Author: Momo Chan

I was stocking up on supplies for the New Year when I ran into him at the end of an aisle. Just like that, without any warning, I came face-to-face with Declan. It had been five years since we’d last spoken. A clean, complete break. After a flicker of surprise, I managed a polite greeting. He asked how I’d been, and I returned his politeness with a practiced response. “I’ve been okay.” At the checkout, he moved to pay for my things, but I stopped him. His eyes flickered to the toys in my cart, and a strange expression crossed his face. “Let me,” he said, his voice soft. “No matter what happened, I’m still his father. I should at least be able to buy him something.” I smiled, a small, polite curve of my lips, and refused again. “Really, you don’t have to.” He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Our son was gone. … By the time I left the supermarket, the sky was a sheet of black ink. My best friend called, her voice cautious. “Anya… I heard he’s back.” “Yeah,” I said, my eyes on the road. “I saw him today.” “What?” Her voice shot up an octave. “That bastard, Declan! How dare he show his face in front of you? Does he have any idea that if it wasn’t for him, Felix would never have…” “It’s okay,” I cut her off gently. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll never see each other again anyway.” Not long after I hung up, a new notification popped up on my phone. A friend request. The profile picture was a photo of the kitten I had raised years ago. I knew instantly who it was. My brow furrowed. Five years, and now this. What could he possibly want? When I didn’t accept right away, another request came through, this time with a message. Anya, it’s me. It’s the New Year. I want to buy some clothes for our son. Please, just accept. I stared at the words, a bitter laugh bubbling in my chest. It was so absurd it was almost funny. Still, I typed a reply into the rejection box, a final act of detached courtesy. Declan, that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want your wife to misunderstand. Then, I blocked him permanently. Back home, I fell into a deep, troubled sleep, haunted by a kaleidoscope of fractured memories. Sometimes, I dreamed we were children, childhood sweethearts playing house, pretending to be bride and groom. Other times, we were grown, and he was on one knee, proposing with vows of eternal love that echoed like promises from another lifetime. Then, the scene would shatter. There was blood everywhere, and Declan was pointing at me, his eyes burning with a hatred so pure he looked like he wanted to devour me whole. My alarm jolted me awake. I touched the tips of my hair, damp with sweat, and let out a wry, tired sigh. It had been so long since I’d had that dream. I really had let go. If I hadn’t bumped into him today, I probably couldn’t have even pictured his face clearly. I glanced at the time. I couldn’t be late. I drove out to the old monastery nestled in the countryside. The abbot saw me and greeted me with a benevolent smile, his palms pressed together. “Ms. Wallace, welcome.” “Thank you, Father.” I returned the gesture, then passed out the New Year’s treats I had brought for the young monks. “Has everything been arranged on the other side?” the abbot asked gently. “Yes.” I nodded, offering no more. After today, after I had sponsored the last of the three thousand memorial candles, I could take Felix and leave this place for good. Inside the small meditation room, the furnishings were stark. A single table, a window, and a solitary memorial plaque. I walked over to it, my steps soft, and opened the bag I was carrying. “These were always your favorites,” I murmured, arranging the small snacks on the table. “Don’t eat too many, though. You don’t want to get cavities.” My throat tightened, and my nose began to sting. “I wonder… if they have cavities where you are now.” After the snacks, I took out the toys. “And these are the newest models for this year. You must be happy. Now there’s no one to tell you to go to bed early and get your rest.” A tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. “I wonder how many hours you’re supposed to sleep over there. I wonder if anyone is looking after my little troublemaker.” My vision blurred as the tears flowed freely. I gently wiped the dust from the simple inscription on the plaque. Beloved Son: Felix Wallace Placed by his mother, Anya. No father. When I was finished, I carefully packed away my son’s ashes and his memorial. I descended the long stone staircase, all 9,000 steps of it, each one feeling like a year of our twenty-year history, now left behind. Back in the car, my husband called. “Are you all done?” he asked, his voice a warm comfort. “The world can wait. Come home when you’re ready.” I smiled. “Tomorrow.” These last five years, I had been lucky. I had found a good man. My life was good. Tonight was the Wallace family’s New Year’s Eve dinner. I made a special trip across town to a restaurant on the other side of the city to pick up my grandmother’s favorite roast duck. This might be the last time I ever saw her. But I should have known I wouldn’t be able to avoid them. My half-sister, Lily, was clinging to Declan’s arm, a triumphant smirk on her face. She shot me a provocative look. “Sister, you’re here! It’s been so long,” she chirped, then gasped theatrically, pointing at my simple, dark clothing. “Oh, Anya, after five years, have you started dressing like a nun? It’s New Year’s Eve! Why aren’t you wearing something more festive? Doesn’t Dad give you a generous allowance every month? This is such a downer.” Her voice sharpened. “Or is it that you just don’t care about this family at all?” Declan frowned beside her. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit it back. “Anya,” he said instead, his voice strained. “Where’s Felix? Why didn’t you bring him with you?” My hand, holding my coat, froze for a second. “Felix is sleeping.” “Hmph.” A gruff snort came from the head of the table. My father, Mr. Wallace, glared at me, his eyes filled with disdain as they swept over my attire. “Just like you, no manners at all. He’s the youngest, shouldn’t he know to pay respects to his elders? Or do I need to send a royal procession to beg for his presence?” he sneered. “And look at what you’re wearing. Are you trying to make people think the Wallace family can’t even raise a presentable daughter?” I glanced at my grandmother, ignoring their barbs. It was the last time. I didn’t want to make a scene. It would all be over in an hour. But Lily wasn’t finished. She put on her signature act, her eyes welling up with fake tears. “Sister, I know you hate me. I know you don’t want Felix to acknowledge me as his aunt. If that’s the case, then I’ll just leave. I won’t be an eyesore for you.” As expected, my father’s face turned purple with rage. He grabbed a serving dish from the table and hurled it at me. “You wretched girl! You walk in here and the whole house turns toxic!” he roared. “You have the nerve to hate Lily? If it weren’t for you, would she have lost her child? Now get out of my sight!” “Child, just go…” My grandmother, frail in her wheelchair, reached a trembling hand toward me, her eyes filled with pain. “I know your heart, Grandma accepts your gift.” “Okay.” I gave her a deep, respectful bow and turned to leave. So much for a final meal. I heard hurried footsteps behind me, but they were quickly drowned out by Lily’s choked sobs. “Declan, honey, don’t. My sister is upset. Let her cool down. We can go visit her and Felix later.” I had just stepped outside when my phone rang. It was my best friend, Sophie. “Anya, are you an idiot? Why would you go back to that den of wolves? They’re a bunch of blind, biased assholes! And that bastard Declan was there too? Did they gang up on you?” She didn’t even pause for breath. “I know you still care about your grandmother, but you can’t keep going back there to be their punching bag.” I waited until she was done, then let out a soft laugh. “They didn’t do much. Mostly just said my clothes were ugly and not festive enough.” “I’ll give them ugly!” Sophie exploded again. “Those hypocrites have the gall to criticize your clothes? Have they given you a single penny all these years? It all went straight into that bitch Lily’s pocket! So they’re not even pretending anymore? Sleeping together behind your back, brother-in-law and sister.” “Publicly, your family disowned her for being so shameless, but what happened? They secretly funneled money and resources to her. And now that the scandal has died down, they welcome her back with open arms? They’re all trash.” “And Declan, that ungrateful snake. If your mother hadn’t died saving him, would your father have ever brought Lily and her mother into the house to torment you? And what does he do? He turns around and gets into bed with her. If lightning doesn’t strike that man down, there’s no justice in this world.” For someone who was usually so sweet and composed, she could really let loose. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You’re laughing? You’re actually laughing!” Sophie yelled, exasperated. “Anya, you’re just too good. If it were me, I would have burned that whole house down with them in it.” “It’s not about being good,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just… not worth it.” Besides, I had to accumulate good karma for Felix. Declan was a bastard, that much was true. But if he hadn’t been, he never would have been able to take back his family’s empire. When he was just a boy, his parents were killed in a vicious corporate takeover orchestrated by his own relatives. My mother died trying to protect him during that time, caught in their trap. Her body was never even found. The Prescott Corporation of today was built from the ashes by Declan, piece by piece. And I had been his right-hand woman. Together, we had overcome every obstacle, eliminated every rival. To help him get his revenge, I had leveraged every connection my mother’s family had. I was so focused on our mission that I never even saw when he and Lily started.

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On the day my husband, Gideon, gave our son’s life-saving meds to his childhood crush’s cat, I stopped being the wife he hated. Overnight, everything he disliked about me disappeared. He stayed out all night; I didn’t ask. His flirty texts; I ignored them. Even when we buried our son and he claimed a work emergency, I simply replied, “Okay,” and buried Jamie alone. His assistant watched my pale face with unease. “Mr. Pierce is swamped, ma’am. He’ll rush over after the meeting.” I remained silent, placing our son’s urn into the cold niche. Just before sealing it, Gideon’s car screeched to a halt. Drenched from the rain, he rushed over. “Sienna! Why didn’t you wait? I’m Jamie’s father!” My voice was flat. “Your work is important. Jamie would understand.” His heart clenched at my calmness. He reached for me, but whispers from onlookers stopped him. “Mr. Pierce only has eyes for Ms. Holloway. If she’d accepted his proposal, Sienna would’ve never married him.” Gideon turned back, urgent. “Tessa and I are just friends! I swear!” I handed him my umbrella. “I know. It’s raining. Use this.” I turned to leave. He grabbed my wrist. “If you’re angry, hit me! Why make it so damn unbearable?” Unbearable? He used to hate my tears, saying men can’t stand women who make scenes. Now that I was calm and understanding, why was he so upset? 1 I was about to shake his hand off when his phone blared, a jarring interruption in the heavy silence. Gideon frowned but answered. “I’m busy. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.” A tearful voice crackled through the speaker. “Gideon, Mochi is throwing up again. Can you please come see him? Please?” Mochi. That was the cat’s name. Gideon’s eyes flickered to me. When I offered no reaction, he immediately replied to the call. “Okay. I’m on my way.” He hung up. I pushed myself to my feet. My knees, numb from kneeling for so long, buckled beneath me. “Careful!” He lunged to steady me. I regained my balance and gently pulled my arm from his grasp. “Go,” I said. “A sick pet needs care. Drive safely.” I even retrieved his coat for him, holding it out with a steady hand. Gideon took it, a sharp, unidentifiable pain twisting in his chest. He walked to the door, then turned back suddenly. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight.” “Okay. I’ll wait for you.” Of course, he never came home. I made four dishes and a soup. I waited from seven until eleven. I reheated the food three times before finally scraping it all into the trash. At two in the morning, Tessa posted a new photo online. 【With you here, I’m not afraid of anything. Thank you, my guardian angel.】 The picture was of Gideon’s profile. He was frowning in concentration, giving a shot to a small cat, his expression focused and gentle. I liked the post. Then, I sent a message to my parents overseas. “The cooling-off period for the divorce ends in seven days. I’ll accept the arranged marriage you mentioned.” 2 For the next seven days, I practically lived at the office, trying to numb my hollowed-out soul with grueling work. My colleagues avoided my gaze, their whispers following me down the halls. “She’s such a workaholic. Her son just died and she’s already back at the office.” I said nothing, burying myself in spreadsheets. Tessa walked by with a coffee, pausing deliberately beside my desk. “Sienna, darling, don’t overdo it. Your health is important.” Her voice was soft, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear her add, “She’s so focused on work, she didn’t even notice her own son was sick.” My fingers tightened around my pen. Gideon had never offered a single word of explanation about swapping the medication. He let the rumors fester, let the blame settle squarely on my shoulders. During the afternoon board meeting, Gideon’s father, the chairman, suddenly slammed a folder on the table. “Sienna, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you’re my daughter-in-law!” he roared. “You worked for three straight days on a project and ignored your own son’s fever! How did our family end up with a heartless woman like you?” I looked up at Gideon. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Dad, this whole thing…” “You shut up!” his father snapped, slamming his palms on the table and rising to his feet. “This is all your fault for spoiling her!” He stormed over to me and his hand flew up, striking my face with a sharp crack. “This first one is for killing my grandson!” I stumbled back, my cheek burning. Across the room, I could see a triumphant smirk playing on Tessa’s lips. “And this is for losing the company the Corbin account!” He struck me again, harder this time. My ears rang, and I could taste blood in my mouth. “When Mr. Corbin heard you don’t even care about your own son, he said he couldn’t trust a family with no humanity! He canceled the contract this morning!” Gideon finally moved. “Dad!” he shouted, jumping up from his chair. “What, you’re still going to protect her?” Gideon spread his arms in front of me. “If you want to hit her, you’ll have to hit me first!” His father’s voice trembled with rage as he pointed a shaking finger in my face. “You see? He’s still defending you! I’ve been too soft on you, let you get away with murder!” The third slap never came, but I was already swaying. The world went dark, and I collapsed. