing to take a slight discount, it’ll be a feeding frenzy.” I typed a brief “Thanks.” Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a flash of light burst across the night sky. A cascade of brilliant, glittering fireworks lit up my unlit living room. I glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. A new year. I watched the show for a moment, a lightness I hadn’t felt in years filling my chest. The fireworks continued their relentless celebration, illuminating the path ahead. I smiled, went to my bedroom, and crawled into my warm, heavy duvet. In the boundless landscape of my dreams, I saw my mother again, shielding a young Brad and me behind her from my father’s swinging fist. I saw her wake up in the middle of the night to gently tuck my blanket back around me. But then, the dream shifted. I saw Brad steal my favorite candy and toys, hiding behind Mom as he smirked at me. I saw Mom burst into tears, staging a scene, all to guilt me into giving more of my lifeblood to nourish her preferred child. She would look at me, and her words were always a mixture of blame and instruction. “Jen, he’s your brother. You can’t fight with him over things.” “Jen, he’s your brother. This is what you’re supposed to do.” I woke with a jolt. The room was bright; the sun reflecting off a thick layer of snow was blinding. My phone, resting on the nightstand, was vibrating maniacally. I looked at the screen and answered. Mom’s panicked voice immediately hit my ear. “Jen! That card you gave me, it was declined! Is it out of money? You need to put more on it right now. I need to buy things for your brother.” I spoke calmly. “It’s not out of money, Mom. I just… cut you off.” That sliver of a memory, that one small piece of good from my childhood, had kept me tethered for years, justifying the expense. But those three slaps? They were the shock paddles that finally woke me up.

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My eighteenth birthday. Ivy, my twin sister, received company shares, a luxury car, a villa… Me? I received a DNA test result slip proving I wasn’t their biological daughter. Victoria, my mother, smiled—a chilling, distant smile. “Eliza, since you aren’t our flesh and blood, it’s only fair that you repay us for the seventeen years of expenses we incurred raising you.” Richard, my father, scoffed. “Effective today, you’ll be the household maid. We’ll credit you five hundred dollars a month toward your debt. No room and board.” I didn’t question how this was possible when Ivy and I were twins, practically molded from the same clay. How could I not be their daughter? Instead, I nodded calmly. Because just last night, I’d stood outside the study door and heard it all. Ivy, her voice sticky-sweet, whined to them, “Mom, Dad, my birthday wish is to be your only daughter, to have all your attention just for me. Can we just make Eliza the maid for a year? Please?” Dad’s face was brimming with doting affection. “Yes, darling. Anything for you.” Mom chuckled in agreement. “This year, Daddy and I belong only to our precious Ivy-bug.” After everyone had left, I looked at the remnants of the cake on the table, stuck a lone candle into the frosting, and made my own silent wish: I would leave the Vincents. Not for a year. But for good. For a lifetime. 1 “Oh, my God, Sister!” Ivy Vincent covered her mouth in an exaggerated gasp. “No wonder you’re so plain! You don’t look like Dad or Mom! Turns out, you really are a fake!” Her voice was loud and performative, as if she’d completely forgotten the two of us were identical twins, almost spitting images of each other. “Correction,” she added, her eyes glinting. “You’re not my sister at all. You’re just some stray mutt who wandered in off the street.” Victoria’s expression remained aloof and cold. “Eliza, now that the truth is out—you are not a Vincent. This birthday party was prepared solely for our beloved Ivy. You no longer have a right to be here.” I lifted my gaze to meet Ivy’s triumphant smirk. She wore a custom-made princess gown and a diamond tiara that cost more than a down payment on a small house. I glanced down at my own outfit: a faded, washed-out shirt and jeans, the cuffs frayed from overuse. A bitter laugh caught in my throat. Right. I hadn’t had any real rights since I was a child. What was there left to lose now? Richard raised his voice, loud enough for the gathering crowd. “Starting today, you’ll move to the staff quarters. Out of respect for the time we shared, you can work as a maid here until you find your biological parents. We’ll pay you five hundred dollars a month toward the seventeen years of living expenses you owe us. No food, no lodging.” A wave of murmuring swept through the onlookers. I felt like a pathetic clown under their mocking, scrutinizing gazes. I bent over and picked up my backpack. Ivy darted forward, grabbing the strap and yanking hard. The worn zipper, held together with a simple safety pin, instantly gave way, and the contents spilled across the polished hardwood floor. Ivy shrieked. “Aha! I knew it! You’ve been stealing from us!” Among the scattered textbooks, a single, pink sanitary pad lay exposed. Mom’s face briefly tightened with discomfort. “Ivy, that’s enough. It’s just a pad.” Ivy immediately dug in her heels. “No, Mom! I’m the only Vincent daughter now. What is she? She’s a parasite who’s been living off us for years and now she’s stealing! I say she doesn’t deserve anything!” Seeing her anger, Victoria quickly softened her tone, cooing, “Okay, okay, honey. Don’t get upset. You’re absolutely right. You are Mom’s only heart and soul, and you can do whatever you want.” Satisfied, Ivy deliberately stepped onto the pad, grinding her heel into it, twisting and turning. “There,” she declared. “Now I don’t want it. You can have it.” I stared at the pink cotton, now marred by a dirty shoe print. My throat felt thick and heavy, like it was stuffed with wet cotton. 2 In the end, I only picked up the books. Once the party was over, Auntie May, the housekeeper, led me into a cramped utility closet. The space, no bigger than five square meters, held only a plank bed stacked with junk and a single, rusted iron window. Auntie May stood at the doorway, her lips parting as if to speak. “Miss… Eliza. The master and madam, they remember the good things about you. Once they come to their senses, you’ll be Miss Vincent again…” She trailed off as two cockroaches scurried out from a dark corner and zipped away. I pretended not to notice the awkwardness on her face. “Thank you. I understand.” Auntie May shook her head and left, muttering quietly to herself. “They look so alike. How can she not be… sigh.” I sat on the hard plank bed, staring blankly out at the pitch-black night beyond the window. It’s okay. Just one more year, and then I can leave forever. That night, my lower abdomen ached terribly. With no sanitary pads, I could only make do with toilet paper. Coming out of the bathroom, I overheard my parents’ hushed conversation. “Honey, do you think Eliza will resent us for treating her this way? She is our biological daughter, after all.” Dad let out a cold snort. “It’s her own fault for constantly bullying Ivy. As the older sister, she never knew how to yield. This suffering is for her own good.” “Once Ivy tires of this game, a year from now, we’ll just say the DNA test was wrong. When she gets her title back, she’ll be overjoyed, she won’t even think about this.” My fingertips went ice-cold. It was so utterly ridiculous. How could they possibly believe that after trampling me into the dirt, I would wait obediently for their return? The next day, I went out to buy pads. At checkout, I was told my card was declined due to insufficient funds. But I was certain I had two hundred dollars saved up. Back at the house, I pushed the door open. The three of them were laughing merrily at the dining table. A gift bag rested on the surface. Victoria was stroking a silk scarf in her hands. “My Ivy is such a thoughtful angel. Giving Mommy a gift! I’m so happy!” Richard was turning a plastic water bottle in his hand, grinning ear to ear. “Daddy loves his too. You’re my precious girl.” Ivy pouted, leaning on Mom’s shoulder. “But they only cost two hundred dollars combined. You’re not mad that I was cheap, are you?” Mom immediately shook her head. “Of course not! Anything my baby buys me, even for two dollars, is Mom’s treasure.” Dad didn’t miss a chance to belittle me. “Exactly. Unlike your sister, who only knew how to spend the family’s money and never once bought us a gift. She’s an ingrate. She can’t even compare to my Ivy…” They abruptly stopped talking when they noticed I had returned. Ivy tilted her head to look at me, a malicious smile twisting her lips. Those two hundred dollars… They were my savings from two months of my allowance. All my money. A freezing sensation swept over me, and something in my mind violently erupted. Before I knew what I was doing, I had grabbed Ivy and raised my hand to strike. But before the slap could land, Richard kicked me away. My spine slammed against the sharp corner of the coffee table. The pain was so intense I nearly blacked out. Ivy clutched her arm, showing off a small, red mark. She began to wail as if the sky had fallen. “Mommy! Daddy! It hurts so bad! Is my arm broken?” Mom shouted frantically, “Call an ambulance!” Dad quickly interjected, “Forget the ambulance, there’s no time! I’ll drive Ivy to the ER myself.” Ivy pointed at me, sprawled on the floor. “I don’t want to go by car! That bastard injured me, so she has to carry me all the way to the hospital!” 