Author: Momo Chan

The day my acceptance letter arrived, I finally realized—I was the only one heading to the West Coast. Back when we were filling out applications, Ethan told me, “Amanda applied to the same school. The three of us will go together. We’ll look out for each other.” I believed him. Growing up, my dad always thought I was too independent. My stepmom, on the other hand, constantly shielded Amanda. And my brother Noah never called me anything but “Summer,” though he always called Amanda “sis.” My birthdays were forgotten. My room was cleared out. Even when I pulled straight A’s, all my dad would say was, “Don’t put too much pressure on Amanda.” Only Ethan, when I was left out in the cold, said he’d always stand behind me. In the family group chat, Noah sent an excited voice message, “Now Amanda and Ethan can be together every day!” I stared at the screenshots of their two matching acceptance letters, and my eyes stung. Outside the study, Amanda asked softly, “Do you think Summer will be mad at you?” Ethan was quiet for a moment. “She’s strong. She’ll figure it out on her own.” “I’ll stay here and take care of you first. Once you’re settled, I’ll explain it to her.” Strong? Holding that letter to the West Coast, it suddenly hit me—maybe the West Coast wasn’t such a bad idea. At least no one could ignore me there anymore. I didn’t open the study door. Their voices drifted out. “But what if Summer actually gets angry?” Ethan’s voice was utterly certain. “She won’t. Once I explain, she won’t stay mad. She’s always been like that.” Right. Always been like that. Because I cared, I never dared to actually get angry when they hurt me. So even when my birthday was forgotten, even when I had to give up my room, even when I was told my good grades were just me pressuring Amanda—I never let myself get angry. I thought Ethan was different. So I held on even tighter. But in the end, they tricked me into changing my application. The two of them went to the same school, leaving me to go to the West Coast alone. I turned around, went back to my room, and tucked the acceptance letter into my backpack. Then I pulled out a Specialized Training Program confirmation form. Back in senior year, my homeroom teacher handed me the materials and said it was a joint training project between the university and a western research base. The early stages involved closed training at the base, with follow-up research. Project location and personnel files were only disclosed to the program team and authorized contacts. I hadn’t planned on joining. I gave it up willingly because of one sentence from Ethan—that he wanted to go to the same university I did. But I didn’t need to now. When I got back to my room, Amanda was crouched in front of my closet, organizing clothes. She hung one of her dresses in the slot I used most. My old desk was covered with her university acceptance letter and the checklist Ethan had made for her. She saw me, her hand still resting on the closet door. “Summer, you’re back.” “Mom said since you’re leaving for the West Coast soon, your room would just be empty. I figured with the university close by, it’d be convenient to come back on weekends to study, so I just put a few things here first…” I didn’t say anything. I just looked at her. That desk. My dad built it with his own hands for my tenth birthday. He worked late that night, cut his finger on a screw, and still grinned as he patted my head. “Our Summer’s going to university someday. She’ll have lots of books. Needs a big desk.” After my mom died, what I dreaded most was someone asking, “Where’s your mom?” In third grade, a classmate called me a kid nobody wanted and threw my backpack in the trash. I hid in a bathroom stall, crying, too scared to go back to class. It was Ethan who grabbed my backpack for me and chased those kids away. He was only ten, too. The back of his hand got scratched and bled, but he stood in front of me, fierce and defiant. Later, my dad came to get me and bought two hot chocolates. I asked him through tears, “Dad, since I don’t have a mom, does nobody like me?” My dad stroked my hair and said, “Who told you that? You have a dad. Dad will always like Summer.” I drank that hot chocolate so happily. But later, both my dad and Ethan forgot the things they’d said. One found me a stepmother, the other gave his affection to my stepmother’s daughter. “Summer?” Amanda said my name again, her eyes slightly red. “Are you upset? I can take my things away if you want…” Her mouth said that, but her hand never left my closet. My dad walked in with a plate of fruit. He saw Amanda standing by my closet and immediately frowned. “Summer, are you giving Amanda attitude again?” I looked at him. “I didn’t say anything.” “You didn’t have to.” My dad set the fruit plate down. “That face of yours is scary enough. Amanda’s timid. Stop always making her feel like an outsider.” “An outsider.” Those three words should have been for Amanda. But over the past four years, the one who really felt like an outsider was always me. Amanda had been in our house four years and still called my dad “Mr. Wilson.” The more she acted like a guest, the more desperately my dad tried to prove this family didn’t shortchange her. Deborah walked in to smooth things over. “Honey, don’t talk to Summer like that. She’s been without a mom since she was little. It’s normal she’s a little stubborn.” “Summer, Amanda’s just putting a few things here for now. You’re the kindest. Just give way a little for her, okay? She just got into university. She’s already nervous. Don’t let family stuff affect her mood.” There it was again. She always sounded like she was speaking up for me, yet somehow turned me into the unreasonable one. I was tired. “Got it,” I said. “She can put whatever she wants.” “That’s more like it.” My dad didn’t ask about my acceptance letter. Didn’t ask about the West Coast. Didn’t ask if I was scared, going so far away all alone. Because they’d long since decided the answers for me. Summer isn’t scared. Summer can handle it. Summer should give way. I pulled open a drawer and took out the training program confirmation form. [Confirm early check-in. Please keep communication open for seven days and await your designated assembly notice.] I pressed confirm. [Summer, your early check-in application has been submitted.] Amanda was still discussing with my dad whether to put a new storage bin next to my desk. My dad nodded. “Fine. Summer’s going to the West Coast anyway. Won’t be back much.” I smiled a little. Right. Won’t be back much. Then I just won’t come back at all.

At dinner, Noah came running in from the living room clutching his toy truck. “Sis!” But he ran right past me and threw himself into Amanda’s arms. “Amanda! Summer! Ethan says he’s taking you to see the university!” Amanda smiled and pinched his cheek. “You want to come too?” “Yeah!” Noah was five now, my dad and Deborah’s kid. When he first learned to talk, my dad taught him to call me “sis.” But he always called Amanda “sis” and me “Summer.” My dad just smiled and said, “He’s still little. Give him time.” Years passed. He still called me by my name. I knew he’d never really seen me as his sister. My dad cut a piece of grilled chicken breast and put it in Amanda’s bowl. “Amanda, you’ve lost weight lately. Eat more. When school starts and you’re in the city, if your allowance isn’t enough, just tell Dad.” Amanda immediately shook her head. “Mr. Wilson, I don’t need that much. I’ll budget carefully.” Deborah sighed. “This girl. Just too considerate for her own good.” I stared down at my rice, remembering freshman year. My dad had taped my awards up in the most visible spot in the living room, telling everyone who visited, “My daughter. Straight A’s.” Then Amanda transferred in. She failed her first monthly exam and hid in her room crying for ages. Deborah sighed in the living room, “Amanda’s already so sensitive, and Summer is so outstanding. Two girls under the same roof, comparisons are inevitable.” Day one, my dad took my awards down. Day two, he told me, “Summer, it’s good you do well, but don’t always bring it up. And don’t put too much pressure on your sister.” I hadn’t said a single word. Getting good grades had become a sin. “Summer.” My dad suddenly called my name. I looked up, thinking maybe, finally, he would ask one thing about the West Coast. He frowned. “Amanda was talking to you. Didn’t you hear?” Amanda quickly waved her hand. “Summer was probably just thinking about the West Coast. She didn’t mean to ignore me.” “What’s there to think about?” My dad’s face was cold. “You think you’re so capable? You filled out your own application, you go to your own school. Don’t act like the whole family owes you something.” I had filled out the West Coast school myself. Ethan was right next to me when I did it. He filled out the same one, turned his screen toward me, and said, “Summer, don’t be scared. The three of us will look out for each other.” I found out later that was a screenshot taken before he submitted. When he submitted, he’d changed it back to the university near home. “Summer.” Ethan was also at dinner tonight. His voice was very soft. “I’ll help you look over the West Coast paperwork again.” “Look over what?” I asked. He fell silent. Amanda looked down. “Summer, I’m sorry. It’s all because of me… I really can’t handle the climate there, and I’m scared I won’t be able to do anything right on my own.” I looked at her. She had never filled out the West Coast school from the start. “Amanda.” Ethan frowned. “It’s not your fault.” “But Summer going alone… it makes me really sad too.” Her eyes reddened. “Ethan, maybe you should still go with Summer. I’ll be fine in the city by myself.” My dad immediately set down his knife and fork. “Absolutely not.” Deborah also hurriedly spoke up. “Amanda’s health is fragile. I’m not comfortable with her in the city alone, let alone the West Coast.” She turned. “Ethan, it’s Amanda’s first time living in a dorm. Your schools are close. Help her out with dorm stuff, keep an eye on her.” Ethan said nothing. He just accepted it. I thought about my last birthday. They said the family was too busy, they’d make it up on the weekend. Amanda said she’d accidentally picked up my cake order—a strawberry cake with her name on it now. I sat alone in my unlit room. Ethan climbed through the window and brought me a tiny cream cake. Scrawled on it, crooked letters, [Summer.] He said, “It’s okay if everyone else forgot. I remembered.” I cried so hard. He wiped my tears and said, “Summer, from now on, I’ll always stand behind you.” I guess words like “always” really can’t be trusted. After dinner, Ethan followed me to the balcony. “Summer, did you hear something?” I leaned against the doorframe, not looking at him. “What do you think?” “I didn’t mean to lie to you.” “Then what were you doing?” “I just…” He paused a long time. “Amanda needs someone to look after her more than you do.” I lifted my head. “So?” “So I’m staying in the city with her. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you. You go to the West Coast first. When you graduate, we’ll still—” “Still get married?” I finished for him. “Ethan, what do you think my four years of university are?” “I didn’t—” “You did.” I looked at him, word by word. “You thought I would just wait for you. Wait for you to finish taking care of Amanda. Wait for you to finally remember that you still had a Summer standing behind you.” From outside the balcony, Deborah’s voice suddenly rang out. “Amanda, what are you doing standing there? You’re so pale. Are you feeling unwell again?”

Amanda stood in the doorway. Tears instantly streamed down her face. “Summer, I never meant to steal Ethan away.” Ethan immediately spun around. “Amanda, don’t cry.” Amanda had just lifted a hand to wipe her tears when Deborah already stepped in front of her, shielding her. I hadn’t done anything. She cried, and I became the one who made her cry. Deborah wrapped an arm around her. “Summer, Amanda already feels terrible enough. Why do you have to push her like this?” My dad didn’t ask what happened. He just asked me, “Summer, what exactly do you want?” The people who lied to me were them. Yet somehow, I was the one who’d done wrong. But I didn’t want to ask anymore. In this house, no one was going to give me answers anyway. I turned and walked back to my room. As I closed the door, Ethan called after me. “Summer, wait for me to come back. I’ll explain everything properly.” I didn’t look back. I didn’t need explanations anymore. The next morning, my dad knocked on my door. I was stuffing the last few books into my suitcase. He looked at the suitcase and frowned. “What are you doing?” “Early check-in.” “Early check-in?” My dad let out a scoff. “Had a meltdown yesterday, and now you’re running away from home?” “It’s not running away. The school notified me.” “Don’t use the school to pressure me.” My dad walked in and nudged the edge of the suitcase with his foot. “Summer, you’re the older sister. You should act like it. Amanda and Noah are both younger than you. What’s the big deal about giving way for them a little?” I looked up at him. “Amanda is only two months younger than me.” “So what? She grew up struggling with her mom. She’s more sensitive than you.” “And me?” “You’ve had me raising you since you were little. You’ve never lacked food or clothing. What do you have to complain about?” I didn’t say anything more. But my dad seemed provoked by my silence. “Stop always putting on this victim act. Your mom passed away early. I raised you with my own two hands, and I gave you a whole family. What more could you possibly be unsatisfied with?” “A whole family?” I finally spoke. “Dad, do you really feel like this place is my home?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” My voice was very soft. “If this counts as a home, then I guess I really don’t know how to be satisfied.” My dad raised his hand, about to strike me. “Uncle Wilson.” Ethan stepped between me and my dad. “If she wants to check in early, that’s her choice. Don’t push her.” In that instant, it was like seeing the Ethan from when we were little. The one who would stand in front of me and say no one was allowed to bully me. But the next second, Amanda suddenly cried out from the living room. Deborah’s panicked voice followed, “Amanda can’t breathe! Her anxiety is acting up again!” Ethan’s face changed completely. He rushed out.

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On the night of my third anniversary with my boyfriend Adrian, he brought his first love, Lily, along. Someone suggested playing Never Have I Ever. A few rounds in, Lily’s cheeks were flushed pink from drinking. She laughed and said, “I’ve been pregnant with Adrian’s children.” The laughter in the private room died instantly. Lily’s tone carried a note of pride. “More than once. And every single time, he personally took me to the procedure.” Every pair of eyes in the room landed on me. I looked at Adrian. His face went white. His lips moved, but he didn’t say a single word to deny it. My phone screen was still lit up. In the chat window sat the message I’d been about to send him. “After tonight, what do you say we change what we are to each other?” That was my planned proposal hint. My finger hovered over the screen for a long time. In the end, I calmly deleted the message. I made an excuse about the restroom and booked the nearest flight to Paris from inside the stall. Adrian texted me. “Lily’s drunk. Come help her up. Don’t throw a tantrum.” I didn’t reply. At dawn, the plane took off. This time, I only bought myself a one-way ticket. After the plane landed, I turned on my phone. Adrian’s messages popped up one after another. “Emma, where are you?” “Lily threw up. You didn’t actually leave her alone in the bathroom, did you?” “It’s just a third anniversary. We can celebrate again next year. Don’t make a scene over something like this.” The last one was from three in the morning. “Where the hell did you go?” I stood in the terminal at Charles de Gaulle, dragging my suitcase, staring at those words for a few seconds. Then I typed two words back. “Work trip.” The moment the message sent, a call came through. I didn’t answer. He called again. On the third try, I picked up. Adrian’s voice was rough from a sleepless night. “Emma, where are you?” “Paris.” Silence on the other end for two seconds. “Are you out of your mind? Just because Lily said a few things while drunk, you fly to Paris in the middle of the night?” “That wasn’t drunk talk, was it.” His breathing stopped for a beat. I heard a lighter click, then quickly snap shut. “That was all in the past.” “Does being in the past mean it doesn’t count?” He seemed to lose patience. His tone went cold. “Emma, I’m not obligated to tell you every single thing that happened before I met you.” “Then I’m not obligated to stay.” Adrian was quiet for a moment, as if he’d finally reined in his temper. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. Send me your address, I’ll have my driver take you to a hotel. Get some rest. I’ll fly over tomorrow.” “No need.” “Emma. It’s been three years. You should know my boundaries by now. I don’t like people using disappearance as a threat.” I thought of how, in that private room last night, when Lily said those words, everyone had been staring at me. And Adrian hadn’t denied a thing. He just stayed silent. I gripped the handle of my suitcase. “Adrian, I’m not threatening you.” From the other end came Lily’s groggy voice. “Adrian, my head hurts…” Adrian immediately murmured to her, “Drink some water first.” When he spoke again, his tone held a layer of impatience. “You heard her. She drank too much last night. She’s still not feeling well. Can you not make things harder right now?” I let out a small laugh. “So me leaving counts as making things harder.” “Emma, you know that’s not what I meant.” “Then what did you mean?” He faltered. I didn’t wait for his answer. “Take care of her. I’m going to check in.” “Emma, don’t you dare hang up on me.” I hung up. The phone buzzed a few more times. I switched it to silent. My advisor’s assistant stood at the exit holding a name card. When she spotted me, she called my name in English. I walked over. She smiled and took my luggage. “Ms. Ward, welcome back. The gallery space is all set up. Professor Laurent says that if you’re willing to stay this time, the lead creative position will always be held for you.” I clutched the ring box inside my bag. Before last night, I’d planned to propose to Adrian on our third anniversary. That ring—I designed it myself. On the inside of the band, a tiny line of text was engraved. “Only You.” Now it sat at the bottom of my bag. “I’d like to stay.” The assistant beamed. “That’s wonderful.” My phone screen lit up again. Adrian. “Come back when you’re done throwing your fit. Lily has a follow-up appointment tomorrow. I don’t have time to coddle you.” I set the phone face down. This time, I didn’t look back.

