Author: Momo Chan

It was New Year’s Eve, and we were celebrating with friends when my husband’s “best bro” suddenly clutched his stomach and crumbled dramatically into Ryan Maxwell’s arms. His face was ghostly pale. He weakly grasped Ryan’s hand and said: “Ry, my gut is killing me. It’s got to be your wife’s bad juju—she must have passed her period curse to me. Rub it better, big bro!” Ryan immediately pulled him closer, his face etched with concern, then he spun around and snapped at me. “This is your fault for having a goddamn period and making him sick, Jessie! Riley is taking on your suffering—now, get in there and make him some hot soothing tea!” Riley—my husband’s supposedly platonic male friend—leaned weakly against Ryan. The look in his eyes was pure, cold provocation. “Don’t mind me, Jessie,” he whispered, his voice purposely gravelly and low. “We’re just bros. Honestly, if I had a uterus, I’d give Ry the heir he deserves before anyone else.” I stared at the overly-masculine posture and the obvious, fake lump he used as a makeshift Adam’s apple, and nearly burst out laughing. Did he truly think I was as blind as Ryan and his pathetic friends? Did they believe I hadn’t known Riley was a woman for months? I was tied to a “Wish Fulfillment” New Year’s Gift System. Since you are so desperate to be fertile, I thought, I will grant your wish. Take the torrent of good fortune you asked for! … 1 I glanced down at my phone, where a system interface only I could see had popped up. [New Year’s Gift System Activated. Detected Wish: To Conceive and Bear.] [Issue gift to target ‘Riley’?] I pressed Confirm without a moment’s hesitation. Ryan was still wrapped up in worry, haphazardly rubbing Riley’s abdomen through his thick sweater. “Good boy, Riley. Rub it better. It’s all this useless woman’s fault.” He looked up and glared at me, his eyes burning with a hatred that suggested he wanted to devour me whole. “Jessie! What are you standing around for? Can’t you see Riley’s in pain? Get your ass in the kitchen and make that tea!” “Of course, Ryan. Right away.” I turned and walked into the kitchen, a cold, silent laugh echoing in my mind. Inside, I slowly boiled the water, and casually added a modifier in the system. “System, dial the effect up. I want it intense.” [Request received. Energy doubled.] When I carried the cup of hot ginger-molasses tea out, the scene in the living room had already shifted. Riley’s pain had been an act. Now, the terror in her face was real. Large beads of cold sweat rolled down her forehead. “Nngh… it hurts so bad…” Ryan was panicking, pacing back and forth. “What the hell? You were just fine a minute ago!” I handed the tea to Riley. “Here you go. Drink it while it’s hot.” Riley took one sip, and a fresh scream ripped out of her. “Ah! What is this? Why does it hurt more!” Ryan snatched the bowl from her hand and hurled it onto the hardwood floor. The ceramic shattered, and the steaming liquid splashed onto my bare foot. “Jessie! What poison did you put in this? Riley’s worse now!” “Are you trying to poison him?” I stared at him, my expression blank. “It’s just tea, Ryan. What poison could there be?” Ryan’s spineless friends in the room chimed in. “Jessie, that’s seriously messed up. Riley’s always been nothing but kind to you.” “Yeah, your husband’s bro is our bro. You’ve got a twisted heart, woman.” Ryan pointed a trembling finger right at my face. “Kneel! Apologize to Riley now! He took your curse, and you repay him by trying to kill him!” Riley weakly pulled at Ryan’s hand. “Ry, don’t blame Jessie. It’s my poor constitution… ugh!” Before she could finish, another tortured cry. “There’s something kicking me in the stomach!” Ryan and the circle of friends froze. “Riley, what are you saying? You’re a grown man. There’s nothing in there to kick you.” Ryan was half-shouting when he yanked up Riley’s thick sweater. As soon as the fabric was lifted, everyone in the room gasped. 2 Riley’s previously flat abdomen, in front of all of us, began to swell like a grotesque time-lapse video. Once, twice… In just a few seconds, her stomach had pushed out into a distinct, high-riding curve, looking exactly like a pregnancy well into the second trimester. “What is this?” Ryan was terrified, his hands shaking. I put on a performance of shock, clapping a hand over my mouth. My voice trembled convincingly. “Oh my God, Riley! Your stomach is growing so fast! You… you couldn’t be pregnant, could you?” Riley stared down at her own stomach, her eyes wide with true terror. “Impossible! I can’t be pregnant!” Ryan was dumbfounded, tentatively touching the hard, tight skin of Riley’s belly. “Riley, what’s going on?” I pointed and shouted, “Look at her stomach! There’s something moving inside!” Everyone followed my gaze. Sure enough, a distinct, terrifying outline of a small foot pressed against Riley’s taut skin, kicking hard. “Ugh!” Riley screamed, curling into a tight ball on the sofa. “Ry, help me… it hurts so bad, I think my insides are tearing apart…” Ryan was completely lost, wanting to hold her but too afraid to touch that monstrous belly. “Hospital! Get him to the hospital, now!” One of the friends finally reacted, moving to lift Riley onto his back. Riley heard the word “hospital” and instantly lost it. Clutching her belly, she desperately burrowed into Ryan’s chest. “No! I’m not going to the hospital! Ry, please! It’s just acute gastritis, I just need to rest!” She yelled and desperately clamped her arms over her chest. I sneered internally. She’s terrified that once she’s in a hospital gown, the chest binder and her true gender will be exposed. “Riley, this is no time to be afraid of doctors!” I moved closer, feigning deep concern. “Look at that stomach. What if it… bursts if you don’t get medical attention?” “Ryan, you love your brother so much, don’t you? Do you really want to watch her die in your arms?” Ryan was shocked into action. “Right! Hospital! Riley, listen to me, I’m with you! No one is going to hurt you!” He scooped Riley up without waiting for a protest and charged toward the door. Riley was still screaming in agony. Before leaving, Ryan spun back and spat a threat at me. “Jessie, if anything happens to Riley, I swear I will never forgive you!” “And you’re paying the medical bills! He’s suffering because of you, you’re responsible for everything!” I watched his frantic retreat, slowly pulled out my phone, and swiped his secondary credit card. “Responsible? Absolutely, I’m responsible.” I immediately canceled that secondary card and finalized the paperwork to place a lien on the only property under Ryan’s name. The down payment for that house came from my father. The renovations were paid for by me. I used to love him; I used to be a willing punching bag. Now, all I wanted was to watch them all burn. “Come on, everyone! Let’s go see this medical miracle. A pregnant man—you can’t miss this!” I waved at the gawkers and friends, and we followed the frantic Ryan to the emergency room. We were barely inside the entrance when Riley let out a horrifying shriek. “He’s bleeding!” I looked down. Riley’s gray sweatpants were suddenly drenched in a large patch of crimson at the groin. Blood streamed down his inner thigh, staining the white hospital floor tiles—a chilling sight. Ryan froze, staring blankly at the blood on his hands. “Riley… does your gastritis come with blood in the urine?” 3 I bit back a laugh, putting on a stern face to correct him. “Ryan, try to use your brain for once! That location, that volume of blood—she’s in premature labor! She’s miscarrying!” The emergency room erupted into chaos. “Doctor, please save my brother!” Ryan bellowed at the top of his lungs. A few nurses rushed over with a gurney. When they saw Riley, their faces tightened. “Massive hemorrhage? Quick, Room One!” Riley lay on the gurney, now unconscious. A male doctor approached and reached for the clasps on Riley’s clothing to examine the injury. Ryan lunged forward and shoved the doctor away. “What the hell are you doing? You trying to assault my friend?” The male doctor staggered, looking utterly bewildered. “I’m a doctor! He’s hemorrhaging! How can I locate the bleed without an examination? Can you please be rational?” “He’s shy, you idiot! He won’t even shower with us! You keep your hands clean, you male doctor!” Ryan yelled, his neck bulging. The nurses and patients around us stared at him like he was insane. I stood at the back of the crowd and offered a cool comment. “Ryan, Riley is practically dying, and you’re worried about him feeling exposed? Oh, wait, I mean, male-on-male exposure.” “Maybe a female doctor would be better. Riley is a bit more sensitive than most girls.” Ryan jumped on this idea. “Yes! A female doctor! Get a female doctor, now!” The doctor, enraged, threw his stethoscope onto the counter. “This is an emergency! We don’t have time for you to handpick a physician!” “I demand one! If you don’t, I’ll sue! If my brother dies, you’ll all pay for it!” Ryan started throwing a tantrum until security had to be called. Finally, the hospital relented and brought in a seasoned female physician, Dr. Reyes. Dr. Reyes walked in, her face set in a grim expression. “Family out. We need to examine him.” Ryan refused to budge. “I’m staying! What if he gets scared?” Dr. Reyes fixed him with a stare. “This is a trauma room, not your bedroom! Get out!” Ryan finally backed out, muttering curses, but not before telling Riley, “Don’t worry, Riley. Your bro’s right here protecting you.” Less than two minutes later, a gasp of disbelief came from inside the room. “How is this possible?” It was Dr. Reyes’ voice, filled with shock. Ryan knew something was wrong. He kicked the door open and charged in. “What happened? Did you hurt him?” Dr. Reyes held a stethoscope, staring at Riley’s stomach as if she’d seen a ghost. “This gentleman has a fetal heartbeat! And this level of distension and hardness is clearly the result of uterine contractions!” Ryan froze for three seconds, then erupted into hysterical laughter. “Doctor, are you insane? My brother is a pure man! Do you think I wouldn’t know if he had a uterus? You quack, are you trying to scam me?” Dr. Reyes’ face turned dark red. “I’ve been practicing for thirty years. I don’t mistake a fetal heart for a stomach rumble! If you don’t believe me, we’ll do a sonogram!” “Fine! Bring it on! Who’s afraid!” Ryan scooped up Riley. As he passed me, he shot me a deadly glare. “Jessie, did you hear that? This whole hospital is a joke! When the results come back, I’m suing them for everything they have, and then I’m coming for you!” I shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Sounds good. I’ll wait to see the miracle of a man giving birth.” On the way to the ultrasound room, Ryan was already on his phone, calling for backup. “Mom, get to First Hospital, now! Riley’s here because that crazy woman, Jessie, poisoned him, and now these doctors are humiliating him by saying he’s pregnant!” 4 I could hear my mother-in-law, Elaine’s, shrill voice through the phone. “What? Pregnant? Riley is my angel! Who dares to insult him like that?” “That jinx, Jessie! I knew she was bad news! You wait there, I’m bringing the family!” I listened to the call and smiled bitterly. My mother-in-law, Elaine, had always thought I wasn’t good enough for her son, treating me like a servant. Riley, on the other hand, was charming and sweet-talking, completely winning her over. Elaine had told me to my face more than once that if only Riley had been a girl, I would have been replaced long ago. Well, now Riley was “fertile.” Let’s see how she handled this. Less than twenty minutes later, Elaine arrived, flanked by several family members, her face a mask of rage. As soon as she saw me, she charged forward, her hand raised to strike. I was ready. I sidestepped, catching her wrist firmly. “Elaine, we’re in public. Public assault isn’t a good look.” “You dare dodge me?” Elaine was shaking with fury, pointing her finger at my face. “Jessie Maxwell, you black-hearted, husband-cursing witch!” “Riley is such a good kid, and you’ve tortured him like this, and then bribed doctors to say he’s pregnant? Are you trying to destroy him?” Ryan chimed in, “Exactly, Mom. You didn’t see that doctor, she sounded completely convinced.” “Jessie must be scared that Riley’s going to take my affection, so she’s resorted to this dirty trick.” I looked at the three of them—this bizarre family unit—and laughed out loud. “Fine. If you all think I bribed the doctor, then let’s prove it to the public. Right now.” “Ryan, you said Riley is a pure man. Do you dare do this ultrasound live for the world to see?” To prove his innocence and to extort money from the hospital, Ryan stuck his chin out. “Bring it on! I dare you! When the results are back, you will crawl out of my house on your hands and knees!” Riley, lying on the gurney, his stomach now swollen like a ceramic bowl turned upside down, was in too much pain to speak. He could only stare at Ryan with pleading eyes. “No… go home…” “Good boy, Riley. Don’t be afraid.” Elaine stroked Riley’s forehead, her heart clearly breaking. “We’re just going to get a picture, humiliate these scam artists, and make sure they never say such a thing again!” At Elaine’s insistence, Riley was wheeled into the ultrasound room. Ryan and Elaine demanded to go in, and the technicians, overwhelmed, allowed them behind a privacy screen. I calmly took out my phone and started streaming. “Elaine, you love Riley so much. If he really can bear a child, will you finally let me go?” Elaine sneered, her face full of disdain. “Of course! If Riley can give my son a child, I’ll kick you out that minute and bring him into the family!” My heart filled with a terrible glee, but I feigned a tearful sadness. “Fine. You heard her. You all witnessed it.” Inside the ultrasound room, the doctor placed the probe on Riley’s grotesquely high belly. The monitor quickly showed an image. The ultrasound tech, a fresh-faced young man, stared at the screen, his mouth agape. “It’s… it’s a human shape!” Ryan shoved the screen aside, his roar vibrating through the room. “What the hell are you saying! Look closer, you idiot!” He lunged toward the monitor and instantly froze. On the screen, a clearly outlined, small humanoid shape was curled up. You could even see the regular, flashing light of a beating heart. I calmly pulled out another piece of paper. This was a paternity and amniocentesis report I had redeemed from the System moments before. “Yes, Ryan. Not only is he pregnant, but it’s yours.” 