3 The nearest hospital was twenty kilometers from the villa. Victoria’s eyes were ice-cold as she looked at me. “You’re a fatherless, motherless stray that we fed and clothed for over a decade. How dare you lay a hand on my daughter? You’ll do exactly what Ivy says.” Seeing me struggle to get up, Dad grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. “Stop the pathetic act. You just bumped yourself gently. Now hurry and carry Ivy to the hospital! If you delay my daughter’s treatment, I swear I’ll throw you out of the Vincent house for good.” I believed him. But I couldn’t leave yet. I hoisted Ivy onto my back and began the long, staggering walk to the hospital. Dad drove slowly behind me, the car barely moving faster than my pace. He constantly yelled, “Eliza, hold her steady! If you drop my precious girl, I’ll flay you alive!” Mom complained with a frown. “Walk faster! Are you starved? Don’t you dare delay my baby’s recovery.” Ivy, clinging to my back, laughed smugly. “See? No one in this house loves you! You’re a stray dog no one wants.” That kind of cruelty used to cut me deep. Now, perhaps from an accumulation of too much pain, I was numb. Unresponsive. Seeing my lack of reaction, Ivy fell silent. But as we neared the hospital, the safety pin she’d concealed in her pocket was suddenly driven hard into my back. I gasped, stumbled, and collapsed to the asphalt. My parents immediately stopped the car, rushing to scoop Ivy off me and race toward the hospital entrance. Mom paused, looking back at my ashen face. She said with sharp impatience, “You’re at the hospital now. Go find a doctor yourself. We don’t have time for you.” I never made it inside the hospital. I had no money. Too exhausted to walk back, I sat on the hospital steps until nightfall, then slowly made my way back to the villa. They were already home. Standing in the living room were a nervous, slovenly-looking middle-aged man and woman. “Perfect timing,” Richard announced, pointing to the couple. “These are your biological parents. You’ll be leaving with them now.” The air was deadly silent. Victoria came over and took my hand, but her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “Eliza, we shared a relationship as mother and daughter for a time, and I am truly saddened. But since your real parents have been found, there’s no reason for you to stay with the Vincents.” I had thought I was beyond crying. Yet, tears streamed down my face. These were the parents I had cherished for over a decade. They wouldn’t even allow me to stay in the house, not even in a corner. My tears made Mom look away, guilt creeping into her expression. She reached out to wipe my face, but Ivy grabbed her arm. “Congratulations, Sister,” Ivy chimed in. “You’re finally not a fatherless, motherless stray anymore.” The middle-aged woman, introduced as my birth mother, Brenda Reyes, grabbed my hand. Her filthy, black fingernails dug into my skin as she wailed dramatically. “My daughter! Mommy has finally found you! Come home with me now!” The man, Vicente Ramos, claiming to be my birth father, started dragging me toward the door. “Yes, yes, hurry home. You’ve inconvenienced the Vincents and the Madam for too many years. Don’t be a leech.” “Wait,” Ivy said, her eyes twinkling as she spoke. “Sister, finding your real parents is a huge deal. Shouldn’t you kneel and perform the kowtow to acknowledge them? Or are you too ashamed of how poor they are?” I froze and turned back to my parents. “Do you think I should kowtow to them?” 4 They both instinctively avoided my gaze. Ivy kept urging me. “Hurry up and kneel. We’re all watching.” I smiled. Something inside me, in that moment, completely shattered. I knelt down, but I faced my parents and knocked my head hard against the floor. “The parent-child relationship ends here. From this day forward, I have no ties to the Vincent family.” Mom and Dad exchanged a look, a flicker of unease passing between them. I stood up and left with my ‘birth parents.’ Victoria chased after me, her voice thin and desperate. “It’s not settled! Not until… not until you pay back all the money we spent on you over the years!” I stopped but didn’t turn around. I simply replied, “Fine.” They thought they had spent a fortune on me. But they had forgotten the reality. The daughter who was showered with love and money was Ivy. Me? I had a monthly allowance of only three hundred dollars. Which Ivy, with her monthly thirty-thousand-dollar allowance, still found ways to exploit. If I refused, she would go home and cry, claiming I ganged up with classmates to isolate and bully her at school. I was locked in my room countless times without food. Once, on a stormy night, because Ivy cried that I was driving her to the brink, I was left outside to soak in the rain. I developed a 104-degree fever, and no one checked on me. It had always been like this. Ivy’s word decided my guilt, my happiness, my daily life, and my dignity. My explanations, my tears, my grievances—they were worthless in that house. Just like me. I was cheap. That night, I was taken to my ‘birth parents’ squalid slum apartment. Since there was no extra room or bedding, I was forced to curl up on the floor of the sole bathroom for the night. The window, crudely patched with newspaper, let in a relentless draft. The next day, I woke up with a pounding fever. In a daze, I heard the woman’s anxious phone call. “Mr. Vincent, Mrs. Vincent, the young… the girl has a fever. It’s a hundred and four degrees.” “Then what are you waiting for? Take her to the hospital!” The phone was on speaker, and Ivy’s voice came through clearly. “Mommy, Daddy, Sister just left last night and now she has a fever? What a coincidence! It’s a trick, a pathetic attempt to test you. If you believe her, you’ll be the fools.” After a long silence, Richard’s cold voice returned. “Ignore her. She said she has no relationship with us anymore. Let that ingrate learn a lesson.” Victoria’s voice was full of irritation. “She’s your daughter now. Stop calling us. We’re busy planning our globe-trotting trip with our precious Ivy. Goodbye.” No one came for me. I was abandoned in the forgotten rental. I fought through the haze to force the front door open. As I crawled out onto the stairwell, I finally gave up and passed out. When I finally woke up, there was only a nurse beside the bed. “You’re awake, little girl. Your temperature was 107.6. If a kind passerby hadn’t brought you here, another ten minutes and you would have been in real danger.” “Now, please contact a family member to come and pay the bill.” I was silent for a long moment, then spoke in a faint voice. “I have no money, and no family.” The nurse looked stunned. I stared at the IV drip in my arm and licked my dry lips. “But… I have blood.” When the new school year began, I was a senior. I started running errands for classmates—getting meals, delivering packages. A dollar per trip. I could save about twenty dollars a day. 5 I had just picked up a meal when I ran into Ivy in the hallway outside the cafeteria. She merely crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Her entourage of hangers-on instantly grabbed my meal tray and smashed it. Food mixed with muddy water spilled everywhere. “Oh, Sister, you look so pathetic. Let me buy you lunch.” They forced my head down, trying to make me eat the food they’d trampled on. Ms. Chen, my homeroom teacher, happened to pass by and angrily chased them off. She helped me up and wiped my face. She had heard rumors about the birthday party and knew I was struggling financially. Without asking for details, she offered me a tutoring job—weekend afternoons only—with the strict condition that it wouldn’t impact my grades. I thanked her repeatedly. But I never imagined that because of her single act of kindness, Ms. Chen would be reported and fired for allegedly taking bribes from a student’s parents. And I, meanwhile, was plastered on the school bulletin board. A photo of a student’s parent dropping me off for tutoring was captioned with the accusation that I was being kept by an older man. My ‘birth mother,’ Brenda Reyes, rushed to the school and slapped me twice without a word. She viciously grabbed my hair, pinching and twisting. “You little tramp! How old are you? You’re already flashing yourself for men! You might be shameless, but I’m not!” My head whipped to the side. In my peripheral vision, I saw my parents standing with the school administrators, looking at me with undisguised contempt. Behind them, Ivy’s face was split with a triumphant grin. My hair fell forward, hiding my line of sight and the