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Gideon was sitting beside me. “Tessa had a difficult childhood,” he began quietly. “Besides me, that cat was the only friend she had.” He paused. “Can’t you just let this one thing go? For us? Please?” I closed my eyes. “Sienna, let’s start over. Tonight, we can try for another baby. I’ll give you anything you want as compensation, I promise.” I finally turned my head to look at him, my throat raw. “And if I say no?” He froze, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “Don’t throw a tantrum.” I could still feel the stinging throb on my cheek. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I just want to know. Do I still have the right to say no?” 3 His last ounce of patience evaporated. “Get some rest. I’ll come back to check on you later.” He left quickly. As the door clicked shut, I heard Tessa’s concerned voice from the hallway. “Gideon, is she okay?” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to bring the medicine.” Gideon’s voice immediately softened. “It has nothing to do with you. She’s the one who can’t let it go.” I stared at the ceiling as a single tear escaped, sliding down my temple and disappearing silently into the pillow. I thought I had cried myself dry in the days after Jamie died, but it seemed I was wrong. The next day, a driver took me back to the Pierce estate. As I walked in, I saw Tessa sitting on the sofa, laughing with Gideon’s parents. She was cuddling Mochi, and tied around the cat’s neck was the little silver bell our son used to play with. The bell was one I had made myself for Jamie’s first birthday, with his name engraved inside. The doctor had advised me to get rid of his belongings after he passed. I had burned everything. Everything except that bell. It was the only thing I had left. “Oh, Sienna, you’re back,” Tessa said, standing up. “Mochi just loves this little bell. Gideon said Jamie wouldn’t be needing it anymore, so he let Mochi have it.” I walked past her without a word and snatched the bell from the cat’s collar. The startled animal hissed, its claws raking across the back of my hand, drawing blood. “Sienna, are you insane?” Gideon’s mother shrieked, rushing over. “It’s just a bell! Are you really going to pick a fight with a cat?” “She’s right, Sienna,” Tessa said, her eyes welling up. “If you’re upset, I apologize. Please don’t scare Mochi.” I clutched the bell, blood seeping between my fingers. Just then, Gideon walked in. His face darkened when he saw the scene. “What now?” Tessa immediately went to his side, tugging on his arm. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have given the bell to Mochi.” Gideon’s gaze, filled with reproach, landed on me. “It’s a bell, Sienna. It’s not a big deal. Why are you making such a scene?” He strode over, pried the bell from my grasp, and tied it back around Tessa’s cat’s neck. “The world doesn’t revolve around you!” I looked down at the plane ticket confirmation on my phone for the day after tomorrow, then turned and walked back to my room without another word. The next day, I went to the office. My assistant informed me that Mr. Corbin was demanding a personal explanation from me. I nodded, picked up the file, and went to the conference room. Mr. Corbin sat at the head of the table, his expression grim. “Mrs. Pierce,” he said, his voice cold. “I hear you prioritize your work over your own son. How can I trust a business partner like that?” I stood my ground. “Mr. Corbin, the circumstances of that day…” “The circumstances are irrelevant,” he waved his hand dismissively. “The entire industry is talking about it. The Pierce daughter-in-law let her son’s fever rage while she was chasing a contract. I have children of my own. I have no respect for such a ruthless woman.” The other executives in the room were whispering, their eyes on me. Gideon sat beside them, silent. I took a deep breath. “What would you like me to do, Mr. Corbin?” He pushed a glass of clear liquid toward me. “Drink this. Apologize publicly. Say you were wrong to neglect your family for your career. And we’ll consider the matter closed.” It was a full glass of whiskey, at least two shots. I have a sensitive stomach; my doctor has forbidden me from drinking. I looked at Gideon. He averted his eyes. “Mr. Corbin is offering you a way out, Sienna. Just take it.” I picked up the glass, my hand trembling. Everyone was waiting for the show. Behind Gideon, Tessa was smiling. I took a sip. The liquid burned my throat. After the second sip, my vision started to blur. When the last drop was gone, I turned the glass upside down. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I was wrong.” Mr. Corbin finally smiled. “Well done, Mrs. Pierce. Very sporting.” I turned and fled to the restroom, where I collapsed over the toilet, vomiting until my body ached. Blood mixed with the bile, and I had to cling to the sink just to stay upright. Gideon followed me in, his face a mask of displeasure. “Are you okay?” I rinsed my mouth. “I’m fine.” “If you can’t drink, you shouldn’t have forced it.” “Didn’t you tell me to?” He was silent. He reached out to wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth. I took a step back. “Mr. Pierce. This is the office. We should maintain a professional distance.” His hand froze in mid-air. That afternoon, Gideon’s father summoned me to his study. A new agreement was laid out on the desk. “You will forfeit Jamie’s shares in the company,” he said flatly. “Furthermore, your position here is terminated. The Pierce family does not support freeloaders.” I had been wondering how I would get Gideon to sign the final divorce papers. Now, it seemed, the problem had solved itself. But just as my pen touched the paper, Gideon burst into the room. “Dad! She can’t sign that!” “What? Still protecting her?” Gideon glanced at me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Tessa is pregnant.” 4 The pen slipped from my fingers, leaving a long, black gash across the page. Gideon’s father stared, then his face broke into a grin of pure elation. “Really?” “We just found out. She’s two months along.” “The timing… the baby will be born right around the time Jamie passed. It must be a sign from heaven.” Tessa appeared in the doorway, her head bowed. “Sienna… I’m so sorry.” My father-in-law had already forgotten I existed. He rushed to Tessa’s side, taking her hand. “My dear girl, come, sit down.” He beamed. “Two months! Gideon, you’ve finally done something right!” I stood frozen, a roaring in my ears. Two months. Jamie passed away just over two months ago. Of course. Gideon walked over and wrapped his arms around me in a gentle embrace. “We can raise this child as our own,” he murmured. “It’ll be easier for you, don’t you think? You won’t have to suffer so much.” I looked at him, and for the first time, he seemed like a terrifying stranger. The three of them chattered excitedly about the new baby. No one noticed as I folded the agreement, tucked it into my purse, and walked out. That night, I packed my things. I had burned all of Jamie’s photos, keeping only a single small negative hidden in my phone case. But the bell was still on that cat. I had to get it back. I walked out of my room and saw Tessa standing in the doorway of what used to be Jamie’s nursery, holding Mochi. The room was empty now, and she was directing movers to bring in a large cat tree. “This will be Mochi’s new playroom,” she said, smiling sweetly when she saw me. “You don’t mind, do you, Sienna? Gideon said it was a shame to let the space go to waste.” I saw the bell, my son’s bell, tossed carelessly into a nearby trash can. My nails dug into my palms. “Oh, by the way, there’s something else I forgot to tell you,” she continued, her voice syrupy. “Don’t blame Gideon. That day, Jamie and Mochi both started coughing up blood at the same time. The vet said they both needed the medication immediately.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. Gideon had told me he hadn’t noticed Jamie was coughing up blood. “Gideon agonized over it for a long time,” Tessa purred.

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They call me the glass doll of the apocalypse. My skin is so fragile, a harsh wind feels like a slap. Everyone in Redemption Base knows I’m good for nothing but tears, a hothouse flower kept safe and sound by Silas. That was, until she arrived. The so-called War Goddess. She couldn’t stand the way Silas protected me. The moment he led his team out on a scavenger run to clear the Dead Zones, she stormed into my room and dragged me toward the hordes of the infected. “The Commander is out there fighting for his life, and you’re in here living like a queen? What gives you the right, you useless leech?” she sneered. “There’s no room for parasites in this world! Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson on his behalf!” I stumbled and fell, the gravel bit into my elbow, drawing blood. I curled into a ball, trembling. “Please… don’t hurt me,” I sobbed, my voice thin and reedy. “Silas and I… we’re linked. We have a pain-sympathy bond. If you hurt me, he’ll feel it… he’ll be furious.” The War Goddess, Jocelyn, just laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. She grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Still playing games? Silas is neck-deep in a tide of Rotters. You think he has time to notice a little scratch on you? I’m going to make you understand the rules of this new world, once and for all!” … The pain from my scalp was searing as Jocelyn dragged me out of my room, my bare feet stumbling over the rubble-strewn training grounds. “It hurts… please, it hurts so much…” I cried, reaching for her hand, only to be met with a vicious slap across the face. The impact sent me sprawling. My knee crashed against a sharp stone, the skin tearing, and beads of blood welled up instantly. The pain was blinding. I was the girl Silas had sheltered with the best of everything. A slightly-too-hot bath could leave my skin red and stinging. I had never known suffering like this. Tears streamed down my face as I hugged my knees, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. Miles away, in the heart of the Dead Zone in Sector S. A ten-foot-tall Tyrant roared, swinging a colossal axe down at the man standing atop a ruined skyscraper. Silas, clad in black combat gear, his expression cold as ice, should have dodged the blow with ease. But in that split second, an agonizing, shattering pain exploded in his knee. His left leg gave out, and he dropped to the ground, landing hard on one knee. “Commander!” his lieutenant screamed in terror. The axe blade whistled past, slicing off a lock of Silas’s dark hair. The veins on Silas’s hand bulged as he pushed himself up, gasping for air, his forehead drenched in a cold sweat. Rosie… Someone was hurting Rosie! Silas’s head snapped up. His dark eyes instantly flooded with crimson, a murderous rage blazed within him. He was out here risking his life, and someone back at the base dared to touch his girl? … Back at Redemption Base, the central plaza was bustling. It was ration distribution day, and thousands of survivors were gathered. Jocelyn dragged me onto the high platform and stomped her steel-toed boot onto my shin. “Agh!” I screamed, a pain like splintering bone shooting up my leg. Jocelyn looked down at the crowd, her voice booming. “Look, everyone! This is the parasite Silas has been protecting!” “While we risk our lives for half a slice of moldy bread, she hides in her villa, bathing in purified water and eating canned meat!” The crowd erupted. A thousand pairs of eyes, filled with hunger and resentment, locked onto me. “Why her?” “We barely have enough water to drink, and that bitch uses it for baths?” “Kill her! Make her give back the supplies!” A wicked smile played on Jocelyn’s lips. She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. “Did you hear that, Rosie? That’s the will of the people.” “So what if Silas protects you? He’s not here now. I’m in charge.” “No… I didn’t…” I sobbed, struggling to breathe. I wanted to explain, but my voice was swallowed by the sea of curses. “Still talking back?” Jocelyn’s eyes went cold, and she ground her heel into my leg. “Tell me, everyone,” she yelled to the crowd, “does a parasite like this deserve to die?” “Yes! Kill her! Kill her!” Someone in the crowd threw the first stone. It struck me squarely on the temple. Warm liquid streamed down, blurring my left eye. My world dissolved into a smear of crimson. The pain was so intense I nearly passed out. I clutched my head, curling into a helpless ball, crying out the only name I could think of. “Silas… Silas, it hurts…” A hundred miles away. A storm of black, volatile energy erupted from Silas, shredding the dozens of Rotters swarming him into a paste of flesh and bone. He clutched his head, the world spinning as a phantom pain exploded behind his eyes. “Commander! Your head…” his lieutenant stammered, his face pale with shock. The Commander hadn’t been hit, yet a bloody welt was forming on his temple out of thin air. Silas’s eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed his lieutenant by the collar, his voice a raw rasp. “Back to base! Now!” The lieutenant glanced at the horde. “But Commander, we haven’t taken down the Tyrant yet. If we pull back now, everything we’ve done will be for nothing…” “I said get us back to the base!” Silas roared, slamming his fist into the armored truck’s door. The reinforced steel dented under the force. He could feel it. He could feel Rosie crying. She was in pain. Suddenly, a crushing agony shot through his left palm, as if every bone was being ground to dust. In the plaza, Jocelyn was stomping on my hand with her steel-plated boot. “Go on, scream! Keep screaming!” she taunted, twisting her foot viciously. “Your precious Silas is too busy playing savior of the world to care about a little tramp like you.” The pain was so intense I couldn’t even scream anymore, only broken whimpers escaped my throat. The pain in my fingers was directly connected to his heart. If I screamed, the feedback would be ten times worse for him. I couldn’t scream. I was afraid the pain would kill him out there on the battlefield. I bit down hard on my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth, refusing to make another sound. Seeing me silent, Jocelyn spat on my face. “Useless. Gone mute, have you?” She turned to the survivors below. “Since you all hate her so much, I’ll do you a favor today. Anyone who can ‘teach this little princess a lesson’ gets a whole sausage!” A single sausage. In these times, it was enough to make someone sell their soul. A forest of hands reached for me. Stones and rotting vegetables rained down on my body. All I could do was cover my head and curl up tighter. Just as I thought I was going to be beaten to death, a woman pushed her way through the crowd. “Everyone, stop!” The voice was familiar. I struggled to open my blood-crusted eyes, peering through the gaps in my fingers. I saw a face I knew. My cousin, Sarah. Before the world fell apart, she was the only family I had left. A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. I reached out a trembling hand. “Sarah… help me…” Sarah strode onto the platform. She looked down at my broken form on the ground, a flicker of pure satisfaction in her eyes. She kicked my hand away. “Don’t call me that. Who’s your cousin?”