I was halfway through the onboarding paperwork when Adrian’s video call came in. Professor Laurent glanced at my phone. “Need to take that?” I shook my head. “No.” The screen lit up and went dark, went dark and lit up again. The assistant slid the contract in front of me. “Ms. Ward, this collaboration requires your real name. The New York partner will also be publishing simultaneously—is that all right?” My fingertip paused. The partner was a jewelry brand under Cole Group. Three months ago, I was the one who’d brokered this project for Adrian. Back then he’d said, “Once this collab succeeds, we’ll get married.” I thought that was a promise. Now I knew—it was just a cheap gesture. I signed my name. “That’s fine.” The moment I set down the pen, Adrian’s message popped up. “Answer the phone.” I didn’t reply. A second later, Lily sent a friend request. The note was a single line. “Emma, Adrian’s going crazy trying to reach you. Don’t make him worry.” I hit accept. She quickly sent a photo. In the picture, Adrian sat in a hospital corridor, holding a payment receipt. Lily’s hand rested on his sleeve cuff, her nails painted pale pink. “Emma, don’t misunderstand. I’m just here for a checkup. My body was hurt in the past, and Adrian’s always felt guilty about it.” I didn’t reply. She sent another message. “I drank too much last night and spoke out of turn. If it bothered you, I can apologize.” Then she recalled a message. But I still saw it. “Though he really was so nervous back then. He signed the surgical consent forms himself.” I set my phone face down on the desk. Professor Laurent asked, “Not feeling well?” I said, “I’m fine.” He studied me for a few seconds, then handed me a design brief. “This is the theme New York proposed. It’s called Second Chance. See if you can work with it.” The instant I turned the page, I saw the note in the bottom right corner. Key visual reference: Lily Hart. I stared at those two words and almost laughed. Adrian really knew how to arrange things. I do the collab work for him, and he makes Lily the inspirational muse. That evening, back at the apartment, I’d barely unpacked when the doorbell rang. A courier handed me an international express package. Sender: Adrian Cole. Inside was a white cashmere scarf. And a note. “Paris is cold. Don’t catch a cold. Come back when you’ve calmed down.” The scarf was new, tags still on. But the smell was familiar. It was the perfume Lily had been wearing last night. I opened social media. Half an hour ago, Lily had posted a photo. “Someone bought two scarves. Said one’s for me, one’s for smoothing things over.” Someone teased in the comments. “Adrian still knows how to take care of everyone.” Lily replied: “Hardly. He just said my health is fragile, so he let me pick first.” I stuffed the scarf back into the box. Adrian’s call came again. This time I answered. His voice had softened slightly. “Got the package?” “Got it.” “Like it?” “Lily’s leftovers?” A beat of silence on his end. “Emma, do you really have to talk like that?” “How else should I talk?” He held back his anger. “I sent you something to make you feel better, not to give you ammunition.” “Adrian, you know I’m allergic to wool.” He sounded like he’d been caught off guard. A few seconds passed before he said, “I forgot.” I set the delivery box by the door. “Then next time, remember. Don’t bother sending anything.” “Emma.” His voice turned cold. “The collab project has an online meeting next week. You’d better get your emotions in check. Business is business—don’t drag personal issues into it.” I looked down at my signature on the contract. “Don’t worry.” I hung up, took the ring box out of my bag, and locked it in a drawer. As the key turned, my phone buzzed. Cole Fine Jewelry’s official account had posted a new update. “Second Chance collection launching soon. Special inspiration guest: Lily Hart.”

The online meeting was about to start. Adrian was ten minutes late. When the screen lit up, behind him was the Cole Group conference room. Lily sat beside him, draped in that white cashmere scarf. She smiled at the camera. “Emma, long time no see. You look so much thinner in Paris.” I opened my files. “Let’s begin.” Adrian frowned slightly. “You have nothing else to say?” I looked at him. “What would Mr. Cole like to hear?” The conference room went quiet. Adrian’s expression darkened half a shade. Lily immediately jumped in to smooth things over. “Adrian, don’t be like that. Emma’s still upset with me.” She pulled the scarf up a little, her voice perfectly soft. “Emma, what happened that night really was my fault. But what’s done is done. Don’t blame Adrian—he was in a difficult position back then too.” I capped my pen. “Ms. Hart, today we’re discussing design, not your medical history.” Someone on the other side ducked their head and coughed. Adrian’s eyes went cold. “Emma, watch your words.” I looked up. “She can publicly discuss these things at my third anniversary dinner, but I can’t ask her to stay on topic during a meeting?” Lily’s eyes immediately rimmed red. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought, since the theme is Second Chance, maybe my experience could help inform the design.” Adrian pushed a cup of warm water toward her. “Don’t cry.” Then he looked at me. “Lily is this project’s inspiration guest. You need to listen to her input.” I pulled up the design files. “Fine.” I shared my draft on screen. “I’m proposing we change the theme to The Break. Past love isn’t reunion—it’s misalignment. The band splits in the center, joined by cold white gold, leaving the gap visually intact. It’s not about wholeness. It’s about acknowledging that beauty still exists after something has broken.” Cole Group’s marketing director’s eyes lit up. “This concept is elevated. Much more memorable.” But Lily gave a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t a gap feel too unlucky, though? Didn’t Adrian say he wants this collection to have a touch of regret but still end in something whole?” Adrian studied the screen, his tone flat. “Change it to a complete circle.” I said, “A full circle has no hook.” “What clients want is sales, not your emotions.” He tapped the table. “Emma, you’ve been unstable lately. Don’t be stubborn.” I looked at his hands. Those hands once held mine while we sketched ring designs together. He’d said, “Your designs have thorns and light. That’s what I love most.” Now he wanted me to pull out the thorns and accommodate Lily’s wholeness. Professor Laurent spoke up from beside me. “Mr. Cole, Emma’s concept is more aligned with international market aesthetics.” Adrian’s expression didn’t change. “The North American market is Cole Group’s responsibility. I said change it.” Lily murmured, “Maybe forget it. Emma doesn’t like me. She won’t accept anything I suggest.” Adrian looked at me. “Apologize to Lily.” I thought I’d misheard. “What?” “She was only offering a suggestion. You embarrassed her in front of everyone.” I laughed. “Adrian, you’re asking me to apologize to her in a meeting?” “This is a professional setting.” “So?” He fixed his gaze on me, enunciating every word. “So don’t make me think you lack basic professional decorum.” No one in the room spoke. I closed the screen share. “Ms. Hart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have underestimated your ability to package personal drama as professional input.” Lily’s face went white. Adrian shot to his feet. “Emma!” I pulled out my earbuds. “That’s all for today. I’ll send revision notes in writing.” Before I disconnected, I heard Adrian’s voice, tight with fury. “You’d better think carefully about the consequences.” The screen went dark. Professor Laurent was quiet for a moment, then said, “Did he always talk to you like that?” I looked at my hands. My fingertips were ice cold. “No.” Before, he used to introduce me to everyone. He’d say, “This is Emma Ward. The most important person in my life—and the best designer I know.” Somewhere along the way, the most important person became an external consultant who could be dressed down in public. My phone screen lit up. A message from Adrian. “Formally apologize to Lily before tonight, or the lead creative will be reassigned.” I stared at it for a long time, then replied. “Go ahead.” Five minutes later, a Cole Group internal email was cc’d to my inbox. Lead Designer: Lily Hart. Special Consultant: Emma Ward.

The launch event was set for one week later. Cole Group required me to fly back to New York for it. Professor Laurent placed the invitation on my desk. “You can refuse.” I looked at the words “Special Consultant” on the card. “I’ll go.” He frowned. “Emma, you don’t need to endure this kind of humiliation.” I took the ring box from the drawer and slipped it into my bag. “Some things need to be returned in person.” The day I flew back to New York, Adrian came to pick me up at the airport. He wore a black overcoat, standing in the crowd, his features sharp and cold. When he saw me, he reached for my luggage. I stepped aside. His hand hung in midair. His expression tightened. “Still not done with the theatrics?” I pulled my suitcase toward the exit. He followed. “The lead creative thing—you brought that on yourself. If you’d just given Lily a proper apology, I could’ve switched the name back.” “No need.” “Emma.” He caught my wrist. Not hard, but impossible to shake off. “You didn’t used to be like this.” I looked at him. “You didn’t used to put another woman in my place.” Something flickered in Adrian’s eyes, but he recovered quickly. “Lily’s just filling in temporarily. Her health isn’t great. Her career’s just getting started. I’m giving her a hand.” I nodded. “You’ve always been so good at giving her a hand.” “How long are you going to keep dredging up the past?” “Until I stop caring, I guess.” He released my wrist, as if my words had stung him. After we got in the car, Lily turned around from the passenger seat. “Emma, what a coincidence—I just happened to come pick you up too.” She was wearing Adrian’s jacket. The sleeves were too long, covering the backs of her hands. Adrian reached over and fastened her seatbelt. “She gets carsick. She sits up front.” I got into the back seat without a word. Halfway there, Lily suddenly pressed her hand to her lower abdomen. “Adrian, it hurts a little.” Adrian immediately pulled over. “Where’s your medicine?” “In my bag.” He rummaged through her bag with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. Lily watched me through the rearview mirror, her voice soft. “Emma, don’t mind me. The surgeries left some lingering issues. Adrian’s used to taking care of me by now.” I looked out the window. Adrian’s hand paused as he retrieved the pills. “Lily.” She immediately went quiet, her eyes turning red. “Sorry. I said the wrong thing again.” Adrian didn’t scold her. He only murmured, “Drink some water.” Backstage at the launch event, everyone was scrambling. I’d just finished changing when a staff member brought over a badge. “Ms. Ward, here’s your seat assignment.” I looked down. Special Consultant. Second row, end seat. Lily walked over. Her badge read Lead Designer. She touched the nameplate on her chest. “Emma, honestly, I didn’t expect Adrian to trust me this much either.” She leaned in a little. “But don’t worry. I won’t take what’s yours.” I looked at her. “Haven’t you taken enough?” Her smile faded slightly. “That was his choice to give.”

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Ethan was arrested in a brawl for the seventh time—once again, throwing punches on behalf of my best friend, Sofia. By the time I got to the precinct, his face was a patchwork of bruises. He had one arm slung around Sofia’s shoulders, and he was already barking orders at me before I’d even set down my bag. “Yan, go handle the bail paperwork. Sofia’s shaken up—I need to stay with her.” Sofia was curled into his chest, sobbing into his shirt. “I’m sorry. Someone was following me again. I didn’t know who else to call…” “It’s not your fault.” Ethan tipped his head down, his voice gone soft, the way you’d calm a frightened child. “Next time something like this happens, I’ll step in the same way.” Only then did he lift his eyes to me—matter-of-fact, as though what he was about to say went without saying. “Yan won’t mind. Right?” I said nothing. I just stood there under the fluorescent lights of the station, watching my husband hold another woman against his chest. The officer behind the counter slid a stack of forms toward me. “Bail’s set at four thousand. This is his seventh violent arrest—the DA’s office is paying attention now. Under state law, we’re likely looking at an upgrade to a felony. If convicted, he’s staring down three to five years, plus a permanent restraining order.” I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag. “Will he be held until arraignment?” “Bail hearing’s tomorrow. Judge decides.” The officer gave me a level look. “With a sheet like his, I wouldn’t be counting on leniency.” I didn’t sign. I laid a hand over the small curve of my belly, turned, and walked out. An hour before, I’d still been telling myself that the baby growing inside me deserved a father. That I didn’t want to raise my child in a broken home. Looking back—what a spectacular kind of stupid that had been. Some things—some people—belong in the trash. … I hadn’t made it more than two steps past the doors before Ethan caught up. His fingers closed around my wrist. “Yan, why didn’t you sign?” I looked at him, calm as glass. “Ethan, you’re thirty-two years old. Not twelve.” “Six violent arrests. As a grown man, you can start learning to handle your own consequences.” Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. Sofia came stumbling out behind him, eyes red and streaming, and caught my hand in both of hers. “I’m so sorry, Yan, this is all my fault. Someone was following me again tonight and I panicked and I called Ethan—I didn’t know what else to do…” Still crying, she slapped herself hard across the face. “It’s all because of me. I’d rather get harassed a hundred times than come between you two—” “Stop that.” Ethan caught her wrist before she could hit herself again, folding her into his chest with the fluid ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before—because he had. “I already told you. It’s not your fault. I’m a man. I’m not going to just stand there and watch something happen to you.” Then, without missing a beat: “Yan, don’t do this. Go sign the papers. And apologize to Sofia while you’re at it.” I said nothing. I just looked at him—this man I’d loved for ten years. Ten years ago, we’d met because he saved me. A drunk had been trailing me down the street, and Ethan came out of nowhere—grabbed my hand, pulled me in against his side, pretended to be someone I knew, and walked me somewhere safe. In that moment, I gave him my whole heart. I loved how steady he was, how unshakable. But in all the years since, he had never once thrown a punch for me. Even when my project manager cornered me in the office and put his hand where it didn’t belong, all Ethan did was frown and offer counsel. “Let it go, Yan. If you make a scene, it’ll follow your name around. It’s a small industry.” And yet, for Sofia, he broke his own rules over and over. The first time had been for her ex-boyfriend, who’d broken into her apartment in the middle of the night with the clear intent to hurt her. Ethan got the call at one a.m., drove straight there, and beat the man until his ribs cracked. At the station afterward, he’d said, with total conviction: “Yan, I know I was reckless. But she’s your best friend. I couldn’t just stand there.” Then he pulled me into his arms, his voice going soft. “Your poor husband might be looking at prison time. You wouldn’t really let that happen, would you?” I had clenched my fist so hard the wedding band cut into my palm. But that pain reminded me of what we were. Husband and wife. I couldn’t let him go to prison. Sofia had wept until her face was swollen that night, clinging to my hand. “Yan, you two saved my life. I owe you both. Forever.” But then it happened again. And again. Ethan broke his rules for her. Over and over. And every time, afterward, he’d swear to me: That was the last one, Yan. I promise. No more. This time, something in me was simply done. I pushed his hand away. “Ethan. Four thousand dollars is not pocket change.” “I’m four months along. I’m saving every cent I can for the baby—daycare, checkups, everything. I don’t have that kind of cash lying around.” What I didn’t say: I was also quietly setting money aside for a lawyer. From here on out, all of this was his to sort through. Not mine.