5 Ryan snatched the paper, his disbelief absolute, and read it over and over. The System guaranteed perfection. This detection report was, even in the hospital’s system, a perfectly legitimate document. The live stream comments went wild. [OMG! He’s really pregnant? A 21st-century medical miracle!] [That guy’s stomach is bigger than mine was at six months. How fast is this baby coming?] [The streamer is amazing! She’s broadcasting the drama of the year!] Elaine’s elderly eyes practically glued themselves to the screen. After a long look, she slapped her thigh. “Oh, my! It’s a big fat boy!” She turned and grabbed Ryan’s arm, her face alight with manic joy. “Ry, this is a miracle! Riley has secured our family line! You listen to your mother—divorce Jessie now! Marry Riley!” Ryan’s face was a study in conflicting emotions—white, then green, then purple. He looked at the monstrous human shape on the screen, then at Riley, writhing in pain on the bed, his mind a complete wreck. “Mom, what are you talking about? Riley is a man!” “And so what?” Elaine’s eyes bulged, spittle flying. “A man who can bear a child is a godsend! It means our family is blessed! Jessie, that barren hen, has been taking up space without producing results—she should have left long ago!” She turned and rushed at me, her finger nearly poking my eye. “Witch! Did you hear that? The Maxwell line is safe! Pack your things and get out! Divorce!” I held my phone steady, the lens focused right on her. “Elaine, we’re live. The whole country is watching. Are you sure you want to demand your son divorce his wife for a man who can give birth?” Elaine paused, momentarily intimidated by the camera, but the ecstasy of having a grandchild quickly overwhelmed her. She didn’t back down; she leaned into the camera, looking even more self-righteous. “Let them watch! I’m telling you all, my son is lucky! His brother is a divine man who can bear his child!” “I demand an heir for my son! Jessie can’t deliver, so she has to yield her position to the one who can! It’s the law of nature!” Riley, lying on the bed, heard this and, despite the pain contorting his face, a triumphant smile touched his lips. He grabbed Ryan’s hand, his voice a ragged whisper. “Ry… I’m really having your baby…” Ryan finally snapped out of his trance. He violently flung Riley’s hand away, his eyes a mixture of terror and utter disgust. “Shut your mouth! It’s impossible! We’re both men!” He spun around, grabbing the ultrasound tech by the collar. “It’s you! You rigged the machine! You worked with Jessie, didn’t you? Tell me! How much did she pay you!” The young tech started to cry. “Sir, I didn’t… the machine doesn’t lie…” “To hell with your machine!” Ryan went completely insane, grabbing a nearby chair, ready to smash the ultrasound equipment. “Stop him!” The hospital security guards rushed in. Several men struggled to pin Ryan to the floor. I watched the spectacle coldly, then spoke into my phone camera. “Everyone, you see my husband, Ryan Maxwell. Because his ‘brother’ is pregnant, he is attempting to destroy hospital property, assault a doctor, and throw me out of the house.” “The down payment for that house came from my parents, and I paid for the renovations. Now, the Maxwells want a man to usurp my role and steal my property.” Elaine was still screaming. “The house is in my son’s name! It belongs to the Maxwells! You’re an outsider! You have no right to speak!” Just then, the ultrasound room door flew open again. Dr. Reyes walked in, holding a chart, her expression grave. “Stop yelling! The pregnant patient’s condition is critical! The contractions are too fast, and the fetal heart rate is crashing! If we don’t operate now, we will lose both mother and child!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “390698”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The argument with my sister, Morgan, started on the drive to Grandma’s upstate home for the New Year holiday. It ended when she abandoned me at a highway rest stop and drove back to Harbor City alone. By the time I stumbled through the front door of the cabin, New Year’s Eve had long passed. Seeing me alone, Grandma gasped, her eyes wide with shock. “You walked all the way back? Where’s your sister?” My mind went blank. I realized, with a sickening jolt, that I had completely forgotten about the argument. Grandma’s face darkened with dread. She immediately drove me to the small clinic in town for a checkup. When the results came back, she collapsed into a chair, sobbing as she called Morgan. “You little monster! Didn’t you know your brother has brain cancer?” she choked out. “How could you leave him stranded on the highway? He walked for over twelve hours—his feet are raw!” I could hear Morgan’s cold laugh through the phone. “You two are in this together, aren’t you? Trying to con me. It’s Kai’s birthday today. There’s no way I’m driving back there.” She hung up. Grandma wailed, then slumped over, unconscious. In the ensuing chaos, I heard the doctor call my name. “Jamie,” the doctor said, his voice flat. “For your condition, surgery is useless now.” “Notify the family. You need to start making preparations.” … My breath hitched for several seconds. I stared at the doctor in a daze. I had a strange, overwhelming feeling that I’d heard those exact words not long ago. But the memory was just out of reach, frustratingly buried deep in my mind. The doctor sighed. “The brain tumor is pressing on your nerves. It’s completely normal for your memory to be unreliable.” “You have a sister, right? Call her now. From this moment on, you can’t be left alone.” My heart plummeted. A chill swept through my entire body. Grandma stirred slightly on the hospital bed, as if she sensed my panic. I quickly gripped her hand and asked the doctor, “Is Grandma really okay?” The doctor patted my shoulder in a calming gesture. “Don’t worry. Your grandmother simply passed out from emotional shock. She’ll wake up soon.” He paused, his expression solemn. “Young man, your situation is the one that’s truly serious.” I nodded numbly. As he left, I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was dead. I charged it and powered it on. A torrent of unread notifications flooded the screen—nearly a hundred missed calls. All from Grandma. She had been desperately calling for me during the twelve agonizing hours I was walking back home. My eyes welled up instantly. I scrolled through my messages, finding only a single text from Morgan. I ignored Grandma’s calls. Let me know when you actually get there. I dialed her number. The phone rang for a long time before she finally answered, her voice tight with impatience. “What is it?” I couldn’t help but shout, “You drove Grandma to collapse! Does Kai mean more to you than your own grandmother? You need to get—” Beep, beep, beep. She had hung up before I could finish my sentence. I stared at the screen in disbelief. Another text popped up from her: It’s the holidays. I don’t have time for this drama. I’ll come collect you on the sixth. My heart hammered in my chest. I called her again. The line was instantly busy. I kept trying for several frantic minutes until the truth sank in: I had been blocked. A knot of fury and despair tightened in my chest, making me tremble. Beyond angry, I snatched Grandma’s phone and tried calling. This time, it rang. She didn’t answer. I tried a second time. Grandma’s number was now blocked too. “Morgan, you monster!” I screamed, my voice cracking as tears streamed down my face. The door flew open. A nurse frowned, stepping into the room. “This is a hospital. Keep your voice down.” I wiped my face haphazardly and opened Kai’s social media. That night, he’d posted three updates. Thanks, Morgan, for coming back to celebrate with me. Everyone else is celebrating New Year’s, but I get to celebrate my birthday first! The necklace Morgan commissioned, captured by a private photographer—only two of these exist in the world. I love it! Have you ever seen a ten-tier birthday cake? My fingers clenched around the phone. My heart felt like it was being flayed alive. Tears hit the screen, blurring the text. Suddenly, Morgan’s furious voice echoed in my head: “Jamie, if you can’t manage to be civil, then just walk back to the cabin yourself!” The extreme emotion triggered a break in the fog. I finally remembered why Morgan and I had argued that morning. Days earlier, Kai had been crying, begging Morgan to stay in Harbor City to celebrate with him. Morgan was torn. Kai was an orphan, and his birthday falling on New Year’s Eve meant he never got a proper celebration. But Grandma was getting older, and the New Year was the only thing she truly looked forward to all year. Seeing her struggle, I suggested Kai join us. He refused. “That’s your family home. I would feel awkward there.” He sighed dramatically. “Besides, you and Grandma don’t like me… I can tell.” As soon as he finished speaking, Morgan glared at me, a flicker of profound displeasure in her eyes. She announced that day she wasn’t coming home; she was staying with Kai. I was shocked and spent days pleading with her. I used every argument, kind or desperate, but she held firm. Finally, Grandma blew up, and Morgan reluctantly agreed to come. But the entire drive, she wore a dark expression. I noticed her mood and cautiously tried to lighten the atmosphere. She irritably knit her brow. “Stop talking. I promised I’d go home for Grandma, and I will. Don’t worry about me leaving halfway.” I fell silent, afraid to say another word. Then Kai called, crying that he was sick and needed her. I couldn’t help myself. I snatched the phone and shouted at him, “Who are you to demand Morgan abandon Grandma for you?” The call dropped. Morgan furiously backhanded me. The slap cracked across my face. “What has Kai ever done to you that makes you despise him so much?” Stunned, my mind went blank. She didn’t spare me a single glance. She slammed the accelerator, driving to the nearest rest stop and screeching to a halt. When she spoke, her voice was hard and absolute. “This is a rest stop. You can catch a bus home from here. Get out.” Tears of betrayal and hurt streamed down my face, but I refused to move. I thought, She’s just angry. She won’t really leave me. But she saw my inaction and, without a word, got out, walked around, opened my door, and physically dragged me out of the car. “Call Grandma and tell her I’m not coming back. Don’t worry her with the details.” She released me, got back into the car, and sped off. I stood there, watching her taillights disappear, the tears falling harder and faster. For a long, long time, I stood frozen. Then, the memory vanished. I wiped my face and began the long walk home. If I hadn’t been under extreme stress, I might never have remembered. Because in my mind, the only thing I remembered was Morgan’s kindness. When I was little, a simple wish for ice cream meant she would run all over the city to find the flavor I liked. When our parents died, she held me and promised she would protect me, that I would never suffer. I still didn’t understand how we had come to this point. “Jamie…” Grandma’s raspy voice pulled me back. She was awake. Her clouded eyes searched mine, a hint of hopeful anticipation in their depths. “Your sister? Did she come?” I lowered my gaze. “Morgan didn’t answer. She must be busy.” Grandma’s face paled further. After a long silence, she asked, “When did this illness start? Why didn’t you tell me?” I gripped her hand, forcing a comforting smile. “I forgot. It’s okay, Grandma. I’ll take care of myself.” She closed her eyes, seemingly aging years in that single moment. She didn’t mention Morgan or my illness again that night. The next morning, she brought me home. She cooked a quick pot of pasta, then immediately started packing. She insisted we needed to go find Morgan. I didn’t want to go back to Harbor City. I held onto her, begging her to stay. Grandma’s expression hardened. “I have to ask Morgan what she’s thinking.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “And your illness—you need treatment in the city. The facilities here are not good enough!” So, we drove back to Harbor City. We opened the door to the high-end condo. Morgan wasn’t home. Kai was standing in front of a mirror, admiring the vibrant jade pendant around his neck. When he saw us, he immediately crossed his arms. “What, you can’t manage a holiday without Morgan, so you came crawling back?” I bristled. “Kai, show some respect to my grandmother!” “Respect? Why? If this old woman hadn’t forced Morgan to come back in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to fake being sick to get her back.” Kai sneered. “Are you here to start a fight?” “Too bad. Morgan is out buying me clothes. Come back later.” His arrogant, entitled attitude ignited Grandma’s temper. She pointed a trembling finger at him. “This is Morgan and Jamie’s home. Get out!” “You get out, you old woman!” Kai’s eyes narrowed, his gaze predatory and cruel. “You chose to stay in that dusty old cabin, and now you’re back. What, decided city life is better? You don’t want the ‘hard life’ anymore?” He laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “Morgan works so hard to earn money, and she still has to send you money every year. Why should she?” My pupils constricted. I clenched my fists, shaking with disbelief. Grandma was panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly. None of us expected Kai to be this brazenly awful. Seeing Grandma getting hysterical, I quickly ushered her to a chair. I then stormed over to Kai and swung my hand, landing a solid slap on his cheek. CRACK! Kai staggered back, stunned. “This is my house. You’re nothing but a charity case Morgan decided to fund. You call her ‘sister,’ but you are not a part of this family.” I yelled, ready to hit him again. He wasn’t going to just stand there. He grabbed my wrist, and we lunged at each other. “You little bastard! Don’t think being blood relatives means anything! Morgan likes me better!” Kai bit out, grabbing a handful of my hair. I kicked him in the kidney. He grabbed a heavy water glass from the counter and smashed it down on my head. BANG! “Jamie!” Grandma’s scream sliced through the air at the same time as the glass shattering. Dazed, a warm liquid streamed down my forehead, blurring my vision. My head spun, and I collapsed to the floor. Glass fragments dug into my palm. Strangely, I felt no pain in my hand, only a searing, piercing pressure, like steel needles being driven into my skull. Through the haze, I saw Grandma and Kai grappling. Grandma managed to land a few desperate slaps on him, and he finally shoved her hard. THUD! The sound was sickeningly loud. Grandma’s body hit the floor, her limbs twitching once, then going completely still. My body was numb. I wiped the blood from my eyes with my sleeve and struggled to focus. A slow, crimson pool was spreading beneath Grandma’s white hair. “I didn’t mean to!” “You old hag, why are you faking it? You attacked me first!” Kai’s voice was suddenly frantic. I gasped, crawling on my hands and knees toward Grandma. I touched her head. A jagged piece of glass was buried deep in the back of her skull. It scraped my finger, but I barely registered the pain. I drew a ragged, desperate breath, then let out a horrifying, agonizing scream. “Grandma—!” The front door opened. Morgan, loaded down with luxury shopping bags, froze at the sight. Her face went slack, her smile instantly vanishing. “Grandma!” Morgan shrieked, dropping her bags and stumbling toward us. When she saw the glass shard in Grandma’s head, her pupils shrank to pinpricks. She grabbed my wrist and screamed at me. “What is going on? Why did you bring Grandma back without telling me?” My vision was swimming. My mind went blank again—the familiar, terrifying feeling of weightlessness. More blood dripped down my temple. Morgan’s face went white. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Jamie, what did you do to yourself?” She released my hand and cupped my head, checking my wound. Kai, tears streaming down his face, sounded utterly pitiful. “Morgan, he’s gone crazy! I tried to hand him a glass of water, and he smashed it into his own head, and he hit me! Grandma tried to stop him, but she slipped on the broken glass…” Morgan’s hands stilled. Her face turned to stone. “Jamie, is that the truth?” “I don’t remember…” My voice was a choked sob. I was hyperventilating, desperately trying to catch my breath. I didn’t remember. I didn’t know what had happened moments ago. How could this be? Why was this happening? “It’s the holidays! Why are you always making a scene!” Morgan roared, her face iron-hard. “If anything happens to Grandma, I will never forgive you!” Before I could react, she shoved me aside. She picked up Grandma and rushed out the door toward the hospital. Kai stood over me, looking down. “See? No matter what I say, Morgan believes me.” He flashed me a chilling, triumphant smile. “Jamie, I think your grandmother is already dead.” “You killed her!” I looked up sharply, a cold terror shooting through me. “No, that’s not right. How could I have killed Grandma?” I mumbled, shaking my head mechanically. Kai scoffed and walked out the door. After he left, the house felt terrifyingly empty. The silence was absolute. My mind fixated on a single thought: I did not kill Grandma. After what felt like an eternity, a thought flashed into my mind. I scrambled up, shaking, and found a chair. I climbed up and ran my hand along the top of the living room pendant light. A moment later, my breath caught. A small pinhole camera was now clenched in my fist. I had installed it two months ago. When I was diagnosed with the brain tumor, the doctor warned me about the memory loss and suggested I install a camera at home. I followed his advice, then immediately forgot about it. I never imagined it would be needed today. Clutching the camera, I headed to the hospital. In the corridor, I saw Morgan hunched over, weeping hysterically. Kai was beside her, murmuring comforting words. “Morgan, don’t cry. Grandma is gone, but you still have me…” BOOM— My head went blank again. The familiar, crushing sense of void washed over me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. Morgan heard the sound. Her eyes, bloodshot and swollen, fixed on me with raw, surging hatred. She got up and walked over, slapping me without hesitation. “This is all your fault! Why did you bring Grandma back? Why did you argue with Kai?” Her voice was choked with fury. “It was just a few days! Why couldn’t you be sensible?” “Grandma is dead. Are you happy now?” The slap burned. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I tried to speak, but no sound came out. What was I here for? And how could Grandma be dead? Tears of confusion and helplessness poured down my face. I vaguely knew I had forgotten something crucial, but I couldn’t grasp it. The harder I tried, the worse the headache got, and the more I cried. “You have the nerve to cry?” Morgan’s voice trembled with rage. She pulled a small gift box from her pocket and threw it at me. “I was thinking of you. When I bought Kai’s birthday present, I bought one for you too.” “Jamie, you don’t deserve my kindness!” The box hit the floor and shattered, revealing a delicate jade pendant identical to Kai’s. Just as I reached for it, Morgan stomped her foot down on the pendant. “You are forbidden from attending the funeral!” “Jamie, you are no longer my brother!” I looked up in shock, but she had already turned and walked away. Kai stood over me, a smug, cruel smile on his face. “You deserve it.” He bent down, scooped up the broken pendant from the floor, pocketed it, and hurried after Morgan. A sudden, sharp pain flared in my palm. I looked down. I had crushed the corner of the small pinhole camera. I realized with a jolt that I had, once again, forgotten what I was supposed to do. People passed in the corridor, their eyes full of judgment and pity. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing in utter despair. Why did I have this disease? Why did it steal my memories, denying me even a chance to explain? A desperate voice inside me screamed that I couldn’t wait. The funeral could wait. The truth couldn’t. To prevent myself from forgetting again, I prepared two ways to get the video out. First, I pulled out my phone and emailed the security camera footage of Kai pushing Grandma to the Harbor City Police Department’s official email address. Then, I slowly got up and started walking toward the police station. The truth, however, proved my fears right. After leaving the hospital, I didn’t go to the police station. Instead, I got on the bus going back to the old cabin. I was fixated on the belief that Grandma was waiting for me there. If I just went back, I would see her again. The bus slowly pulled away from Harbor City. By the time I opened the front door of the cabin, it was evening again. The house was cold and empty. A single plate of cold, congealed pastas sat on the table. I vaguely remembered those were the ones Grandma had left for Morgan. Suddenly, I felt my soul draining away. My vision went black. As I collapsed, my exclusive ringtone for Morgan started blaring from my phone. It was a warm melody, but now it sounded frantic and jarring. I didn’t even have the strength to answer. I closed my eyes.

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I tossed my bridal bouquet into the arms of my best friend, Daphne Max, wishing her the kind of happiness I thought I had just found. Daphne’s smile stuttered for a moment before she playfully scolded me. “Don’t you dare curse me, Cass. I’ve dedicated my life to my art. Men are irrelevant.” Less than a year later, I found her, naked, in my husband’s office. The fallout was a catastrophe. I made sure of it. I hired a dozen people to string up posters outside Nolan Bell’s company headquarters, exposing their sordid affair. I printed thousands of flyers with pictures of them tangled up in my marital bed, then handed them out personally. I reported Daphne to her art school, and during her graduation ceremony, I had a loop of the office footage projected onto a jumbo screen. Yet, Nolan protected her. He pulled every string imaginable, ensuring she graduated with honors from the country’s top art academy. I was seeing red. I went for the one thing he couldn’t buy back: Daphne’s soul. I destroyed the entire gallery Nolan had bankrolled for her first solo exhibition. The price for my final act of rage: three years in a federal prison and a final, disgusted dismissal from Nolan. “You forgave my mother for sleeping with your father,” he sneered, his face a mask of contempt. “Why can’t you forgive me?” Five years after our divorce, I ran into Nolan Bell at the Saks Fifth Avenue jewelry counter. 1 The sales associate was wrapping up a tie I’d just chosen for my husband. Seeing Nolan approach, her professional demeanor ratcheted up a notch. “Mr. Bell, welcome. Your wife’s gown is prepped and waiting for you.” Nolan gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on the tie in my hands. “Pay for hers as well,” he murmured. I politely refused, placing a stack of crisp bills on the counter. He sighed, a dramatic flutter of breath. “Cassidy, after all this time, you still hate me.” I simply smiled. I didn’t have the time to hate him. I had moved on. I took the small designer bag and tucked it casually into the canvas tote bag filled with fresh groceries slung over my shoulder, then walked out. The early autumn wind howled around me. As I walked the familiar route toward the transit stop, my hair whipped into my eyes. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, and when I finally pushed the strands away, Nolan’s sleek black sedan was idling right in front of me. He frowned, noticing the redness in my eyes caused by the wind. “Get in. I’ll drive you.” “I’m fine, thank you. I’m taking the subway.” He studied me, head to toe, before his gaze settled on the canvas bag. He asked the question cautiously, as if approaching a skittish animal. “Have you been… okay these past few years?” “I’ve been great.” Nolan clearly didn’t believe me. “Just get in the car. Let me take you home.” The city bus behind us honked impatiently, but Nolan didn’t move. Under the scrutiny of onlookers, I reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. “The Briarwood Estates,” I stated flatly. The air went dead silent. His voice was a rasp when he finally spoke. “Why are you living there? That development has been practically condemned. And for a woman alone, especially with…” He trailed off, unable to finish. But I knew exactly what he was going to say. It was the place where my mother died. Ten years ago, on the day of my wedding to Nolan, she refused to attend. She jumped from the tenth-floor rooftop. The backseat was spacious, but the heating was too high. I cranked the window down a bit. “You get sick the minute the wind touches you. Roll it up. If you’re hot, I’ll just lower the temperature.” I shook my head, offering a placid smile. “That doesn’t happen anymore. Suit yourself.” He fell silent. A moment later, his phone rang. “Hey, honey. Did you get the gown? Where are you now?” Daphne’s voice, familiar yet laced with an unfamiliar, syrupy enthusiasm, filled the car. “I did. I just ran into Cassidy and I’m dropping her off.” A pause hung on the line. “Cass? She’s back? Why didn’t you say something? We should all get together, why leave me out?” I had known Daphne for over a decade, but I had never heard that tone before. She used to be reserved and quiet, focused only on her painting. If someone stole her contest spot, she would just hide and cry. I was the one who grabbed a baseball bat and publicly smashed the usurper’s entry, wrote a letter exposing the corruption, and spent three days in juvenile hall to get her justice. The right kind of love could, apparently, turn glass into steel. “It was just a chance encounter, Daphne. She has things to do. I’m coming right back.” “A chance encounter means we’re fated to connect! Why can’t we just treat an old friend to one meal?” “Daphne, stop.” Another strained silence followed. Nolan’s coaxing had always been gentle, but when he decided something, no one could stop him. Daphne should have known that better than anyone. She hung up abruptly as the car pulled up to the curb outside the decaying apartment building. “We’re here.” I offered a quick, polite thank you and got out. Nolan slowly turned his head away from the surrounding buildings and called out. 2 “Cassidy, can I ask you one thing? Who was that tie for?” “My husband.” Nolan ran a hand over his face, a gesture of weary disbelief. He clearly thought I was still trying to wound him. “Same brand, same silk, same pattern you used to buy for me for five years.” “And?” I met his eyes, my gaze utterly calm. “You don’t have to keep this pretense up in front of me. After all this time, I just want to see you doing well, not… like this.” Like this. The glass of the main door reflected my image. Casual leggings, plain flat shoes, the grocery-filled tote bag. I looked like a thousand other exhausted women running errands for their families. For a woman who had once only worn couture and diamonds, this look felt perfectly fine. I smiled, not taking the bait. “I think I look great.” A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face. “Cassidy, you really are different from before.” “That’s what everyone says.” I turned and walked away, not once looking back. I climbed five flights of worn stairs and unlocked the door. The interior was arranged exactly as it had been last year. A photo of my mother sat next to the old television. The candle in front of it had long since burned out. I lit a new one, tied on an apron, and went into the kitchen. I quickly prepared three dishes and a soup. A bowl of untouched rice sat opposite me at the table, and I ate slowly. “Mom, I ran into Nolan today.” “Don’t worry. He can’t hurt your daughter anymore. Besides, I’m not as stupid as I used to be.” The only reply was the vast, silent peace of the room. My appetite was gone. I put down my chopsticks and walked into the bedroom, pulling out an old photo album. “Let’s look at your stunning beauty, Mom. That black and white picture is depressing.” Before I could open it, a single photo slipped out and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up. Nolan, Daphne, and me. Three exuberant, youthful faces laughing for the camera. I was in the middle, my arms linked with theirs, smiling the widest—a gap where my right canine tooth should have been, making me look a little goofy. It was the summer I turned thirteen. Debt collectors had shown up at Nolan’s house, screaming threats. None of the neighbors, not even my parents, dared to intervene. But I charged in. The fist meant for Nolan’s face landed squarely on mine instead. My tooth was shattered instantly, and my face was swollen for weeks. My mother, heartbroken, told me to stay away from the Bell family. But Nolan’s mother, dragging her injured legs, crawled and knocked her head on our doorstep, thanking my parents until her forehead bled. My mother finally relented. For the next ten years, there was always an extra place set for Nolan at our dinner table, and an extra new outfit at Christmas. When my mother wasn’t busy, she helped Nolan’s mother run her stall, and if anyone tried to bully her, my mother would unleash hell. They called each other sisters. No one, however, could have predicted that the timid, stuttering younger sister, Loretta Max (Daphne’s mother), would end up in the bed of the elder sister’s husband. When I finally came home that day, everything had been smashed. My mother stood in the middle of the living room, weeping hysterically, the five-finger marks on her cheeks a terrifying sight. My father was shielding Loretta in his arms. “I’m divorcing you. You can have everything. I only want Loretta.” Nolan, standing beside me, panicked and tried to grab Loretta’s hand. My mother turned and slapped him. Twice. I pushed her away. She stumbled, falling to the floor, staring up at me in stunned disbelief. 