tears I couldn’t stop. I lowered my head and said flatly, “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong.” That night, just after I’d showered, a large hand yanked me violently into the room. My ‘birth father,’ Vicente Ramos, stood shirtless, his eyes bloodshot, lunging at me. “If you’re going to give it away to some man outside, you might as well give it to me.” The utility knife I had hidden in my sleeve slashed across his face. He recoiled two steps, panting like a starved beast. “I’m still a student. Get out, unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison!” Living in the slums, I hadn’t been without preparation. Vicente spat, wiped the blood from his cheek, and bared his yellowed teeth in a grin. “You wait, you little bitch. Your real parents sold you to me. I’ll get what I’m owed eventually.” The door slammed shut. I slid weakly to the floor, trembling violently. Tears gushed out. I bit down hard on the back of my hand to stifle my sobs. My phone chimed. A message popped up in the family group chat. Victoria: “Eliza Vincent, you’re self-degrading at such a young age. After being a mother to someone as dirty and self-shaming as you for over a decade, the thought of it makes me sick.” The next second, Richard removed me from the group. Victoria stared at the remaining three people in the chat, a sense of inexplicable dread washing over her. “Honey, are we being too harsh? Didn’t we check? She was just tutoring.” Richard huffed. “If she hadn’t forced Ivy to eat the food off the ground, Ivy wouldn’t have cried until her eyes were swollen. Removing her from the group was the only thing Ivy asked for. It’s letting her off easy.” After a moment, he softened his tone. “It’s only a year. I’ve already transferred enough money to Vicente Ramos. Eliza won’t be suffering. When the time is up, we’ll bring her right back.” A year later. On the day of mine and Ivy’s birthday. My parents left the house early. Richard drove fast. “Do you have the correct DNA test results?” Victoria nodded rapidly. “Yes, I do. We haven’t seen Eliza in a year. When she comes back, we have to make it up to her.” 6 Richard smiled. “Of course. I’ve already finalized the company shares. Ivy is too frivolous for responsibility, but Eliza, after this ordeal, will have matured and won’t bully her sister anymore. I’ll announce her as the heir at the party.” The two rushed out of the car, navigating the dirty, cluttered alleyways straight to Vicente Ramos’s door. They knocked repeatedly, but no one answered. Finally, an older woman from next door poked her head out. “Stop knocking. Vicente Ramos was locked up a year ago. Tried to rape the girl he brought back.”

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The night before my wedding, I found Brooks and a stranger in my bed. Proud as he was, that was the first time I’d ever seen him weep. His voice shook as he explained, claiming he was blackout drunk, that he’d mistaken her for me, and that it would never happen again. The young woman, her face flushed, confessed that she’d secretly loved Brooks for years and deliberately bribed a hotel clerk for his room key. She fell to her knees and swore she would disappear from our lives forever. For the next eight years, we were the picture of a perfect couple, envied by everyone we knew. Then, on Brooks’s thirtieth birthday, I specifically took time off work and endured an eleven-hour international flight to give him a surprise. Stopping at a corner store for a bottle of water, I overheard a woman talking on the phone beside me. “You’re so clingy. It’s only been an hour, and you’ve practically blown up my phone.” “Just wait. This girl is going to wear you out tonight.” A jolt of something—curiosity, perhaps—made me glance over. I froze. The woman was the same girl from eight years ago. 1 Years had passed, and she clearly didn’t recognize me as she walked over to the checkout. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but she pouted playfully into the phone. “No, I’m not cold. I’m wearing plenty. You can check later if you don’t believe me.” “You can reach right inside, slide your hand down my waist, and keep going until you hit…” On an impulse I couldn’t explain, I pulled out my phone and texted Brooks. [Brooks, are you off work yet?] No reply. The woman reached out and took two boxes from the shelf for ‘Intimate Products.’ Same brand, same flavor, same size—the one Brooks and I always used. Her voice was sickly sweet. “It’s your birthday, so it’s your call how many times we go.” I glanced down at my phone. Still nothing. After paying, I followed the woman outside. “Stop rushing me,” she whined. “I see your car.” The London rain was hitting my face, cold as ice. I tightened my coat around me and hit the call button with a trembling hand. A cold, automated female voice replied: “The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable.” I understood instantly. He had his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb.’ This year, he’d told me his overseas branch was so busy that he couldn’t take calls once he stepped into the office. It wasn’t the first time I couldn’t reach him. A sleek Bentley was parked a short distance away at the corner. “Brooks!” The woman hurried forward and opened the passenger door. I turned my head slightly to look. One look was all it took to nail me to the spot. The window was half-down, and the man in the driver’s seat looked composed and expensive. She twisted her body and leaned in to plant a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. He smiled, a familiar, fond look of resignation. “Always the baby,” he murmured. The streetlights were dim, but I saw his face clearly. The owner of that face had been by my side for my entire thirty years. At three, we held hands walking into kindergarten. He’d sneak the candy the teacher gave him into my palm. “I’ll protect you. Don’t cry.” At sixteen, he copied a movie scene and hid a drawing of me inside a textbook. When I found it, his ears turned bright red. “I just like you. So what?” At nineteen, during our first kiss, he was so thrilled he bought out the entire restaurant’s tab. “I want to shout it out—I’m the happiest guy in the world.” At twenty-two, when I accepted his proposal, he swore in front of both our families that he would only ever love me. Everything came to a screeching halt the night before our wedding. When I opened that hotel room door, he and a stranger were naked and tangled together. The day was a blur of chaos. Everyone said he was drunk and had made a mistake. They said I, his childhood sweetheart, should give him a second chance. Even the girl knelt and begged for forgiveness. She took all the blame, saying she bought the room key, only to fulfill her foolish secret crush fantasy. Brooks, who had always been so proud and dominant, cried until his eyes were red that day. Seeing my silent tears, he picked up a fruit knife and aimed it at his own heart. “Stella, I know I’ve failed you. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll cut myself open and show you—there is truly only you in my heart!” Tears blurred his face. His voice kept shaking. “Please don’t leave me, my love. I’m begging you. You know I’ve loved you for so long.” “If you reject me, I’ll die. I truly will die…” After that, I sealed the memory away. Sharing life for so many years, I thought we were inseparable, destined to go from being children’s playmates to growing old together. But in this second. Our thirty years. It finally all came crashing down. 2 Dazed, I returned to the apartment. My mother texted me: [So, how did Brooks react when you told him you were pregnant? He must be thrilled!] I took a deep breath, swallowed the bitterness in my throat, and replied with a forced calm: [Not yet. I just got to his apartment. Haven’t told him.] The apartment door opened, and Brooks walked in, having returned after dropping Quinn off. Our eyes met. His flickered with unnaturalness for a second, then quickly settled into a calm facade. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have picked you up from the airport.” My expression was flat. “I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled, walking over to gently ruffle my hair. “I hate how much I missed you.” “The flight must have been exhausting. All this trouble just to adjust your time zone for a birthday.” Before Brooks could say anything more, his phone buzzed. He looked down to reply, his eyes softening with that familiar tenderness and patience. Then he looked up apologetically. “I’m so sorry, but I have a client meeting tonight. My poor girl will have to be lonely.” Before I could speak, he went to the closet and pulled out a garment. I understood immediately. He came back to retrieve the intimate item the woman had forgotten. I had used a week of my vacation time, missing a huge client meeting, to arrange and decorate this temporary overseas apartment for him, bit by bit. But now, the unique vase I’d spent an afternoon hunting for and personally carried over from the States was gone. Even the photo of us stuck to the refrigerator had vanished. A sharp, wet chill seeped into my heart through my rain-drenched clothes. I abruptly stood up, dragging my suitcase toward the door. Brooks followed. “Are you upset?