His face changed on a dime. His voice dropped low, dangerous. “What about the money I hand you every month, Yan? Where the hell is it all going?” I let out a quiet, tired laugh, reached into my bag, and pulled out a small ledger. Every entry, meticulous. His mother’s long-term stay at the rehab facility—over ninety thousand. The Lexus I’d bought him last year—eighty. His business dinners and country club dues—fifteen thousand, give or take. And then, of course: the medical bills and bail money from the previous six times he’d played hero for Sofia. A little over sixty thousand. At the very bottom of the page, in cramped little numbers, was what I’d spent on myself during the pregnancy—prenatal vitamins, appointments, a maternity bra or two. A few hundred dollars. Pitiful, really. Ethan’s brows drew together. “What about the company accounts?” “The last project blew up. We poured everything we had into plugging the hole. What’s left is locked in CDs. Early withdrawal comes with a penalty.” I kept my voice level. “But then, you’ve been so busy driving Sofia to her therapy appointments, I imagine the company slipped your mind.” Sofia’s crying kicked up another notch. Ethan could only stroke her hair with one hand while snapping at me with the other: “Just borrow it from someone, Yan—I’ll pay it back! Sofia is not in a good place right now!” I told him to give me a minute. I went back inside and came out with a document. “I’ll run it through the company account. Sign here, and finance can push the transfer through.” He didn’t so much as glance at it. He just signed. I calmly tucked the document away, paid his bail, and turned to leave. Behind me, Ethan called: “I’m going to drop Sofia off first. It’s dark—she shouldn’t be alone.” I didn’t answer. He’d forgotten that I was alone, too. Four months pregnant. Dark streets. Icy sidewalks. All of it just as dangerous for me as it was for her. But the second Sofia was in the picture, nothing else registered. I walked home. Slowly. Then I packed a bag. Then I called my lawyer. “He signed the divorce agreement. He doesn’t know it yet.” The next second, the front door opened. Ethan was back, exhaustion pooling under his eyes, a bag of my favorite Chinese takeout hooked over one finger. “You must be starving. How did the checkup go today?” “Fine.” “Don’t take the Sofia thing to heart, okay?” He paused. There was something almost like guilt in it. “You remember when the company was on the ropes? Sofia was the one who fronted the money to keep us afloat. We can’t just forget something like that. Helping her out is the least we can do.” I went very still. Because when the company had been hemorrhaging money, on the verge of collapse, it hadn’t been Sofia at all. It had been me. I’d sold off my own design patent to cover the shortfall. I’d asked Sofia to hand him the money because I didn’t want to bruise his pride. I never told him where it had really come from. And this whole time, he’d carried around this quiet, grateful debt to a woman who’d done nothing. But I didn’t feel like explaining anymore. Ethan cupped my cheek. “Alright. This really was the last time. I swear to you—no more running off to be the hero.” But the moment he mentioned the man who’d supposedly been following Sofia, his eyes turned to flint. The rage in them was impossible to miss. I gently pulled my face out of his hand. “You’re hurting me.” He let go at once, his voice softening. “Alright. Get some rest. The baby needs sleep, too.” He scooped me up and carried me to bed. He warmed a mug of milk and pressed it into my hands. He rubbed my feet for half an hour. He lit the lavender oil diffuser on the nightstand. Then he laid his palm gently over my belly. “Get some sleep in there, little one. Don’t give Mommy a hard time. Daddy loves you.” He’d done every single one of these things, every single night, for the four months I’d been pregnant. Something tightened in my chest until it hurt to breathe. Every time we fought about Sofia, he did this. The small tender gestures. The rituals. And every time, they softened me. Made me want to give him one more chance. I looked, silently, toward the drawer where the divorce papers were waiting. Maybe—maybe—if this really was the last time, I could believe him one more time. One in the morning. The phone shattered the quiet. I jolted awake, but Ethan was faster—he had it to his ear before I’d fully opened my eyes. On the other end, a woman was shrieking. “Okay. Okay—breathe. I’m on my way.” Ethan threw on his jacket and bolted for the door. “What happened?” “Something happened to Sofia. I have to go.” My stomach dropped. Ignoring his protests, I grabbed my coat and followed him. “I’m coming. Just to make sure you don’t put anyone else in the hospital.” His expression darkened. “I won’t.” He drove to Sofia’s apartment building, produced a key from his pocket, and let himself in like he owned the place. Sofia was standing in the middle of the living room in a sheer lace nightgown. The second she saw him, she launched herself into his arms, her voice a high, terrified thing. “Ethan—thank God you came. There was a man—he climbed in through the window—I was so scared. But I fought him off. I did. I didn’t want to bother you this time…” “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Ethan stroked her back like she was made of spun glass. “You did great. You protected yourself.” Sofia gave him a watery, brave little smile. “It’s because of those self-defense moves you taught me.” I spoke, my voice quiet. “Where is he now?”

Both of them turned to look at me. Sofia let go of Ethan at once and shrank in on herself, small and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Yan. Did—did I interrupt something between you two again?” I pulled out my phone and started dialing. “Since somebody broke into your apartment, why don’t I go ahead and call the police for you. That work?” “Yan.” Ethan’s voice was low and furious. “She just went through something traumatic. Calling the cops right now will send her over the edge. How can you not see that?” I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “So we just do nothing? Sofia, every time something happens to you, the first person you think to call is never the police. It’s my husband. Every single time.” Her face went bloodless. “I—I don’t really know anyone else in this city. Just you two, so—” “Your building has security cameras on every floor. It’s a high-end complex. Anyone with the skill to come in through a window on the fifth story isn’t some random creep. If you don’t file a report, this will happen again.” I cut her off and hit the call button. The next second, Ethan snatched the phone out of my hand and hurled it against the floor. Crack. The screen splintered into a spiderweb of fractures, catching a distorted version of his face. “Enough.” “She is your best friend. Would you stop being so goddamn hostile.” I stood there, frozen. He turned back to Sofia and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m going to stay here tonight. Just in case he comes back.” Then, without looking at me: “Yan. Go home.” I looked at him for a long moment. “Ethan. If you stay here with her tonight, I want a divorce.” His face went the color of old iron. “You really want to make a scene?” “I’m not making a scene.” “She’s your best friend. She’s in danger. I am not walking out on that.” “She’s also a woman.” I let my eyes settle on Sofia, cold. “And I don’t accept my husband spending the night alone with another woman.” “Sofia—I don’t have a key to your apartment. Why does my husband? Aren’t we supposed to be the close ones here? Or was the plan from day one that Ethan could come and go from your place any time he pleased—as long as I didn’t find out?” Sofia swayed on her feet, her face draining to chalk. “Last time he dropped me off, I just—I thought it would be more convenient if he had a spare… Ethan, please, just go home with Yan. I don’t want you two fighting because of me…” Then her knees buckled. She clutched at his shoulder like she might collapse. Ethan swept her up into his arms. When he spoke, his voice was ice. “Stop making things up. All I’m doing is staying here. I’ll sit in the living room. I’ll video-call you the whole time. Yan—your mind is filthy.” He carried her into the bedroom without looking back. The door slammed behind them hard enough to rattle the frame. I turned and walked out. Outside, the wind was arctic. Two in the morning. Not a taxi in sight. So I walked. Four miles, one foot in front of the other, all the way home. Pregnancy had already left my feet swollen. By the time I reached the apartment, both were rubbed raw, blistered and bleeding through my socks. Tears slid down my face without a sound. I thought of the year he’d loved me most. The college track meet, when I’d twisted my ankle at the finish line. He’d just finished running his own thousand meters, chest still heaving, and he hadn’t hesitated—he’d hoisted me onto his back and run me all the way to the campus clinic. And now this same man had left me to walk home alone in the dead of winter. What a joke. I pulled out the divorce agreement and signed my name in hard, deliberate strokes. Then I bought a plane ticket to Seattle for three days out. Ethan. I’m cutting off your way back.

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As a travel influencer with forty million followers, I revealed Ryan Cole during my peak traffic hours. Just a single photo of his face pulled in over eight million likes. The comments were all asking the same thing—was he my boyfriend? I confirmed it outright. But barely half a day later, the tide turned completely. My comment section was flooded with mockery and abuse. “He just did a livestream with his girlfriend and said he doesn’t even know you. How’s that slap in the face feel?” “Go check out the Ryan&Zoe account. They’re the cutest couple ever. You’re posting someone else’s boyfriend and claiming he’s yours? Bullying a smaller creator just because she has fewer followers?” I froze for a few seconds, then followed the account name mentioned in the comments. It had three hundred thousand followers. The account belonged to Zoe Lane—a girl Ryan had grown up with since childhood. I screenshotted it and sent it to Ryan, demanding an explanation. His tone was dismissive. “Zoe doesn’t have many followers. Her account’s been stagnant forever. I’m just doing some couple-style content with her to help her grow.” “It’s not a big deal. Don’t take it to heart.” He said he didn’t like filming videos, didn’t like showing his face, didn’t want to be on camera—yet he turned around and shot over a dozen couple clips with Zoe, even livestreaming together. Even that one photo I’d posted—I’d had to beg him for two weeks before he reluctantly agreed. I hung up in silence and deleted the photo. Fine. I’d step aside for them. Within an hour, I lost nearly a hundred and fifty thousand followers. Meanwhile, Zoe’s account gained over a hundred thousand. I clicked into her page again. Ten minutes ago, she’d posted a new photo. It was a picture of her and Ryan together. Neither of them was looking at the camera. They were gazing at each other, smiling. Just that one simple photo—in ten minutes, the comments had already surpassed a thousand, likes had crossed twenty thousand, and the numbers were still climbing. I opened the comments and saw the pinned account. No need to guess. It was Ryan. The comments were all screaming that this was the real couple. Someone mentioned me. “Never thought a big influencer would post someone else’s boyfriend and try to claim him. Isn’t that right, @Emma Reed?” That comment shot straight to the top. I replied to her. “Sure. Whatever you say.” Because of that single line, my DMs were invaded all over again. This time it wasn’t just mockery—there were curses and things far more vicious. People even dug through my old videos, dissecting every caption word by word, insisting I’d always been problematic. Several brand partners messaged me, wanting to terminate our collaborations. They said the controversy around me had damaged their brand image and demanded I compensate them for their losses. That evening, Ryan came home carrying a blueberry ice cream cake—my favorite. He walked over and set the cake on the table. “Still mad?” His tone was the same as always—exasperated, like he was coaxing someone being unreasonable. “It’s just some couple-style content. It’s not like I’m actually with her.” Just some couple-style content? When I wanted to go public, he said it was a hassle. Said he didn’t want to show his face, didn’t want to film videos with me. So his biggest concession had been that one photo. Ryan had never used any of these platforms, never even registered an account. After that photo went up, he didn’t even acknowledge it. “Stop being upset,” Ryan said. “Zoe’s account has been lukewarm forever. This was her idea to fix that. You know what she and I are—I’m just helping her make content.” Of course I knew. Ryan and Zoe had grown up together. They roughhoused and bickered like family. Zoe always said she was nothing more than Ryan’s buddy—a bro-type friend—and couldn’t possibly be into him. So when she found out Ryan and I were together, she let out a scoff and asked me with exaggerated disbelief: “What do you even see in him?” She clicked her tongue twice, laughing so hard she doubled over. “Ryan still wet his pants at six years old. Had one dream during puberty and panicked about it all day.” “You probably don’t know this, but the first time I wore a spaghetti-strap dress, his face turned red as a tomato. Ha!” It wasn’t until Ryan got angry that she reluctantly shut up. That was supposedly their relationship. I looked at Ryan. “Do you have any idea what people are saying about me right now? The brands I work with have been affected by this too—they’re all terminating their contracts. My reputation is ruined, and I have to pay breach-of-contract penalties.” Ryan clearly didn’t think the money mattered. He clicked his tongue. “How much? I’ll transfer it to you.” “Ryan, this isn’t about money.” I closed my eyes, then opened them. My chest felt blocked, a dull, suffocating ache. Hearing me say that, Ryan’s patience was visibly running out. “Then what do you want?” “Zoe finally has some momentum. If we clear things up now, she’ll definitely be affected.” “I promise you—once her account is fully established, I’ll set the record straight.” I looked at him. He was worried about Zoe being affected. But it never once crossed his mind that I might be affected too. Especially when I’d gone public with him at the peak of my career. I opened my mouth to speak, but Zoe’s video call came through first. Ryan raised his hand, cutting off whatever I was about to say. He answered the call. Zoe’s voice came through from the other end. “Ryan, are you free right now? The fans want to see us livestream. I’m almost at your place.” Ryan instinctively glanced at me. Zoe raised an eyebrow, her tone light and breezy. “Oh, Emma’s there too? It’s just a livestream. She shouldn’t mind, right?” “She has nothing to mind.” Ryan answered for me. “You know the code. Just let yourself in when you get here.” After he hung up, I spoke. “Why does she know our door code?” Ryan said, “Last time she was too lazy to go home, so she crashed here for a night.” As if remembering something, he added: “When Zoe gets here, don’t make a face. It’ll affect the livestream.” I looked at Ryan. And suddenly, I had nothing left to say.

Zoe was livestreaming downstairs. I stayed in the bedroom and logged into her stream on my secondary account. The viewer count had already surpassed a hundred thousand and was still climbing. Zoe was leaning against Ryan’s chest, happily eating that blueberry cake. Someone asked if she and Ryan were really a couple. Zoe casually nudged Ryan with her elbow. “Babe, the fans are asking—are we a real couple?” The gesture was so natural. Zoe used to say that she and Ryan had been around each other for so long that certain habits had just formed. She told me not to mind it, to just think of her as one of the guys. On screen, Ryan ruffled her hair. He smiled and said, “Of course we’re a real couple.” After he said it, Zoe scooped up a bite of cake and held it to his lips. Ryan didn’t hesitate. He opened his mouth and ate it. But I remembered—Ryan didn’t like sweets. Every time I bought cake and asked him to try a bite, he always refused. If I asked too many times, he’d get irritated. Eventually, I stopped asking. So it wasn’t that he didn’t like sweets. He just didn’t like them from me. The comments were flying fast. Several mentioned me. “What’s the deal with you and Emma? Is she delusional, or is she the other woman?” Ryan saw it. “What relationship…” I held my breath. I wanted to know too. After seven years together, what exactly were we to Ryan? After a long pause, he smiled and said, “No relationship. I don’t know her.” I froze. Then I laughed. Seven years, and all it amounted to was “I don’t know her.” “LOL, she literally posted your photo saying you were her boyfriend and that you didn’t have an account. This woman can’t say a single true thing.” Back then, people had tried to dig up Ryan’s account. I told them he’d never registered one and didn’t use these platforms. That was the truth. But now, the truth had become evidence used against me. My heart felt like a chunk had been carved out of it. Ryan had no intention of explaining anything for me. Instead, it was Zoe who smiled and said: “Let’s not bring up other people in the stream. Talk about something else.” Ryan gave her an indulgent smile. He ruffled her hair again. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?” Zoe blinked playfully. “Then let’s talk about how we got together.” “Okay.” Ryan agreed. I exited the livestream. After the room went quiet, the laughter from downstairs became even clearer. Two hours later, Ryan knocked on the bedroom door. He wasn’t consulting me. He was informing me. “It’s too late now. Let Zoe stay here tonight. She’ll sleep in the guest room.” After he said it, Zoe peeked out from behind him and draped herself over his shoulder. She smiled at me. “Emma, you don’t mind, right? If you really mind, I can head home now.” Ryan frowned. “It’s this late. It’s not safe for a girl to go back alone.” Zoe glanced at me, her tone loaded with meaning: “Well, unsafe or not, if Emma doesn’t agree, I’ll still have to leave.” “You’re not going anywhere.” Ryan’s voice left no room for argument. “You’re sleeping here.” “But Emma…” She paused at just the right moment, leaving the rest unsaid. Ryan looked at me. “Emma, you—” I cut him off. “Whatever. I don’t care.” Ryan let out a breath of relief. “See? She doesn’t mind.” “Then thank you, Emma,” Zoe said. “Don’t worry. I really do think of him as a brother. Nothing’s going to happen.” I said nothing. Ryan came back into the room, grabbed some clothes, and was heading for the bathroom. I called out to him. “Ryan.” He turned to look at me. But I didn’t continue. My phone screen was still lit. On it was the message I’d just sent to a real estate agent. This house—the one we’d planned to get married in—I didn’t want it anymore.