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Genevieve gave me the silent treatment, all for her childhood friend. She left me stranded in a foreign country for three years. I had a shattered leg. I was penniless and didn’t speak a word of the language. My only means of survival was picking through trash. More than once, I called her, begging. “Genevieve, I’m not going to make it out here.” Her only reply was a cold, distant dismissal. “If it wasn’t for you, would Tristan have gotten hurt? I’ll bring you home when you’ve finally shed that spoiled heir attitude of yours.” What Genevieve didn’t know, or didn’t care to know, was that in this country, you couldn’t get a job without a permanent address. And without a job, you starved on the streets. The winter was brutal. I was half-buried in a snowdrift when a stunningly dressed woman from high society found me and took me in. Three years later, on a street in that same foreign city, Genevieve and Tristan blocked my path. “Alistair, it’s been three years. Haven’t you gotten over that pampered attitude yet?” I frowned, ignoring her. I pulled out my phone and called Isabelle. “Darling, another woman’s throwing herself at me. When you come to pick me up, bring the bodyguards. It’s time to take out the trash.” 1 The words had barely left my lips when Genevieve snatched the phone from my hand and ended the call. “Alistair, when are you going to grow up? You’ve even learned to lie.” As she spoke, a light snow began to fall. Her eyes, filled with disappointment, met mine. The scene threw me back three years. Genevieve and I were married young, a smooth transition from university sweethearts to husband and wife. The world saw us as the golden couple, a perfect match from powerful families. Her promise to me had been absolute: “Alistair, you’re the heir to a fortune, and I’m the darling of high society. We’re made for each other. No one can ever tear us apart.” Her devotion made me give her everything, from my shares in the company to the deeds to our properties. She was my world. In our first year of marriage, she wrestled control of my family’s corporation from my stepmother, ensuring my late mother’s portrait was hung in the main hall of the family estate. In our second year, she scoured the globe for the best doctors to help me overcome the childhood trauma that still haunted me. In our third year, she endured endless hospital visits and grueling rounds of IVF, determined to give me twins, a boy and a girl, so I could finally feel what it was like to have a real family. Even on our wedding day, as I carried her over the threshold, she had bowed her head so I wouldn’t have to bend mine. “Alistair,” she had said, “you are my husband. I want everyone to look past me and see you standing tall.” And so, wrapped in her love, I had been carefree and demanding. I made her text me back instantly, even during board meetings. I’d make her drive a thousand miles back from a business trip, just because I missed her. Even when she was pregnant, my every mood was her priority. If I mentioned a craving, she’d drive across the city herself to get it for me. That was Genevieve. My perfect wife. And then Tristan appeared, and everything changed. He was a childhood friend of hers. His family had moved away after going bankrupt years ago. When Genevieve found him again, he was being beaten by loan sharks on the street, the result of a disastrous affair with a married woman. The familiar face from her childhood, now bruised and alone, looked so utterly pathetic. Oh, and the night they met? That was the night she was out getting me a specific kind of takeout I wanted. I’ve hated myself ever since for wanting that damn food. It was Tristan who recognized her first. Two words were all it took to reignite a childhood crush. “Genevieve.” And just like that, she brought him home. I was waiting eagerly for my food, only to see her walk in with this sad, broken man trailing behind her. “This is Tristan,” she announced. “An old friend. He’ll be staying with us for a while.” 2 It was the first time she had ever brought another man into our home, and it was the first time I completely lost control in front of her. I destroyed everything I could get my hands on in the villa. A shard of glass flew and cut Tristan’s face. Genevieve rushed him to the hospital in a panic, completely ignoring me as the stress triggered my old leg injury. I collapsed on the floor, pleading with her. “Genevieve, my leg… it hurts.” As she helped Tristan out the door, she threw back one last line: “Stop pretending, Alistair.” So I went to the hospital alone. I had just finished my examination when the doctor told me, “You were two minutes away from losing that leg for good.” Then, he handed me a file. It was Genevieve’s. “Mr. Sterling, your wife is three months pregnant. You need to take good care of her.” The news washed away my anger. For the sake of our child, I could forgive her for tonight. When I stepped out of the office, I ran right into her. “Genny, you’re pregnant.” Her face was a mask of indifference. “I’m getting rid of it. I owe Tristan my life. I have to pay him back first.” For Tristan, she was willing to abort our child. “Genevieve, you dare. If you get rid of this baby, we’re getting a divorce.” I thought the threat would work. Instead, she slapped me. Then she tried to force me to apologize to Tristan. “You’re so childish, Alistair. Tristan is the one who’s hurt right now.” The pain of being compared to another man by the woman I loved was a knife in the heart. I was forced to apologize. I went back to my family’s estate, expecting her to come and coax me back. But in the end, I was the one who couldn’t stand it. I caved first. When I opened the door to our home, I found Tristan lying in our bed. He was wearing a pair of silk boxers, a gift she’d given me. The sight broke something inside me. I went mad. I grabbed Tristan and tried to throw him out of the house. But he fell down the stairs. The fall landed him in the hospital. The doctors said he had a severe head injury and would likely be brain-dead. It was a death sentence for him, and a life sentence for me. She looked at me with that same, crushing disappointment. “You’re a murderer, Alistair. Do you realize that?” A murderer? I didn’t push him. I tried to explain that the staircase wasn’t that high, that he had slipped on his own. She wasn’t listening. She just kept accusing me. “A pampered heir like you could never understand what Tristan has been through. In your world, his life is cheap, isn’t it?” I had nothing to say. Faced with this version of Genevieve, so fiercely protective of another man, the words wouldn’t come. Silence and a bitter smile were my only defense. She shoved me. “There you go again. You just shut down. You think this is funny?” Then, she delivered the final blow. “By the way, I had the procedure yesterday. The baby is gone. Consider it punishment for what you did to Tristan.” She threw the clinic report at me. The baby was gone. It felt like a million tiny threads were sewn into my skin, all pulling at once, trying to flay me alive. The pain was unbearable. I pulled myself together enough to say one thing. “I see.” But my punishment wasn’t over. She sent me abroad. “You can come back when Tristan wakes up. In the meantime, you can reflect on your attitude.” The final outcome of our “silent treatment” was this: she dumped me in a foreign country, stripped me of all my money, and cut off all my contacts. She left me with nothing and no one. She said it was for my own good. “Alistair, you need to feel what it’s like to truly suffer, like Tristan did. Only then will you understand.” 3 The snow in that foreign city was relentless. The first day, I slept in the airport, my eyes glued to the entrance, praying she would come back for me. The second day, security threw me out. They couldn’t understand me, and I couldn’t understand them. I had no money, no ID, nothing. The third day, I lost all my dignity. I grabbed a stranger’s leg and begged for money. He kicked me away, but then, perhaps out of pity, tossed a single bill on the ground and walked off. I clutched the money like it was my last hope on earth and ran to a payphone, dialing the number that was burned into my memory. She picked up quickly. I thought I could hear Tristan’s voice in the background, but all I could focus on was getting home. “Genevieve, please, bring me home.” Her voice was strange, her breathing heavy, her words broken and gasping. “Genevieve, are you there?” All she gave me were breathy murmurs. “Mmm… yes…” I thought she had heard me. I walked all the way back to the airport, my feet blistered and bleeding, my body numb from the cold. I waited for days. The pain in my leg grew worse. I remembered the doctor’s warning and used the last of my money—money I should have used for bread—to call her one more time. She answered with an accusation. “Alistair, can’t you handle a little hardship?” “Genevieve,” I said, my voice cracking, “my leg… if I don’t get treatment, they’re going to have to amputate.” The line went dead. I don’t know if she heard me. All I knew was the pain. My whole body ached. It hurt so much I could barely breathe. I just kept whispering her name. Before, she would have appeared like a goddess, descending to save me from any trouble. This time, I was cast into the abyss, and darkness swallowed me whole. After that call, I collapsed. A kind stranger got me to a hospital. The nurse delivered the diagnosis. The leg needed to be amputated. They required a signature from my next of kin. I stared at my leg and cried. The nurse tried to comfort me. “If your family is willing to pay, there is an alternative treatment…” “I don’t have anyone,” I said. “My wife is dead.” In that moment, all I saw in their eyes was pity. Genevieve was dead to me. She died the moment she chose him over me. She died on her way to get that takeout. She died the night she sent me away. The only person I had failed was myself. She was right. I was a pampered heir. I had no idea how to survive on my own. After that day, I never called her again. Occasionally, she would try to reach me through others, but I refused every attempt. Now, her voice cut through the memory, sharp and impatient. “Alistair, have some respect. I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” I pushed her hand away. “Three years ago, did you ever listen to me?” If she had, I would still have both my legs. A bitter sting filled my nose. I took a step back and held up my hand, letting the diamond on my finger catch the light. “Genevieve, I’m remarried.”