3 I was crying, too. But the words I spoke were cruel and cutting. “Mom, how dare you hit Nolan.” The memories scattered. I looked down at the small photo in my hand. After the divorce, I had burned every single thing related to Nolan. This was a stray survivor. I was about to toss it in the trash when a knock sounded at the door. I assumed it was Mrs. Jones, who usually stopped by this time every year. I opened it without checking. Standing there were Daphne, arm-in-arm with Nolan. Her smile was radiant. “Cassidy! Long time no see! You haven’t changed a bit after all these years.” “Nolan couldn’t say no to me. We hope we’re not intruding?” I stared at them calmly. “I won’t invite you in. Do you need something?” Daphne faltered, shooting a wounded look at Nolan. “Daphne just wanted to see you,” he said, placing a luxury shopping bag on the foyer table. “She brought you a gift. No hidden agenda.” Daphne immediately jumped in to explain. “It’s a skincare set I’ve been loving lately. I had an extra one, and since we used to share everything, I thought I’d bring it over.” I glanced at the bag. It was the same brand my housekeeper, Marie, used. “And that photo…” Daphne’s eyes suddenly welled up. “Cassidy, after all this time, you still haven’t let go.” I crumpled the photo into a ball and dropped it into the wastebasket. “Hardly.” She started to reach for my hand, then hesitated, her fingers stopping mid-air. “I know you’re still hurting. Today would have been your wedding anniversary with Nolan.” “What happened back then wasn’t completely our fault. If you’re really over it, let us take you out to dinner. And please, tell us if there’s anything we can do to help you. We’re old friends.” My instinct was an immediate, firm rejection. Then the candle in front of my mother’s photo crackled loudly. I offered a small, quiet smile, suddenly changing my mind. “Sounds lovely.” Daphne talked far more than she used to. Her small, intimate gestures were also frequent. She recounted a romantic trip to Turkey the previous month, and while waiting at a red light, she leaned over and applied her lip balm to Nolan’s mouth with her finger. “Every fall and winter, I have to remind you. You kissed me so hard last time you made my lip bleed. Don’t you ever learn?” Nolan caught her hand, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Stop, Daphne.” “Oh, sorry! I forgot Cassidy was here. You don’t mind, do you, Cass? Nolan and I are just so used to this…” I cut her off, my tone utterly indulgent. “Of course not.” “I’ve seen the two of you tangle up on a king-sized bed, why would I mind a little lip balm?” The car fell into a profound silence. We were quiet the rest of the way. I watched the passing scenery, thinking that if my mother were still alive, she would be amazed by the changes. My father’s insistence on divorcing her for Loretta nearly drove my mother mad. And my secret marriage to the son of the woman who stole her husband was the final blow that killed her. At first, I only hated my father and Loretta. They had betrayed my mother, forcing her transformation from an unbreakable woman into a nervous, whiny wreck who aged before my eyes. 4 Later, I hated myself. After numbly arranging my mother’s funeral, I went south alone during what should have been my honeymoon, staying for a month. During that time, Nolan was the one person I couldn’t bring myself to hate. I saw him as a pearl covered in dust, a poor boy trapped by his circumstances. When I left, I entrusted Daphne to look after him. She took excellent care of him. In the new house Nolan and I had bought, she cooked with practiced efficiency; five dishes and a soup, all beautifully presented. I genuinely thanked her. For that year, the three of us became closer than ever. Nolan became even more devoted to me. He used the first big payout from his company to buy the sapphire bracelet I loved. He set off city-wide fireworks for my birthday. Every month, during my cycle, he canceled all in-person meetings and worked from home with me. I never once doubted it. He loved me completely. Until the day I went to his office unannounced. Behind a discreet, unmarked door in his inner office, I heard a low, breathless moan. I flung the door open. Two pale, naked bodies, white as bone, stabbed straight into my eyes. I shrieked, a sound ripped from my core. Nolan’s movement was swift and decisive, shielding the woman beneath him. “Who let you in here?!” “Get out!” I seized every object I could reach, hurling it at them. Blood streamed from a cut on Nolan’s forehead, but he remained rigid, desperately covering the woman in his arms. I smashed everything in the room, but I couldn’t bring myself to go near them—the two people I had loved most in my entire life. Terror was bone-deep. I tried to speak, my jaw trembling. “Daphne, look at me.” Tears streamed down her face. She pulled the covers up to her neck and knelt on the bed, looking at me. “Cassidy, I’m so sorry.” “Nolan and I know this is wrong, but we have fallen uncontrollably in love.” “Please, can you give us your blessing?” Her abject, pleading posture reminded me exactly of the day I first met her, cornered in an alley by a gang of girls. To protect her that year, I, the straight-A student, earned the lifelong enmity of that group and couldn’t walk home alone for months. I had personally handed her my wedding bouquet, wishing her all the happiness in the world. And now she was lying in my husband’s arms, begging me for permission. Tears poured down my face. My voice was a whisper. “When did this start?” She stammered, unable to answer. But Nolan answered for her. “Does it matter? Are you done making a scene? This is a corporate office, not our bedroom.” “Does it matter?! Nolan! Does it not matter to you?!” I screamed at him hysterically. He stood there, naked, his gaze shockingly frank. “Fine! I’ll tell you! Last March, when you ran off to the South and left me here alone—that’s when we started.” “I wasn’t trying to hide it forever. You had just lost your mother, and I couldn’t bear to hurt you again, so I let you maintain this marriage facade. Daphne has suffered enough, and I won’t let her worry anymore. I was planning to ask for a divorce after your mother’s death anniversary passed.” “Since you’ve discovered it now, let’s be honest. Divorce me. You can have anything, but I only want Daphne.” It was in that moment I understood the devastating force of the hand I had once pushed into my mother’s back, all those years ago when I chose Nolan. But before the divorce, I was determined to have my breakdown. 5 I used my phone to snap photos of them looking wrecked on the bed, printing hundreds of flyers and distributing them to every single one of his employees. I hung increasingly larger posters outside his company building, detailing their disgusting relationship. I reported Daphne to her university for professional misconduct. The art school forums were awash with vicious rumors about her. I even hired a projectionist to loop our happy pre-affair videos on a giant screen during her commencement ceremony. The memories I once cherished became the weapons I used to destroy them. But Nolan still protected her. She graduated from the nation’s top art academy and was set to open her own gallery show. To safeguard Daphne, Nolan finally deigned to look at me. “Daphne’s dream is about to come true. It has nothing to do with our grievances. Don’t you dare ruin it.” I was far beyond listening. “Ruin it? Hardly. I’ve already prepared something. I think the attendees will be very interested in seeing those masterpieces.” He slammed a document down in front of me. “If you want to keep your mother’s final resting place undisturbed, you’ll behave yourself. Sign the divorce papers and stay away from Daphne and me forever.” When my mother was buried, I was too overcome by grief to function. Nolan, as my then-fiancé, handled everything, including the selection and purchase of the plot. Given the land shortage, even final resting places had become commodities. If Nolan signed the paperwork, my mother’s eternal peace would be revoked. I hurled the cup of coffee I was holding right into his face. That night, I cried myself to sleep on my mother’s cold tombstone. The next morning, I went to the courthouse. The reality was different from what I’d imagined. Nolan only offered me the deed to his family’s dilapidated old apartment. “You reported the company’s tax issues, and a large portion of our funds is now frozen. This is all I can give you.” “If Daphne hadn’t pleaded for you, you wouldn’t get a penny.” I was no match for Nolan. Never had been. He was calm, serious, and achieved his goals through strategy and power. I was the one who rushed in without thinking, winning battles only to lose the war. I quieted down as he wished. I sold the apartment. But before I left for the South, I went to Daphne’s art exhibition. It was an impulsive decision. A massive digital billboard in the city center displayed her beautiful face. The exhibition was titled The Soul’s Latch. It was a phrase we used often in our letters during our teenage years—a naive hope, a pure wish for genuine friendship. Clinging to a final, masochistic sense of nostalgia, I fully disguised myself and stepped into the venue. I felt like a rat creeping into someone else’s happiness. Then I saw the painting titled The Soul’s Latch. It was two naked bodies. I had traced the small mole on the man’s shoulder blade a thousand times. The woman was clutching a crumpled pillow. The background was a bed covered in light lilac sheets. Outside the window, pink magnolias I’d personally chosen at the flower market were blooming, silent and beautiful. That was our house. It was also the place where Nolan and Daphne had first made love. The soul was hers, and Nolan was the latch. A violent, uncontrollable wave of nausea hit me. I vomited right there on the floor. The sound alerted the two of them, who were entertaining guests nearby. Daphne’s soft, velvety voice cut through the commotion. 6 “Are you alright, ma’am?” The heart-shaped brooch pinned to her chest was blinding, perfectly matching the key-shaped cufflink on Nolan’s sleeve. I went insane. I grabbed the brooch and scratched it violently across the massive canvas. SSSSCHLUCK! The sound of the canvas tearing echoed through the vast hall. Everyone gasped. The scene erupted in chaos. Security guards wrestled me to the ground. My face pressed against the cold marble, I looked up. Nolan was holding the crying Daphne, staring at me as if I were a sewer rat. “Call the police,” he said. I started laughing. A huge, maniacal laugh that shocked everyone, causing them to step back. Because the damages exceeded ten thousand dollars, I was sentenced to three years in prison, plus massive compensation for property and emotional damages. I made several attempts to end my life inside, but was miraculously saved each time. A year later, I was released early for good behavior, penniless, but radically changed. The car arrived at the restaurant. Daphne excused herself to refresh her makeup. Nolan stood beside me, his voice low and solemn. “I’m sorry.” “What we did was absolutely wrong. I’ll tell Daphne to watch her boundaries next time.” I raised an eyebrow. The old Nolan would never have bowed his head to me. Now, he was offering an immediate apology. I looked at him, confused. “Don’t bother. You’re married. I was just having a flashback to that time. It meant nothing.” A flash of genuine sadness crossed his eyes. I couldn’t decipher it, nor did I care to try. Fortunately, Daphne returned, acting as if the tense scene in the car had never happened. “We three used to love pooling our money for fancy steak. Let’s feast tonight!” Nolan quickly objected. “Cassidy only ate fancy steak for our sakes. Her stomach is too sensitive for anything too oily. How could you forget that?” “It’s fine. My stomach is much better now.” Years of dedicated recovery and a completely new lifestyle had brought my mind and body back to their best state. My phone suddenly rang. The name ‘Husband’ popped up on the screen. I answered. Lucian’s deep, clear voice was laced with a hint of playful complaint. “Wifey, taking Finn to that TV segment was more exhausting than ten days of work. I bet you’ll say I’ve lost weight when you get home.” In the background, my little boy’s voice squeaked a protest. “No way! Mama, Papa was talking to a pretty lady host, and they were laughing a lot!” “This little menace is digging a hole for his old man. That was the host, Cass!” I couldn’t help but smile at the noisy exchange. I looked up. The mall’s giant screen was playing Lucian’s handsome face, where he was formally giving an interview. Next to him, a perfectly adorable little boy with huge, round eyes watched the proceedings. I hung up after a couple more words and snapped a photo of the screen. When I looked down to send it, I realized that both Nolan and Daphne were frozen stiff. “Cassidy, you’re married?”