After the real estate agent came to view the property, he gave me a rough estimate. “If you’re in a rush to sell, the price will be a bit below market value. Is that acceptable?” I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I need it sold fast.” After seeing the agent out, I noticed Zoe’s account had posted something new. I tapped on it. This time, it wasn’t Zoe on camera. It was Ryan. In the video, Zoe’s voice was cheerful. “Come see today’s lunch—prepared by the handsome Ryan himself.” “I suppose I’ll manage some expectations.” She narrated while filming Ryan cooking. Most of the time, the camera was pointed directly at Ryan’s face. Ryan didn’t like being filmed. He didn’t like cooking either. So my camera had never been pointed at him. When neither of us had time to cook, we’d just order delivery. Seven years, and that had never changed. Riding the wave of couple content with Ryan, Zoe’s followers quickly climbed to four million. Looking at her page—from the couple videos to the solo videos of Ryan—I finally realized just how obvious his double standard had been all along. I didn’t finish watching. I closed out of the app. When I switched back to my main account, my phone lagged for a moment. My DMs were filled with ridicule and insults. Even without opening them, I could guess how ugly the messages were. I glanced at my follower count. In just three days, I’d lost over three million. Originally, I’d created this account to document my life with Ryan. But Ryan wouldn’t have it. He said he didn’t like putting his private life on the internet. So eventually, I pivoted to travel content. I loved documenting different cities, different landscapes, loved uncovering the history and stories behind each place. My followers had built up little by little, exactly that way. And it was probably because of that—me being so busy, always away—that Ryan and I constantly fought. He complained I was never home. So I decided to pause my work at the peak of my career. To stay with him. To go public with him. And he turned around and started making couple content with Zoe. My phone buzzed. I snapped back to reality and saw Ryan’s message. “Emma, I’m going to Seattle with Zoe to film a video. About a week. I’ll bring you back a gift.” Before I could reply, another message came through—a voice note. It wasn’t his voice. It was Zoe’s. She said, all giggly: “Emma, don’t worry. I promise I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure no other girls get their hooks in.” “But this trip is a couple’s travel vlog, so we might have to share a room. Hope you don’t mind. But relax—we’re just friends.” I curled my lip in a sneer and didn’t reply. Shortly after, Ryan’s call came through. The moment I picked up, his impatient voice hit my ear. “Didn’t you see the message? Why didn’t you reply?” He didn’t even ask if I was busy. His very first words were an accusation. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, the sound of an airport boarding announcement reached me from his end. That’s when I realized—he wasn’t asking for my opinion. He’d simply remembered, at the last second, that he should let me know. His words came rapid-fire: “Zoe and I are heading to Seattle to shoot a video. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I’ll bring you something back. Gotta go.” I opened my mouth. “Ryan, let’s break u—” The call was already disconnected.

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Five years engaged, and my fiancé Lucien Blake claimed he had prosopagnosia—face blindness. Said he could never remember what I looked like. So I could be found in a crowd, I wore red for five years straight. Kept a string of silver bells on my wrist. Everyone in the Blake family knew: red dress, silver bells—that was Emily Carter, the future wife of the Don. Yet every time I stood before Lucien, he’d frown and ask, “Who are you?” Until the day of the warehouse fire. A collapsing shelf shattered my leg, and I crawled toward him drenched in blood. I cried out to him: “Lucien, it’s me—help me…” But he lifted his foot, crushed the silver bells on my wrist, and charged into the smoke—straight to a woman huddled in the corner. She hadn’t called his name. No red dress. No silver bells. Half her face was blackened with soot. Yet he knelt before her, eyes red-rimmed, and whispered, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” I lay there in the sea of fire, watching my fiancé shield my foster sister as they walked away step by step. That was the moment I finally understood. He wasn’t face-blind. He’d simply never considered me someone worth remembering. Fine, then. I didn’t want him either. … I woke in a private hospital, my left leg locked in an external fixator. The doctor leaned over and asked the nurse, “The second surgery needs to happen soon. Has the family signed off?” The nurse checked the file. Emergency contact: Lucien Blake. I’d barely closed my eyes when Lucien’s voice drifted in from the hallway. The doctor stepped out. “Are you this patient’s family?” A beat of silence beyond the door. “No.” His voice was certain. My fingers curled involuntarily, catching the IV needle. I sucked in a breath at the sting. The doctor frowned. “Her condition is unstable. The leg can’t wait—she needs surgery now.” Lucien said, “I don’t know her.” Five years engaged, and all I got was I don’t know her. The nurse gripped her phone tighter. “But her file lists you as her fiancé.” Lucien didn’t answer. He turned to his lieutenant instead. “Is Sophia awake? Has the therapist arrived? She went through a fire as a child—she can’t handle any more triggers.” The doctor couldn’t help himself: “And what about this patient? She inhaled heavy smoke and dragged herself a long way on a broken leg.” Lucien lowered his voice. “Move her somewhere farther away. If Sophia wakes up and hears anything about fire or blood, she’ll break down.” I smiled bitterly. So in his mental hierarchy, I would always rank behind Sophia. The next second, Daniel—that fool who’d been silently watching over me all this time—burst through the door and grabbed my hand. “Emily, I’ll sign. Let me sign.” I opened my mouth to speak, but only air escaped my throat. From the next room came Sophia’s crying. “Is it because of me that you didn’t recognize Emily? Is that why she got hurt and no one helped her? God, I’m the worst.” As the gurney wheeled me past Sophia’s room toward surgery, I heard him say to her: “It’s not your fault. Don’t think about it.” After surgery, I opened my eyes to a message from Lucien on my phone. [Sophia had nightmares all night. Don’t upset her again. I didn’t recognize you this time—sorry.] Daniel sat at my bedside and handed me a tablet. “A clip from the warehouse security footage leaked. I wasn’t going to show you.” On screen, the shelving collapsed. I lay on the ground, reaching toward Lucien. He looked down at me. Paused for three seconds. Then lifted his foot and crushed the silver bells on my wrist. In the corner, Sophia’s face was blackened with soot. She hadn’t called out. She wore no marker of any kind. Yet Lucien walked straight to her, knelt, and gathered her into his arms. Daniel’s voice was hoarse, indignant on my behalf. “He recognized her.” I noticed the obsidian clasp on Sophia’s wrist, and my fingers went ice-cold. That was a keepsake from Lucien’s mother. For five years, he’d never let me touch it. Said it was too precious—afraid I’d lose it. And now Sophia was wearing it. There had been times before when Lucien mistook family captains for strangers, or called waitresses by my name. I’d believed him. Even made excuses for him when things didn’t add up. But for five years, whenever he failed to recognize me, his eyes never wavered. Never showed confusion. He simply opened his mouth and asked: “Who are you?” I finally understood. It wasn’t that he’d fooled me once. I’d been covering for him for five years.

The day I was discharged, Daniel wanted to take me to his safe house. I said, “Take me to Lucien’s first.” He gripped the steering wheel and looked at me, his tone wounded. “You’re still going to see him?” “I need my documents. And the old Carter family records.” Daniel was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Emily, you don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. You have me.” I stared out the window and didn’t answer. Back at the Blake estate, I pushed open the door. Sophia sat in the living room drinking coffee. My holster lay beside her. My red coat was draped over her shoulders. She looked up, stood casually, and said, “Emily, you’re back. Lucien’s worried I’ll have nightmares again, so he asked me to stay here a few days.” Sophia was the girl my father had adopted years ago. He’d pulled her from the fire at the old port, brought her into the Carter family, given her a name, a home, and protection. But she’d never been grateful. She wanted to take everything that was mine. I braced myself against the doorframe. Didn’t step inside. Lucien was coming out of the study. He saw me and frowned. “Who are you?” The air froze. My thin fingers tightened on the doorframe. Sophia couldn’t help it—she let out a small laugh. “Lucien, that’s Emily.” Daniel’s expression darkened. “She’s your fiancée. Because you saved someone else, she’s got steel rods in her leg, and the first thing you say is who are you?” Lucien’s face stiffened. His tone softened as he turned to me. “Sorry. The prosopagnosia.” The same old excuse. But this time, miraculously, my heart didn’t ache. “It was chaotic. I couldn’t tell who was who.” “Sophia wasn’t wearing red. She didn’t have silver bells. So how did you know it was her?” Before Lucien could answer, Sophia’s eyes reddened. “Emily, I’m sorry. Maybe it’s because Lucien knows I went through the fire at the old port as a child—he knows I’m terrified of flames, so he got me out first.” Her pitiful look ignited Lucien’s anger completely. He pulled Sophia behind him. “You know she has trauma, and you’re interrogating her to her face!” I lifted my head to look at him. “And my broken leg—what does that count for?” His expression shifted. He shut his mouth. Sophia lowered her head. “Maybe I should move out. The Carter family succession meeting is coming up soon. I don’t want to cause problems for Emily.” Lucien stopped her. “You’re not going anywhere.” He looked at me. “Sophia is also an adopted daughter of the Carter family. She has every right to sit in.” “Emily, stop being difficult.” He stared at me, expecting me to give in like I always had—to sigh, then nod. But I looked at him and said, evenly, “Lucien Blake, we’re done. The engagement is off.”

His face changed. “Think carefully.” “The Carter family’s port permits, shipping ledgers, and the protection agreement your father left behind—they’re all still in Blake family hands.” I looked at him and smiled. “So you knew from the very beginning. I wasn’t the one who couldn’t leave you. You’ve been holding the entire Carter family over my head this whole time.” Daniel clenched his jaw. I pressed my hand against his wrist to hold him back. I could feel him trembling. He wanted to confront Lucien even more than I did. But he looked down at me and waited. Let me decide for myself. I held him back and walked into the study to collect my things. The engagement photo was gone from the wall. My red clothes had been stuffed into a cardboard box. The broken silver bells were in a plastic bag. Sophia stood in the doorway, expression smug, looking at me with undisguised contempt. “I was worried the color red would remind you of the fire, so I put them away for you.” The next second, the arrogance on her face morphed back into that pathetic, bullied look. “Don’t misunderstand—I wasn’t trying to take your place… Emily, I’m sorry…” She bowed her head. Lucien stepped in front of her. “She didn’t mean it. Stop assuming the worst about everyone.” As punishment, the next day the Blake family issued an internal directive. All my clearances were suspended. Lucien cited my “emotional instability” and recommended that Carter family operations temporarily defer to Sophia’s coordination. He was trying to hollow me out. … I returned to the old Carter family docks. My people swarmed around me immediately. “Emily, can we hold on to the North Port line?” “Are the brothers’ settlement payments getting delayed?” “When’s the protection money from the Blakes coming through?” I flipped to the last page of the ledger. If the Blake family cut funding, the Carter old guard could last half a month at most. Daniel stood outside the door. Didn’t come in. He was afraid of overstepping. Afraid I’d see through feelings he’d hidden for years. After dark, Lucien showed up at the docks. “Hand over the Carter family vault key to Sophia.” I raised my head. “What did you just say?” “Your leg can’t handle fieldwork right now. Sophia knows the Carter family’s old accounts. She can hold things together for you.” I clenched my fists. My father left me three things before he died. A voice recorder with his final words. A key to the Carter family vault. A loyalty roster of the Carter old guard. The recording was his voice, naming me as his successor. The key opened an underground vault containing shipping credentials, protection lists, and debt contracts. The loyalty roster held the names of everyone who’d bled beside him. These weren’t assets. They were the roots of the Carter family. Lucien pushed an authorization form in front of me. “Sign the temporary proxy. The succession meeting can’t wait.” I glanced at it. The authorizer line was blank. The proxy line read: Sophia. “No,” I said. Lucien frowned. “Don’t let pride make your decisions.” I pushed the document back. “My father left these to me. They aren’t resources for the Blake family to reassign.” He clenched his jaw. “We’ll be married eventually. Everything the Blakes have will be yours too.” “You don’t need to fight me over a few old keepsakes.” I asked him: “Are you really going to take my father’s dying words and use them to placate Sophia?” A ringtone cut through the tension. Lucien pulled out his phone and played a voice message. Sophia’s voice floated out: “Lucien, don’t pressure Emily. I just worry that without someone managing the Carter old guard, things will fall apart internally.” “If Emily doesn’t agree, then forget it.” Lucien killed the screen. “She was raised by your father too. You have the Carter heir’s seat—she deserves something as well.” What a joke. I looked at him, unflinching. “If your father also had a foster son, and your fiancée told you to hand over your inheritance—would you do it?” Lucien went silent. “I won’t give it up.” I said it one final time, and I meant it. Lucien turned, grabbed the spare key from the desk, and strode out. “The vault needs a security audit. Someone will come tomorrow to do an inventory.” But when I opened the safe the next day, it was empty. The recorder, the vault key, the loyalty roster, the draft authorization—all gone. I sent Daniel my location, then pressed record on my phone. This time, I was keeping evidence. I rushed to the Blake family’s high council meeting. Sophia stood at the head of the long table holding the key, accepting the gaze of every person in the room. She addressed the assembled representatives: “The Carter family can’t go without leadership right now.” “Emily has been emotionally unstable since her injury. She’s no longer fit to take over.” “I was adopted by Mr. Carter as a child. I know the old port. I’m willing to serve as interim proxy for Carter family affairs.” People in the room nodded. She raised her hand, signaling the sound engineer to play the recording. “This is what Mr. Carter left for me.” The instant before the engineer hit play, I dragged my leg to the front of the crowd. “Sophia. Give me back the recorder, the key, and the roster.” Her smile froze. Tears flooded her eyes instantly. “Emily, I know you don’t like me.” “But today is the day the Carter old guard chooses sides. People’s lives are riding on what happens at this table.” “Can you please not destroy what everyone’s worked for?” Cameras swung toward me. I looked at them all. “That recorder holds my father’s dying words.” Sophia stared at me for several seconds, then handed the recorder to the sound engineer. “Since Emily objects, let’s play it right here and prove I haven’t taken anything of hers.” The speakers came to life. It wasn’t my father’s voice. It was Sophia’s. “I used to be afraid of fire. Afraid of the old port.” “But Mr. Carter told me—as long as you’re alive, you keep moving forward.” “If the Carter family ever needs me, I won’t step back.” On the large screen behind her: Carter Family Interim Proxy—Sophia. I lunged forward to pull the recorder free. Two bodyguards blocked me. My leg slammed into the corner of the conference table. The wound tore open, blood seeping through the gauze. Sophia leaned close and lowered her voice: “Emily Carter, you can’t hold on to the Carter family, and you can’t hold on to Lucien.” “Do you know what it feels like to be forgotten?” She stared at me. No tears in her eyes now—only satisfaction. “It took everything I had to make him recognize only me. What makes you think you can compete?” I looked up at her, remembering the fire. She’d been in Lucien’s arms, looking over his shoulder at me with a taunting gaze. At the time, I thought the pain was making me hallucinate. Now I was sure. She’d seen me. She’d known I was there the entire time.