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1 At three months pregnant, a drop of blood sent my husband racing down the highway at 110 mph. I sat beside him, watching his jaw clench as he hit the gas. Remembering how scared Cole used to be of driving, I reached out. “It’s okay, honey,” I whispered. “Just a little spotting. Maybe I scratched myself.” “I never thought you got your license for me. This is your first time driving. Please, slow down.” Cole stayed silent, lips tight. At the ER, the ultrasound showed the baby was fine. I sighed in relief—until I checked a local gossip forum and saw a photo of our car. I expected anger about his speeding. Instead, I froze. Holy sht! I never thought I’d see the Legend behind the wheel again! Welcome back, Cole, the King of the Track! Still drives a Ferrari like it’s the Grand Prix!* My ultimate ship! Didn’t Cole swear off driving after Ivy’s accident? Is Ivy back? Breaking: Original track queen Ivy is alive! Cole’s rushing to the airport to pick her up! Seven years of waiting—my heart’s exploding! We’d dated five years, married one. All that time, Cole never drove. He always said he didn’t even have a license. Now, watching him make soup in our kitchen, he felt like a stranger. … “Did you see the forums?” I asked, my voice trembling as I walked into the kitchen. “I saw them.” His face was completely devoid of emotion. But his hand twitched, dumping an extra spoonful of salt into the broth. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, forcing a casual tone. “It’s okay, honey. Everyone has a past. The fact that you broke your rule to drive me to the hospital makes me so happy…” “It was a one time thing.” He cut me off. A flicker of impatience crossed his face. “I’m not driving again. If you’re that worried about the baby, go stay with your parents.” I froze. Cole was always reserved, his words often blunt and unpolished. I was used to his communication style, knowing he rarely meant harm. But in this moment, a wave of intense grievance washed over me. Remembering the forum threads, I pieced together the past he had hidden from me. Cole and Ivy met at an elite racing club. He was a raw, talented rookie; she was the free-spirited, original “It Girl” of the motorsport influencer world. She taught him the nuances of the track. He was her co-pilot. They were each other’s first loves, the guardians of each other’s dreams. Until the day Ivy went into a rally race crying. Halfway through the course, her car veered off the track and plunged down a cliff. She vanished without a trace. Cole retired that same day, vowing never to touch a car again. My fingers tightened around my phone. A new notification popped up showing Ivy’s flight arrival information. My throat tightened. I wanted to stop him, but Cole was already walking out of the kitchen, grabbing his jacket. It was painfully obvious where he was going. “Cole,” I said desperately. “I want some soup.” Cole turned around, his expression unreadable. “Sienna, don’t overthink this. We are married. I just don’t want to watch her die in front of me again.” It was an impossible statement to argue with. When life and death are involved, any attempt to keep him home makes me look like the villain. But my pregnancy hormones and my breaking heart made me lash out. “You know we’re married? I am three months pregnant with your child! Are you really going to abandon me to go see another woman?” Cole’s back stiffened. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, his phone lit up. The caller ID flashed two piercing words. Ivy. Cole answered immediately, as if terrified she would hang up. “Ivy, I’m here.” Ivy’s soft laughter echoed through the quiet room. “Cole, I know you are. You promised. You said you’d always be there.” Cole glanced at me instinctively. He fell silent, unable to reply. Ivy continued, “I saw online that you have a wife now. I’m so happy for you, Cole.” “I don’t want to make things difficult for you. You don’t need to pick me up. I rented a car. I can drive myself back.” “You want to drive yourself?” Cole suddenly exploded, his voice rising in panic. “Don’t even think about it! Do you value your life at all? I will absolutely not allow you to drive ever again!” “What else can I do?” Ivy sighed, sounding utterly helpless. “I have no family left. Nobody is coming for me. There are so many paparazzi outside the airport. I can’t just take a cab, what if a stalker follows me?” “Don’t worry, my international license is still valid. I can manage.” Without another second of hesitation, Cole snatched my car keys from the table. “Stop talking. I’m coming to get you. Do not touch that steering wheel, I’m begging you. Okay?” “Welcome home.” “Wherever you want to go from now on, I will drive you.” 2 The front door clicked shut. My plea died in my throat, swallowed by the silence of the empty house. The baby seemed to share my grief. A sharp cramp twisted in my lower abdomen. I walked into the kitchen and turned off the stove. Remembering the doctor’s orders to stay hydrated, I ladled some soup into a bowl and took a sip. It tasted raw, metallic. The extra spoonful of salt made it bitterly salty. I poured the soup down the sink and crawled back into bed, refreshing the forum pages. The newest thread was blowing up. [Wait, false alarm! Cole was speeding to take his wife to the OBGYN. Rumor is she was bleeding. My friend at the hospital said his wife is just a regular civilian. Shows over, everyone.] [Cole is married? And not to Ivy? My shipper heart is broken!] [Hey above, don’t cry yet! Newest paparazzi shots show Cole at the airport! That pregnant woman is probably just a relative, or some random side piece! Cole swore he would never marry anyone but Ivy.] My eyes locked onto those cruel words. I couldn’t breathe. Without thinking, I pulled out our marriage certificate, snapped a photo with my burner account, and posted it in the comments. It was a desperate claim of ownership. The photo was shared instantly. [That really is his wife! The marriage license got leaked! Fellow shippers, meet me on the roof to jump!] [Didn’t someone say his wife was bleeding? I know this sounds evil, but I really hope she lost the baby. Otherwise, Cole and Ivy really have no chance. Real fans know how much Cole wants kids!] [Same! Praying the civilian wife miscarries!] [Hold up. This marriage license is photoshopped! Look closely. Even the seal from the county clerk is wrong! I refuse to believe Cole is a man who breaks his promises!] Blinded by fury at the toxic comments, I was about to reveal my identity when a notification popped up. Cole had retweeted my photo. He used his official verified account to share my burner’s picture of the marriage license. He added only one word. “Fake.” As if to prove it, he used a red digital pen to circle the official seal. I zoomed in. The county clerk’s seal was indeed incorrect, slightly blurred and pixelated. The marriage license Cole and I had framed on our wall… he had forged it? So, Cole and I weren’t even married? Seconds later, Ivy posted an update on her official account. “The marriage license is fake. Cole didn’t break his vow, guys! But we did break up a long time ago. The Cole/Ivy ship has sailed. Please stop shipping us, it’s not fair to the woman he lives with.” “But that doesn’t change the fact that Cole will always be the man who treats me best in this world.” The attached photo showed Ivy sitting in the passenger seat of my car, flashing a peace sign at the camera. Next to her was Cole, his eyes focused intently on the road. I couldn’t control the agonizing pain anymore. I dry heaved violently, clutching my stomach as a fierce, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. The bleeding this time was much heavier. My vision blurred. I felt like I was dying. It was 2 AM. My parents were asleep, and I couldn’t bear to wake them. With trembling fingers, I called 911 for an ambulance. Then, I dialed Cole. If I needed surgery, he was the only emergency contact I had. “Cole, I’m bleeding again. Please, come home! I need to go to the hospital!” An annoyed sigh came through the receiver. “Didn’t we just get checked out a few hours ago? Everything was fine. Why are you bleeding again?” “Are you just making up excuses to force me to come home?” “Sienna, Ivy already posted a clarification online. Stop being so petty. Once I drop her off at a hotel, I’ll naturally come home to be with you.” I gritted my teeth, screaming into the phone. “You choose right now. Keep chauffeuring your ex, or save your unborn child.” “When the baby is gone, don’t you dare regret it.” It didn’t matter anymore. We weren’t married. I didn’t plan to keep this child under these circumstances anyway. But the physical pain was overwhelming. The moment I hung up, I collapsed onto the bed, blacking out from the agony. When I woke up, Cole was shaking my shoulders. His face was contorted with anger. “Sienna, you made me abandon Ivy in the middle of the night just so I could come back and watch you sleep?” 3 My brain was foggy. I instinctively reached down to check my pajama pants. Thankfully, the bleeding had slowed. I hadn’t bled out. “I was bleeding heavily,” I whispered, exhausted. “I was terrified. The pain made me pass out. I feel a bit better now. I called an ambulance, are they not here yet?” Cole clenched his jaw. “I sent them away. If you’re going to lie, why waste public resources on your little drama? Sienna, since when did you become so manipulative?” “Fine, you say you’re not lying. Where is the blood? Show me the blood!” The blood was in the toilet. I had flushed it before crawling back to bed. I stared at the fake marriage license on the nightstand. Cole was rarely this talkative. The more he spoke, the colder my heart grew. Let him think whatever he wants. I was done explaining. The standoff was broken by the scent of expensive perfume. A gorgeous woman with long, flowing hair walked into the bedroom, carrying a designer bag and smiling brightly. “Hi there! You must be Cole’s wife! I’m Ivy, his former teammate and ex-girlfriend.” I looked at her outstretched hand and let out a cold laugh. “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not his wife. After all, our marriage license is fake.” A flash of guilt crossed Cole’s face. He opened his mouth to explain, but Ivy beat him to it. “Oh, don’t be mad at him! Cole is just stubborn like that, he doesn’t know how to bend the rules! I mean, what man can keep every promise he makes for a lifetime? And Cole, really, was that necessary? She’s carrying your child, you need to be sweet to her! Women get emotional, especially pregnant ones!” With just a few words, she painted me as the hysterical, unreasonable one. Cole cleared his throat. “I handled the license wrong.” “But don’t worry, the fact that we’re a couple hasn’t changed.” “Once things settle down, we’ll go get legally married. I’ll explain everything to the public then.” “The post earlier was just to stop people from mocking Ivy. She went missing for seven years, recovering alone in a foreign country. She finally came back to make a comeback, and I didn’t want her met with ridicule.” I cut him off, pointing directly at Ivy. “Get her out of my house.” Cole’s face darkened. “That’s enough, Sienna. She has no family, nowhere to go. What’s wrong with letting her crash here for a few days?” “Besides, I was going to help her find a hotel. But you lied to get me back. I had no choice but to bring her with me.” “Ten years ago, she almost died driving a race car because of me. How could I leave her on the side of the road?” “You’re about to be a mother. How can you have zero empathy?” I pushed myself up and grabbed my coat. “Fine. The house is yours. I’m leaving. Wish you two the best.” Cole grabbed my wrist. “Sienna, why do you think I’m standing here right now? I chose you.” “Stop playing the victim.” He shoved me roughly back onto the bed. Without sparing me another glance, he locked the bedroom door, then turned to grab Ivy’s sleeve. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the guest room.” He still didn’t understand. I never wanted to be a choice. I wanted to be the only one. Outside the door, Ivy laughed. “I told you I’d be fine alone. Why go through all this trouble?” “Driving a regular car isn’t like driving a race car. It’s not that dangerous. Besides, my accident back then was your fault anyway. Who told you to break up with me right before a race?” “Or… are you regretting it now? Do you want to take back the breakup?” Both Cole and I froze on opposite sides of the door.

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I was on a flight home for my wedding after wrapping up a project overseas when the plane went down. When Victoria Hawthorne heard the news, she called my phone, frantic. I was pinned in the twisted metal, unable to move, letting the calls go to voicemail. “I don’t care what it costs, you have to find Nathaniel Ashton!” My heart swelled with love for her, but then I heard the rest of her sentence. “Once you find him, transplant his heart into Marcus. Marcus doesn’t have much time left.” … “Ms. Hawthorne, Mr. Ashton’s legs are shattered. We need to operate immediately, or he’ll be crippled for life.” Victoria’s voice was like ice. “No. Marcus’s surgery comes first. We can’t risk any delays. Besides—” Her voice grew colder still. “A cripple is easier to control. When I bring my son home, he won’t be in any position to object.” I lay just a few feet away from her, tears streaming down my face. The wedding I had looked forward to for ten years was nothing but a charade. And I was just a tool. Later, because of me, this very tool, Victoria would tear the heart from Marcus’s chest with her own hands. Rescue workers spotted me and carefully lifted me from the wreckage. Every inch they moved was a fresh agony, like being pierced by a thousand knives. But it was nothing compared to the pain in my chest. Seeing me lying there, motionless, Victoria spoke without restraint. “I’ve had the artificial heart flown in. After the surgery, tell him his own heart was ruptured in the fall. I don’t need to spell out the rest, do I?” The doctor, busy dressing my wounds, looked increasingly distressed. He couldn’t help himself. “Ms. Hawthorne, Mr. Ashton’s legs are broken. If we don’t operate now, he will be permanently disabled. He’s such a proud man… he won’t be able to handle it.” Victoria didn’t hesitate. “No. Marcus’s surgery is the priority. We can’t afford any delays. And—” Though my eyes were closed, I could feel her cold gaze on me. “I promised Marcus years ago that our child would be the sole heir to the Hawthorne fortune. That will never change.” “Marrying me is the best outcome Nathaniel could ever hope for. As long as he’s obedient and treats my son as his own, I’ll be good to him.” The doctor was still hesitant. “But what if Mr. Ashton finds out the boy is your biological son?” Victoria gently took my one uninjured hand, her thumb tracing patterns on my fingers. “He’s so naive. He hasn’t figured it out in the last five years. He won’t figure it out in the future.” She suddenly leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I had to fight every instinct to keep from flinching away. Victoria’s whisper was a demon’s caress. “During the surgery, please make sure he feels no pain.” “Use the best of everything. He has a very low tolerance for pain.” The doctor couldn’t bear to look anymore and sent someone to prepare the operating room. “Ms. Hawthorne, if you don’t love Mr. Ashton, why did you agree to marry him? Why not just marry Mr. Donovan? That way, no one would have gotten hurt…” Victoria’s voice was detached, emotionless. “Because the husband of a Hawthorne must be an Ashton.” A fresh wave of pain washed over me. For all these years, I thought our love was mutual. I had even bragged to my friends that it was possible to find true love in an arranged marriage. What true love? She wasn’t interested in me. She was interested in the Ashton family’s power and my own gullibility. Victoria personally wheeled me into the operating room. Along the way, she repeatedly instructed the surgeons to ensure the procedure was a success and to minimize my suffering. The other doctors and nurses whispered about how lucky I was to be so cherished by the great Victoria Hawthorne. As the doors to the operating room swung shut, I heard her making a call. “Destroy the plane’s black box. Make sure it’s clean. And the personnel involved? Send them all away. Leave no loose ends.” “After today, this was an ordinary aviation accident, understand?” My chest suddenly ached with a tearing, visceral pain that spread through my entire body. A profound emptiness filled my thoracic cavity. Is this what it felt like to have your heart ripped out? I had wondered how I survived the crash. Now I knew. It was all Victoria’s design. She wouldn’t let me die. My heart was too useful. And so was I. The anesthesia began to claim me, and the world dissolved into nothing. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Victoria was asleep in a chair beside me, one hand resting protectively on mine. The slight movement of my fingers startled her awake. Her eyes lit up. “Darling, you’re awake! Are you in any pain? I’ll get the doctor right away.” 2 Looking at her worried face, you would never guess she didn’t love me. Her hand was warm, but her touch sent a chill through my entire body. I gently pulled my hand away. My voice was a raw scrape. “It hurts.” “Victoria, when the plane was going down, I thought I’d never see you again. I was so scared.” “Do you know what it feels like to drown in the ocean? It’s dark, silent… everything around you is dead…” Victoria’s expression faltered. She quickly stood up and rushed out to find a doctor, completely forgetting about the call button right next to the bed. I stared at the phone she’d left on the nightstand. I had never looked at her phone before. I had always given her my complete trust. But now, like any man who suspects his partner of cheating, I picked it up. The password was a simple 1111. Before, I would have thought she was just too lazy to think of something more complex. Now I knew. It was Marcus’s birthday. Victoria, the woman who claimed she never changed contact names, had made an exception for the one person who mattered to her. Marcus was the period at the end of her life’s sentence. I suddenly remembered, six years ago, Victoria had gone abroad for a year to handle a corporate merger. She wouldn’t let me visit, saying she didn’t want me to overwork myself. Now I realized she had been giving birth to her child. Their chat history was sparse, mostly photos of the boy that Marcus sent her. But no matter what time he sent them, Victoria always replied thoughtfully. When I messaged her, she was always impatient. Sometimes she’d let a dozen of my texts pile up before sending a single “OK.” I used to tell myself that a CEO was always busy, that she was making money for us. The truth was, she just didn’t have time for me. She had even forged my infertility report. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to have a child with me. Tears blurred my vision. I saw a photo of her and Marcus kissing their son’s cheeks, one on each side. A perfect, happy family. Hearing footsteps approach, I placed the phone back where I found it. The first thing Victoria saw when she came in was my tears. She rushed to my side. “Where does it hurt? Why are you crying?” “Doctor! Come and see what’s wrong with him!” After the doctor finished his examination, he cautioned me to remain calm. “Mr. Ashton, you now have an artificial heart. The severe injuries to your legs have resulted in significant nerve damage. It’s highly likely you will be permanently disabled. It’s best for you to maintain emotional stability.” Victoria clutched my hand, her face a mask of sorrow. “Darling, it’s okay.” “Whether you can walk again or not, you are the man I love most. I will only ever have one husband, and that’s you.” I looked into her soulful eyes. For the first time, I realized she had the makings of a world-class actress. Just moments ago, I had seen her chat with her assistant on her phone. The wedding was to proceed as planned. Clicking through the wedding details she had personally approved, I saw the truth. From the very beginning, the man she intended to walk down the aisle with was Marcus. The backdrop, the invitations, the marriage certificate—everything was for Marcus. Including Victoria. I exhaled slowly and wiped my tears. “The wound hurts.” Victoria knew how much I hated pain. My simple explanation dispelled her suspicion. “Vicky, can we postpone the wedding? In my condition, I don’t think I can make it.” She frowned. “We’ve already sent out all the invitations. It’s too late to reschedule.” “But we could find another way. What if we have someone stand in for you, just for the ceremony?” She delivered the line so smoothly, it was as if she’d rehearsed it a thousand times. I nodded. “Whatever you think is best.” She stayed with me for most of the day before a phone call pulled her away. “Nathaniel, I have to preside over an emergency meeting at the office.” I showed no sign of distress, simply telling her to go. I pretended I hadn’t heard the sound of a child crying on the other end of the line. Once I was sure she was gone, I contacted a medical facility overseas and asked them to find me a heart donor. An artificial heart was a temporary solution at best. As for my identity here, I was preparing to erase it. For the next few days, she spent all her free time at the hospital with me, attending to my every need. If I casually mentioned a craving, she would go to any length to get it for me.