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The picture of Penny Wells, a young ingenue known for her ethereal beauty, sitting on my husband’s lap hit the headlines, and the entire internet was waiting for my reaction. For years, whenever Damon Cole—the celebrated, self-proclaimed genius director—had a scandal, I was the one who stepped out. I would smile for the cameras, post a perfectly staged photo, and dutifully perform the role of the stable, devoted wife, publicly vouching for our rock-solid marriage and deep emotional connection. Damon, naturally, expected me to maintain the illusion of marital bliss this time, too. When the media caught up with him, his tone was carelessly dismissive. “It was just a work meeting, part of securing a new project,” he’d explained. “She’s the leading lady for my next film.” He paused, adding the calculated line: “Seeing her reminds me of my wife when she was younger.” Online, clickbait sites were busy looping our wedding video. Damon kissing me, slipping the ring onto my finger, and declaring with theatrical sincerity: “I love you, more than life itself.” A popular gossip account bluntly captioned the clip: “Guess Director Cole’s life isn’t that important after all.” My agent, Yvette Miller, called. “Joss, are we going to pay to bury this one?” “No,” I said. “Not this time. Not ever again.” I looked down at the external hard drive clutched in my hand. The confusion and loss that had once dominated me were gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I had reached my goal. The marriage I had endured for years was finally coming to an end. 1 “Joss, have you read Damon’s new script?” “No, I haven’t. Why?” Yvette hesitated. “The heroine of the film is a debut actress whose face was disfigured in a car accident.” A cold dread sank deep in my chest, and a chilling wind seemed to sweep through my core. I was the one whose face had been half-ruined by a car accident. It happened years ago. Damon had shot a searing, realist film exposing the corruption of a powerful syndicate. While he was shielded by high-level protection, I, his unsuspecting girlfriend, became the syndicate’s target—the proxy for their fury. My parents died in that crash. My younger brother was left in a persistent vegetative state. I survived, but half my face was scarred, and my nascent acting career was instantly annihilated. Partners canceled contracts. A major film role I had fought for was recast. Damon, meanwhile, became an overnight success. The film was his breakthrough, bringing him fame, wealth, and entry into the elite circle of Hollywood power brokers. I plummeted into an abyss. He stepped in, covering the astronomical contract penalties, overseeing my physical therapy, and painstakingly helping me walk through the wreckage of my life. He even personally penned a screenplay, tailoring the lead role for me, orchestrating my return to the screen. He proposed the night I won my first major award. The entire industry lauded his deep devotion. His profile soared higher, and his company’s stock valuation climbed steadily. The façade held until three years ago when he was photographed leaving a hotel with a film student. That was Damon’s first time cheating. He brushed off the criticism and installed the student as the lead actress in his next film. Everyone advised me to be pragmatic. This is how the industry works, they said. Damon’s been better to you than most men would be. Yet, my heart had never felt so utterly calm. I printed a divorce agreement. When I presented the papers, he dropped to his knees, his eyes red with performative tears. “Joss, I was just rehearsing lines with her. Her image was perfect for the role. The internet is just rumor and conjecture.” I held firm. He tore the document to shreds and kicked over a chair. “After all these years, are you really questioning my commitment? I only love you. That woman was an accident, a momentary slip.” He pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice as emotionally resonant as ever. “If you’re unhappy about her being my lead, I’ll write a script just for you, a new one. I’ll make sure you get an Oscar nomination—they won’t dare deny me. Don’t be dramatic, Joss. How will you survive in this industry without me?” I insisted on moving into the guest room, separating our lives. I refused the tailored script he offered and signed on for a different project. Days before shooting began, the production company suddenly backed out. “I’m so sorry, Joss,” the producer, who was a friend, told me apologetically. “We found a better fit. We’ll pay the penalty, of course.” He then whispered that Damon had personally contacted the investors and had me replaced. Not only that, but every script, every commercial deal, every opportunity that came my way from then on was instantly withdrawn. To make sure I stayed obedient, Damon replaced my brother’s specialist. “Dr. Ellis is the foremost authority on neurorehabilitation, a fan of mine, and someone I paid a fortune to bring in. You know what to do, Joss.” I lowered my eyes. “I’ll move back to the master suite tonight.” He pulled me into his arms. “I’ve already dismissed that woman. I rewrote the script; the lead role is yours. Joss, I only love you. These things happen in Hollywood. I lost my way, but I promise there won’t be a next time.” When the film wrapped, he threw a spectacular anniversary party on set. While heading to the makeup trailer to grab something, I saw him passionately kissing the supporting actress. She met my eyes, a blatant smirk of triumph on her face. I closed the door quietly and stopped anyone else from walking in. 2 From that day on, Damon was repeatedly photographed with a stream of different women. He knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave him. To protect his “devoted husband” brand and keep the company stock steady, he commanded me to participate in his performance. I had to maintain the illusion of a happy marriage and personally squash his scandals. Then, yesterday, I went to see my brother. I walked in just as he fell down the stairs, hitting his head. The sight of the blood was a searing pain that shattered my heart completely. He managed to utter one single word: “Go.” This marriage truly had to end. Though in a vegetative state, my brother had always been aware of the outside world. I constantly talked to him, sharing everything about my life and career. He knew how miserable I had been for years. Yesterday, he had woken up. He saw Damon cheating with a nurse in his hospital room. Unable to reach me, he crawled out of bed, tried to leave the room, and fell down the stairs. He woke up. And then he lost his life. “Joss, are you absolutely sure about this?” Yvette asked, concern thick in her voice. “I’m sure.” “Damon will never agree. Without him, you’ll be blacklisted. He genuinely can destroy your career.” My voice was tranquil. “I don’t care. If I can’t hack it, I won’t.” I hung up just as Damon walked in. He reflexively opened his arms to hug me, and I sidestepped him. His face hardened instantly. “What’s with the attitude?” “You know perfectly well why I’m upset.” Damon sighed. “I know your brother’s passing has hit you hard. Honestly, it was so unnecessary. I was just in the bathroom in his room. Why didn’t he ring the bell? Why go out alone? It was an accident. No one wanted this.” I closed my eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me. My heart felt like a hollowed-out space where a vital organ had been crudely removed. Damon ignored my pain entirely, grabbing my hand to lead me out. “Don’t dwell on it. I’ve saved a role for you in the new script, you’ll love it. I set up a dinner; you need to meet people. Penny is the lead. She’s a newcomer, so look out for her.” His lips curved into a gentle smile. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Did you know? Penny is pregnant.” I froze completely. A thousand tiny arrows from every direction pierced me, pinning me to the floor. I stared at Damon, speechless, my voice a dry rasp, as if a large stone was lodged in my throat. “Pregnant?” “Yes.” Damon’s eyes were sparkling with a joyous pride, completely oblivious to my reaction. “I wanted to delay shooting, but Penny is committed; she doesn’t want to hold up the production. I need you to take good care of her on set. And the baby, of course. Right, Joss?” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails nearly broke the skin on my palms. I managed a faint, whispered acknowledgment. 3 The atmosphere in the private dining room quickly became strained until someone made a clumsy joke: “Only Director Cole can handle this—living the dream with two beautiful women.” Everyone forced a laugh. Damon, beaming, put his arm around my shoulder. “Of course. That’s what you get when you marry Joss.” Penny raised her glass of juice. “Let’s toast Joss. This film wouldn’t exist without her. My character, the heroine, is actually based on her life.” My face instantly drained of color. I looked up and met Penny’s eyes, which held a distinct spark of challenge. Yvette had hinted at the script’s theme, but hearing the confirmation now filled me with utter, chilling despair. I turned to Damon, my voice shaking. “Is the film really based on the car crash?” Damon shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. Penny’s voice rang out, deliberately loud. “It is! And Joss is playing the mother—you know, to reflect the passage of time.” The mother… My mother. The parents who died in that accident. I slammed my hand down, knocking over Penny’s juice glass. My entire body was trembling. “Damon, how could you… How dare you?” Penny shrieked, clutching her hand, and retreated into Damon’s arms. “Joss, did I say something wrong? You hit me! My stomach hurts.” Damon looked at me with open displeasure, but paused when he saw the tears filling my eyes. “It happened years ago,” he said dismissively. “Using it as source material for a film is a great idea. It’s perfect PR, and it will boost your profile.” Before I could speak, he told Penny: “That’s enough, you. Show your sister-in-law some respect.” Penny pouted but settled down. For the rest of the dinner, I sat like a puppet, hearing them discuss investments, roles, and the screenplay. The words registered in my ears, but my soul felt as if it were floating high above my body. Mid-meal, I went to the ladies’ room. Penny followed me in. “Joss, you don’t know this, but I suggested this story to Damon,” she whispered, leaning close. “I told him I wanted to play the heroine, and he agreed without a second thought.” She lowered her voice further, into a poisonous hiss. “Not only that, but I suggested a more dramatic twist: that after the crash, the heroine’s parents don’t die right away. They watch, helpless, as she’s… assaulted.” Slap! I struck her hard across the face. Penny stumbled backward and sat down heavily on the tiled floor. “Ah! My belly! It hurts so bad!” Quick footsteps approached. Damon rushed around the corner and scooped Penny into his arms. “Penny! What happened?” Penny looked up, her eyes swimming with tears. “Damon, I don’t know! Joss suddenly slapped me, and then she pushed me! I’m terrified… is our baby okay?” “I didn’t—” I only managed two words before Damon suddenly drew his hand back, ready to strike me. I flinched, closing my eyes, but his blow never landed. He glared at me, his rage simmering. “Jocelyn Yu, I didn’t want to go along with all of Penny’s darkest suggestions, but since you have no control over your temper, don’t blame me for being ruthless!” Damon carried Penny away without looking back. I yelled at his retreating figure. “I didn’t push her!” Damon’s steps paused for a fraction of a second, but he kept walking. I leaned against the sink, tears streaming down my face, splashing onto the polished countertop. Even though I had already decided to end this, the pain was excruciating. It hurts so much. He knew. He knew that incident was the unspeakable, agonizing pain of my life. My eternal nightmare. Yet, he was doing it anyway. Using it as a screenplay, turning it into a commercial film. I decided I had to go to him, beg him, and concede anything to stop him from grossly fictionalizing my trauma. I pushed the study door ajar, intending to walk in, but froze when I heard Penny’s voice. “Damon, can the heroine be disfigured and disabled? It’s not tragic enough otherwise. These kinds of movies are all about how much the audience can empathize with the suffering. The hero’s devotion is only showcased by her painstaking recovery.” She paused. “Also, let’s make it that the mother could have lived, but she watched the assault and died of shock.” Damon didn’t look up from his papers. “Fine. Whatever you want.” Penny’s voice was triumphant. “And since you and Joss never had kids anyway, why don’t we write that the car accident destroyed the heroine’s uterus and she had to have a hysterectomy…” “Wait…” Damon sounded a little hesitant. Penny coaxed him. “Damon, you promised you’d do whatever I wanted.” “All right,” he conceded. I slowly released the doorknob. Through the slight gap, my eyes locked with Penny’s. She knew I was there. Like a ghost, I retreated to my room. I found the external hard drive and sent a text to one person: Advance the plan.

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I lived on the good graces of my aunt and uncle for three years. My Aunt Carol made the same meal for me every single night: a plate of rare, boiled prawns. “Eat up, Vera,” she’d say, her voice flat. “They’re good for you.” I have always had a severe aversion to the briny, iodine-rich smell of seafood, and I’d feed the whole lot to the stray cat in the backyard when she wasn’t looking. After three years of this luxury diet, that scrawny street cat had ballooned into a magnificent, glossy, orange giant. Then came the pre-employment physical. The doctor stared at my lab report, his expression stunned. “You’re twenty-three, but your liver function markers are comparable to a professional athlete’s. How exactly do you manage your diet?” I was speechless. Walking home, one single, repeated phrase echoed in my mind… 01 The medical examination report report was a thin, flimsy sheet of paper, but in my grip, it felt like a lead weight. The doctor’s bewildered question was still buzzing in my ears. Liver function comparable to a professional athlete. It made no sense. I, Vera Hartley, an orphan who only finished college thanks to the grudging charity of my extended family, lived a life where the most rigorous exercise was walking from my bedroom to the dining room. As for “managing my diet,” I could barely afford to buy a decent moisturizer, let alone a personalized health regimen. A blast of late summer heat hit me, but I felt a deep, chilling cold run down my spine. I pushed open the front door, the familiar scent of oil and spice immediately washing over me. Aunt Carol Peterson was emerging from the kitchen, a platter in her hands. The moment she saw me, her eyes—which always seemed to be evaluating my worth—narrowed. “Well? Did you finally find a job? Hanging around outside all day. People will think we’re running a charity here, keeping a grown woman idle.” Her voice was low but laser-sharp, every word a tiny stone hitting my chest. I lowered my gaze. “I found one. I start next Monday.” “You did?” Carol paused, then slammed the platter onto the dining table with a sharp, jarring clatter. “It only took getting a job for you to speak up, did it? After all these years of eating our food and living under our roof, you’re finally going to be useful.” I clenched the report tighter, my nails pressing hard into my palms. Uncle David walked out of the living room, a weary peacemaker. “Now, Carol, finding a job is great news, Vera. Come on, wash up and let’s eat.” The dinner table felt, as always, like a trap. Carol brought out the last dish—the inevitable steamed spot prawns. She pushed the plate toward me, her tone devoid of warmth. “Eat more. They’re good for you.” That same phrase. Every night for three years. I looked at the pink, curled bodies on the plate. My stomach churned. I’d always hated the smell of these crustaceans. It wasn’t just fishy; it was a deep, primal scent that felt like it seeped into my bones, making me restless. My cousin, Brett, plopped into his chair, immediately