By the time Lucien arrived, the meeting had been suspended. I braced myself against the table’s edge, blood soaking through my pants. Sophia covered her face. “Lucien, Emily tried to grab the recorder and ruined the succession meeting. The Carter old guard nearly started a riot.” She held out her arm, showing a scratch. Lucien walked up to me. “Apologize.” I stared at him, fists white-knuckled. “The recording was overwritten. Sophia did it deliberately.” He didn’t hesitate—frowned and shot back, “The fire traumatized you. Now you’re paranoid about everyone.” I pointed at the sound console. “Check the original import log. Check the system’s back-end surveillance.” The sound engineer spoke up helpfully: “The local device still has a temporary cache. If we export it now, we might be able to recover the original file.” Sophia’s face shifted. She hurried over and clutched Lucien’s sleeve. “Don’t. The succession meeting involves too many parties. If this gets out, both the Carter and Blake families will be humiliated.” “It won’t look good for Emily either.” Lucien nodded, gazing at Sophia with open tenderness. “After everything she’s done to you, you’re still thinking about her.” I gripped the table’s edge, cold sweat dripping, and before I could speak, Lucien cut me off again. He looked at me. His voice was ice. “Several major families had representatives here today. The Carter old guard is outside waiting for a result.” “If the meeting stalls, the Carter family will spiral out of control immediately.” “Emily, you can make a scene later. But not today.” Bodyguards escorted me out through the back. Every family representative watched me go. I glanced down at my phone screen. The recording was still running. What Sophia had whispered in my ear earlier was half-drowned by the applause—but I’d captured it. Half an hour later, the Blake family released a public statement. The original heir is incapacitated. Sophia will assume interim management of the Carter North Port line. After dark, the internal livestream began. Sophia sat at the head of the long table, receiving oaths of allegiance from the Carter old guard. Lucien sat front row, lending her his authority. A message from Lucien popped up on my phone. [I’ll have someone try to recover the recording. Let it go. Sophia had a hard day too.] I placed my phone face-down on the table. I went back to the old docks and printed a dissolution of engagement statement and a formal withdrawal from the Carter family. I sold my father’s pocket watch and used the money to pay the Carter old guard their final month of settlement fees. Daniel stood outside the door, eyes rimmed red. “You’re really leaving?” I placed the silver bells and the empty shell of the recorder into a cardboard box. Sealed it. “If I stay any longer, I won’t be able to hear my own voice anymore.” He took two steps forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Emily. Come with me.” I paused. Daniel smiled ruefully. “I know the timing’s wrong. I just want you to know—you’re not limited to being chosen or discarded by Lucien.” I didn’t look at him. “Daniel, don’t say this when I’m at my lowest.” He stepped back immediately. “Okay. I won’t.” I put the box and a photocopy of the loyalty roster into my bag. Years ago, my father had been paranoid I’d lose the original. Made me copy it. At the time I thought he was being excessive. Now that copy was the lifeline he’d left me. On the way to the station, Lucien called over a dozen times. I rejected every one. Standing at the ticket gate, I sent one final message. [Lucien, the engagement is over. From today on, you’ll never have to recognize me again.]

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On the day of my engagement, my sister was caught in a sudden shooting and woke up with amnesia. The first thing she did was mistake my fiance for her boyfriend. And just like that, everyone told me I had to step aside for her. When she saw the diamond ring on my finger, she sobbed through a forced smile. “If you like it, Thea, I can give it to you.” Leon ripped the engagement ring off my hand and threw it into a drain, all to make her feel better. When she found out I had moved into the house Damian and I were supposed to live in after the wedding, she wiped at her tear-streaked face and cried, “Why are you taking my home too? We’re family!” My parents told me to be gracious, to be kind, to be the bigger person. Then they joined forces and threw me out of the estate. Later, during one of her depressive episodes, she climbed onto the rooftop terrace in the middle of the night, crying that no one loved her. Damian, the fiance who was supposed to have loved me for years, arrived just in time. He gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and said, “Silly girl. You are the one I have loved all along.” With his own hands, he draped his coat over her shoulders, and under the moonlight, they kissed as if no one else existed. No one cared that she had pushed me off the building. I lay below them, broken and soaked in blood. I bled out slowly and died in agony. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Vivian developed amnesia after the shooting. …… “You seduced your sister’s fiance and did something this shameless. How do you still have the nerve to live?” The moment I opened my eyes, Vivian was already lunging at me in fury. She was holding a pair of sharp scissors, and the tip was about to slice across my face. Instinctively, I shoved her away. Vivian staggered back. The scissors flew from her hand, and she crumpled onto the floor. “I’m your own sister. Why would you do this to me…?” She covered her face and sobbed so hard she could barely speak. My parents rushed out of the hospital room and gathered her into their arms, soothing her as if she were the only person in the world who could be hurt. People moved in and out of the private medical center, all of them throwing strange looks our way. “Wow. She looks so innocent, but she turned out to be a homewrecker.” “And they’re sisters? That’s shameless.” I stared at the fragile-looking woman in front of me and dug my nails into my palm. The pain brought me fully awake. I had really been given a second chance. I was back on the day Vivian developed amnesia after the shooting. In my previous life, this had been the day Damian and I were supposed to celebrate our engagement. Vivian had been studying overseas. She rushed back to New York to celebrate with me, only to get caught in a shooting on the way. When she woke up, her memories were gone, and she insisted Damian was the boyfriend she had loved for years. When she learned that Damian and I were engaged, she broke down. “I’m the one who loved him!” “Thea, you’re my own Thea. Why would you betray me?” From that day on, Vivian treated me as her enemy. She had breakdowns anywhere and everywhere. Screaming abuse became routine. So did slaps, smashed objects, and endless chaos. The worst time, she poured boiling water over me and left wide scars across my skin. My life became unbearable. But everyone around me said I was responsible. “If she hadn’t been rushing back to celebrate for you, Vivian never would have developed amnesia. You owe her for the rest of your life.” “She has amnesia now. She’s sick. Are you really going to argue with a patient?” From that day on, I was forced to swallow every grievance and endure every bit of Vivian’s malice. And she received everyone’s favoritism. Whenever she saw the engagement ring on my finger, she would sob and force a smile. “If you like it, Thea, I’ll let you have the ring.” Then she would cry so hard she fainted on the spot. The sight of her collapsing was all it took for my brother, who had always looked up to me, to turn on me. In a burst of anger on her behalf, he snatched the engagement ring from my hand and threw it into a drain. When she learned I had moved into the house Damian and I were supposed to live in after the wedding, she cried until her face was soaked. “Why do you always take what belongs to me? We’re family!” My parents’ hearts ached for her. They turned around and scolded me, telling me to be generous and kind, then threw me out of the estate. No matter how absurd or unreasonable Vivian’s demands were, I had to give in. If I showed even the slightest dissatisfaction, she would spiral, act possessed, and threaten to cut her wrists. Little by little, I became the villain in everyone’s eyes, the one supposedly driving her to death. “Vivian developed amnesia. It isn’t like she’s tormenting you on purpose. Can’t you have a little compassion for someone who’s sick?” “What’s wrong with helping her with such a small thing? She’s your sister!” But who ever had any sympathy for me? Just because Vivian developed amnesia, did that mean I had to hand over my entire life? At that moment, the world before my eyes went dark. It felt as if I had been tied up in an abandoned alley, staring into a darkness with no end. In the end, even the fiance who had supposedly loved me for years had to be handed over to her. “Vivian was hurt so badly because of you. Can’t you just endure it?” When I finally broke and tried to speak up, Damian only looked at me with cold reproach. “You can’t even show compassion to your own family. Thea, do you have a heart at all?” I would never forget that night. Vivian had a depressive episode and climbed onto the rooftop terrace in the middle of the night, crying that no one loved her. The moment I heard, I rushed upstairs to save her. But she turned around and shoved me off with brutal force. I hit the ground, mangled and drenched in blood. Damian rushed over. He saw me clearly on the ground, moaning in pain, but he still ran straight upstairs and pulled Vivian into his arms, gently wiping away the tears at the corners of her eyes. “Silly girl. You are the one I have loved all along.” Under the romantic moonlight, he put the veil on her himself and kissed her sweetly. No one cared about me, the one who had been cruelly pushed off the building. Blood filled my mouth as something deep inside me ruptured, but none of it hurt as much as the stabbing pain in my chest. Damian had clearly seen me… So why didn’t he save me? I waited and waited, begging for a chance to live. I was still alive. But all I got was a body growing cold, my blood draining out of me, and a miserable death filled with despair. As I floated in midair, I saw the smug smile at the corner of Vivian’s mouth. So she had never developed amnesia at all. The so-called shooting had been nothing more than a performance she staged herself. Because she liked Damian too and was consumed by jealousy, she deliberately destroyed my engagement party. She turned my life into a nightmare. Why? Carrying all my resentment and hatred, I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day Vivian pretended to lose her memory after the shooting.

Right now, Vivian was still crying. “I just don’t understand, Thea. You’re my own sister.” She clutched her chest as she choked out the words, her face going even paler. “What did I ever do to you? How could you shamelessly steal my engagement ring…” Before she could finish, Leon jumped in, anxious and furious. “Thea, can you be reasonable for once? Vivian was injured in a shooting and developed amnesia. She’s already suffering. Why are you deliberately provoking her? Do you even have a heart?” He grabbed my hand, yanked off the ring, and tossed it into the bathroom toilet. “It’s just some cheap ring. Let’s see you flaunt it now.” Yet just moments earlier, at the engagement party, he had sworn to me, “Thea, if anyone ever dares bully you, I’ll beat them flat.” My parents stood before me with the same cold expressions. “Vivian is sick now. As family, we should give her enough love and care.” “Thea, let Vivian have this. If you upset her again, you can get out of this estate. We’ll consider it our mistake for raising you.” Vivian was the only person they cared about. No one seemed to remember that this was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. There were no blessings. Only wreckage scattered across the floor. I had seen this coming. In my previous life, when they saw my gruesome body, my parents had been heartbroken too. But under Vivian’s tearful performance, they quickly changed their faces and announced that I had fallen by accident in a daze, all so Vivian could avoid blame. Later, in front of my grave, they smiled as if they had finally let go, and even told me not to blame them. “Life goes on. Besides, Vivian didn’t mean for it to happen.” But their bright and beautiful future had been bought with my life. Even though I had lived through it once, those cold, impatient stares still made my chest tighten. I looked at the loving little family in front of me. Without changing expression, I nodded. “I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

Before they returned to the estate, I packed a few toiletries and moved out. The next day, once I had pulled myself together, I went to work. Early that morning, my coworkers all congratulated me on my engagement. “You’d better invite us to the party.” “Thea, you and Damian are such a perfect match. Your future children will be beautiful.” Hearing Damian’s name out of nowhere made my whole body tremble. It felt as if I had returned to that cold moonlit night when my life drained away. My bones shattered, I lay on the ground like roadkill. I struggled with all my strength, but it was useless. All I could do was feel my life slipping away bit by bit… I never wanted to taste that kind of despair again. I exhaled and was just about to explain where things stood between Damian and me. But Vivian suddenly burst out from the crowd, grabbed the computer from a nearby desk, and hurled it at me with savage force. “Thea, you seduced Damian for the sake of your career. He’s your sister’s fiance!” “Will you only be satisfied once you’ve completely ruined my life?” Her words detonated in the office. The coworkers around us immediately started whispering. “Oh my God, this is huge.” “I knew it. A woman like Thea becoming a manager so soon after graduation? Turns out she slept her way up.” “And they’re sisters. She stole her own sister’s fiance? Disgusting.” Shock. Contempt. Disdain. Their stares pricked my skin like needles. I watched Vivian unravel in silence. “Are you done making a scene?” “Thea, you’ve always targeted me. You were jealous that I was better and happier than you.” Vivian gave a tragic smile, her face covered in tears. “I always gave in to you because you were younger, but you’re really driving me insane.” “I… I’m pregnant. The baby needs his father. Please, let me go.” “Thea, give Damian back to me, okay?” I had to admit, Vivian knew how to perform. She cradled her stomach carefully, tears slipping down her face as if on cue, drawing sympathy from everyone around her. And of course, the other star of the show soon appeared. When Damian arrived, he froze in place. First, he avoided my gaze guiltily. Then, without hesitation, he rushed to Vivian, his face full of tenderness. That little display of “true love” made my supposed shamelessness look all but proven. The whispers around us swelled. I tuned them out and calmly called the police. Then, for good measure, I contacted a psychiatric facility. Vivian loved using her breakdowns to torture and humiliate me. Fine. Then she could go exactly where she belonged.

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On the fifth anniversary of my relationship with Chris, he canceled on me at the last minute—claimed there was an emergency at the company. Some kind of security incident. When he saw how dejected I was, my best friend Becky and my sister Lori volunteered to take me to the amusement park. All day long, they were impossibly sweet—buying me ice cream, standing in line with me for the roller coaster. I assumed they just didn’t want me to be sad. Until I went to buy a Coke and overheard them talking in low voices. Becky’s whisper was barely audible: “Chris ditched Annie on their fifth anniversary just to take Susan to see the northern lights?” Lori looked completely unbothered. “He just wants to fulfill his first love’s little wish. He’s still going to marry Annie anyway.” Becky laughed softly. “We just have to keep her busy until tonight. As long as she doesn’t find out, we’re fine.” I stood behind the vending machine, struck by how absurd it all was. What I’d mistaken for comfort was actually my most trusted people running interference for Chris. All so he could spend our anniversary with another woman. I tossed the Coke into the trash, walked out of the amusement park, and sent Chris one final text: *”Keep the northern lights. And keep yourself. I don’t want either anymore.”* — Then I blocked him and deleted Becky and Lori from all my social accounts. Less than ten minutes after I left the park, Lori caught up to me. She grabbed my wrist, her face radiating impatience. “Annie, what do you mean just leaving like that? Becky waited an hour to get VIP tickets for the fireworks show.” Becky hurried over right behind her, stuffing her phone back into her bag. “We were just making small talk. Why do you always only hear half of a conversation?” I looked at them. “What’s the other half?” Lori paused, then frowned. “Susan developed severe PTSD after getting caught in an avalanche two years ago. Her doctor said returning to the aurora observation site could help her recovery. What’s wrong with Chris keeping her company?” “So there was no company emergency.” “Chris was afraid you’d overthink it.” Becky softened her tone. “Annie, he’s planning to propose to you the moment he gets back from this trip. Why make things awkward over something so small?” I laughed suddenly. They’d planned my entire day down to the minute—what time I’d eat dessert, what time I’d watch fireworks. They just hadn’t planned on me hearing the truth early. My phone buzzed in my hand. Chris was calling from an unfamiliar number. When I answered, his first words were: “Take me off the blacklist.” Behind him, I could hear the howling wind of Iceland. And Susan’s excited voice. “Chris, look! The sky’s lighting up!” Chris covered the receiver. His voice faded for a moment, then returned to the call, steady as ever. “The security incident was real. I just happened to fly her out here after I handled it.” “You just *happened* to fly from Manhattan to Reykjavik?” Two seconds of silence on the other end. “Annie, why do you always have to fixate on other people’s mistakes?” “I’m not fixating. I’ve already let go.” “I saw the iMessage you sent.” His tone cooled. “You can be disappointed. You can be angry. But don’t test my limits with a breakup.” Becky immediately jumped in: “Annie, just let him help Susan through her treatment first. Whatever issues you have, wait until he’s back in New York.” Lori chimed in beside her: “If Chris really liked Susan better, do you think you’d have had him for five whole years?” That sentence pierced my eardrums like a needle. Chris must have heard it, because his voice softened slightly. “I’ll be back in Manhattan in three days. The Polaris system launch is the same day. Have the final presentation deck ready.” The Polaris system was a risk-warning program I’d spent four years building. During the hardest stretch, I slept in the lab for three months straight. Chris had once placed a little aurora snow globe on my desk and told me that once the system officially launched, he’d take me to see the real northern lights. Now the system was about to launch, and he’d taken someone else first. “Chris, we’re already broken up.” He let out a quiet sigh. “Annie, act your age. Don’t make me fly back and deal with your emotions on top of everything else.” The call disconnected. Lori touched her nose and reached out to link her arm with mine. “Come on, Chris already explained. Let’s go—the fireworks are about to start.” I dodged her hand and hailed an Uber home. In the entryway sat the wedding shoes Chris had ordered two months ago. Under the box was a brochure for a luxury Iceland tour. I used to think it was a romantic Easter egg for the proposal. Now I realized it was just a page that had slipped out of Susan’s itinerary. The computer screen in the study was still on. Chris’s company Google account was still logged in, and a trip confirmation email sat in the center of the screen. The flights had been booked two weeks ago. The hotel was an aurora-viewing suite. Guests listed: Chris and Susan. The so-called emergency had been a lie prepared for me from the very beginning. I was about to close the page when a new email popped up. Sender: Becky. Subject line: **[Contingency Plan Re: Annie’s Exit from the Polaris Project.]** Sent three days ago. I opened the attachment. The first line read: *If Annie discovers the Iceland itinerary, Lori handles emotional containment. Becky handles delay tactics.* And on the last page, in Chris’s handwriting: **Approve.** —