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Victoria got into a car accident picking up my car. A fractured tibia. By the time I rushed to the hospital, a young man with eyes swollen red from crying was screaming in my face, his words a relentless tirade. “What right do you have to make Ms. Beaumont get your car? If you weren’t so lazy, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt!” “Do you have any idea she broke her leg? And fractured a rib…” He spoke with an infuriating sense of entitlement, like a manager scolding a delinquent employee. It wasn’t just me; Victoria’s friends and family, who had come to visit, were all stunned into silence. Victoria shot him a fond, almost doting look before turning to me, her voice soft and placating. “He’s just young, trying to stand up for a client. He’s very direct, don’t mind him.” Her heart clearly wasn’t with me anymore. So no, I didn’t mind. I stared at the boy, my expression a blank mask, waiting calmly until his histrionics ran out of steam. “Are you finished? Good. My turn.” My voice cut through the quiet room. “This is the second time your dealership has made such a critical error. If you don’t provide a satisfactory explanation, you can expect to hear from the police and the Quinn family’s legal team.” 1 The boy’s face went pale, and his eyes darted to the woman on the bed, pleading for help. Victoria’s expression tightened. “Alexander, it was my mistake. I lost control of the car. It had nothing to do with him. I’ve already handled the accident report.” “You lost control?” I raised an eyebrow, my gaze fixed on her. “What’s the damage?” Victoria coughed. “I’m fine. Just the broken leg and a slight concussion. It’s nothing to—” I cut her off. “I’m asking about the car.” My coldness seemed to physically wound the boy. His voice cracked as it shot up an octave. “Ms. Beaumont is in the hospital, and all you care about is your car? Do you even have a heart?” “You must be Ryan, then?” I said, my voice dangerously soft. I casually slipped my hands into my pockets, my face unreadable. “First, that car is a limited global release valued at over two and a half million dollars.” “Second, Victoria is my wife, in the eyes of the law. Is there a problem with her picking up my car for me?” “And finally…” I paused, my eyes dropping to his hand, which was clutching the fabric of Victoria’s hospital gown. “You’re just a college student she sponsored. On what grounds, exactly, are you standing here interrogating me?” Ryan’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. He instinctively let go of her gown but still tried to defend himself. “I… I’m just worried about Ms. Beaumont!” “You could have gotten the car yourself! You made her go, and now that she’s hurt, you can’t even muster a single word of concern…” I glanced at a text from my assistant that had just come through and let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You should be more worried about yourself.” “The damage assessment is in. Preliminary repair costs are estimated to be upwards of three hundred thousand dollars. Will that be cash or card?” Ryan’s legs gave out from under him. He swayed, staring at me with a mixture of defiance and despair. “Three… three hundred thousand? That’s extortion!” He then looked desperately toward Victoria. “Ms. Beaumont…” Victoria struggled to sit up, hissing in pain as the movement jarred her injuries. “Alexander, he just graduated, he’s just a kid. Where would he get that kind of money? Don’t scare him.” She looked at me, her voice firm. “It was my mistake. I’ll pay for it.” A triumphant smirk flickered across Ryan’s face. I stared at her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Quite the generous benefactor, aren’t we, Ms. Beaumont? Was gifting him an entire dealership not enough?” Victoria clearly hadn’t expected me to know. Her expression froze. Ryan, all his previous bravado gone, bit his lip and mumbled, “Mr. Quinn, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Don’t blame Ms. Beaumont. She only helped me start the business because she felt sorry for me.” Victoria sighed and waved a dismissive hand at him. “This has nothing to do with you. You should go home.” Ryan shuffled toward the door, head down, casting long, lingering glances back at the bed. Just as he reached the doorway, he spun around and rushed back. He pressed a small, delicately carved wooden charm into Victoria’s palm. His eyes, misty with tears, held a look so tender it was practically tangible. No one watching them could believe there was nothing between them. Ryan bit his lip, gave her one last reluctant look, and finally left. As he passed me, he whispered, “Mr. Quinn, it was my fault. The car wasn’t properly inspected before Ms. Beaumont drove it off the lot. That’s why she crashed.” He glanced down at the charm in her hand. “Please don’t misunderstand. I carved that for her myself. I was just hoping it would bring her some luck… ward off any evil.” Not properly inspected? But the dealership had called me specifically to tell me the car was ready for pickup. The last time, when the brakes failed… could that have also been a lack of inspection? 2 “Alexander, I’ve been meaning to tell you about the dealership.” Victoria’s voice pulled me back to the present. We were alone in the room now. A smile played on her lips as she carefully set the wooden charm on her bedside table and reached for my hand. “It was Ryan’s graduation and his birthday, so I got him a gift. That’s all. Surely my big-shot CEO isn’t jealous, is he?” She said it so casually, as if she’d given away a cheap toy. I shifted, avoiding her touch. “Is that your type?” The air in the room went still. Victoria’s smile faltered. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t tell you because I was worried you’d overthink it.” “There is nothing going on between Ryan and me. We’re—” “I don’t care.” My interruption was blunt, indifferent. “I may not have caught you in bed, but I don’t tolerate filth in my life, Victoria. Drop the act. Making a scene would be ugly for everyone.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You don’t believe me?” I met her gaze, my own eyes flat and emotionless. My silence was the only answer she needed. She was about to say more, but her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The name “Ryan” glowed on the screen, a glaring insult. Victoria hesitated before answering. Ryan’s pathetic, whimpering voice immediately filled the silence. “Ms. Beaumont, is Mr. Quinn giving you a hard time? Even if he’s angry, please don’t fight with him, okay?” “I ordered some bone broth from The Gilded Spoon for you. I won’t bring it myself, though. I don’t want Mr. Quinn to get the wrong idea.” Two simple sentences, and he’d managed to play the victim, curry favor, and subtly remind her of their intimacy all at once. I stood motionless. Victoria glanced at my face, then quickly ended the call. A cold smirk touched my lips. I was done with this charade. I turned and walked out of the room. “Alexander!” Victoria called out desperately. “Are you really that angry?” “I promise, I’ll stay away from him. I’ll cut off all contact. Just… please don’t be so cold to me. Please?” Her voice trembled. “My leg hurts…” I turned my head slightly, my voice devoid of any warmth. “If your leg hurts, call a doctor. I have work to do. You get some rest.” Outside the hospital, the crisp night air did little to quell the rage simmering in my gut. I pulled out my phone and called my assistant. “I want you to dig into that kid, Ryan. Everything you can find. I suspect he was involved in my brake failure last time.” After the last service, my brakes had given out on the highway. I’d had to swerve into the median to avoid a catastrophic pile-up. Later that evening, the manager of a luxury watch boutique arrived at my office, sent by Victoria. He presented dozens of obscenely expensive timepieces for me to choose from. “Ms. Beaumont is so devoted to you, Mr. Quinn. A love like that is truly something to be envied.” I glanced over the collection of watches, a bitter irony twisting in my stomach. “You’re mistaken. A man who cheats will spend the night whispering ‘I love you’ to his wife, trying to wash away his own guilt.” I looked the manager in the eye. “Women are no different.” Victoria thought I was just throwing a tantrum. She probably saw me as one of those men who marry up, who, upon discovering their wife’s infidelity, resort to tears and threats before being placated with an expensive gift and a lavish party. She seemed to have forgotten who I was. I am Alexander Quinn. I may not have been born into a corporate dynasty like her, but I built my own empire. At sixteen, I was fast-tracked into a top international university. By twenty-two, I was carving out a name for myself on Wall Street. By twenty-five, I had returned to the country as her direct competitor. We got married not because I couldn’t live without her, but because she promised me a lifetime of fidelity—one man, one woman, forever. What a joke. In just five short years, she’d tossed that promise aside like it was nothing. 3 The next day, I received a friend request on my messaging app from Ryan. The note read: Mr. Quinn, I’d like to explain the issue with your car’s service. The day was a blur of back-to-back meetings. That evening, I had to catch a flight back to my hometown for my uncle’s—my only living relative’s—70th birthday party. I didn’t even see the request until I landed. I accepted it. A voice message came through almost instantly. It was Ryan, explaining that the mechanic who worked on my car was a temp who had since stopped showing up for work and was unreachable. I didn’t reply. As I swiped back, my thumb accidentally opened his social media profile. His latest post was from half an hour ago. The picture was of Victoria, sitting on the sofa in our villa, sipping soup. In the background, you could clearly see the oil painting I’d paid a fortune for at auction and the custom-made Italian rug. What made my blood run cold was that Ryan was wearing my favorite silk robe and my slippers. He was beaming, squeezed in beside her, holding his phone up for a selfie with one hand while making a peace sign with the other. The caption read: Finally able to take care of you while you’re sick. Even though people misunderstand, the truth will speak for itself. Homemade bone broth to help you heal faster. I screenshotted it and sent it to Victoria. “Living in my house, wearing my clothes, getting cozy with my wife. Is this what you call ‘nothing going on’?!” She replied instantly: Alexander, he spilled soup on his clothes, he’s just borrowing yours for a bit. He was only trying to be nice. Don’t read too much into it. I laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Trying to be nice?” “Or was making soup just an excuse to play house in my home? What’s the plan, dress up in my clothes and hope you can just replace me?” Could you stop being so cynical? her tone shifted. You’re never around. He came here specifically to take care of me. Can’t you show a little grace? You weren’t like this before, Alexander. When did you become so overbearing, so ruthless? I stared at the screen and laughed until it hurt. Overbearing? Ruthless? When the Beaumont Corporation’s funding dried up, it was my “overbearing” leadership that pushed my team through a month of sleepless nights to secure the critical investment that saved her company. When her father was gravely ill, it was “ruthless” me who dropped a multi-million-dollar acquisition and sat by his hospital bed for two weeks. She used to say she admired my decisiveness, my killer instinct in the boardroom. But now that she had her gentle, considerate little angel by her side, I was suddenly just cynical and harsh. My uncle insisted I stay an extra day, so it wasn’t until the third morning that I took the earliest flight home. The digital lock hadn’t been changed, but my fingerprint had been deleted. I stood on my own doorstep and rang the bell. The man who opened the door was Ryan. This time, he was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting athletic shorts. His hair was wet, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. “Mr. Quinn?” he asked, feigning surprise. “What are you doing back? Ms. Beaumont is still asleep…” I cut him off. “This is my house. Do I need an invitation?” “Get out of my way.” “That’s not what I meant,” he said, stubbornly blocking the doorway. “But Ms. Beaumont is resting, and you seem like you’re in a bad mood. I don’t want you to disturb her…” I’d had enough. I shoved him aside. “Get lost.” The noise woke Victoria. She emerged from the bedroom, leaning on a crutch. Seeing the tense standoff, she frowned. “What’s going on?” 4 Before Ryan could even speak, tears started streaming down his face. “Ms. Beaumont, I’m so sorry. You were so exhausted last night, I just wanted you to get some more sleep. I didn’t mean to offend Mr. Quinn.” He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and turned his face, like a little white rabbit that had been horribly bullied. The tips of his ears, however, were bright red. Victoria coughed twice, then looked at me. “Alexander, you’ve completely misunderstood. Apologize to him.” I ignored her and sat down on the sofa. My eyes scanned the room and landed on the display shelf. The silver frame holding my wedding photo with Victoria was gone. In its place sat the hand-carved wooden charm from Ryan, now displayed proudly on a polished mahogany stand. On the coffee table, a pair of men’s underwear—not mine—lay discarded. “No wonder you tried to stop me at the door. You two certainly know how to have a good time, don’t you?” Ryan scrambled to pick up