snagging the last sparerib from the serving dish. Chewing loudly, he glanced at me with disdain. “Oh, look how special some people are. Getting their own plate of gourmet shrimp every night. Unlike me, stuck with plain old pork ribs.” His snide, entitled tone made the knot in my chest tighten. In this house, I was a perpetual outsider, a burdensome charity case living off their generosity. Carol gave Brett a half-hearted glare but didn’t correct him. She just pushed the plate closer to me. “What are you staring at? Eat them. They’ll get fishier when they cool.” I picked up my fork, selecting one prawn. The odor rose, and my throat tightened. In the past, I’d always found a way to discreetly dump them in the trash or, better yet, feed them to the stray cat by the garden wall. But tonight, the doctor’s words were a relentless mantra in my head: Liver function. Athlete. Diet. Prawns. Good for you. Was there a connection I’d missed? For the first time, I didn’t immediately plot how to dispose of this “torture device.” I studied the platter. The shells were translucent, the meat plump. They didn’t look quite like the regular shrimp I’d occasionally seen in the supermarket. I forced myself to ask, my voice a tentative whisper. “Aunt Carol, where exactly do you buy these? They look… different.” Carol was preoccupied, picking a piece of bone out of Brett’s pork chop. She didn’t look up, snapping back immediately. “Why do you care? Just eat. Does everything have to be a conversation?” Her retort slammed the door on all my questions. A surge of suppressed anger flashed through me, but I crushed it. Hold it in, Vera. You have no right to complain here. I looked down, mechanically pushing plain pasta around my plate, saying nothing else. The rest of the meal was a tasteless blur. After dinner, I took the dishes to the kitchen without being asked. Under the loud rush of the faucet, I scraped the near-full plate of prawns into a plastic bag I’d secretly placed under the sink. Using the excuse of taking out the trash, I headed toward the back garden. The orange stray—Cheeto, I’d mentally named him—seemed to be expecting me. He emerged from the shadows, letting out a soft, expectant meow. I emptied the contents of the bag into his little ceramic bowl. He immediately dove in, scarfing down the meat with gusto, a low, contented purr rumbling in his throat. I knelt down and stroked his back. Three years of high-end seafood had transformed him from a scrawny kitten into a sleek, formidable creature. His coat was thick and glossy, his eyes bright and alert. He looked… incredibly healthy. A ridiculous thought sparked in my mind. Could these prawns genuinely be something extraordinary? That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, endlessly scrolling through my phone: “benefits of spot prawns,” “shrimp for liver health.” The results were generic: high in protein, rich in nutrients. Nothing hinted at any miraculous, liver-boosting properties. They were ordinary food with ordinary effects. I tried different keywords: “special medical prawns,” “rare brackish water shrimp,” “black market seafood.” The results were even more far-fetched, mostly ads for herbal supplements. I turned off my phone. The room was dark, but my mind was brightly lit. Something was wrong. There was a piece of the puzzle missing. I made a decision. Tomorrow, I would find out where exactly Aunt Carol was getting these prawns. 02 The next morning, I woke before dawn. I put on a dark hoodie, a pair of jeans, a cap, and a mask—trying not to look like I was staking out a crime scene. Carol’s routine was clockwork: she left for groceries at 6:30 a.m. sharp. I hid behind the living room curtains, watching her walk out the gate with her market tote. I waited a full minute, then slipped out and followed her. The streets were quiet. I kept my distance, cautious and tense. The neighborhood market was only a fifteen-minute walk. My heart hammered against my ribs, my palms slick with sweat. I didn’t know if I was more afraid of being caught or of what the secret might turn out to be. Carol walked briskly, heading straight into the bustling Farmers Market. I melted into the crowd, my eyes locked on her. She navigated the vegetable stands and the butcher sections, but she didn’t stop. My gut clenched. She wasn’t going to the seafood area—the wet, loud, pungent section full of fish and crab. She walked straight past it. She walked straight through the entire market and exited out the back. Startled, I hurried after her. The market backed onto a dark, old alleyway, walls patchy with green moss, the ground uneven and damp. The air here was heavy and stagnant. The alley was deserted. Carol turned a corner into the deeper part of the lane and stopped, taking out her phone to check the time, clearly waiting for someone. I ducked behind a stack of abandoned cardboard boxes, poking only half my head out. I held my breath. Five minutes later, a beat-up utility truck rattled down the alley from the opposite end and pulled up beside her. The driver was a middle-aged man in a faded ball cap, his face obscured by shadow. He didn’t speak. He just hoisted a large white styrofoam cooler from the back of the truck. He opened the lid. A plume of white vapor, like dry ice, rose into the morning air. The man pulled out a black plastic bag, tightly sealed, and handed it to Carol. She took the bag. Almost simultaneously, she pulled a thick manila envelope from her tote and slipped it to the man. He weighed the envelope in his hand, gave a short nod of satisfaction, loaded the cooler back onto the truck, and sped away. The whole transaction took less than sixty seconds. No words, no greetings—it was a planned, secret exchange. I stayed frozen behind the boxes, my heart pounding so hard I felt dizzy. That large wad of cash. That mysterious man. That tightly sealed black plastic bag… The whole thing felt illicit, deeply wrong. I waited until Carol, clutching her market tote and the black bag, disappeared before I dared to move. I checked the alley entrance, but the truck was long gone. I returned home, shaken, locking myself in my room. The image played over and over: a seemingly ordinary suburban housewife making a large cash payment in a dark alley for a hidden package. That package had to contain the prawns that ended up on my dinner plate every night. What exactly were those prawns? And why were they worth such a clandestine transaction? At lunchtime, Brett was throwing a fit, demanding money for the latest gaming console. “Mom, it’s only five hundred bucks! Everyone at school has one, I’ll be the only one who doesn’t!” Carol’s face was etched with exhaustion and annoyance. She grumbled under her breath. “Buy, buy, buy! Is that all you know? Do you think I’m made of money, Brett? When are you going to bring some money into this house for once?” She was harsh, but she ultimately went into her bedroom and came out with a small canvas pouch. She counted out a thick stack of bills and handed it to him. I saw it clearly: her expression was one of genuine pain as she parted with the money. It was a stark, brutal contrast to the smooth, almost casual way she’d handed over the fat envelope to the mystery man that morning. She would endure her son’s entitlement and spend money she clearly didn’t have on a spoiled child, but she was eager to spend a huge sum on those mysterious prawns. The prawns, which were only for me. The fog of suspicion thickened, enveloping me. I realized the value of those prawns was far beyond any regular food item. And the secret behind them might be something far more difficult to bear than the simple sting of being an unwanted burden. 03 The following Monday, I officially started my job. The company was a reputable tech firm, and my starting salary was better than I’d expected. The day I got my first paycheck, holding the bank statement in my hand, I felt grounded for the first time. I could finally stop begging and live my own life. My first thought was to buy gifts for my aunt and uncle. After all, despite the atmosphere, they had seen me through college. I bought David a tin of high-grade Earl Grey tea, knowing he loved a good brew. For Carol, I hesitated. I thought about her worn-out wardrobe and decided to bite the bullet. I chose an elegant, high-quality wool-blend coat in a department store. It was expensive, costing nearly half my first month’s salary, but I didn’t regret it. When I got home, I presented the gifts. David’s eyes lit up at the tea. He clapped my shoulder, genuinely pleased. “That’s lovely, Vera. Our little girl is all grown up and thoughtful!” I handed the shopping bag to Carol. “This is for you, Aunt Carol.” She took it suspiciously and peeked inside. It was a deep plum color, one that I thought would suit her complexion and give her a sophisticated look. I watched her, full of cautious hope, searching for a hint of a smile. But she only glanced at it, pulled it out of the bag, and tossed it carelessly onto the sofa. “Wasting money already? You just started working. You should save that for your dowry. Why would a woman my age need anything this fancy?” Her voice was laced with her usual cutting sarcasm, dousing my hopeful spark in cold water. Brett, playing a game nearby, let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Pfft. Guess you kissed the wrong butt, huh? Mom doesn’t want your cheap stuff. It’s like a vulture bringing a gift to a sheep.” I balled my hands into fists, my heart sinking completely. Disappointment, humiliation, and an old, familiar pain washed over me. But this time, I didn’t retreat to my room to cry in secret. I simply looked at her, then at the coat lying ignored on the sofa, and turned toward the kitchen to help David make tea. Unbeknownst to me, my heart had begun to harden. Later that night, I woke up and went to the bathroom. Walking past the living room, I noticed the lights were off, the space illuminated only by a soft wash of moonlight through the window. I saw a figure standing by the sofa. It was Carol. She had quietly picked up the coat she had so scornfully rejected. I watched as she gently stroked the cashmere, then slowly held it up against herself, checking her reflection in the dark windowpane.

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For five years, everyone I knew looked at me with a mix of pity and scorn. They all said the same thing: I was nothing more than a placeholder for Conrad Wells. I was the temporary fix, the cheap replica, waiting to be tossed out the moment the original—his legendary ex—decided to claim her rightful place. They laughed at my blatant efforts to please Conrad. They pitied the desperation they saw in the way I clung to him. What none of them knew was the profound irony of it all. The only reason I ever entered Conrad’s orbit was because she orchestrated it. I took the money she offered, hired the best coaches for etiquette and posture, and even consulted a drama professor on the nuances of mimicry. I was a professional stand-in, and my performance was so good that Conrad never once lost interest. For my dedication, I received a substantial bonus from the “original” every year. With two weeks left on my contract, her final text arrived: [I land next week. Find a reason to break with Conrad before then. You need to disappear from Aiken, permanently.] After typing a swift, one-word reply—”Done”—I shredded the fresh sonogram report I’d been clutching. The paper scraps floated down into the waste bin. Then, I forwarded Conrad a reservation for a private booth at a Michelin-starred spot downtown. [Heard they changed the menu. Any chance you have time to try it out this week?] … While I waited for Conrad’s reply, I drove to a tiny, unassuming clinic tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was run by Doc Davies, a kind old man who specialized in natural healing. The minute his granddaughter, Maya, saw me, she yelled, “Grandpa! Elle’s here!” She’d been glued to her tablet, probably playing some intense mobile game. A familiar thump-thump echoed from the back room—the sound of the old man’s cane. “Girl, you weren’t due for a follow-up,” Doc Davies called out, his voice thick and raspy from years of telling everyone how to stop shouting. “What’s hurting now?” He pushed aside the wooden bead curtain, squinted at me, and then his eyes widened slightly. “Well, I’ll be,” he murmured. “Look at your aura. You’re expecting, aren’t you?” Maya instantly abandoned her game, scrambling to help me onto the consultation chair. After a long, silent moment of hearing my pulse, he finally smiled a calm, small smile. “Just two months. Your health is stable, but your constitution is weak, as we both know. You need to be extra careful.” He gave me a prescription for prenatal supplements. I also grilled him for any old-school remedies that might curb extreme morning sickness. After we talked for a while—just small talk, the kind I missed from my isolated life with Conrad—my throat suddenly felt dry. “Doc Davies,” I finally choked out, my voice rough. “I actually came to say goodbye.” He looked at me intently, his eyes deep with understanding. Then he sighed. “It was always going to happen, wasn’t it? Wherever you go, take care of yourself.” His gaze dropped to my still-flat abdomen, and his expression turned complicated. “And take care of that child.” On my way out, while Maya was distracted at the counter, I slipped an envelope containing a bank card and the access code into her favorite, battered medical textbook. It was tucked right in the middle, a place she’d look a hundred times a day. I gave them both a formal, heartfelt farewell. They had saved my life once; they deserved everything. Back in the car, I checked my phone. Still nothing from Conrad. I should have been used to the silence. It was his signature move. But knowing this might be the last text I’d ever send him openly made my chest ache. I felt a desperate need to flee before I lost my resolve. I pulled up a map, found a quiet, distant city on the West Coast, and booked a one-way flight for the following week. The confirmation text arrived right as Conrad’s reply finally buzzed through: [Out of town until Friday. Spencer will reach out to schedule something after I return.] I typed a hollow “OK.” Scrolling back through our brief, years-long history of texts, the screen was overwhelmingly green—my messages—with only sparse patches of white—his replies. Most of them were me initiating a plan, and him deflecting with the same formula: Spencer will contact you. As a high-ranking public servant, Conrad was busy. I understood that. But his identical, detached tone with me, compared to his colleagues or staff, was a constant, icy reminder: Don’t expect anything. Don’t fall completely in love. My vision blurred with tears again and again. I swiped up until my eyes stung with fatigue. I stopped at his profile picture—the one I had stared at countless times. It was a stark image of a lone, ancient lighthouse on a rocky cliff. The Beacon. I’d heard the whispers at parties. Since I had no real standing, his friends and associates felt free to discuss his past right in front of me. They said The Beacon was a tribute to his great lost love, Adeline Fox. They claimed I was only kept around because my eyes were a seven-out-of-ten match for Adeline’s, and my name, Elle, was a subtle nod to her middle name, Elise. The comparison had stopped stinging a long time ago; it just felt numb. No one knew I had chosen the name Elle Regan specifically because of those rumors. Conrad being out of town was a mixed blessing. It meant no last-minute, painful interactions, but it also made packing easier. A baby required a budget. Soon, I’d lose the substantial income from Adeline and the free housing from Conrad. Until I delivered and found stable work, I had to be frugal. I remotely leased a small apartment in my destination city and arranged for all my belongings to be shipped ahead of time. I had to save every dollar. The day after I found out I was pregnant, the nausea hit. I tried every remedy Doc Davies suggested. Nothing worked. Even a sip of water made my stomach revolt. After I ate a small dinner only to immediately lose it all, I regretted making our final outing a restaurant meal. The physical distress, coupled with the terror of