The next morning, Chris had his personal assistant deliver a necklace. The assistant placed the Tiffany velvet box on the table with a smile. “Boss says it’s your anniversary gift. He hopes you’ll cool down and attend the launch rehearsal this afternoon on time.” The pendant was a silver snowflake. Identical to the one I’d received for my birthday three years ago. I flipped the box over and found the receipt. Place of purchase: Iceland airport duty-free. Quantity: two. I pushed the box back. “Tell him to save it for someone more appropriate. I don’t accept things that aren’t meant for me.” The assistant looked uncomfortable. “Annie, Chris asked me to relay this: the Polaris project is at a critical stage. You’d best not bring personal feelings into the workplace.” I raised my eyes. “Then relay this back to him for me: don’t take someone else’s life’s work and use it to court your first love.” That afternoon, I went to Howard Tech—Chris’s company. Outside the launch hall, a massive poster was displayed. Chris’s name sat at the top. Susan stood beside him, labeled as the “creative originator” of the Polaris system. My name was gone. Becky was directing staff on the seating placards. When she spotted me, she immediately pulled me aside. “Why are you here early?” “If I don’t come early, how would I know my position and my work have been stolen?” She lowered her voice. “It’s just a marketing strategy. Susan is an avalanche survivor—using her story gets media attention.” I laughed in disbelief. “And that’s your justification for erasing me?” “Chris always says truly talented people don’t need to fight over credits.” I looked at this friend I’d known for twelve years. Back when she’d been maliciously terminated from her old company and was facing an industry blacklist, I was the one who brought her into Chris’s firm. I’d personally asked Chris to give her the PR director position. The first time she received a six-figure year-end bonus, she cried and swore she would never betray me in this lifetime. Now she was using the crisis management skills I’d taught her—on me. The big screen suddenly lit up. Chris’s face appeared in a video conference. He wore a black windbreaker. Behind him was a snow-covered cabin. Susan sat by the fireplace, wrapped in his cashmere scarf. “Let’s begin the rehearsal.” I stepped in front of the main camera. “Who approved that poster?” Chris saw me. His brow furrowed slightly. “Susan’s story has more commercial appeal. After the launch, I’ll send an internal memo crediting your contributions.” “I don’t want an internal memo.” Susan rose from the sofa. “Annie, don’t blame Chris. I just really loved the name ‘Polaris,’ so I agreed to help promote it.” She raised her hand to adjust the scarf, and a yellow crystal bracelet slipped into view on her wrist. It was a protective charm I’d braided for Chris with my own hands. Woven into the knots was an old chip—the processor that had burned out the first time the Polaris system successfully ran. Chris had called it our shared medal of honor. I asked, “Who gave you that?” Susan instinctively glanced at Chris. Chris said flatly, “It’s just an old piece of string. She liked it, so I let her have it.” “It’s mine.” “Annie.” He sharpened his tone. “Don’t be so graceless. Don’t make everyone watch me get embarrassed.” Employees below the stage were already whispering. Lori had appeared at some point and stood in the front row, waving me down. “Annie, come down. Susan was just trying it on. You don’t have to be so petty.” I didn’t move. “The core modules of the Polaris system belong to me. Effective today, I’m revoking authorization.” The room went deathly silent. Chris’s gaze darkened. “All your R&D was completed in company facilities. The intellectual property belongs to the company.” “The original version was written before I was ever hired. The source code and copyright registration are both under my personal name.” Becky’s face changed. Lori rushed onto the stage and grabbed my arm. “Annie, have you lost your mind? The company invested hundreds of millions into this project. Are you pulling authorization just to force Chris to fly back and beg?” I pulled my arm free. “I’m simply taking back what’s mine.” Chris stared at me for a long moment, then let out a sudden laugh. “You won’t go through with it.” “What?” “You poured four years into this. Polaris is like your own child—you’d never actually destroy it.” He was so certain. Certain I couldn’t let go of the project. Certain I couldn’t let go of him. “Resume rehearsal.” Chris instructed his assistant. “Suspend Annie’s backend access temporarily. Restore it once she’s calmed down.” The screen went dark. Security approached me and politely asked me to leave. Before the elevator doors closed, I saw two staffers emerge from the R&D department carrying cardboard boxes. Inside the boxes were my original handwritten manuscripts. On top was a FedEx international shipping label. Delivery address: the Iceland cabin where Chris and Susan were staying. —

I intercepted the two boxes in the underground parking garage. The assistant blocked my path. “Annie, this is Chris’s arrangement.” “Those manuscripts are my personal property.” “Chris says Susan needs to familiarize herself with the R&D process for the press Q&A at the launch.” I peeled off the shipping label and clutched the manuscripts to my chest. “If she wants to tell a story, she can tell her own.” The assistant tried to stop me again, but Lori burst out of the elevator and snatched the box away. “Annie, stop making a scene!” She moved too fast. The bottom of the box split open, and hundreds of pages scattered across the floor. A cup of black coffee from a passing employee’s hand tipped over, and brown liquid soaked through the oldest stack of calculation notes. I crouched down to gather them. The edges of the pages had fused together; they crumbled at the slightest touch. Those were the last set of algorithm data my father had helped me work through in his study before he died. He didn’t understand computer programming, so he’d put on his reading glasses and checked each number for me, line by line. Lori saw the handwriting on the pages. Her expression froze for a moment. “They’re just some rough drafts. Everything’s backed up on the computer.” I looked up at her. “That’s Dad’s handwriting.” Her lips moved, but she quickly looked away. “If Dad were still alive, he wouldn’t stand by and watch you destroy Chris’s company either.” Becky knelt down to help me pick up the pages and whispered, “Annie, once Polaris goes public, Chris will give you a five percent project equity dividend. Cooperate, and we all win.” “You already knew he was giving the credit to Susan.” Her hand stopped. I pressed her: “Iceland, the itinerary, the project—what else don’t I know?” Lori answered impatiently: “Chris just owes Susan closure. Back when they broke up, it was because Susan went to the mountain survey site on his behalf and got caught in the avalanche.” “And so?” “Polaris was always something Chris made *for* Susan.” Lori looked at me. “You were just the engineer who executed his vision.” Four years of R&D. Over seven hundred days and nights. And in Lori’s telling, I was merely the tool Chris used to bring his romantic gesture to life. I clutched the salvaged pages and turned to leave. Chris’s video call came through on the assistant’s phone. “Let her answer.” The assistant handed me the device. Behind Chris stretched an infinite night sky. Susan had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He didn’t push her away. He just lowered his voice. “Susan has a Forbes interview tomorrow morning. Give her the manuscripts.” “No.” “Annie, you’re too old for this kind of tantrum.” “Chris, do you even know whose handwriting is on those pages? My father’s.” He was silent for a moment. “I’ll have a museum conservator restore them for you.” “They can’t be restored.” “Then rewrite them.” A note of weariness crept into his voice. “You’re a professional engineer. There’s no need to use a few old pages to make life difficult for someone with PTSD.” Becky interjected: “Chris, the media’s already promoted Susan as the project originator. If the manuscripts don’t reach her, the interview will fall apart.” Chris responded immediately: “Take the manuscripts.” The assistant stepped forward. I stumbled backward into a wall, and the pages slipped from my arms again. Lori seized the moment to grab the box. Becky positioned herself between us. She said quietly, “Once the launch is over, I’ll personally get them back for you.” Becky wouldn’t meet my eyes. On the phone, Chris wrapped everything up the way he always did. “After the project wraps, I’ll go back to the Upper East Side townhouse with you for a few days. Your father’s study—I’ll have it restored exactly as it was.” “What happened to the townhouse?” Sudden silence all around. Lori’s face went white instantly. I stared at her. “What did you do to the townhouse?” “Last year the company had a cash flow crisis. To raise working capital, Chris used the house as collateral for a bank loan.” That Upper East Side house had passed from my grandfather to my father. It was the inheritance and the memory he’d left to Lori and me. The deed was split fifty-fifty between us. My signature had never appeared on any mortgage document. “Who signed?” Lori clutched the box tight. “Annie, Chris promised me a big Manhattan apartment. I just figured the old house was sitting empty anyway.” “I asked you—*who signed?*” She raised her head, eyes red. “I forged your signature! Chris said that once Polaris went public, the loan would be paid off immediately!” Chris didn’t deny it. He wasn’t even rattled. “Annie, I’ll explain this when I’m back in New York. For now, sign the authorization papers—otherwise the bank will call the loan early, and the townhouse goes to forced auction.” The assistant produced legal documents at just the right moment. The signature tab was already affixed to the last page. I looked at Lori. I looked at Becky. I looked at the man on the screen who’d once promised to protect everything precious to me. Then I took the Montblanc pen. Chris’s expression finally relaxed. But he didn’t see what I wrote in the authorization period field. It wasn’t “permanent.” It was “seventy-two hours.” —

The day Chris flew back to New York, he didn’t contact me. High-resolution paparazzi photos from the airport hit Twitter’s trending page first. In the frame, he carried Susan’s bag while his other hand rested protectively on the small of her back. They wore matching Cartier woven red-cord bracelets. The caption read: **A decade-long aurora promise, fulfilled.** Becky called, demanding I rush to the office immediately. “The paparazzi dug up your live-in relationship with Chris. Now everyone online is calling Susan a homewrecker. You need to make a public statement to the media right now!” “Clarify what, exactly?” “Just say you two amicably split six months ago and the Iceland trip has nothing to do with you.” I hung up. Half an hour later, Lori showed up at my Upper East Side apartment with two security guards. “Annie, Chris is waiting for you at the townhouse. The bank’s risk officer is there too. If you don’t sign a long-term authorization today, the house goes to forced auction this afternoon.” I went with her. The townhouse gate stood wide open. The sycamore tree my father had planted years ago had been ripped out by a construction crew and tossed against the garden wall. The living room furniture—every piece that held my childhood memories—had been cleared out. Susan stood in the center of the living room, holding a roll of architectural blueprints, cheerfully discussing plans with Chris. “Let’s convert the upstairs study into a nursery. That way when we’re married and have a baby, it’ll be convenient.” I stopped in the doorway. Chris followed her gaze and saw me. His expression stiffened. “Susan’s just joking.” “This is my home.” Susan’s smile vanished instantly. Lori stepped in immediately: “Annie, Chris already bought out the other half of the property. Once you marry him, this will still be your home. Susan’s just helping look at interior renovation options.” I walked to the fallen sycamore and ran my hand along its rough bark. When Lori and I were little, we used to swing on the tire swing tied to this very tree. Now a chainsaw had split it open like worthless firewood. Chris came up behind me. “The roots were rotted. It would have died eventually. I’ll have a new one planted.” “Where are my manuscripts?” He turned and retrieved the boxes from the trunk of the Rolls-Royce. Several pages from the top had been cut out and placed inside Susan’s interview portfolio. Next to my father’s handwriting sat Susan’s signature. “The media interview required physical exhibits,” Chris said. “I’ll return them after the launch.” I reached over and pulled those pages out. Susan lunged to stop me, and her sleeve knocked the aurora snow globe off the table. Glass hit the floor and shattered instantly. Green glitter and liquid spread across the tile. When Chris had given it to me, he’d recorded a message into the voice chip embedded in the base. *”Once Polaris goes public, we’ll get married.”* Now the base had cracked in two, and the recording stuttered on repeat. *”We’ll—We’ll—”* Susan went pale with shock. “I’m sorry, Annie, I really didn’t mean to—” Chris immediately pulled her behind him and quietly told the assistant to clean it up. I bent down to pick up the base. He grabbed my wrist. “Glass. Don’t touch it.” “Let go.” “It’s just an old knickknack. You want more? I’ll get you as many as you want.” I looked at him, and a sudden calm washed over me. “Chris, is this why you pursued me in the first place?” —

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My fiancé, Cassian, had prosopagnosia. He was always confusing me with my older sister, Seraphina. When I won the New York Youth Poetry Competition, he handed the bouquet to Seraphina instead. “I knew you had it in you. You’re brilliant.” When Seraphina shattered a six-figure antique wineglass at a Blackwood Foundation gala, he stepped in front of her. “It was Elowen. She’s always been clumsy and ignorant. She has no idea how to behave in decent company.” Countless times, I grabbed his sleeve and forced him to look me in the eyes. “Cassian, look carefully. I’m Elowen.” Eventually, I stopped wearing the red dresses Seraphina loved and gave up the pearls she favored. I replaced everything in my closet with shades of slate blue and forest green. I even styled my hair in ways she hated. But he still mistook me for her. Even on the day we were both getting married, he left with the wrong bride. In my last life, I slit my wrist outside the Vale residence because I was desperate to marry him. I forced my mother to cancel Seraphina’s family-arranged engagement to Adrian Blackwood. In the end, I moved into a house Cassian bought in the suburbs and became the mistress he kept hidden from the world. Then I hemorrhaged during childbirth at a private hospital. Seraphina had been admitted to the same hospital with abdominal pain, and Cassian mistook her for me, directing the emergency team to her room first. By the time a nurse realized the medical chart did not match the patient’s wristband, it was too late to save me. My baby died too. As I lay dying, he stood beside my bed and looked at me without a trace of warmth. “If there is a next life, stay out of my relationship with Seraphina. Then I won’t have to spend years pretending I can’t recognize faces.” When I opened my eyes again, it was my wedding day. Once again, Cassian had driven away with Seraphina. Adrian’s car was already waiting outside, and the Vale household was in chaos. No one dared admit that the bride named in the marriage agreement had disappeared. I opened the door. “I’ll marry him.” … The room fell silent. My mother recovered first. Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “You’ve finally come to your senses. Adrian has a terrible reputation, but the Blackwoods control banks, energy companies, and media outlets, and he alone runs the entire group. Marry him, and you’ll never want for money again.” In my last life, she had said the same thing after we discovered Cassian had taken the wrong bride. Everyone in New York’s business world knew Adrian was ruthless. Partners who betrayed him either went bankrupt or never secured another deal. They could not bear to make the delicate Seraphina marry a man like him, so they let Cassian “mistake” her for me. My mother straightened my veil and regained her composure. “Don’t blame Seraphina. Cassian’s condition acted up, and he took the wrong woman at the wedding. No one wanted this to happen.” “Besides, she has given you an excellent match. You should be grateful to her.” I almost laughed. Only an hour earlier, I had overheard Cassian and Seraphina talking. “Adrian drove a rival to suicide during that Eastern European acquisition. You’re too fragile to handle a man like him.” “The engagement is already public. If the Vales back out now, they’ll go bankrupt. I’ll pretend I mistook you for Elowen and take you to the St. Margaret Hotel. Once we register our marriage, Adrian won’t be able to force you to honor the original agreement.” Seraphina sniffled. “What about Elowen? She won’t actually marry Adrian in my place, will she?” Cassian was quiet for a moment before giving a confident laugh. “She won’t. She said she would never marry anyone but me. Once she realizes I left with you, she’ll probably tear the whole house apart.” “Your mother will stop her too.” “Once her arrangement with Adrian is void, I’ll buy her an apartment. She loves me so much she won’t care that she can never be my legal wife.” In my last life, I had been so excited to marry Cassian that I did not realize his car was missing until the ceremony was about to begin. I already knew the truth, but hearing it again still hurt. What shocked me more was that my mother had known from the beginning. I looked at her. “If you knew Cassian took the wrong woman, why didn’t you stop the car? Why did you wait for me to clean up the mess?” Her head snapped up, panic flashing in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” Then her expression hardened. “This marriage is tied to two billion dollars in financing. If no one marries into the Blackwood family today, Vale Group’s stock will be suspended tomorrow morning. If you make trouble, you’ll only hurt Seraphina, Cassian, and your father.” She had thought of everyone. Everyone except me. In my last life, I had used my life to stop the wedding, and Blackwood Group immediately withdrew its financing. Adrian later called off his retaliation, saving Vale Group from bankruptcy, but my mother locked me away for three months. She confiscated my phone and bank cards and told the public that I was mentally ill. Three months later, Cassian sent an assistant to take me to the house in the suburbs. He did not even show his face. I did not learn until I was dying that his supposed prosopagnosia had been a lie from the beginning. I looked at my mother and nodded calmly. “You don’t need to worry.” “I’m willing to marry Adrian.”