the underwear, his voice choked with tears. “These are mine! I washed them! They were just drying here…” “Drying? In the living room?” I sneered. “Victoria has a broken leg. Tell me, just who was servicing whom? Was it comfortable?” Ryan’s face flushed a violent shade of red. He stammered, “Mr. Quinn, you… you’ve got it all wrong. Me and Ms. Beaumont… we didn’t do anything.” “That’s enough!” Victoria snapped, glaring at me. “Alexander, do you have to be so vulgar? Do you enjoy humiliating him?” “He’s just an innocent young man, not like you, with your mind full of schemes!” I looked up at her. “And what, exactly, have I been scheming?” “You’ve been scheming how to embarrass him, how to ruin his reputation! How to make me bend to your will, so I’ll only ever have eyes for you!” Victoria’s voice rose with every word. “Yes, I let him stay here! But nothing happened between us!” “He was taking care of me, and I was grateful. It’s that simple! Why do you have to assume the absolute worst of people?” “Whether people are good or bad doesn’t interest me,” I said, pulling a folder from my briefcase. “But this does.” “Six months ago, you used Beaumont corporate funds and resources to set him up with a dealership. An investment of two million dollars, which you filed under ‘charitable donation’.” “Did you get board approval for that, Victoria? Misappropriating company funds to keep a lover on the side. How does that sound as a criminal charge?” Victoria’s face went ashen. “You investigated me? He’s not my lover!” “Then what is he?” I stood up and walked over to Ryan. “Mr. Park, why don’t you tell us? What are you?” Ryan bit his lip. “I… I just admire Ms. Beaumont. I was grateful for her help, so I came to look after her for a couple of days…” “Admire her enough to wear my clothes and sleep in my bed?” I gestured toward the master bedroom, where the door was slightly ajar. “I saw you both come out of my bedroom, Victoria. How do you explain that?” She gritted her teeth. “Believe it or not, Ryan slept on the floor so he could be close by to help me. We did nothing!” “I don’t care if you slept together or not.”

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At the Vanguard Group’s victory gala, my father, Graham Vance, stood on the stage, his expression grim as he made a public announcement. “By the decision of the board,” he began, his voice flat, as if discussing some trivial matter, “I am announcing the termination of Asher Ferguson’s role as Group Vice President. The position will be filled by Finn Vance.” He spoke without a shred of emotion, completely disregarding the years I had spent clawing my way up from an entry-level position to regional director, and finally to VP of the entire corporation. I crumpled the prepared victory speech in my hand and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “Dad, I just closed a 1.5-billion-dollar contract. I believe I’m entitled to a reason for my dismissal.” Graham’s gaze swept over me, as hard and cold as steel. “On the grounds that I built Vanguard Group with my own two hands. I can give it to whomever I please. If you make a scene, you can get out of my house.” I laughed. Fine. If he was so determined to play the usurper, then I had no reason to hold back. It was time the Vance family coughed up what they stole from the Fergusons and crawled back to the gutter they came from. 1 The banquet hall, filled with a thousand guests, fell silent. All eyes turned to Graham Vance, the chairman of Vanguard Group. The executives in the front row began to whisper. “Mr. Ferguson’s performance has always been exceptional. He’s been hands-on with every project for years. Why would the chairman suddenly fire him?” Someone nudged his colleague. “Isn’t it obvious? A mountain can’t have two tigers. The young master and his mother are the favored ones now.” Following their glances, the crowd’s attention shifted to Finn Vance, my father’s illegitimate son. Finally, their eyes settled on my father’s secretary, Isabelle Croft. She was only a few years older than me, but at this moment, standing beside Finn, she surveyed the room with the triumphant air of a queen who had just won her throne. I stared hard at Graham. “Dad, are you really kicking me out? Out of Vanguard and out of your life?” My father remained silent. Isabelle glided to his side, linking her arm with his. Her voice was a soft caress, but every word was a poisoned dart. “Asher, you shouldn’t see it that way. Finn carries the Vance name. The chairman can’t very well leave the company to someone with a different surname, can he?” She smiled sweetly. “If you object, you could always go through the official channels to change your name to Vance. Then, of course, you’d have a claim to Vanguard as well.” My fists clenched, fury blazing in my eyes as I glared at my father. “A different surname?” “Dad, what about the promise you made to my grandfather when you were on your knees before him?” “Vanguard Group was originally founded by my grandfather, Arthur Ferguson! What right do you have to hand it over to your bastard son?” Graham’s face twisted in a mask of rage. He ripped the microphone from its stand and hurled it at me. It struck my forehead with a sickening thud. “You insolent brat! I built this company into what it is today! I’ll give it to whoever I want! Even if Arthur Ferguson himself were standing here, he’d have no right to question me!” Warm blood trickled down my face, blurring my vision in a sea of red. Finn stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of our father. “Brother, what are you doing?” “There are so many people here! Can’t we discuss this at home? Do you have to air our dirty laundry in public?” He then turned to Graham, his expression earnest. “Dad, I don’t want the VP position. Please, give it back to my brother.” He looked back at me. “Brother, don’t fight with Dad over titles and money. Vanguard will be yours one day. I won’t fight you for a single penny.” A flicker of pride crossed my father’s face before he turned on me again. “See how sensible Finn is? And then look at you, shamelessly fighting your own brother over a job title in front of everyone.” “A vicious, selfish person like you… you inherited your grandfather’s cold blood. How could I ever trust you with this company?” A cold, mirthless laugh escaped my lips. “You don’t have to. I’ll take back what belongs to the Ferguson family myself.” With that, I turned and walked off the stage, leaving the stunned silence behind me. 2 The year my mother died, I learned the meaning of biding my time, of swallowing humiliation for a future victory. While studying at business school, I started at the very bottom of the company, working my way up from a salesman. I forced a smile and called Isabelle, a woman barely older than me, my stepmother. At home, I played with the infant Finn, and as he grew, I let him ride on my back like a horse. I deferred to Isabelle in all matters, seeking her counsel and obeying her wishes. When she claimed her newfound spirituality forbade her from visiting cemeteries, I dutifully stayed away from my mother’s grave for ten long years. I gave them no reason to find fault with me, playing the part of a simple, loyal son. Thankfully, my father had a wandering eye, and Isabelle was too busy fending off other women to focus her full attention on me. To maintain her image as a gracious and tolerant wife, she never came after me directly. My father, in the prime of his career, was keen to avoid any scandal and treated the son of his late wife with a veneer of kindness. And so, step by step, I rose through the ranks. And with every promotion, I uncovered another layer of his corruption, another one of his dirty little secrets. As I reached the hotel lobby, I saw the grand digital display had already been changed. The words “Victory Gala” were gone, replaced with: “Congratulations to Mr. Finn Vance on his promotion to Vice President of Vanguard Group.” A truck was parked at the entrance, unloading a massive, ten-tiered cake in a clear display case. The deliverymen shouted, “Make way, make way! Special order from Chairman Vance himself! A ten-tiered cake for his son, to celebrate his new position as VP!” “I heard his son just graduated and already closed a 1.5-billion-dollar deal! What a prodigy!” I let out a bitter laugh. It all made sense now. The reason Graham had insisted I bring Finn along to every meeting for that project. From the very beginning, the deal was nothing more than a stepping stone for Finn’s career. No one cared that I had spent three months on it, working late into the night, revising the proposal seventeen times. Deep down, a part of me had still hoped for Graham’s approval. I hoped he would see that I was the one truly fit to lead the company. I wanted to reclaim my grandfather’s legacy peacefully, without a war between father and son. But he had finally, brutally, crushed that hope. The moment Finn graduated, Graham dropped the pretense. He started reassigning my projects to Finn, stripping me of my authority, and forcing me to hand over my clients. He expected me, the true Ferguson heir, to step aside for my illegitimate brother. I drove to my grandfather’s old estate, opened the safe, and began to organize the mountain of evidence I had been collecting for twenty years. After I sent everything to my lawyer, I checked the company’s group chat. It was flooded with celebratory messages and applause. Someone had posted a video: Graham and Finn, hand in hand, cutting the enormous cake, with Isabelle standing beside them, her hand resting proudly on Finn’s arm. A perfect family portrait. Graham addressed the camera, announcing his intention to hand the company over to Finn and asking everyone to support the “younger generation.” I turned off my phone, unable to stomach another sycophantic message. I was in the middle of a call with my lawyer, planning our next steps, when my fiancée, Sophia Lowell, called. “Asher, you liar! I just heard you were kicked out of the family! Our engagement is off! I’m not marrying a penniless nobody!” As her tirade continued, I learned that Graham had publicly disowned me and transferred all my company shares to Finn. And he had made one other major announcement: he was officially marrying Isabelle Croft. Sophia sent me a video clip. In it, Graham held Isabelle’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything I have achieved today, I owe to one woman. She has supported me, encouraged me from the shadows. And tonight, I want to officially ask her to be my wife.” He dropped to one knee, slipping a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg onto her finger. Watching them embrace, a cold smile touched my lips. I wondered if Isabelle would have been so supportive if he were still shoveling manure back in the mountains where he came from. So be it. After twenty years, they were finally getting their happy ending. As his son, it was only right that I send them a wedding gift they would never forget. 3 A month later, Graham hosted a lavish wedding at Blackwood Manor, the most opulent venue in Ridgewater. Every powerful family, every influential figure in the city was there. The media scrambled to cover the story of their “epic true love.” It seemed everyone had forgotten Graham Vance’s history. They had forgotten the woman whose love he had used and whose life he had destroyed. It didn’t matter. I would make them remember. I would show them all what happens when a parasite forgets its host, and how a man who betrays his benefactors always pays the price. When I arrived at the wedding, I saw Finn. And on his arm was my fiancée, Sophia. Finn deliberately ran his fingers through Sophia’s hair, blowing a light, suggestive breath against her ear. “Brother, Sophia might be a few years older than me, but damn, she’s something else. You of all people should know that, right?” He let out a boisterous laugh, and his sycophantic friends joined in. “Looks like someone will have to watch from the sidelines from now on.” “Yeah, who does he think he is, challenging Mr. Vance? If he so much as looks at his future sister-in-law, Finn will have his eyes gouged out.” I looked directly at Sophia. We had shared so many beautiful moments. She had been my rock during my darkest times, always believing I would reclaim what was mine. I couldn’t believe she would do this to me. I refused to believe she was just another vapid, greedy socialite. She was my light in the darkness, the one good thing my grandfather had left me. Her gaze darted away. Before she could speak, Finn’s fist slammed into my face. “Where the hell do you think you’re looking, you bastard?” he snarled. “Let me make this clear: Sophia is my fiancée now. Her father has already formally dissolved your engagement and promised her to me.” The moment he threw the first punch, his friends swarmed me, their fists and feet raining down on me. “You’re a worthless piece of trash! How dare you disrespect our Mr. Vance!” “A toad lusting after a swan! Only our Mr. Vance is worthy of a woman like her!” I curled into a ball on the ground as they kicked me. Sophia’s sharp cries cut through the air as she tried to pull them off me. “Stop it! All of you, stop!” Finn grabbed her, holding her back. “Sophia, I’m doing this for his own good. Can you imagine the scandal if he starts lusting after his brother’s wife? He’d be run out of Ridgewater! Dad would probably break his legs!” Sophia stopped struggling. Her eyes grew cold. She nodded. “You’re right, Finn. We should make him give up all hope.” She stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her gaze on me like chips of ice. “Asher, I could pretend to love you, to stay by your side. But in our world, family interests always come first. Finn is young, successful, and he’s the future. Of course, I’m choosing him as my husband.” “A union between the Vance and Lowell families is a win for everyone. If you were in my position, you’d make the same choice.” A triumphant grin spread across Finn’s face as he pulled her into a tight embrace. I stared at them, my mind reeling. “Sophia,” I stammered, “you said you believed in me…” “Enough, Asher,” she cut me off, her voice sharp. “Don’t drag this out. Have some dignity. They were just words. Don’t take them so seriously.