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder from behind. “The apartment hasn’t been cleaned. I’ll book you a five-star hotel nearby.” “I promise, I’ll spend the whole day with you tomorrow. Deal?” He tilted his head, intending to kiss me, just as he always did. A strange, unfamiliar scent of citrus and spice wafted into my nostrils. It was her perfume. I turned my face away, but Brooks didn’t seem to notice and rushed out the door. By the elevator, a rough-looking guy whistled at me, his eyes leering. “How much, beautiful? He doesn’t want you, I’ll take his sloppy seconds.” He grabbed my arm. “He has a girlfriend. I’ve seen her. They’re neighbors here. He dotes on her, carrying her from the garage all the way up. She always looks so happy. What makes you so desperate?” He reached out and pinched my waist, trying to lean in for a kiss. Reflexively, I brought my heel down hard on his foot. As he yelped in pain, I pulled my suitcase and fled through the fire exit. I didn’t dare stop to check the scrape on my knee after tumbling down the stairs; I just ran straight for the airport. Sitting aimlessly in the boarding hall, I was consumed by one question. Why did Brooks cheat again? In the first two years of our marriage, I was constantly plagued by nightmares. In the dream, Brooks was naked, wrapped around a strange girl. I’d wake up in tears. He would hold me, soothing me over and over. “It’s all my fault. I hurt my poor baby wife.” He changed the passwords on all his devices to my birthday, and introduced me at every public event as his wife. He gave me a detailed rundown of his day—who he saw, what he did. If he had to travel and stay out of town, he would keep a video call open all night, listening to my breathing until he fell asleep. We were both painstakingly trying to repair the broken trust. Where did it all go wrong? Vaguely recalling the woman’s name, Quinn, I opened a social media app to search. It took me less than a minute to find her among the many accounts with the same name. The reason was her profile picture: it was taken in Brooks’s office back home. 3 The hanging abstract painting behind her was one I’d personally commissioned from a renowned artist. I had pleaded with the artist, even standing outside their studio in high heels for an entire afternoon, just because Brooks had once mentioned he liked their style. Quinn was a moderately famous travel blogger with a decent following. I scrolled down. The posts related to Brooks started three years ago. Quinn and a man holding hands, the background our high school track field. [Finally dating my high school dream guy!] It was the same spot where Brooks and I had first held hands at sixteen. The night wind was cool, and his palm was slick with nervous sweat. “When we’re old and gray, we’ll come back here together.” The middle of August two years ago—our wedding anniversary. Brooks said he had an urgent business matter and couldn’t be there. But in her feed, he was sitting with Quinn, eating street food. Last New Year’s Eve, I was hospitalized with a high fever from the flu. Brooks appeared in Quinn’s video, intensely focused as he disinfected a small scrape on her finger. My hand holding the phone was shaking. Brooks’s face wasn’t visible in any of the photos. But the familiar cuff of his expensive jacket and the texture of his palm made it impossible to keep lying to myself. Quinn’s latest post refreshed on the screen. The image showed a lacy maid outfit, so revealing it made my stomach churn. [Bought it but forgot to bring it. Glad someone remembered! Tonight’s reward is all his.] So that was it. That was what Brooks had returned to the apartment to fetch. The fans in the comments were joking. [Your hubby has good taste! Sis, you spoil him!] Quinn replied: [Can’t help it. I asked him today when he fell for me.] [He said it was eight years ago, the first day I was brave enough to tell him I liked him. He said my eyes were frighteningly bright, and he never forgot it.] [Just thinking that he’s been thinking about me all these years melts my heart.] I pressed my lips together so tightly they hurt. But the tears were disobedient, streaming silently down my face. Quinn posted a video next. The camera focused on a large bed covered in rose petals. A woman’s voice giggled. “My followers want me to ask you, now that you’re thirty, do you have any new plans for our relationship?” A man’s low laugh replied. “Plans?” “I do want a baby. Will you have one for me, baby?” The camera shook, and the sound of clothes intensely rubbing together filled the silence. My fingers were numb; I misdialed several times before I finally called Brooks. The phone rang three times, then finally connected. My voice trembling, I asked, “Brooks, am I still in your future plans?” He was silent for a few seconds, then said casually, “Of course, you are. Why wouldn’t you be?” “Oh, by the way, my parents mentioned you had a surprise for me. They’ve asked me about it several times. What is it?” I heard Quinn’s low, urgent voice in the background. “Husband, if you don’t pay attention, I’m going to punish you.” If I hadn’t seen them, I would have been foolish enough to believe she was a subordinate. My eyes swept over the shredded pregnancy test report I’d tossed in the waste bin. I spoke softly. “It’s gone.” The surprise was gone. The past love, the future we’d planned. All gone. Brooks’s patience wore thin, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. “Why are you throwing a fit?!” “I’ve turned down over ten international partnerships for you, all because you’re constantly suspicious!” “I’m with a client tonight for our future. Can you just give me a break?” Tears fell again, and I managed a slight, bitter laugh. “You’re right, Brooks.” “I’m just throwing a fit.” “When you get back home, we’re getting a divorce.” 4 Brooks was the one who hung up first. He scoffed. “Fine. Be dramatic.” The dial tone cut out, hitting my heart like a drumbeat. I didn’t sleep a second during the twelve-hour flight back. It wasn’t until I lay on the operating table, and the anesthetic poured into my veins, that I found any release from the relentless pain. When I found out I was pregnant, I was truly overjoyed. I thought this would be the new beginning for Brooks and me. Just a few months more, and the baby would have been here. Happiness was within reach. But now, everything was lost. After resting for a day, I received a message from Brooks. [I’m back. Family dinner tonight. Don’t you dare give my parents the silent treatment.] [Stella, you’re not a teenager anymore. Your tantrums need a limit.] I replied that I would attend. By the time I composed myself and arrived at the Brooks family’s estate, both families were already there. Brooks sat down next to me. He looked at my averted face, his tone laced with exasperation. “Are you still mad?” He pulled out a necklace and pressed it into my hand. “It was my fault. Is that enough?” “Take this as my apology. Smile for me, huh?” My palm was icy cold. Just yesterday, before I went into the operating room, Quinn had posted a new update. The messy bed was covered in gifts. She unwrapped them one by one: a limited-edition crocodile skin bag, custom-made luxury perfume, a diamond bracelet… She wrinkled her nose at this very gold chain. “The style is so dated. I don’t want it.” The person filming laughed indulgently. “I’m the one having a birthday, you’re getting the gift, and you still complain? I’ll just throw it away, then.” I loosened my grip, letting the necklace fall to the floor. Brooks frowned. “What more do you want from me? Take it or leave it.” Brooks’s mother smiled kindly, trying to ease the tension. “I heard you specifically flew to London for Brooks’s birthday, and he couldn’t even be with you because of work. He was wrong about that.” My mother stepped in, attempting to smooth things over. “You, young lady, are about to be a mother. You can’t be so temperamental; it’s bad for your health.” “A… mother?” Brooks was stunned, turning to look at me in disbelief. “Stella, you’re pregnant?!” He shot up from his seat, his lips twitching into an uncontrollable smile. “I’m going to be a father, right?!” The coldness in his eyes melted away, replaced by unconcealed excitement. I didn’t look away, taking in every flicker of emotion on his face. But was this real, or was it another performance? I couldn’t tell. And I didn’t care anymore. Both sets of parents burst into laughter. “Look at this fool.” I spoke softly. “No.” “I had an abortion.” The atmosphere froze. The excitement on Brooks’s face solidified and then cracked. His eyes darted around in panic for a few seconds, then he managed a forced smile. “Stella, don’t joke like that.” I didn’t answer, pulling the pre-prepared divorce papers from my purse. Then I let a faint smile touch my lips. “Brooks, I saw Quinn.” “If we don’t divorce, do you expect her to be your mistress forever?”