The wedding march began as Adrian and I walked out of the Vale residence together, my veil covering my face. He bent down and lifted me into the bridal car. I could not make out his expression through my veil, but I could hear how fast his heart was beating. The door closed, and the guests raised their glasses in celebration. Everyone was smiling. I alone sat amid the white roses filling the car, my hands and feet ice-cold. In my last life, I had refused the marriage in public, and Blackwood Group withdrew its financing from Vale Group that same day. Adrian later called off the acquisition, saving the Vale family’s company and suppressing the scandal that had swept across the internet. This time, as I sat in his car, I could not tell whether I felt afraid or relieved. But I knew one thing. Whatever lay ahead, I would never return to a home where I was constantly mistaken for someone else and forced to beg for the slightest consideration. I looked down at my wedding dress. Seraphina had rejected it because she disliked the cut at the waist. Even the embroidery on the veil was a pattern she hated. For the past three years, I had tried to make myself her complete opposite. She never wore forest green, so I filled my closet with it. She loved flashy jewelry, so I wore only the simplest silver pieces. Even then, Cassian still claimed he could not tell us apart. I once made him a matching bracelet, only to see Seraphina wearing it later. Even the engagement gifts meant for me had been handed to her by Cassian himself. Before the wedding, I pinned a brooch engraved with my name to my dress and begged him to look at it before I got into the car. Yet on our wedding day, he still left with Seraphina. In my last life, after I moved into his house, I once asked him through my tears, “I wore the wedding dress Seraphina hated most. How did you still mistake her for me?” He pulled me into his arms and kissed away my tears. “I’m sorry, Elowen. There were too many people that day. I was nervous.” “Thank God you still came back to me. If you had really married Adrian, I would have hated myself forever.” Those few words were enough to make me forgive him and forget every indignity I had suffered. Only now did I understand that every kindness he had shown me was an act. Before the car departed, my mother rested a hand on the door and warned me in a low voice, “Once you’re with Adrian, control your temper. Don’t make him angry.” What she truly feared was that I would expose the bride swap and implicate Seraphina and the Vale family. “Don’t worry.” I paused and looked at her through my veil. “You and Father should decide how you plan to explain deliberately switching the brides. I may keep quiet, but that doesn’t mean Adrian won’t find out.” My mother went pale. I shut the door and stopped looking at her. The rain began just as the motorcade pulled away from the Vale residence. Adrian’s black SUV drew alongside the bridal car. He lowered the window and signaled for the driver to slow down. “The rain is too heavy. There’s a private club up ahead. We’ll wait there for a while.” His tone was cool. “All right.” As long as I could leave the Vale family behind, I did not care where we went. When the motorcade arrived at the private club, however, Cassian’s car was already parked outside. I lowered my window and saw him.

Cassian was shielding Seraphina from the rain with his jacket, gazing at her with unmistakable tenderness. He had once looked at me that way. I loved the cherry pie from a bakery in Brooklyn, and he would stand in line for an hour to buy it for me. When I was hospitalized with a fever, he once canceled his meetings and stayed beside my bed all night. In the end, he used his supposed prosopagnosia as an excuse to give Seraphina everything that should have been mine. The night I hemorrhaged during labor, Seraphina was admitted with abdominal pain. Cassian deliberately told the emergency team that she was the pregnant patient. By the time the nurses corrected the chart and the doctors rushed back to my operating room, it was too late. “Elowen, don’t blame me,” he said, his eyes red. “Pretending I couldn’t tell you apart was exhausting. In our next life, stay out of my relationship with Seraphina.” The memory made my fingers turn cold. This time, I would not repeat the same mistake. Cassian visibly froze when he saw Adrian’s motorcade, then hurried over to greet him. Adrian gave him a single indifferent glance before walking to my car and helping me out himself. Cassian kept staring at me, as though trying to identify me. He did not come back to himself until Seraphina tugged on his arm. The club’s lounge was small. I sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, only a few steps away from them, and heard every word they said. “Cassian, could that really be Elowen in that car?” “Impossible.” He did not hesitate. “She won’t marry him. She told me she would never marry anyone but me. There must be something else going on.” Seraphina readily agreed. “Exactly. If Elowen knew you had taken me, she would have caused a scene by now.” “She probably paid a woman with a similar figure to put on a veil and take her place at the wedding.” Cassian pressed his lips together, as if he had finally found an explanation he could accept. Seraphina studied his expression before asking cautiously, “If Adrian finds out that we switched the brides, will he force me to honor the arrangement? My name is the one on the agreement.” “I’m so scared.” She covered her face and began to cry. Cassian immediately pulled her into his arms. “Don’t be. I won’t let anyone take you away.” “If Elowen really hired a substitute and then tried to blame you, I’ll never forgive her. She can forget about ever coming back to me.” Seraphina leaned against his chest, her voice soft and aggrieved. “But if the truth comes out, the worst Elowen will lose is you. I’ll be forced to marry Adrian. Who knows what he’ll do to me?” Cassian’s expression turned cold. “If it comes to that, we’ll put all the blame on Elowen. It won’t matter whether she admits it.” “Everyone knows I’m face-blind. If anyone investigates, we’ll say it was an accident. No one can prove we switched you deliberately.” I sat only a few steps away and heard every word. It seemed Cassian had been behind those rumors in my last life too—the ones accusing me of marriage fraud and calling me mentally unstable. I clenched my skirt so tightly my fingertips almost went numb. Then Cassian suddenly looked in my direction. His gaze dropped to my wrist, and his expression changed. “Mr. Blackwood.” He spoke abruptly, barely concealing his panic. “The two brides come from the same family. According to a Vale family tradition, they should exchange an accessory before the ceremony as a blessing.” Cassian stared at my wrist. “The silver bracelet on your bride’s wrist is lovely. My wife happens to have an emerald brooch. Why not let them exchange the pieces for good luck?”

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At my birthday gala, I wanted to invite my fiancé Julian to open the first dance. Instead, I overheard him talking to his best friend. “You obviously want to ride Sarah’s family name to the top. So why have you humiliated her at her own birthday party five years running? Watching those socialites mock her as a lovesick fool—doesn’t that bother you at all?” “It does.” Julian swirled his whiskey on the rocks. “But what can I do? I lost a bet to Cynthia.” “I promised to let Sarah be embarrassed at her birthday gala six years in a row. Besides, Sarah’s a Claire—even if she loses face, no one would dare laugh to hers. Tonight marks the end of year six. Next year, I’m proposing to her at her party. I swear it.” With that, he loosened the tie I’d hand-embroidered for him, ran his fingers over the hidden monogram, and smiled. “This tie—I’ll give it to Peter as a little welcome gift later.” His friend froze. “Peter? Isn’t that Cynthia’s dog?” “If I don’t knock Sarah down a peg now and then, Cynthia starts feeling inferior.” Julian’s voice dripped with indulgence. Standing outside the door, I had no interest in hearing another word. I turned and walked away. When Grandpa entrusted me with executive control of the consortium, he’d given me one warning: “As the head of the Claire family, you are permitted no more than five acts of foolishness for love in your entire lifetime.” Since in this sixth year, the tie I’d stayed up all night embroidering was only good enough to serve as a leash for his childhood sweetheart’s dog— This wedding was off. … Ten minutes later, my twenty-fourth birthday gala commenced at the Hampton beachfront estate. A jazz band played as I stood at the top of the double helix staircase, a Chanel gown sculpting my waist. Julian sat at the head table. Beside him was Cynthia in a red dress. A golden retriever circled excitedly at their feet. “Peter, come here.” Julian snapped his fingers. The golden bounded over, tail wagging furiously. Under the gaze of every notable in the room, Julian removed the tie from his neck. He looped it around the golden retriever’s collar and knotted it. Nearly everyone at the gala recognized that tie. It was the token I’d presented to him at our engagement party—the family crest woven into its hidden pattern, stitched by my own hand. “How handsome,” Cynthia cooed, pressing her body against Julian’s side. “Sarah wouldn’t have agreed to give the tie to Peter, would she?” “She won’t mind.” Julian withdrew his hand from petting Peter. When he looked up, his gaze cut through the champagne tower and the crowd, landing precisely on me. Before—when I didn’t know the truth—I would have stormed over and confronted Cynthia on the spot. And Julian would have publicly berated me for behaving beneath a lady of my station, and it would have ended with my apology. Now that I knew the truth, I couldn’t even summon a flicker of anger. I looked at that tie, drew a deep breath, gathered my skirt, and descended. My heels struck the floor with sharp, clear clicks. The crowd parted to either side, opening a path for me. I walked straight to Julian. Cynthia flinched, shrinking behind him. Julian frowned, stepped forward, and shielded Cynthia with his body. “Sarah, as the hostess of this party, you should show some grace.” He spoke first—a warning. I didn’t look at him. My gaze settled calmly on the golden retriever. “Nice color on the tie. Matches the dog’s coat beautifully.” My voice was perfectly level. Julian’s smile froze. Cynthia’s practiced grin solidified in an instant. “What did you just say?” Julian’s voice dropped low. “I said they’re a good match.” I casually plucked a champagne flute from a servant’s silver tray, raised it slightly toward him. “Since you’re into that sort of thing, consider the tie my gift to him. A proper introduction present.” I turned and walked toward the dance floor. Behind me, Julian shot to his feet. His high-backed chair scraped against the floor with a piercing shriek. “Sarah, stop!” I didn’t break stride. For Julian’s sake, I had already exhausted every ounce of Grandpa’s patience. The token of our engagement—he’d given it away to a dog with his own hands. Six years of betrothal. It ended here.

After the gala, I returned to the townhouse in Midtown. This property was the wedding residence Grandpa had prepared for me. For the past few years, Julian had been the one living in it. I gathered the business documents from the marble coffee table, preparing to move out for good. The private elevator chimed open. Julian stumbled in, reeking of alcohol and Cynthia’s signature Jo Malone perfume. He yanked his collar open roughly and threw his suit jacket onto the leather sofa with a heavy thud. “What exactly was that about tonight?” He walked up to me, his frame completely blocking the overhead light. I placed the last document into my briefcase. “Nothing in particular. I just told the truth.” “Told the truth?” He let out a cold laugh, voice thick with derision. “Cynthia just thought the dog was cute! Did you have to embarrass her in front of all those socialites?” Julian lit a cigar. “Do you have any idea how long she cried tonight? She keeps blaming herself! She says it’s her fault you were unhappy at your own birthday party!” I looked him dead in the eye. “Julian, it was *my* birthday gala.” “So what?” He exhaled a plume of blue-gray smoke. “You’re the Claire heiress—you have everything! Cynthia only has me! I was just trying to make her happy. Do you really have to be this petty about it?” At that moment, the door swung open. Cynthia walked in wearing Julian’s shirt from earlier that day. Her eyes were rimmed red. “Julian, please don’t fight with Sarah because of me.” She tugged at his sleeve, voice choked with tears. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have said the tie was pretty. I’ve just never seen haute couture embroidery before…” Julian immediately took her hand, interlacing their fingers, and fixed me with an icy stare. “Did you hear that, Sarah? Even now, she’s still thinking of *you*!” Looking at their tightly clasped hands, I was suddenly struck by how absurd my six years of devotion had been. “There’s a whole stack of ties in the walk-in closet—all gifts I gave you over the years. Feel free to take every last one and put them on her dog. And this townhouse—consider it yours. Both of you can have it.” Julian stiffened for a moment, then scoffed. “Sarah, you’re pulling the running-away-from-home stunt again to threaten me? Let me remind you—last time, you came back *crying* and *begging* me to let you stay.” Cynthia lowered her head, the corner of her mouth curling into a smug little smile where she thought I couldn’t see. “Sarah, please don’t be angry. I’ll leave right now…” She made a show of rushing toward the door, but as she passed the coffee table, she “accidentally” caught its edge. “Ah!” She let herself tumble forward, falling neatly into Julian’s arms. Julian caught her, then wheeled on me with a snarl. “Why is this coffee table sticking out so far? You did that on purpose!” That Italian marble table weighed several hundred pounds. It hadn’t moved an inch since the day it was delivered. I couldn’t even be bothered to explain. Julian lowered Cynthia tenderly onto the sofa, half-kneeling to examine her knee. There was barely a faint red mark. “I’ll get an ice pack.” Julian stood. As he passed me, he slammed his shoulder hard into mine. I was wearing heels. The impact knocked me off balance, and I fell uncontrollably toward the wooden cabinet beside me. The corner of my forehead smashed against the cabinet’s hard, sharp edge. Warm liquid ran swiftly down my brow bone, blurring my vision. Julian paused, glanced back. “Quit the act.” He frowned, nothing in his eyes but irritation. “I barely touched you. Is that really enough to draw blood? Go get Cynthia an ice pack—her knee matters a hell of a lot more than you.” I pressed my hand to my forehead as blood kept flowing, seeping through the gaps between my fingers. On the sofa, Cynthia watched me. Her eyes glittered with triumph and spite. I braced myself against the cabinet and slowly straightened. Without sparing them another glance, I picked up my briefcase and walked into the private elevator. The late-night wind cut across my forehead, a cold so sharp it burned. He would never know that moment had severed the last thread between us.