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. So she was just another social climber after all. My love, my trust—all of it wasted. Slowly, I pushed myself up from the ground, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. My voice was numb. “Fine, Sophia Lowell. I hope you don’t live to regret this.” 4 The commotion drew my father over. Seeing my bruised and battered state, his face contorted in disgust. “Today is my wedding day. Did you have to come here and cause a scene, to make us a laughingstock in front of our guests?” “Is this all because Finn took your VP position? Fine. We’re expanding into the African market. You can go there and be the independent executive president. Are you satisfied now?” I spat out a mouthful of blood and sneered at him. The African market? A transparent excuse to banish me to some chaotic, undeveloped hellhole to rot. With me out of the way, he could enjoy my family’s fortune with his mistress and his bastard son without any complications. “Graham Vance, you want to get rid of me so you can take everything? Dream on!” “You secretly transferred Vanguard’s core assets to an offshore shell company, registered under Isabelle and Finn’s names, embezzling over 1.8 billion in the process.” “In February of 2021, you and the CFO of an American supplier colluded to import twenty thousand tons of substandard steel, inflating the price from two hundred dollars a ton to three hundred and sixty. That little scheme cost Vanguard over thirty million dollars in a kickback deal.” “And since 2018, you’ve evaded over a hundred million in taxes. Did you really think I was just keeping my head down and working all these years?” My words dropped into the silent hall like a bomb. The room exploded in a cacophony of gasps and whispers. “Vanguard is evading taxes? Is Asher really going to war with his own father?” “This is explosive! He must have been planning this for years! The power structure of Ridgewater is about to change.” Graham’s face went white. He trembled violently, leaning on Isabelle for support. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You’re lying!” “You’re just bitter that I gave the company to your brother, so you’re making up these vicious rumors!” “Rumors?” I pulled out my phone and displayed the evidence. “Offshore transaction records. Falsified tax documents. Collusive contracts.” “I started in this company as a teenager, Graham. I spent twenty years working my way up through every department—tax, sales, product development. I remember every single transaction.” “What do you think will happen when I forward all of this to the IRS and the FBI?” Graham froze, staring at me as if seeing his meek, pathetic elder son for the first time. He finally managed a weak, blustering roar. “You brat! I’ve run this company for years! The entire board is loyal to me! Your accusations are useless! We’ll simply say you forged the evidence!” I smiled faintly. “Is that so? Well, let’s find out.” “Graham, from the moment you drove my mother to her death and fired me from my own company, you should have remembered that I am Arthur Ferguson’s grandson. I will protect the Ferguson legacy, and I will personally send you to the underworld to beg for their forgiveness.” His hand lashed out, slapping me hard across the face. His eyes burned with hatred, fear, and a sliver of panic, but his words were still a threat. “Asher, if you dare to destroy Vanguard, I will destroy you.” I stood my ground, taking the blow. With that, the small debt I owed him for my birth was paid in full. “I’m not going to destroy Vanguard. I’m just restoring it to its rightful owner. Its real name is AethelFerguson Corp.” My father stood rooted to the spot. A hush fell over the thousand guests as they remembered my grandfather, Arthur Ferguson—a man known for his integrity and decisive leadership. They remembered that Vanguard had once been AethelFerguson, a company Graham had seized and renamed after my mother’s death, forcing her own son to live under the thumb of his mistress. Isabelle steadied my furious father, whispering something quickly in his ear. A smug, satisfied smile spread across his face. He patted her arm. “Isabelle, you truly are my better half. What more could a man ask for?” He walked over to me, gently touching my swollen cheek. “Asher, I was just angry. I didn’t mean to hit you. Does it hurt?” He leaned in close, his voice a low, menacing whisper. “For all these years, Isabelle and I have treated you like our own son. We haven’t wronged you. Why must you push things to the point of mutual destruction?” “Isabelle has an idea. She said we can give you thirty percent of the company’s shares. In return, she, who has so diligently cared for your mother and grandfather’s ashes all these years, will get thirty percent. That’s not too much to ask, is it?” His voice dropped even lower. “You wouldn’t want their souls to be… disturbed, would you?” Isabelle sidled up, linking her arm with mine, her smile laced with venom. “Asher, you’ve always been a smart boy. That’s why I’ve always treated you as my own. You won’t disappoint me now, will you?” “The abbot of the Azure Mountain Monastery is an old friend of my father’s. A year ago, I entrusted your mother and grandfather’s ashes to him for safekeeping. If he were to become… displeased… and accidentally chant an evil spirit curse instead of a blessing, I wonder if they would suffer for all eternity in the afterlife.”

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The day I nearly died in childbirth, Ian was cheating on me. For the entire month of my recovery, he gallivanted across the globe with her, indulging in a whirlwind of luxury shopping sprees. When he returned, he didn’t forget to hand me a divorce agreement. “Brielle doesn’t like being called a homewrecker, so I have to get a divorce.” “Just sign it. I made sure to wait until your recovery month was over. Consider it a courtesy.” “I don’t want the child anyway. You can keep her as a memento. Brielle will give me children of my own.” I didn’t say a word. I just took the pen and signed. Any hesitation, I feared, would delay my reunion with the man I truly loved by even a second. Three months later, I was paged with an emergency summons from the hospital, right in the middle of my own wedding. They said a female patient had ruptured her corpus luteum during a particularly… vigorous encounter. And because this patient had been juggling multiple partners, she had developed a host of severe complications, requiring my immediate attention in the ER. I pushed open the door to the operating room and took a look. What a coincidence. Lying on the surgical table was none other than my ex-husband’s new fiancée. 1 I glanced down at the patient’s chart. Brielle Sterling. Before my divorce from Ian, I’d heard him say that name a thousand times. He called her Bri-bri, his voice dripping with an affection he never showed me. I thought he had found some perfect, flawless true love. Turns out, it was just this. I thought back to the day I gave birth. It was a difficult delivery, and I was hemorrhaging badly. The doctors were frantically calling for my husband, but Ian’s phone was unreachable. The tabloids, however, had no trouble finding him. Photos of him and Brielle, wrapped in each other’s arms as they entered and exited a five-star hotel, were plastered everywhere. With the kind of power the Blackwood family wielded, he could have buried that story in an instant if he’d wanted to. The fact that he didn’t made it clear: he was done hiding her. He was ready to make her his wife. When I finally woke up, having cheated death, Ian was there. His face was a mask of impatience. “Sienna, why do you always have to make such a mess of things?” “You were a top student, you’re a doctor yourself. Did you really have to go through with having this baby?” “I don’t even like her. This whole idea of using a child to secure your position is pathetic.” “I’m busy. I don’t have time for your melodrama…” His phone rang, cutting him off. He answered without a hint of shame. “Bri-bri…” The voice on the other end was sharp. “Decky, is my birthday surprise ready yet?” “You said you were just going to check on that hag in the hospital. It’s been half an hour. Why aren’t you back?” “I heard she bled everywhere. Gross. You better hurry back before you get any of that on you.” Ian chuckled. “You’re the only one who really cares about me, Bri-bri. I’m on my way back.” “The gift is ready. I promise it’ll be a surprise that’ll keep you in bed all night…” He walked out as he spoke, not sparing me a second glance. It never even occurred to him to look in on our daughter. But I wasn’t heartbroken. After confirming that my baby was safe and healthy, a wave of relief washed over me. Finally, I could talk to Ian’s grandfather about the promise he’d made. I called him myself. “Grandfather, the baby is safe. Am I free to go now?” The old patriarch of the Blackwood family had sought me out when his company was on the brink of collapse. My birth chart, he claimed, was uniquely aligned to bring their family prosperity. As long as I produced an heir, the Blackwood fortune would be secure. I was already a medical intern. To me, it was utter nonsense. But the rich have always been slaves to their superstitions. When I refused, he had my younger brother, who was still in college, expelled. My parents called me, sobbing, telling me about a near-fatal car accident they had just survived. A near miss, they said. I had no choice but to agree. The truth was, I already had a boyfriend, Liam. We’d been together for ten years. He knew everything, and he was waiting for me. The old man sighed on the phone. “I’ve seen the news. There’s no point in forcing things. You can go.” “But you’re weak right now. I’ve arranged for a team of private nurses. Wait until your recovery month is over.” 2 Brielle’s screaming snapped me back to the present. I gave her a quick assessment. A severe laceration, accompanied by a nasty infection. Some of the local tissue was already showing signs of necrosis. The situation was worse than I’d thought. She was convulsing in pain, but that didn’t stop her from cursing. “Useless! All of you are useless! You can’t even handle a small injury like this? I could have this hospital shut down by tomorrow!” “And those damn men! Not a single good one among them! They get their fun and then leave me here to suffer! I’ll skin them alive when I get out of here!” I pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, my expression blank. “Ms. Sterling, the examination shows a severe tear with a multi-pathogen infection. We need to perform a surgical debridement immediately.” At the mention of surgery, she started screaming again, ignoring the pain. “Surgery? Who gave you permission to cut me open? I’m warning you, if you leave a single scar on my body, you’ll all pay!” “I have a custom-designed wedding gown to wear! I’m about to marry into the wealthiest family in the country! Can you afford to ruin that for me?” Her eyes bored into me. “Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to destroy me? My fiancé is the richest man in the city! One word from him, and you’ll all be fired!” “You should worry about that later,” I interrupted, my tone clinical. “If we don’t operate soon, the infection will spread. Forget about getting married; you could suffer permanent damage to your reproductive system, or even risk your life.” I was simply stating the facts. For a patient like this, sympathy was a waste of time. A nurse handed her the pre-op consent form. Brielle snatched it and ripped it to shreds. “Sign what? I’m not signing anything! You quacks are trying to kill me! I’m going to report you! I’ll have your licenses revoked!” she shrieked. Then, a sudden thought seemed to strike her. Her eyes filled with venom as she stared at me. “Who the hell do you think you are? You think you’re qualified to operate on me? Get your director in here! Now! Or I’ll have my fiancé tear this whole hospital down!” If her condition weren’t so critical, I would have walked away. But my duty as a doctor held me there. I had no patience for her games. “Besides me, there’s likely no other doctor in this hospital who can perform this surgery. Where is your next of kin? We need a signature.” At the mention of family, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “Family? I don’t need family. I make my own decisions.” “Just do the surgery! If you screw this up for me, you’ll all regret it!” “Hospital policy requires a signature from a family member,” I repeated calmly. “Or perhaps, your fiancé?” Brielle’s face twisted in a snarl. “You’d better keep your mouths shut. If a single word of this gets out, I’ll make sure you all disappear.” I raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. We saw situations like this all the time. I placed another consent form in front of her. “Think it over and decide quickly. Time is running out. After your surgery, I have a wedding to get back to…” My words were cut off by a man’s voice from behind me. “Wedding? Who are you marrying?” “We’ve been divorced for three months and you’re already getting married?!”