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My sister and I are twins. From the moment she was born, my sister, Harper, was labeled a “high-demand” baby. She needed constant attention, endless soothing, and deep, consistent affection. Any slight discomfort sent her into a fit of raw, heart-wrenching screams. I, on the other hand, was “low-demand.” I rarely cried, caused no fuss, and was, to my parents, blessedly easy. So, on the day of the divorce, standing outside the Registrar’s office, my parents only argued about one thing: who would take Harper. My mother, Valerie, shielded Harper with her body. “Harper is fragile. Who will care for her when I’m not around?” My father, Mitchell, reached for Harper’s suitcase. “She’s coming with me! My place is closer to the best high school. It’s better for her future.” I stood awkwardly beside them, my fingernails digging deep crescents into my palm. I finally managed a quiet, almost pleading question. “What about me?” My mother glanced at me, as if she were noticing me for the first time that day. “Paige, you’ve always been so sensible, so low-maintenance. Go with your dad. Your sister is still young; she needs me.” My father immediately frowned, cutting her off. “No! I only want Harper. I’m the one who raised her!” They tossed my name back and forth like a worn tennis ball, neither of them wanting to catch it. Finally, my mother sighed in exasperation, pulling out her phone. “Fine. Let’s just start a group chat. Anything about Paige, we’ll discuss it in there.” The group was created instantly, its name a blunt, transactional title: Ellison Minor Communication. My father was quick to post the “Group Rules”: a. By the 15th of every month, both parties transfer $200 to Paige. b. Any single expenditure over $15 must be put to a group vote. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I remembered the phrase they always repeated: “You’re the older one, your sister needs more. You have to be the bigger person, Paige.” It turned out that by always being the bigger person, I had given up even the right to be fought over. 1 The school dorms were emptying one by one as winter break began. I stood alone in the small room, surrounded by the mess of packing, my frozen fingers waiting for a reply. It had been two hours since I’d sent the message to the group chat. [Mom and Dad, I’m done with school today. Could someone please come and pick me up?] The academy was thirty miles from home, and there was no direct bus line. I had exactly $5.20 to my name—not nearly enough for an Uber. After what felt like an eternity, my phone vibrated. It was a long voice message from my mother. My heart hitched, and I tremulously pressed play. My mother’s voice, distant and slightly muffled, drifted out. “Call your father! I’m with your sister in Key West for the winter. It’s warm here, and her chest is so delicate; she can’t handle the biting cold back home. It makes her cough instantly.” My eyes burned as I stared at the screen until it automatically dimmed. She didn’t send anything else. I took a shaky breath, gathered my courage, and, holding onto a sliver of hope, directly @-ed my father in the group. [Dad, Mom says she’s busy. Could you possibly come?] A moment later, my father didn’t reply with words. He dropped a photo into the chat. He and his new wife were beaming over a luxurious platter of oysters and a prime rib, their faces flushed with the warmth of the trendy steakhouse. This was immediately followed by a voice note, thick with irritation. “Now you decide to find me? Where were you three days ago? Can’t you see I’m tied up? The school is huge, doesn’t it have a library or something you can hang out in? Figure it out yourself!” My throat tightened, and tears instantly blurred my vision. My hands trembling, I typed out a detailed explanation, every word a near-plea. [Dad, I asked in the chat three days ago. You might not have seen it… The dorm is truly locking down soon. I have nowhere to go.**] After another excruciating few minutes, a notification popped up. My father had sent a transfer: $50. Below it were two lines of cold, functional instructions: [Find yourself a holiday job with room and board.] [You’re old enough now. Don’t expect the family to solve everything for you. I have my own life to manage!] A year ago, when they divorced, both parents had desperately fought for Harper. Both saw me as a burden. The easiest solution had been to dump me into this remote, full-time boarding high school, out of sight and out of mind. My mother always suspected I secretly favored my father; my father always thought I was secretly aligned with my mother. And so, the communication group became their battlefield—a place for mutual evasion. The four hundred dollars a month was barely enough for food. Any other expense, if it exceeded that punitive fifteen dollars, was subject to the “family court.” Early in the semester, the school requested a $20 Student Activities Fee. I typed the message carefully, weighing every word. [Dad, Mom, the teacher needs twenty dollars for the Student Activities Fee, for shared class expenses.] My mother’s voice reply, half an hour later, was full of derision. “Those fees are a scam. They don’t use the money for anything useful. We didn’t have those silly fees when we were in school, and we turned out fine. I vote no.” My father quickly followed up with text: [I didn’t pay for that stuff either. I vote no.] I was the only one in class who didn’t pay the fee and was publicly singled out by the teacher. While the other students watched a movie or printed study guides, I had to keep my head down, pretending to read, burning with shame. After a few more votes, I finally understood. The “voting” was a mere formality. The result was always predetermined. They had no intention of spending a single extra dime on me. Every last penny, they felt, would be a waste. I would rather skip meals than face that humiliating inquisition in the chat again. My phone vibrated again. It was Harper. She’d updated her social media. The photo grid showed her in a brand-new, expensive sundress, beaming. The caption: Even though Mom and Dad are separated, their love for me hasn’t shrunk one bit! Celebrating the holidays by the beach—I’m so incredibly happy! I stared at the photo grid, the ability to process emotion momentarily gone. The realization that your parents don’t love you is truly a slow, painful process. It’s like being cut by a dull blade, slice after slice. It doesn’t kill you, but the pain is endless. I forced myself to absorb the message. From now on, I had no home. 2 I dragged my suitcase two long, frozen blocks down the street. My face was numb from the biting wind when I finally found a small diner with a handwritten sign: Dishwasher Wanted. On Christmas Eve, I ate a pack of the cheapest ramen, boiled in an electric kettle in the cramped, airless storage room that served as my break area. As the crushing loneliness washed over me, my mother called. I hesitated but ultimately answered. “Paige? Where are you? Did you eat a holiday dinner?” I stared at the swirling, oily surface of the ramen. My throat seized up. “I’m eating now,” I managed, dryly. “Oh.” She paused, seemingly unsure how to proceed, before her conversation naturally steered back to the center of her universe. “Your sister was so happy today. We had a huge seafood feast for dinner—King Crab, lobster, abalone…” She stopped again, as if remembering I was on the other end, and stiffly changed the subject. “You haven’t been running around, have you? It’s chaos outside during the holidays. Be safe.” I clenched my phone, my knuckles white. A sudden, sharp wave of intense grievance and anger surged through me. The tears I’d held back all day finally spilled over. I forced myself to speak past the sudden, painful lump in my throat. “Do you truly care how I’m doing, where I’m staying, or what I’m eating?” The other end of the line went silent for a second. Then, my mother’s voice shot back, shrill and wounded. “Paige Ellison! I am your mother! How dare you speak to me like that? I’m worried about you, and this