The next morning. The top-floor boardroom of Claire Consortium. I sat in the CEO’s chair, gauze taped across my forehead. Julian pushed through the door, trailed by Cynthia clutching a folder—his personal assistant. He was the general manager of the consortium’s New York subsidiary. Cynthia was his secretary. When Julian noticed the gauze on my forehead, his stride faltered briefly. “What happened?” he said with a frown, his tone more annoyed than concerned. I opened the terminal data report in front of me. “Let’s begin your presentation, Julian. The board members’ time is valuable.” Julian’s expression darkened. He took the seat across from me. Halfway through the report, Cynthia’s hand trembled as she handed Julian his coffee. The entire cup of black coffee spilled across the original financial statement on the table. “I’m so sorry, Julian! I didn’t mean to…” She scrambled for napkins, tears falling on cue. Julian pressed her hand still. “It’s fine. It’s just a document. As long as it didn’t burn you.” He turned to me and ordered: “Sarah, have your secretary print a new copy and bring it in.” I capped my pen with a crisp *click*. “That document was reviewed and stamped by Swiss Trust and the SEC. It is the sole legally binding original.” Julian waved impatiently. “Then have your legal team redo the entire process! Cynthia was up until dawn helping me compile the data last night—she just slipped up. As a senior executive, you need to show some understanding toward your employees.” The entire boardroom sat in dead silence. Not a single director dared speak. I raised my head, fixing him with an ice-cold stare. “Julian, this is a workplace. Discuss business. Not personal affairs.” “You’re just targeting Cynthia!” Julian slammed the coffee-soaked document on the table. “It’s just a spreadsheet! As my fiancée, can’t you show an ounce of generosity?” Cynthia stepped forward, eyes red. “It’s all my fault. Please don’t blame Julian… I’ll go prepare a new set right now…” She spoke while bending to pick up fragments from the floor. Julian immediately stood to steady her, then roared at me: “Enough! Sarah! Look at yourself—this pettiness! Where is the dignity of a consortium heiress? Cynthia is sensitive by nature. If you give her some kind of psychological breakdown, can you bear that responsibility?!” I pressed the intercom button on the desk, my expression unchanged. “Send the corporate security team up.” Julian stared at me in disbelief. “What are you doing?” “Cynthia has committed gross negligence and destroyed a core legal document of this consortium, exposing us to incalculable compliance risk. She is terminated effective immediately.” Then I turned my gaze to Julian. “As for you—mixing personal matters with professional duties, severely disrupting board proceedings. Effective today, all your management responsibilities are suspended pending an internal review.” Julian laughed in fury, jabbing his finger at my face. “Sarah, to force me to grovel, you’d actually stoop to weaponizing your authority for personal vengeance?” “Fine—I’ll leave! Let’s see who can push this acquisition forward without me!” He grabbed Cynthia’s hand. “Cynthia, we’re leaving!” At the conference room door, Julian stopped and turned. “When you figure out how to be a proper fiancée, you can come beg me to come back.” The door slammed so hard the glass walls of the conference room shuddered. The wound on my forehead throbbed dully. I fed the ruined document into the shredder and opened the next file. “Let’s continue the meeting.” — Two days later. The corridor outside the VIP ward on the top floor of the medical center. Grandpa’s attending physician looked grave. “Mr. Claire’s heart is nearing complete failure. He needs bypass surgery performed immediately by Professor Ian from Switzerland. But the professor is currently at a classified research facility attending a symposium—all public communications have been severed. We’ve determined that the Gulfstream G650 registered under Julian’s name has special flight-path clearance. It is currently the only means of transport that can bring Professor Ian back in time.” I took out my phone. My fingertips trembled. I dialed Julian’s private number. The first attempt—rejected. The second—no answer. The third finally connected. Party music and cheering crowds blared through the speaker. “What?” Julian’s voice was laced with displeasure. “Julian, Grandpa’s had a cardiac emergency—he’s in critical care! We need your private jet to bring Professor Ian here!” I forced my voice to stay steady. “I’m begging you. Authorize the flight immediately!” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then Cynthia’s coy, syrupy voice floated through: “Julian, who is it? We’re supposed to watch the meteor shower tonight. If the plane gets sent away, we won’t be able to go… I’ve never seen a meteor shower from forty thousand feet…” Julian murmured tenderly: “Don’t worry, baby. A promise is a promise.” His voice turned cold again as he addressed me: “Sarah—to get me to come back, you’d actually lie about your own family’s health?” “I’m not lying! Grandpa is in the emergency room right now!” My voice shot up involuntarily. “Emergency room? Last month you said Grandpa had high blood pressure. Last week you said you cut your hand slicing an apple.” “Sarah, the same trick stops working after the third time.” Julian let out a cold laugh. “I already promised to take Cynthia on the jet tonight for the meteor shower.” “So—even if your Grandpa really is dying, there is absolutely no way I’m going back on my word!”

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The summer we graduated high school, all four of the boys I’d grown up with told me they were headed to New Mexico. They wanted me to come with them. For that, Adrian—the boy I’d been quietly in love with for years—finally said yes when I confessed. Then, on the day the acceptances went official, I overheard them talking. “Okay, the act’s gone on long enough. Who the hell would actually move out to the New Mexico desert? We just had to sell it to get her out of here.” “Clara’s such an idiot. She really bought it—thought she was some princess with four guys orbiting around her.” “She was never easy to be around anyway. None of the girls at school liked her. Lily needs us way more than she does.” Lily was our housekeeper’s daughter. She was also supposed to be my best friend. I pushed the door open. Adrian didn’t so much as flinch. “Weren’t you the one who told us to be nicer to Lily? Now that we actually are, what are you crying about?” “Clara, just go to New Mexico. We’ll bring Lily out to see you all the time.” I laughed. It came out ugly. They didn’t know. The New Mexico I was going to wasn’t some vacation spot—it was a closed-campus defense research program, sealed off by a signed non-disclosure agreement. … “Clary, look at you—not throwing a fit. You’ve really grown up.” Adrian had clearly braced himself for me to scream and cry. Instead, I just stood there, quiet. I asked him, “If I did throw a fit, would you come to New Mexico with me?” Mason, Logan, and Owen went silent. Adrian was the first to speak. “We honestly did plan to go, at first. But Lily said she didn’t want to leave the East Coast. She asked us to stay with her.” Mason jumped in. “You’ve been climbing trees, riding horses, and hopping fences with us since we were kids. You’re tough as hell. Lily’s different—New Mexico isn’t the place for her.” I clenched the hem of my dress and worked to keep my voice steady. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Owen answered, perfectly calm. “At first we just forgot. Then we figured this was better anyway. Lily needs us more than you do. You’re independent enough—you’ll be fine on your own.” I nodded and forced the tears back down. I’d grown up in a private estate community in North Virginia, just outside D.C. I was the only girl in our little circle. My parents’ friends spoiled me. The four boys shielded me. When we played make-believe as kids, they fought over who got to be my knight, and Adrian was always my groom. We grew up together. I never once imagined a day when there’d be nothing left to say between us. “Lily’s eighteenth birthday is coming up in a few days. Don’t make things awkward for her over this.” The one saying it was Mason—the same Mason who’d just called me a princess. He was the football captain at school. His memory was terrible. He forgot my birthday every single year. But now, apparently, he had another girl’s date locked down to the day. I forced a small smile. “I’ve already got her gift ready. It’s that bag she’s been wanting—” Mason cut me off. “She’s already got one. Give her the silver pendant.” I froze. That silver pendant had been commissioned by our five families the year we were all born. Each one had a name engraved on the back. Our parents used to say they hoped the five of us would love each other like family for the rest of our lives. And now he was telling me to hand mine over to Lily. I closed my hand around the pendant I’d worn since I was a baby, and I shook my head. “No.” Mason frowned. “Then give her the clay figures.” He didn’t wait for an answer this time. He walked straight into my collection room and came back out cradling all five clay figures in his arms. We’d made them together the summer we turned ten, at a pottery class at the country club camp. Five lumpy little figures—crooked, awkward, but you could still tell which was which. Mason picked out the one with the braids—the girl—and set her back on the shelf. “You can keep this one. Lily said she only wants the four of us.” My little clay self sat there alone in the cabinet. I finally lost it. “Mason, we made those together when we were ten. You are not taking them.” I chased after him a few steps, but Adrian and Owen stepped in front of me. My nails dug into my palms. I stared at his back and shouted. “You walk out that door with those, we’re done. For good.” Mason paused. He didn’t turn around. “Fine, we’re done. When have you ever been mad without saying that?” I tried to push past them, but Adrian caught my arm. “Come on, Clary. Don’t be like this. Be generous. You’ve had everything your whole life. Lily hasn’t. She’s just the housekeeper’s daughter.” “Share a little of what you have. Don’t be so petty.” Had I not shared? When she and her mother first moved into the staff quarters at the Whitaker estate, I was the one who begged my parents to fund her tuition so she could go to my private school with me. When she couldn’t keep up in class, I gave up my free time to tutor her. When she said she’d never been to Europe, I invited her along on our summer trip. When she said she didn’t belong here, I told her, over and over, that she was my friend. When she said she had no one, I personally introduced her to Adrian, Mason, Logan, and Owen. I even told her I was in love with Adrian. Back then, I really did think of her as my best friend. And in the end, I was the one who got left behind. I looked at Adrian—the boy I’d been in love with for six years. “Share my love with her. And what about yours?” “Adrian—was it because you liked her? Is that why you lied to me?” “You said yes to my confession because you knew I couldn’t do long distance. You knew I’d follow you to New Mexico. That’s what this was, isn’t it?” Adrian pulled me into his arms. “No, Clary. I’ve been in love with you for years. Lily is your best friend. I just couldn’t feel right leaving her here alone.” He didn’t love Lily. But he couldn’t stand to leave her alone on the East Coast. He’d loved me for years. But he could send me alone into the depths of the New Mexico desert without losing sleep. “I’ll fly out to see you every month. As often as I can. Okay?” He said it while reaching up to wipe away the tears I couldn’t stop. I turned my head away. His hand hung there in midair. I could feel his patience thinning by the second. “Clary. Stop. Be an adult about this. Lily just leans on us a little, that’s all.” “Look, Lily and the guys are waiting on me. When you’ve calmed down, we’ll talk.” He pulled out his phone and dropped a voice note into a group chat. “Heading out soon. Start queuing up some graduation songs.” Reflex made me glance at my own phone. Nothing. The five of them had cut me out and started a separate group. I wiped my eyes and, with shaking fingers, typed out a message to the program coordinator. I’m confirming the early check-in. I’ll report to the Sandridge Defense Research Center in New Mexico at the end of July.

The coordinator wrote back almost immediately. Understood. Come by the school tomorrow before your graduation party to finalize the paperwork. The next morning, I covered the swelling around my eyes with concealer and went in. On the way, Lily’s socials kept refreshing with a flood of new photos. They’d rented out a private karaoke suite, then driven down to the river. Lily’s caption read: The five of us. Forever together. The comments were rolling in. Jealous—I want four hot knights of my own. Lily really did take Clary’s spot. Girl’s got charisma! I let out a bitter laugh and liked every single post. The six-person group chat—dead silent for months—lit up in seconds. Lily just wrote whatever came to mind. You weren’t there. Whose fault is that? Don’t get worked up. Nobody left you out on purpose. Lily just wants company tonight. Don’t take it out on her. I turned my phone off. At school, I finished my paperwork in no time. The college counselor clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I have to say—I never saw this coming. Your family spoils you rotten, and yet you’re the only one turning down the East Coast schools to go early to New Mexico.” “Me neither.” Of the five of us, I would be the first to leave. By evening, Adrian and the others had made it to the graduation party. Wherever they went, girls gathered. That was when I noticed, for the first time, just how popular Lily had become. I stepped a little closer and heard one of the girls laughing. “There’s a trust fund princess in our class. Guess who?” “Clara, obviously. Four guys have circled her since forever. She actually thinks she’s the queen of the estate.” “She only helped Lily get into our school so she’d look like a saint. Fake as hell. Who is she to look down on the rest of us?” I’d never looked down on any of them. For years, Adrian and the boys had told me I didn’t need anyone else. They were enough. Then Lily came along. Every time I tried to make a new friend, she’d tug at me, wounded-eyed. “Clara, you’re the only friend I have. Just ignore them.” I used to think that meant she cared. Lily was standing in the middle of them now, smiling softly. “That’s just how Clara is. Try to be patient with her.” “Why should we?” The girls scoffed. “She’s been spoiled her whole life. She actually thinks everyone should bend over backwards for her.” “Well, at least she’s off to the New Mexico desert. Let’s see her strut around throwing herself at Adrian out there.” I looked up. Adrian and Mason were on the couch right next to them. They were staring at their phones. Like they hadn’t heard a word. I took a few deep breaths and walked over. “Princess complex? Throwing myself at people? When did I ever do any of that? Lily. Adrian. Say something.” The girls’ faces flickered awkwardly the second they saw me. Lily grabbed my hand. “Clara, we just graduated. Everyone’s finally letting loose. Don’t make a thing of it.” “Let go of me.” I shook her off. “I treated you like a friend. And you’re spreading lies about me?” Lily stumbled back a few steps and dropped onto the crate of drinks behind her. All four boys rushed over. Mason snapped, “Clara, are you seriously still this impulsive?” Adrian shot me a look of pure disappointment, bent down, and lifted Lily into his arms. Owen’s voice came low and cold. “Enough. If Lily’s hurt, don’t blame us for forgetting old times and putting you in your place.” Owen had been the brother I trusted most. He’d once promised he’d never let anyone hurt me. Now his bias ran so deep he couldn’t even see her act for what it was. Four boys who’d spent their whole lives circling me. Now they all circled her. I turned and walked out. The girls came after me and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Push someone down and think you’re just gonna walk away?” “Lily’s sweet. Why should she put up with you? We’re settling this for her!” I struggled, but they pinned me down. Across the room, Adrian glanced over.

Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “Adrian, aren’t you going to stop them?” Adrian was absently smoothing out the hem of her dress. “She’s got a temper. Wouldn’t hurt to have it knocked down a peg.” Mason and Owen smirked. “Clara’s been scrapping with us since we could walk. What are a few girls gonna do to her?” They wrenched my head up by the hair and slapped me across the face. Again. And again. My cheeks burned. When the girls saw that Adrian and the others had barely spared me a glance before turning back to fuss over Lily, they got bolder. They dragged me straight into the bathroom. “You just love playing lady bountiful, don’t you? Handing out charity from up there on your high horse?” “Well, New Mexico’s all desert. Not much water out there. Let’s get you plenty while you can.” They dumped a whole bucket of ice water over my head, shoved me into a stall, and locked me in from the outside. “Sit in there and think about what you’ve done. Let’s see how long it takes those four knights of yours to remember their little slut of a princess.” They’d taken my phone. I climbed up onto the toilet. When I scrambled over the top of the stall, I landed hard on the tile. My ankle screamed like it had split in two. I dragged my right leg to the bathroom door and pounded on it. It was jammed shut. I’d been talked about before. But no one had ever dared put hands on me like this—not with Adrian and the boys in the room. I remembered the way they’d huddled around Lily as I was hauled off. I pulled my knees up to my chest and dropped my head between them. The graduation party had started. Outside, the noise sounded like a different world entirely. I don’t know how long I sat there. Eventually I heard familiar voices out in the hall. “Did Clara go home?” “I don’t think so. I saw those girls take her somewhere.” “Whatever, let them teach her a lesson. Just don’t let it blow up. Her parents will lose their minds.” Adrian kicked the door in irritation. I was about to shout out—then I heard Logan. “Adrian—how long are you actually planning to keep up this boyfriend act?” I went still. Logan had confessed to me when we were sixteen. I’d turned him down, saying there was someone else. Adrian was quiet for a moment. “Couple of months. Once she’s out in New Mexico, I’ll break things off. Blame the distance.” “I love Clary like family. Talking her into moving out there alone—it doesn’t sit right. If playing boyfriend for a couple of months makes her happy, then fine. Consider it a parting gift.” I bit down on my lip and swallowed the cry for help. Logan laughed once. “Sounds like a last supper. Let me know when it’s over.” “What—you going after her?” Adrian sounded amused. “I thought you had a thing for Lily.” Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “Clara turned me down back in the day. Can’t a guy get his revenge? Making Clara Whitaker fall for me and then dropping her—that’d be pretty satisfying, actually.” Their voices faded down the hall. Something inside me went cold and quiet. Fever burned through me, and I drifted. In my delirium, I dreamed my way back to when I was twelve. I’d made a lot of new friends at school that year. I’d stay out with them until late every afternoon, and by the time I got back to the estate, I’d barely see Adrian and the boys at all. Owen said, with all the gravity of a courtroom lawyer: “So you get some new friends and now you don’t want us anymore?” Mason flopped down on the lawn, sulking. “I don’t care. You have to swear we’re your best friends. Otherwise I’m going after them.” Adrian and Logan each grabbed one of my hands. “No new friends. Just us. Nobody’s ever going to be as good to you as we are.” When I wouldn’t swear it, they secretly scratched a little smiley face into the back of each of their silver pendants. They said, We swear—as long as Clara stays with us, if she walks east, we won’t walk west. A kid’s oath. It became a joke in the end. I hadn’t stayed with them. I went to the New Mexico desert. They stayed behind, with the one who came after. They kept me locked in there all night. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital. Adrian was there at my bedside, holding my hand.

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