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My husband’s young secretary destroyed a painting I’d worked on for two years. As punishment, she became my personal maid for three days, cleaning my entire gallery. Anson, my husband, said nothing at first, acting like nothing happened. Three months later, his company went bankrupt and he was jailed. To pay off millions in debt, I took three jobs a day, working nonstop. For three years, I lived in constant fear, even being attacked by debt collectors. I even took a job spending a night in a haunted house for $100. One night, while waitressing, I overheard Anson—supposedly in prison—throwing a lavish birthday party for his secretary. A friend asked, “Aren’t you worried? You’re spending millions on Jenny, while your wife risks her life in a haunted house for $100?” Anson smirked. “This is payback for Seraphina making Jenny a maid. These three years are her punishment. Once it’s over, I’ll make a comeback, and she’ll still be my wife, Mrs. Blackwood.” I froze in the cold wind, numb. So, this hell… it was all a game, a punishment you planned. Fine. If that’s how you want to play… I’ll return the favor, double. 1 A bone-deep chill consumed me, but I was frozen in place, forced to listen to the voice of Anson’s friend, Mark. “Anson, she’s still your wife. She was an heiress, raised with a silver spoon. Isn’t this a bit too harsh?” “I saw Seraphina the other day,” Mark continued. “She looked like a ghost. Skin and bones. I think she’s at her breaking point.” Anson’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “We agreed on three years. Not a day less.” “Besides, there’s only a month left. She’s made it this far, what’s a few more weeks?” Mark hesitated. “But she came to me a while back, begging to borrow just a few hundred dollars.” “The proud Seraphina Frost, heiress to the Frost fortune… I’ve never seen her so broken.” Anson’s tone sharpened. “You didn’t give her anything, did you?” “Of course not! You made it clear, anyone who helps her is no friend of yours. I wouldn’t dare.” Through another puff of smoke, Anson let out a self-satisfied laugh. “Smart man.” “Seraphina has always been a spoiled, arrogant brat. Jenny just accidentally smudged her painting, and she reacted like a tyrant, forcing her into servitude for three days.” “A personality flaw like that needed to be corrected. And you see? Three years of hardship did the trick, didn’t it?” His voice was thick with pride, as if he were a master sculptor who had chiseled me into a perfect, submissive wife. Mark sighed, letting the rest of his words die on his tongue. He didn’t tell Anson the whole story. He didn’t mention that I had knelt before him that day. That I had even begun to unbutton my blouse. “Just five hundred dollars,” I had pleaded, my voice cracking. “Please.” “Anson is sick in prison. He needs money for medical care. I’m just five hundred short.” The men in the room had exchanged glances, then burst into roaring laughter. “Is this the same Seraphina Frost we knew?” “The high and mighty heiress who wouldn’t touch a pair of shoes under a thousand dollars, now selling her body for five hundred?” I absorbed their ridicule in silence, my face a blank mask. What expression was I supposed to wear? Pride? Dignity? Reality had trampled those things into dust long ago. “Just name your price,” I whispered, choking back a sob. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.” Their laughter grew louder, more vicious. Finally, a man who had been quiet the whole time, sitting on the sofa wreathed in smoke, spoke up. “Just go.” “You could kneel here and bang your head on the floor a hundred times, and we still wouldn’t help you.” Because Anson had given them explicit instructions beforehand. A punishment was a punishment. For three years, they were to show no mercy, offer no help. That was the only way to properly avenge his precious secretary, Jenny. So how did I get that five hundred dollars in the end? I went to a clinic and sold my plasma. When I took the money to the prison, they told me Anson had already been released for medical treatment. I frantically found one of his friends, pressing the cash into his hands. “Please, you have to get this to Anson,” I begged, nearly falling to my knees. “He can’t get any sicker.” At that very moment, Anson was at Disneyland with Jenny, snapping photos and laughing. He took the five hundred dollars I’d bled for, crumpled it like a receipt, and tossed it at a park employee. “Don’t know where this came from,” he’d said with a sneer. “That dirty money is bad luck.” Just like my heart. Trampled under his feet without a second thought. 2 Now, here he was, using a priceless antique vase worth millions as a mere decoration for Jenny’s birthday party. Every detail was meticulously planned, extravagantly perfect. But I couldn’t watch anymore. A primal urge to storm in, to claw at his face, surged through me. I wanted to scream in his face, to demand why he had lied to me for three years. Was it all because I made Jenny play maid for three days? I wanted to rip open my clothes and show him every scar, every bruise, every mark of the suffering I’d endured for him. But in the end, I did nothing. I simply watched Anson, the man who was supposed to be released from prison in three days, standing there in a bespoke suit that cost more than I’d earned in three years. He looked like a king, pulling his little princess, Jenny, into his arms and whispering “Happy Birthday” with a doting smile. Then, my face devoid of all emotion, I turned and walked back to my basement apartment. It was a damp, lightless hole, my home for the past three years. The bathroom was right by the door, and the walls were a creeping canvas of black mold that pulsed with the sour stench of decay. I remember when I first moved in, the smell alone made me vomit daily. For the first twenty-five years of my life, I was Seraphina Frost, the pampered heiress who had never known a day of hardship. I was also an internationally acclaimed artist, my shelves heavy with awards. At the peak of my fame, Anson Blackwood, the heir to the Blackwood empire, proposed. After we married, he treated me like a queen. Effortlessly, I had become the woman every other woman envied. The media called me “The Woman Who Has It All.” Until Anson hired a timid, sweet-looking secretary named Jenny. She was the daughter of our housekeeper, yet she seemed determined to compete with me in every way. If her clothes weren’t as luxurious as mine, she’d sneer that I was just a spoiled trophy wife. If her accomplishments paled in comparison to mine, she’d whisper behind my back that I owed everything to my father or my husband. She even schemed her way into becoming Anson’s secretary, filling his head with lies about me—how I bullied her mother, how I destroyed her clothes, how I forced her to kneel and act like a servant. I believed the truth would speak for itself, so I never paid her any mind. But then came the day I finally completed the painting I had poured two years of my life into. I stepped out for just a moment to get it framed, and when I returned, the canvas was drenched in black ink. Jenny stood there, holding the empty ink bottle, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Took you two whole years, didn’t it?” she gloated. “Let’s see you show off in front of Anson now that this is gone.” Rage, white-hot and absolute, consumed me. I slapped her across the face, the sound echoing in the studio. “You love spreading rumors about me making you a maid, don’t you?” I seethed. “Fine. For the next three days, you’ll be a real maid. You’re going to scrub my entire gallery until it shines.” At that exact moment, the door flew open. Anson stormed in, his brow furrowed, and immediately pulled Jenny behind him. “Seraphina, can’t you for once control your damn temper?” “Jenny has been trying so hard. So she doesn’t come from money, is that any reason for you to constantly pick on her?” My chest heaved, struggling for air. “Anson, you don’t understand, she’s the one who—” Before I could finish, Jenny buried her face in Anson’s chest, her voice a pathetic whimper. “It’s all my fault, Anson! I was just trying to help Sera tidy her studio, and I accidentally spilled the ink. She got so mad… she said she’d sell me to the streets, that my mother was trash who gave birth to trash!” “I can’t take it anymore,” she sobbed. “I can take the insults, but why did she have to attack my mother?” Her performance was flawless, a heartbreaking picture of victimhood. Anson didn’t ask a single question, didn’t bother to investigate. He just believed her. His gaze on me turned to ice. “Seraphina, what have you become? I’m so disappointed in you.” I was beyond furious. Even with Anson pleading on her behalf, I stood my ground. Jenny served her three days as a maid. When it was over, Anson acted like nothing had happened. He just sighed softly. “Sera, your temper… when are you going to learn to control it? It was just a painting.” “Alright, you’ve let off your steam. Let’s just put this behind us.” I was naive enough to believe him. I thought it was really over. A few days later, news broke that Anson’s company had collapsed. Soon after, he was imprisoned, leaving me to deal with the mountain of debt. At first, I wasn’t scared. If the Blackwoods were bankrupt, I still had my parents. I called them immediately, but their numbers were disconnected. Panic set in. I rushed back to my family home, only to be told by our butler that upon hearing about Anson’s troubles, my parents had rushed to return home, but were caught in a landslide on the way. Both were presumed dead. Overnight, my world fell apart. With no husband or parents to rely on, I sold off my properties and moved into the damp basement. I lived in constant terror of the debt collectors. They found me, of course. A group of them stormed my apartment, armed with bats and pipes. They broke two of my ribs. They shattered my right wrist. I could never hold a paintbrush again. It took me three years to accept my fate. To give up on everything I was, just to survive. But now, I find out it was all a lie. With his “punishment,” Anson had peeled away every layer of my being, remolding me into someone else entirely. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Anson. “Sera, I’m getting out in three days. Don’t forget to pick me up.” 3 My fingers tightened around the phone, a dull ache spreading through my chest. Even now, Anson was still playing his part. He was at that very moment standing at Jenny’s birthday party, holding her, celebrating with a huge cake and lavish decorations, yet he was still feeding me lies, treating me like a fool. I stared at the words until they blurred, then blinked away the tears until they came back into focus. I typed back a simple reply: “Okay. I’ll be there in three days.” Three days later, I didn’t expose his charade. I went to the prison gates to pick him up. From a distance, I saw him shuffling out, dressed in ragged clothes. He was faking the look of a man who’d been broken by poverty, even sporting a fake, gruesome scar on his cheek, courtesy of some clever makeup. When he saw me, he limped forward, his face a mask of overwrought emotion. “Sera!” He threw his arms around me, his voice thick with fake tears. “I spent my time in there repenting, Sera. They said my behavior was excellent, so they let me out early.” “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through.” He sounded so sincere, so deeply remorseful, as if he had truly suffered behind bars for three years. But I gently pushed him away. “It’s good that you’re out.” Anson froze, sensing my detachment. Then, his eyes fell on my hand, and he grabbed my wrist. “Sera, what happened to your wrist?” His alarm seemed genuine, which I found almost comical. What are you pretending for, Anson? It was your men, the ones you sent disguised as debt collectors, who did this to me. Why act innocent now? A wave of exhaustion washed over me. Perhaps I was just too tired to confront the mountain of lies. “It’s nothing. I fell.” I pulled my hand back. “The doctor said it’ll heal with time.” Anson let out a visible sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.” He took my hand again, his expression softening as he laced his fingers through mine. “It’s your right wrist, too. If it were serious, it would affect your painting. You’d be crying your eyes out.” His tone was deliberately gentle, a mockery of the way he used to dote on me. Each word was a needle in my heart. I once had a gift. My art was my life. International awards, critical acclaim… everyone said I had a brilliant future. But for him, to get him out of that prison he was never in, I took on risky medical trials for cash. I let his thugs beat me. I let them shatter the bones in my wrist. Now, I couldn’t even hold a brush. And it was all for a game. A “punishment” he had designed. How utterly laughable. The entire ride home, I was silent. Anson, sensing my mood, chattered nervously, feeding me a long, rambling story. It was obvious he’d rehearsed it, lines pulled from the internet about prison life, all to make his three-year vacation sound believable. I listened with half an ear. When he finally paused for breath, I asked quietly, “Anson.” “Have I ever done anything wrong?” He flinched, his eyes instantly turning red-rimmed as he looked at me. “Sera, what’s wrong? Why would you ask that?” I suddenly remembered my last “visit” to the prison. I had saved up for weeks to buy meat, a luxury for me, and cooked his favorite dish to bring to him. I remembered how he’d wrinkled his nose and refused to eat it. Of course he did. He probably thought the meat was cheap and disgusting. I thought he was suffering, wasting away in a cell. In reality, he was globe-trotting with his little secretary, dining on gourmet food and imported delicacies. How could he possibly eat the scraps I brought him? That prison visit was just another scene in his play, a performance that cost him a hundred and twenty dollars to stage. I felt like the world’s biggest fool, a plaything they had been amusing themselves with for three years. Seeing my tears, Anson panicked, fumbling to wipe them away. “Sera, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?” I looked him straight in the eye. “If someone hurt me, what would you do?” “Would you still keep your promise? The one where you swore you’d protect me with your life?” He grabbed a tissue, dabbing clumsily at my cheeks, his movements frantic. He answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Anything, Sera. I’d do anything for you. Just say the word.” I held his gaze, searching those sincere-looking eyes. “Really?” “I want you to kill Jenny.” Anson’s head snapped up, his face a mask of shock. “What did you say?” A flicker of panic crossed his features. “Are you misunderstanding something?” He was so terrified I’d discovered his secret that his whole body tensed. “After the company went bankrupt, Jenny resigned and moved abroad. I haven’t had any contact with her.” “Did she come back and bother you while I was away? If she did, I swear I’ll make her pay!” I reached out and touched his arm, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “I’m just kidding.” “Killing someone is illegal.” “You just got out of prison. I wouldn’t want you to go back in, would I?” I added softly. “I was just teasing.” I turned away, busying myself with something in my purse so he wouldn’t see the expression on my face. He thought it was just a joke. He relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Sera, I’m so sorry.” “You’ve suffered so much these past three years.” I didn’t look back at him, but a cold thought echoed in my mind. Don’t worry. Your real punishment is just beginning.

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