is how you repay me? You ingrate! You’re just like your father! We gave birth to you, we raised you…” I hung up, lifted my chin, and fought hard not to let the tears fall again. When the winter break ended, I returned to the academy with the couple thousand dollars I’d earned washing dishes. On the first day of the new semester, someone tagged me in the group. My Dad: [@PaigeEllison Heard you made a couple thousand dollars working? Great. You can handle your own living expenses from now on.] My mom instantly agreed, the perfect partner in crime: [Agreed. Harper’s piano lessons are expensive this semester. It’s good you can be self-sufficient.] I stared at those two lines of text. My chest felt like it had been slammed by a heavy weight—a brief, suffocating pain, followed by absolute numbness. From that day on, I became a machine. I studied relentlessly. Every hour was spent reviewing, and I signed up for every single academic competition I could find. My friends and teachers, noticing my plight, often helped me out with meals or small necessities. By the time of the final senior year mock exam, my name was posted on the Honors Board—Top 20 in the entire class. The day grades were released, my mother tagged me in the chat. [Heard your mock results were pretty good?] My father immediately chimed in. [Really Top 20? Your college application needs to be for Finance or Computer Science. That’s where the real money is.] After two years, they were finally, collaboratively, planning my future. I felt a wave of nausea, an impulse to vomit right there. I typed a single, cold word in reply: [Fine.] My phone exploded with notifications. My Mom: [What is that attitude? You think you’re hot stuff just because of one test? Ingrate!] My Dad: [With that disposition, no wonder we always preferred Harper! You have absolutely no respect!] I was about to fire back one of my own when a new message popped up. It was my mother. I could practically hear the calculator clicking in her mind. Her text dripped with a chilling greed: [How much did we spend raising you to eighteen? You will pay it all back when you get a job!] My father immediately put a price tag on me: [At least forty-five thousand dollars. Every penny is due.] [We invested too much in you to just give it away!] Forty-five thousand. Staring at the number, a wave of profound coldness washed over me, starting at my feet and shooting straight to my head. They had kept a ledger. Every dollar spent on me had been recorded as a debt. For Harper, it was always open-handed, no-questions-asked generosity. Utterly and completely disillusioned, I calmly exited the group chat. Then, I blocked and deleted “Dad,” “Mom,” and “Sister.” When I finished, a lightness spread through my body. 3 After graduation, I found a job as a server at an upscale bistro. One evening, while carrying a tray of appetizers, I heard a familiar voice. “Harper, what do you want? Daddy’s treating!” My body froze. I slowly turned my head. At a table near the window sat my father in a new suit, my mother with a delicate clutch, and Harper was reading the menu. Harper pouted playfully. “Oh, Daddy, all these dishes look so boring…” My father waved a dismissive hand. “Then order the most expensive thing on the menu!” My mother glanced up, and her eyes locked onto mine. Her look of shock quickly morphed into a subtle, mocking smirk. “Well, well. Look who it is. Isn’t this our little college grad?” Harper looked me up and down, a flicker of disdain in her eyes. “Paige, are you working here? That looks so hard.” I tightened my grip on the heavy tray, my nails biting into my palm. “Welcome. Are you ready to order?” My father let out a harsh chuckle. “You were pretty tough when you blocked us, weren’t you? I thought you’d gotten some high-powered job, but you’re just carrying plates.” My mother chimed in. “Seriously, blocking your own parents. We thought you were too good for us.” I lowered my eyes and repeated the question. “Are you ready to order?” After they ordered, my mother casually asked, “I heard you did well on the exam?” “She asked you a question!” My father tapped the table, annoyed. “Cat got your tongue?” “I did fine,” I said. “And ‘fine’ means what score?” my mother pressed. “Scores aren’t official yet.” “But what did you estimate? You didn’t choke and miss the cutoff, did you?” For the next hour, I was their personal servant, spun around like a top. “Paige, cut my steak, please. These claws make it impossible.” “Make sure there are no bones in the fish. I got stuck last time.” “The water is too cold, go get me a refill with lemon.” Harper’s condescending demands came one after the other. Even the surrounding patrons glanced over, confused by the strange dynamic. I kept my head bowed, repeating the mantra: Just get through this. Save the money and leave. Finally, they finished. Harper wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and raised her chin elegantly. “Check, please.” I brought the bill. “The total is three hundred eighty dollars.” My father took the bill, tossed it back on the table, and said, “Let’s go.” The three of them stood up and started to walk away. I froze, then hurried to intercept them. “You haven’t paid yet.” Harper blinked at me, feigning an innocent, confused expression. “Paige, you’re treating your parents, aren’t you? It’s the least you can do.” “I’m treating you?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Of course,” my mother scoffed, utterly convinced of her entitlement. “You work here. Just deduct it from your paycheck.” My father was already near the door, turning back impatiently. “It’s just a dinner bill, for Christ’s sake. Stop making a scene.” The blood rushed to my head. I looked at the delicate, expensive-looking gold bracelet on Harper’s wrist. It was a recent birthday gift from my mother. I had never once had a birthday celebration in my life. I lunged forward and, with a swift pull, snatched the bracelet from her wrist. “Ah—!” Harper shrieked. “What are you doing?” “Since you won’t pay the bill, this is collateral!” 4 “You’ve lost your mind! How dare you steal your sister’s bracelet!” My father reacted first, roaring in anger. He swung his arm and delivered a savage slap across my face. “CRACK—!” The sound was sharp and deafening, making my ears ring. My vision momentarily swam. The force of the blow sent me stumbling backward, crashing into a nearby table. Silverware and dishes clattered and shattered on the floor. Next, my mother grabbed a handful of my hair and started dragging me toward the exit. “Let go of me! What right do you have?” I struggled, but she half-pulled, half-dragged me, until we were outside on the sidewalk. She violently shoved me onto the pavement and started shouting at the top of her lungs, gathering a crowd. “Everyone, look at this shameless thief! This is my older daughter! She just stole her sister’s gold bracelet!” “It’s worth thousands! How could I have given birth to such a disgrace!” I sat sprawled on the cold concrete, my cheek swollen and throbbing, my hair disheveled, and my uniform stained. I looked up at my mother, unable to comprehend the words. This was the “mother” I had sought validation from for eighteen years. This was the “love” I had desperately waited for. Now, it had materialized as the sharpest, most malicious knife, plunged directly into my public shame. “I didn’t steal! I didn’t!” I tried to explain, but my words were repeatedly drowned out by my mother’s hysterics. She clutched her chest, acting as though my actions had shocked her to the core. “She was always sticky-fingered as a child, and now she’s grown up into a thief! She’s trying to kill us with stress!” The crowd instantly swarmed, murmuring judgments. I covered my swollen face, catching sight of a few familiar faces—classmates from the academy. They stared at me in shock, whispering to one another. “Isn’t that Paige Ellison?” “She was our class Valedictorian. She’s a thief?” “Tsk, tsk. You really never know what’s going on beneath the surface…” Standing at the center of the mob, I felt as if I were being crushed by giant, suffocating mountains. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t climb over them. I instinctively looked at my father. He stood apart, arms crossed, his face devoid of sympathy. Instead, there was a clear, terrible glint of self-satisfied pride. Encouraged by the crowd’s condemnation, my mother gripped my arm tighter. “Hand over the bracelet! Get down and apologize to Harper!” Harper hid behind my father, clutching her red, claw-marked wrist. “Paige, I would have given you something else if you asked! Why did you have to steal?” “I didn’t steal!” I screamed. “They tried to dine and dash—” “Lies!” My father cut me off, his voice severe. “We raised you! And you try to extort us over one meal? Ingrate!” More and more people gathered, their judging whispers like needles stabbing my skin. “Kids these days are terrifying.” “Her parents wasted their time.” “Someone call the police and arrest her!” My mother forcibly pushed my head down. “You apologize to her right now! Or this isn’t over!” I was shaking, tears streaming down my face. The last, fragile thread of longing for any kind of familial bond snapped completely. Just as she was about to force me to my knees, I found a wellspring of strength I didn’t know I had. I straightened my back and screamed with everything I had. “I’m calling the police!” The crowd instantly fell silent. My mother subconsciously released her grip. “W-what did you say?” I wiped my eyes and spoke clearly, one word at a time. “I said I’m calling the police. I am reporting you for theft of services, for public assault, and for criminal defamation.” I pulled out my phone with a trembling hand and firmly dialed 9-1-1. “Hello, police? I need to report a crime…”

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The day they lowered Neil’s tiny casket into the ground, I didn’t just bury my son. I buried the woman Garrett Blackwood used to despise. After Neil died, I methodically shed every habit my Major General husband had found irritating. He started staying out late; I stopped asking where. He left his phone on the counter, full of explicit, flirtatious texts; I kept my eyes on my book. Even the day of the funeral, when he sent a detached, “Emergency meeting. Can’t break away,” I accepted it with unnerving calm, organizing the entire service alone. His aide, a young man named Jensen, watched my swollen, bloodshot eyes and leaned in to whisper. “Colonel Blackwood really couldn’t get out of this one, ma’am. He promised he’d come straight here when it’s done. He might still catch the last prayer.” I didn’t answer. I just placed my child’s ashes into the small, waiting crypt. Just as I was about to signal the crew to seal the vault, Garrett’s armored vehicle roared into the cemetery. He was soaking wet, still in his fatigues, and he hadn’t even killed the engine. “Quinn! Why didn’t you wait for me? Neil was my son too!” My voice was flat, an airless expanse. “Your duties are demanding, Garrett. Neil would understand.” My excessive compliance seemed to irritate him more than any scream could have. He opened his mouth to argue, but the murmuring of the small military crowd froze him in place. “Colonel Blackwood is really something for Tina Price, isn’t he? Rushed the specialty meds over the second he heard her K9 was sick. Didn’t even check on his own son.” “Yeah, only showed up for the funeral once Tina’s dog was stable.” Garrett’s hands clenched at his sides. He watched me with sharp, defensive eyes, bracing for the hysterical outburst he expected, the one he had always weaponized against me. But my eyelashes didn’t even tremble. I simply took the shovel and quietly covered the crypt with the last clod of earth. … 1 “Tina and I are just comrades! I swear, I only see her as a little sister! And Neil’s death was a tragic accident!” I nodded, already walking toward my car. “I know. The wind is picking up. You should head back to the base.” Garrett hurried after me and grabbed my arm. “If you’re angry, take it out on me. Scream. Hit me. Anything but this cold shoulder.” I looked at him with genuine curiosity. He used to despise my emotional outbursts, lecturing me that a military spouse must be rational and disciplined. Now that I was calm and controlled, he found me “cold.” As I was about to pull my hand free, his secure communication device vibrated. Garrett’s brow furrowed, but he answered the call. “I’m busy. Can this wait until tomorrow?” A woman’s voice, thick with tears, came through the tiny speaker. “Garrett, Ragnar’s having another seizure… could you please come check on him?” Ragnar was Tina’s K9. Garrett glanced at me. Seeing no reaction, he instantly capitulated. “Okay. I’m on my way.” He hung up, and I pulled the car door open for myself. I hadn’t secured my footing, and I stumbled slightly. “Watch it!” He reached out and steadied me with a firm grip. I gently pushed his hand away. “Go on. A K9 is a combat partner. You should see to him. It’s the right thing to do. Drive safe.” I even reached in and handed him his uniform cap. Garrett took the cap, a strange, sharp pang hitting his chest. He got into his vehicle, but before pulling away, he looked at me. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight.” “Good. I’ll wait for you.” Garrett did not come home. I cooked three dishes and a soup. I waited from dusk until late into the night. I heated and reheated the meal until, finally, I dumped it all into the compost bin. At two in the morning, Tina updated her social media. [With you here, I’m afraid of nothing. Thank you for being my rock.] The photo was a candid shot of Garrett in profile, kneeling to give the K9 an injection. His brow was knitted in intense concentration, but his movements were tender. I hit ‘like.’ Then, I connected to my secure channel. “Dad, the divorce papers will be finalized in seven days. About the National Security Advisor you mentioned… I’m willing to meet him.” For the next week, I practically lived at the Research Institute, trying to drown my numbness in data and diagnostics. My colleagues avoided my eyes. Whispers trailed me in the corridor. “Quinn’s an iron woman… back to work the day after her son’s funeral.” I ignored them, continuing to calibrate parameters. Tina walked past, carrying a thermos, and stopped by my workstation. “Quinn, I’m so sorry for your loss. Try not to push yourself so hard.” Her voice was low, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “If only someone had been more attentive that day, maybe your son could have been saved…” I tightened my grip on the electronic stylus. Garrett had never explained swapping Neil’s specialty medication. Instead, he let the rumor fester, effectively pushing the blame onto me. That afternoon, during the Base’s mandatory meeting, Garrett’s father, the General, slammed a file onto the conference table. “Quinn Blackwood! Don’t think your family name gives you carte blanche to be this reckless!” “You pulled a three-day marathon session for a breakthrough experiment while your child was burning up with fever! How did my son marry such a cold-blooded woman!” I looked at Garrett. He deliberately avoided my gaze. “Dad, about this…” “Silence!” The General rose, towering over the table. “This is what happens when you indulge her!” He strode toward me, then raised his hand and struck me across the face. “That’s the first slap, for killing my grandson!” I staggered backward, my cheek stinging. A heavy silence fell over the room. Behind the General, I saw Tina Price struggling to suppress a satisfied smirk. “And that’s the second,” he said, raising his hand again. “For costing the Base a critical research partnership!” “The lead representative heard you neglected your own flesh and blood. They called our family heartless and pulled all funding this morning!” The second blow was heavier. My ears rang, and I tasted iron. Garrett finally jumped out of his chair. “Dad!” “What, are you still defending her?” Garrett moved in front of me. “To hit her, you have to go through me.” The General was shaking with fury, his finger nearly touching my nose. “Look at this! Garrett is still covering for you!” “I’ve indulged you too much, Quinn! You’ve become a threat to military discipline!” The third slap never landed, but my vision went black. I collapsed. I woke up in the Base clinic. Garrett was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Tina… she grew up on a frontier outpost. Besides me, all she had was Ragnar.” He paused. “Can you just overlook it this one time? Please?” I closed my eyes. “Quinn, let’s start over. We’ll have another child. I’ll give you any compensation you want.” I finally turned to him, my throat dry. “What if I say no?” He froze, his brows tightening. “Don’t be dramatic.” I felt the phantom ache on my cheek. “I’m not being dramatic. I just want to know—” “Do I still have the right to say no?” His last thread of patience snapped. “Rest up. I’ll come back later.” He left quickly. As the door swung shut, I heard Tina’s voice: “Garrett, is Quinn okay? This is all my fault for asking you to bring the medication…” Garrett’s voice instantly softened. “It’s not your fault, Tina. She’s the one spiraling.” I stared at the ceiling, and silent, effortless tears tracked down my temples and into the pillow. I thought I had cried them all out when my son died. The next day, I was discharged. A serviceman drove me to the Base housing complex. I walked in and saw Tina sitting in the living room, chatting and laughing easily with Garrett’s parents. Ragnar, the K9, was lying at her feet. Hanging from his collar was the small, engraved military tag my son used to cherish. I had polished that tag myself when Neil turned one. His name was carved on the back. After he died, I burned all his toys and clothes, but I’d kept that tag. It was my only tangible memory. “Quinn is back!” Tina stood up right away. “Ragnar just loves this tag. Garrett said Neil didn’t need it anymore, so he let Ragnar wear it for a bit.” I didn’t speak. I walked over and gently tugged the tag off the K9’s collar. Startled, Ragnar snapped, sinking his teeth into the back of my hand. Blood welled up instantly. “Quinn! What the hell are you doing?” Mrs. Blackwood rushed over. “It’s just a piece of metal! Why are you fighting with a dog?” “Yes, Quinn. If you’re upset, I apologize. Please don’t scare Ragnar.” I clutched the tag tightly, blood oozing between my fingers. Garrett walked in just then. Seeing the scene, his face hardened. “What’s the drama now?” Tina immediately stepped forward. “It’s my fault, Garrett. I shouldn’t have given Ragnar the tag.” Garrett looked at me, his eyes full of reprimand. “It’s a dog tag. You gave it away. Why are you making such a scene?” He snatched the tag from my bleeding hand and clipped it back onto the K9’s collar. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Quinn!” I looked at the transfer orders tucked away in my purse. I turned my back on them and walked upstairs. The next day, I went to the Institute. My assistant said the research partner’s representative was in the conference room, demanding an explanation from me personally. I grabbed my briefing notes and pushed the door open. Representative Rebecca Shaw, the lead negotiator, looked at me and her face turned cold. “CTO Zhou, I hear you neglected your son to the point of death just to run an experiment? We are hesitant to partner with such a cold-blooded researcher.” I stood straight. “Representative Shaw, the situation that day was…” “The situation is irrelevant,” she cut me off, holding up a hand. “The entire system knows the story now—that you put your career first and let your own flesh and blood die for a project. I am a mother. I can’t in good conscience work with someone so heartless.” The officers around the table muttered among themselves. Garrett sat to the left, silent. I took a deep breath. “How would you like to resolve this, Representative?” She slid a glass of clear liquor toward me. “Drink this. Apologize publicly and say that you failed as a mother. We’ll call it even.” My doctor had strictly forbidden alcohol due to a severe stomach condition. I looked at Garrett. He averted his eyes, yet again. “The Representative is giving you an out, Quinn. Take it.” My hands were shaking as I picked up the glass. The entire room was waiting for the show. Behind Garrett, Tina wore a knowing smile. The first sip burned my throat. The second made my vision blur. When I finished the last drop, I inverted the empty glass on the table. “I apologize. I was wrong.” Representative Shaw finally smiled. “Very well, CTO Zhou.” I rushed into the restroom, throwing up until I was dry-heaving. Blood mixed with the liquor on the porcelain sink. I gripped the edge, my legs too weak to hold me. Garrett followed me in, his face tight. “Are you alright?” I rinsed my mouth. “I’m fine.” “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself if you can’t hold your liquor.” “Didn’t you tell me to drink it?” He choked on the words. He reached out to wipe the blood from my mouth. I took half a step back. “Colonel Blackwood, this is a Base facility. Be mindful of appearances.” His hand froze in the air. That afternoon, the General summoned me to his study. A new agreement was spread out on his desk. “You will automatically waive all pension and indemnity rights related to Neil.” “Furthermore, your researcher status will be revoked. The Blackwood family will not support idlers.” I had been wondering how to get Garrett to sign the divorce papers. This was unexpectedly convenient. Just as the pen was about to hit the paper, Garrett burst in. “Dad! Don’t sign that!” “What, still protecting her?” Garrett looked at me, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes, and his throat worked hard. “Tina is pregnant. It’s mine.” The pen slipped from my fingers, leaving a long, dark streak across the document. The General froze, then erupted in ecstatic joy. “Are you serious?!” “Just confirmed. Two months.” “This child was conceived just before Neil passed… it must be providence!” Tina appeared in the doorway. “Quinn, I’m so sorry.” The General had already forgotten me. He looked between Garrett and Tina. “Wonderful! Wonderful!” “Two months? Garrett, you finally did something right!” I stood still, a ringing sound in my ears. Two months. That was just over two months ago, right before Neil was gone. Now I understood. Garrett walked over, trying to embrace me. “We can raise this child together. It can be ours, okay?” I looked at him, feeling an overwhelming, terrifying sense of unfamiliarity. The three of them excitedly discussed the new life, none of them noticing I quietly slipped the agreement off the desk. That night, I packed a single suitcase. I had burned all of Neil’s photos, keeping only a micro-negative embedded in my old ID tag. The one military tag—I had to get it back. As I left my bedroom, I saw Tina standing by what used to be my son’s room. The room was empty. She was instructing a serviceman to move in K9 training equipment. “This will be Ragnar’s new activity room,” she announced. She saw me and gave a sickly sweet smile. “You don’t mind, do you, Quinn? Garrett said it was just sitting empty.” I looked at the small, engraved tag she had tossed carelessly into the waste bin. My knuckles turned white. “Oh, Quinn, there was one thing I never told you.” “Don’t blame Garrett. Neil and Ragnar had seizures at the same time. The vet said both needed the drug immediately.” My body went cold. Garrett had told me he hadn’t known about Neil’s seizure. “Garrett said Ragnar was bigger and breathing heavier, so he saved him first.” “Neil was five years old. He would definitely hold on.” It wasn’t that he was too late. It was that he chose to let go. I wiped away the last bit of moisture from my eyes, retrieved the tag from the trash, and walked out without a word. When Garrett returned home, he was carrying a box from my favorite old-school bakery. “Quinn, we need to talk this through—” But all he saw was an empty living room and the document on the dining table. The Divorce Report. Both signatures were already complete. The next second, the pastry box slipped from Garrett’s hand, and he staggered backward, collapsing.

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