Conrad discovering my secret, made me curl up on the sofa and weep. I almost changed my flight to leave immediately. Then, Conrad appeared on the news. Amidst a cluster of aging dignitaries, his sharp, reserved face stood out. He was standing slightly back, yet the camera found his profile constantly. I replayed the brief segment until my emotional meltdown began to subside. I placed a hand on my still-flat stomach and spoke to the tiny life inside me, my voice a soft, desperate plea. “Please, Kit. Don’t upset your mama. Not yet. I can’t let your father know you exist. Can you just be a good boy until we’re far away?” Whether it was psychological or a lucky coincidence, the sickness eased slightly. I managed to cook a small meal, and this time, while I felt waves of nausea, I didn’t throw up. I felt a rush of fierce excitement, gently patting my stomach and thanking the baby. I accelerated my packing pace, working constantly between rest breaks. I managed to ship the first batch of boxes before Conrad’s scheduled return. Spencer Zhou, Conrad’s right-hand man, called right as the courier drove off. “Ms. Regan,” Spencer’s tone was polite but sterile. “Mr. Wells has an hour free at five P.M. this afternoon. Please be ready.” I immediately called the restaurant manager, placed an order based on Conrad’s known preferences, and stressed that we had very little time. At five o’clock on the dot, Conrad walked in. I couldn’t stop the genuine smile that spread across my face when I saw him, but I quickly tamped down the emotion, meeting his eyes as he sat opposite me. “Your color is bad. Are you feeling ill again?” It was a rare moment of unprompted concern, and my heart hammered wildly in my chest. My hands clenched under the table. I gave him a practiced, careless shrug. “It’s just the heat, I think. Not much appetite these last few days.” Conrad nodded. He glanced at the limited menu and called the server over. “Add the chilled cucumber salad, please. Make sure the spice is minimal.” I inhaled slowly, reminding myself: That’s just his ingrained good manners. It means nothing. I barely touched my food, except for the cucumber salad he ordered. But since I’d already claimed to have a poor appetite, he didn’t notice. After he set his fork down, he mentioned needing to rush back for a public hearing. As he started to rise, I spoke the rehearsed line, sharp and clear. “I want to get married, Conrad. And I need a future that includes children. This… needs to end.” Conrad froze, his head bowed slightly as he looked at me. A light knock came at the door. Spencer’s low voice followed. “Sir, the meeting starts in thirty minutes. We have to go.” Conrad ignored him. His gaze remained locked on me, filling the room with the suffocating presence of a powerful man kept waiting. I held my breath, terrified he would see the lie in my eyes. “The meeting will be two hours,” he finally said. “We’ll finish this conversation when I return.” He finally broke eye contact. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, his deep voice softened slightly. “It’s rush hour. Drive carefully.” I didn’t move until I saw his black town car pull away from the curb. Then, I collapsed back into the leather chair, gasping for air. I waited almost an hour before driving home, worried my shaky state would cause an accident. Standing in the entryway of his penthouse, I scanned the room. Everything seemed normal. Conrad wouldn’t notice anything had changed. That foolish hope evaporated the second he walked in. “The photo on the media cabinet,” he said flatly, pouring a finger of scotch. “The picture of us is gone. It’s just my single portrait now.” I was stunned by his swift, brutal perceptiveness, but I held my ground. “I’m leaving, Conrad. I can’t exactly take my things when I go, so I thought I’d start getting rid of anything that belongs only to me.” He didn’t respond immediately. He took a seat in the single armchair by the fireplace, sipping his drink. “Why the sudden urge to marry? Did you meet someone you want to settle down with?” His cold, reasoned tone was a physical stab in my chest, but I maintained a bland smile. “I’m twenty-seven. You were never going to marry me, but I can certainly find a man who will. I always told you I wanted a home and a family.” Conrad downed the drink in one swallow. The sound of the glass hitting the mahogany table was synchronized with his next sentence. “I’ll have Spencer transfer the house and car to you immediately. And I promise you this: should you ever find yourself in real trouble, you get one call. I will use every resource I have to help you, as compensation for your time.” Thinking of the baby, I didn’t refuse. Perhaps it was the fact that I had been a quiet, uncomplicated presence for five years. Or perhaps he saw the ghost of Adeline in my acceptance. Either way, he added one final, stinging instruction before he left. “I know every eligible bachelor in Aiken. Tell Spencer who you’re seeing. I’ll run a background check. I don’t want some opportunistic bastard taking advantage of you.” I waited until the door had been closed for a long time before whispering, “Okay.” I’d always known how this would end, yet the reality was crushing. I couldn’t breathe. Terrified of jeopardizing the baby with a massive emotional breakdown, I found a mindless comedy on TV and forced myself to watch. I drifted off to sleep through the sound of canned laughter. In my dream, I was sixteen again. Conrad, only a few years out of college, peeled off his expensive wool coat and draped it over my filthy, ragged shoulders. He wasn’t the stoic public figure he was now. I saw the pure pity in his eyes, and something else—a fleeting, almost paternal tenderness. When the vile man who had bought me struggled against the police, screaming obscenities, Conrad stepped in front of me and gently covered my ears. “You’re a good girl,” he said. “We were just late. That’s all. You just suffered because we were late.” He stroked my hair. “You’re so young. Think of this as a terrible nightmare. The world is huge out there. You’ll see beautiful things, you’ll find a man who loves you deeply, you’ll have a wonderful baby, and you’ll live the life you want…” In the final, disjointed moment of the dream, I had that beautiful baby. But then Conrad showed up, furious. He accused me of running away while pregnant, of denying the Wells bloodline, of sentencing his child to a life of poverty and scorn. His expression was one of such pure disgust—the look he’d never once given me in our five years together—that I woke up gasping. I lay there for a long time, the nightmare’s residue a cold, heavy lump in my chest. A soft chime. The front door intercom. It was Spencer. “Ms. Regan, these are the transfer documents. Signatures here and here, and the house and vehicle are yours.” I signed Elle Regan swiftly. The moment he left, I contacted a local realtor and put the house on the market, priced to sell quickly. I had three days left. I wasn’t afraid of Conrad knowing I’d sold the house or that I was leaving Aiken. The nightmare had been terrifying, but I knew the real Conrad. He was decisive. When something was finished, it was finished. I was, after all, just a chapter. The lower-than-market price meant the house sold the very next day. The buyer, meeting my condition, paid cash in full and rushed the transfer paperwork before the county clerk’s office closed. The car was another matter. Too impractical to drive cross-country, and selling it felt wrong. I called Doc Davies and Maya. Seeing the old man again, he immediately tried to hand back the bank card. I stopped him with a single sentence. “Doc, if you hadn’t intervened that year, I would have died. Consider that money the delayed bill you deserve. You wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life feeling guilty, would you?” He wavered. I pushed further. “I want to give the car to Maya. If anyone asks about me—especially anyone connected to the Wells family—please, don’t mention the pregnancy.” Relieved that I had secured their silence and given them something substantial, I was finally free. On the morning of my flight, I went into the bathroom and took out my kit. I held the prosthetic adhesives, the color palettes, and the specialized wax—the tools that had made me Adeline’s double—and burned them in a heap in the sink. The smell was acrid. Looking at my reflection, the face that was now only three-tenths a match for Adeline Fox, I managed a stiff, awkward smile. Just in case, I put on dark sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. I was crossing the lobby to the airport gate when I saw them—Conrad and Adeline—exiting the international arrivals lounge together. Perhaps he sensed my stare. Conrad looked up, and our eyes met. It was only a fraction of a second before Adeline’s voice pulled his attention away. I kept walking, my pace steady. Goodbye, Conrad, I whispered in my mind. Goodbye, my light.

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My mother was the most meticulously fair woman on earth. For my sister, Amelia, and me, she insisted on what she called the Law of Perfect Parity. Identical dresses. Identical allowances. Even a bowl of fruit had to be measured with a ruler to ensure perfect size equality. This kind of scrupulous balance was, for the most part, a comforting background hum to my childhood, but sometimes, it became a source of ridiculous, unnecessary stress. Like the recent blueberry season. Knowing Amelia loved them, Mom bought her two large boxes. Then, she insisted on forcing another two huge boxes onto me. It didn’t matter how many times I told her I couldn’t stand blueberries—they were always too tart, too mushy, or both. She was adamant: “You both have to have the same amount!” “What you do with them is your business!” Reluctantly, I offloaded my stash onto a colleague I knew was a berry fan. But later that day, as I was leaving the office, I found the boxes in the trash. And I overheard the colleague snarking to someone else: “I don’t know what she was thinking, deliberately giving me these bitter little bombs. Tastes like garbage.” My blood boiled. That night, I called Amelia to vent. “Blueberries are just… naturally bitter and tart,” I griped. As I was talking, I reached for a small bowl of fruit on her coffee table, popping a berry into my mouth out of habit. The taste, however, was a shocking jolt of sweet, crisp freshness. 1. I froze. Amelia looked confused. “What are you talking about? Blueberries aren’t bitter. They’re perfectly sweet and so crunchy.” The taste in my mouth certainly wasn’t a lie. Sweet without being cloying. With a crisp bite that gave way to a clean, sugary burst of juice. They were nothing like the blueberries I remembered eating, which had always been sour, oddly woody, and sometimes soft and slightly slimy. I was still puzzling over it when Amelia chuckled. “Your taste buds are so weird, Scarlett. You’ve been saying strawberries are sour since you were a kid.” “But Mom always buys the really expensive ones. Huge, perfectly sweet, with a hint of vanilla!” Really? Yet, the strawberries I always tasted were bitter and sharp. They were pretty to look at, but the texture and flavor were consistently disappointing. Why would the fruit my mother bought be so different between me and my sister? The only conclusion, an outrageous one I was desperate not to believe, was that she played the role of Fair Mom in public, while secretly running a two-tier system. Amelia got the Grade-A premium, and I was stuck with the economy-pack duds. I forced a brittle smile onto my face and told Amelia, “Maybe it’s just a taste difference thing.” I fled her apartment, rushing out the door. Next, I called Mom. After a casual chat, I slipped in what felt like an innocent question: “I stopped by Amelia’s earlier, and she’d already finished her strawberries.” “Mom, you really don’t have to buy two portions anymore. I don’t even like them. Just give all of it to Amelia.” “Let her eat her fill.” Mom instantly reverted to her old rule: “Absolutely not. I have to keep the scales perfectly balanced between my two girls.” “If you refuse your portion, I won’t buy any for Amelia.” Hearing that, the jumbled thoughts in my head coalesced into something heavy and hard. The impulse to confront her was almost overwhelming. But in the end, I sighed into the phone. “Fine, fine. Buy them. I’ll choke them down if I have to.” I hung up and started scrolling through a decade of memories. When we were kids, Mom would always buy Amelia’s favorite fruits: strawberries, cherries, and blueberries, a constant supply. I didn’t like those, and would beg for the cheaper, easier-to-eat clementines. She would tell me: “If you won’t take your portion, your sister won’t get hers either.” Amelia would, of course, throw a fit. So, for the sake of the family peace, we developed a system, a kind of secret swap. I’d give her my “good” portion of what she liked, and she’d give me her portion of what I liked. It was the same with clothes. Mom would buy Amelia the beautiful, expensive, picture-perfect party dresses. And she’d buy me the plain, gray cotton tees. At first, I liked the dresses. But those fancy outfits were always scratchy and uncomfortable, like they were lined with tiny, invisible sand. So, I would trade clothes with Amelia, too. This black market exchange continued until we both moved out for work, and swapping became too cumbersome. But now, a sick certainty was settling in: Why did Amelia never complain about the bitter fruit? Why did she always say my scratchy dresses were perfectly comfortable? 2. The week Mom said she was mailing the latest shipment of strawberries, I beat her to it. I drove home and offered to take the boxes myself, claiming I wanted to save her the shipping fee. Before I left, she gave me strict instructions: “The top box is for your sister.” “The bottom box is for you.” “Don’t you dare mix them up.” I feigned ignorance. “Why? Aren’t they exactly the same?” Mom’s expression went rigid for a split second before she recovered. “Amelia’s box is a little riper. She eats them fast, you know.” “Yours, you’ll probably forget about until the cows come home, so I picked ones that are less ripe, so they’ll last a few extra days.” It was a perfectly rational explanation. I didn’t press her. I simply drove off, dropped my box off at Amelia’s place, and kept her box for myself. The minute I broke the seal, the sweet, intoxicating perfume of real strawberries burst forth. I didn’t even bother to wash them. I grabbed one and shoved it in my mouth. A massive, succulent bite. It exploded with sweet, clean juice. Not sour. Not woody. Just the kind of transcendent, deep sweetness I had only ever dreamed of. I kept going, one after another, driven by a raw, primal hunger. I ate until my stomach was painfully full, until I was hiccupping strawberry-scented air. Then, I started to cry. It really was true. They were different. How could she talk about the Law of Perfect Parity and yet, when it came to something as simple as fruit, still have a triple-A grade for one daughter and a failure grade for the other? I was certain now. The first time I ever tasted strawberries and blueberries, they were awful. That’s why I refused to try them again. Amelia’s first taste, however, must have been heavenly, leading to her lifelong love. The bias started so early, from when we were just babies. Mom’s phone call came right on cue. She launched into a furious tirade: “How many times did I tell you, don’t mix them up, don’t mix them up! You are so incompetent! You can’t even handle one small chore…” I cut her off gently. “I ate the strawberries. They were amazing.” The scolding on the other end of the line went completely silent. Then, I continued. “I also finally got to taste Amelia’s blueberries.” “They were a flavor I have never, ever experienced before.” “Mom, you’ve worked so hard all these years. Putting on this elaborate, decades-long production of ‘The Fair Mother,’ all while running a covert operation to keep the good stuff out of my hands. Even a simple box of fruit requires this much emotional labor.” I’m usually a hothead, the type to turn any dissatisfaction into a Category 5 hurricane. But this time, I only felt a crushing, profound weariness. I simply didn’t understand. “We’re both your kids. Why the good stuff for one and the cheap stuff for the other?” “If you didn’t like me, or didn’t want to spend top dollar on me, you could have just said so!” 3. I hung up, then blocked her number. Relatives quickly started calling, trying to mediate. “You’re an adult now. Why can’t you just talk things out?” “Why the standoff? She’s never truly wronged you all these years.” I told them exactly what Mom had done. Since she was capable of such deception, she shouldn’t fear the gossip. After a few calls, the relative intervention ceased. Amelia came to see me, looking awkward. “Mom’s getting old and maybe a little confused,” she stammered. “Scarlett, why are you making such a big deal out of this? You’re successful. You don’t need the money.” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “She’s confused now? What about ten years ago?” “Amelia, I’m asking you straight: Back when we did the swaps, were the things I was giving you good or bad?” Amelia was silent for a long time. Finally, she spoke. “The very first ones—the fruit and the clothes—were bad. The fruit was sour, and the clothes were cheap quality.” “After Mom found out about our secret swaps, the things you traded me later were the good ones.” So, it was all true. Mom favored Amelia. She wanted her to have the best. But afraid I’d kick up a fuss, she faked the Law of Perfect Parity. She bought me the cheap knock-offs to make me hate them, then used my voluntary trade with Amelia as the perfect cover to give Amelia the premium products, guilt-free. This was the first time I had ever truly confronted my parents’ bias. And the realization filled me with a sickening disgust. I couldn’t believe how masterfully my mother could perform affection. I cut off Amelia’s attempt to defend Mom, my voice thick with rage. “It’s easy for you to sit there and preach, Amelia. You enjoyed all the best things—the sweet fruit, the perfect dresses—since childhood.” “I was the idiot, happily handing over the prime cut, thinking I was getting a great deal.” “And you, Amelia? You’re no saint, either. When you got the good stuff, the sweet berries and the pretty dresses, why didn’t you ever clue me in?” Amelia scrambled to defend herself. “I didn’t know! If I’d known, I would have told you how good the strawberries and blueberries were!” “Who could have guessed Mom would go to such lengths?” Amelia’s feigned innocence only made her look more repulsive to me. I hung up and blocked her number, too. It wasn’t until my father, Richard, returned from a business trip abroad and learned what happened that I broke my boycott. The holidays were approaching, and he insisted I come home. “Whatever the argument is, you have to say it face-to-face,” he urged. “You’re bottling up this anger, and it’s going to turn into a sickness. Whether you want to cut ties or not, you need to state your case.” It was my father’s words that convinced me to return for Christmas Eve dinner. I was burning with hatred, but the moment I saw my mother’s face, the rage seemed to drain out of me. She refused to acknowledge the issue of the cheap produce, and I, too, couldn’t summon the courage to fight her in person. It was easy to do over a screen, impossible in her presence. After dinner, Mom produced two necklaces, acting as if nothing had happened. “I wanted to get you both solid gold bracelets,” she said. “But the price of gold has skyrocketed. Now I can only afford two necklaces.” Before she could finish, I blurted out, “I suppose you got Amelia the real gold and me the gold-plated vermeil?” The room went instantly cold. I regretted it immediately. Why couldn’t I be direct? Why did I have to be so cutting and passive-aggressive? That wasn’t my personality. Mom’s eyes reddened. Dad shot her a dark look, then told me, “You choose first.” “Your mother’s tendency to run a two-tier system… she gets it from your grandmother.” 4. My father offered a plausible explanation for my mother’s favoritism. “Your mom, Debra, was the oldest. Your grandmother always favored the younger siblings.” “Sometimes, the rare time your mother was given something, her younger brother and sister would immediately try to take it from her.” “She has a soft personality. She was never able to fight them off.” Dad glanced at Amelia. “Your sister has your mother’s disposition—soft, compliant.” “But you, you take after me.” “You are the squeaky wheel. If you’re unhappy, you make a scene. When you were small, if you saw your sister eating something good, you’d try to snatch it.” “So…” I interrupted him. “How small are we talking about, Dad?” “I can remember things from seven or eight, and I never remember trying to snatch anything from Amelia.” Amelia chimed in softly, “I don’t remember that either.” Mom looked defensive. “When you were in a high chair, eating solid foods, you were constantly grabbing at your sister’s plate!” “If you saw her eating something you didn’t have, you’d scream and throw a tantrum. You were so demanding! You ate so much, you nearly bankrupted us.” So, because of something that happened when I was a toddler… Mom decided I shouldn’t have nice things, or else I’d keep fighting Amelia for them? “So, you’ve been fooling me like an idiot for all these years?” Mom didn’t answer, just wiped her tears. “We didn’t have a lot of money back then. We couldn’t buy two of everything.” “And when you ate the good stuff, you wouldn’t stop. I simply decided not to give you any. Later, I saw you were perfectly happy with clementines…” I let out a cold, cynical laugh. Dad, meanwhile, continued to scold Mom in front of me. He concluded: “To prevent your mother from being ‘confused’ again, from now on, you pick first.” “If you feel it’s not enough, you take both.” Since Dad had given me the green light, I unhesitatingly collected both necklaces. I wasn’t about to give up something good now that it was in my hand. It was the only way to appease the anger boiling in my chest, since I couldn’t actually sever ties with my mother. She had her bias, and I had my very real hurt. But she had also done things right—helping with my education, taking care of me when I was sick. Those acts couldn’t be instantly erased. I couldn’t cut the cord, so I settled for taking temporary, tangible compensation. Call it a lesson. But that very evening, I noticed a solid gold bracelet on Amelia’s wrist. I immediately cornered her. “Did Mom give you that?”

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After I moved into the new apartment, I always felt like someone was watching me. It wasn’t until I saw a man with binoculars in the window across the street that I finally understood. A primal terror seized me. I stormed over there to confront him, but he just smiled a sickening, entitled grin. “You’re showering with the blinds open—don’t tell me you weren’t asking for it?” he sneered. “Maybe you wanted me to notice you, huh?” “Besides,” he continued, the smirk widening into a leer, “I had this place first. You chose to rent here, right across the street from me. You’re playing coy, but you’ve got a crush. Come on, sweetie, you liked being watched.” Enraged and disgusted, I fought him. In the struggle, he pulled a knife and stabbed me repeatedly. When I opened my eyes, the cold shock of the blade was gone, and I was back on the day I first discovered I was being watched. 1 The fluorescent light in my bathroom made me squint, but the phantom coldness of the knife still clung to my skin. It wasn’t a dream. I was back. According to the last timeline, I would turn my head any second now and lock eyes with that man—Kevin—holding the binoculars across the alley. My heart hammered against my ribs, and a cold sweat instantly soaked through my shirt. No. Not this time. I couldn’t confront him. He was a psychopath. If he knew I’d found him out, he would attack me just as he did before. I couldn’t panic. Panic was what killed me. I forced myself to be calm and stepped out of the bathroom, carefully avoiding looking toward the window opposite. Once I was in the visual dead zone of the apartment, I grabbed my phone, hands shaking, and called the police. After hanging up, I quickly texted my closest friends and my mom. Their responses were immediate and frantic. “Honey, don’t you dare move! Lock all the doors. Mom’s on her way!” “Harper, stay on video call with me, sweetie, I’ll keep you company. Don’t let me hang up.” A knot tightened in my chest. I couldn’t let them get involved. He knew this building. Who knew what he might do if he ran into them? “The police will be here fast,” I replied. “If you rush over now, you’ll just be panicking. And if he’s downstairs and you bump into him… it’ll be more dangerous.” After assuring them I was safe and everything was locked, I went through the entire apartment, double-checking every window latch and deadbolt. Even after all that, I still felt that awful, prickly sensation—the feeling of eyes glued to me. The discomfort of being watched wrapped around my chest like suffocating vines. I didn’t dare sit down. I huddled in the corner by the front door, staring fixedly at the peephole. I have no idea how long I waited. My phone screen kept lighting up with texts from my mom and my best friend, Maya, asking if the police had arrived yet. I kept replying not yet, and my impatience grew into a sickening dread. I couldn’t help it. I lifted my gaze toward the building across the way. My heart lurched. Kevin and his binoculars were gone. He wasn’t there? I blinked, then stared, confirming the window was empty. There was no silhouette, no figure. Did I make too much noise calling the police? Did he spot me? Or was he off doing something else? A dozen terrifying scenarios flooded my mind, but one small, cowardly thought brought a sliver of relief: As long as he wasn’t staring at me from over there, I could breathe. I leaned back against the wall, my tense muscles easing fractionally. Just a little longer, and the police would be here. I would be safe. Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound, sudden and sharp, echoed through the quiet apartment. My heart leaped into my throat, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The police? Already? I crept to the door and pressed my eye to the peephole. The moment my vision focused, my body seized up. It wasn’t the police. It was him. Kevin. “Come on out, sweetie. I know you’re in there.” His voice was muffled, but its oily undertone slithered right through the door. “You thought calling the cops would stop me?” “Too bad for you. I got here first.” The blood drained from my face. How did he know? Then I remembered his delusional rambling from the last timeline. He had rented this place before. He had been casing it. He was watching me—every move I made was under his surveillance. His voice, thick and repulsive, came through the door again. “I knew you were different from the others. You chose my old apartment. You feel something for me, right?” That sickening, twisted logic. My stomach churned, and I fought the urge to vomit. He started rambling, a horrifying domestic fantasy. “I know, you’re just too shy to admit it. There’s nothing shameful about having a crush on me.” “I’ve got it all planned out. Once we’re together, we’ll redecorate this place. Get a big sectional sofa in the living room, and we can curl up and watch Netflix together every night.” Goosebumps prickled my entire body, but I knew I couldn’t let my fear show. I had to play along. I had to buy time for the police to arrive. “That sounds… that sounds nice,” I managed, keeping my voice shaky but soft. “Actually, I’ve always thought you seemed… kind of sweet. I just didn’t know how to talk to you.” He took the bait. His voice instantly became excited and possessive. “I knew you liked me!” I pressed on. “Maybe… maybe we could start talking. See where it goes.” He immediately agreed. Feeling that his erratic emotional state had stabilized slightly, I let out a minuscule breath of relief. Just a little longer. The police had to be close. That’s when I heard a sound that froze the breath in my lungs. Shk-ting. The slick, unmistakable sound of metal sliding against a sheath. A knife being drawn. His tone instantly curdled, the earlier obsession replaced by a cold, murderous fury. “But… you called the cops. Why did you call the cops? Are you playing me for a fool?” My heart leaped back into my throat. “I was just so scared! I panicked and made a mistake! I’m calling them right now to say everything is fine!” He slammed his body against the door. “Too late! Calling the police is a betrayal! You’re a liar! I’m going to kill you!” The door panel groaned and shuddered under the force of the impact. I scrambled backward. With a sickening CRACK, the deadbolt gave way. He burst through the doorway, knife raised, his face a mask of contorted rage. “Die, you backstabbing little cheat!” I snatched a chair and shoved it up, blocking his attack. CLANG! The blade bit into the chair leg, sending splinters flying. I used the distraction to retreat, my mind screaming with the memory of the last time, the knife tearing into my abdomen. “The police are here! Stop right now, or you’ll be too late!” He didn’t listen. He raised the knife again and lunged. I dodged desperately, scrambling over furniture, the apartment descending into chaos. Just as my strength was about to give out, I heard the sound of a siren and a bullhorn outside. “Police! Inside! Drop your weapon immediately!” Kevin froze. His movement was a split-second pause, but it was all I needed. I shoved the broken chair at him with all my strength, and he stumbled backward, momentarily disoriented. The police officers—two men and a woman—swarmed through the broken doorway. Within seconds, they had him pinned to the floor, the knife kicked out of his grasp. He was still thrashing and screaming a litany of obscenities. “She’s mine! Don’t you touch her!” As I watched them cuff him and haul him away, the adrenaline drained out of me. My legs buckled, and I crumpled to the floor, my back slick with icy sweat. Safe. Finally safe. A wave of intense relief washed over me, and I couldn’t stop the tears that poured down my face. I thought it was over. But one week later, I was sitting on my living room sofa, trying to relax and watch TV, when that familiar, crawling sensation of being watched returned. Just then, my phone rang. It was Detective Miller from the precinct. “Ms. Harper, the suspect who harassed you… Kevin…” His voice was low and serious. “He attempted suicide during transport to the correctional facility’s health wing. He escaped while we were taking him to the hospital.” “We’re mobilizing all units for a full manhunt,” he continued. “You need to be extremely vigilant. Do not leave your apartment alone. Lock everything down. Call us instantly if anything happens.” I stood paralyzed, the receiver pressed to my ear. That’s why the feeling was back. Rigidly, I turned my head and looked across the street. The window where Kevin had once stood with his binoculars was dark, but now, a soft, solitary light was on. Oh God. He was back. He had come for me. I slammed the phone down and immediately redialed the police. “Detective Miller! He’s back! He’s in the building across the street! The light is on in that apartment!” After hanging up, my mind filled with the vivid image of Kevin bursting through my door with the knife. I have to lock it down harder. I went through the apartment again, checking the locks, then pulling a heavy shoe rack in front of the front door as a barricade. I went to the windows and drew the curtains tight, making sure there wasn’t a single crack of light visible. But the feeling didn’t fade. It grew stronger, as if a hundred unseen eyes were boring into me from every corner of the room. I couldn’t sit, couldn’t stand still. I paced the length of the living room, back and forth, trying to burn off the panic. I don’t know how long I walked. Eventually, I realized I desperately needed to use the bathroom. I crept toward the door, paranoid of making any noise. Afterward, I turned on the faucet to wash my hands. The cold water against my skin sent a shiver through me. I looked up into the mirror. The woman staring back was pale, her eyes wide and rimmed with fear. She looked utterly pathetic. Staring at that terrified reflection, a terrifying thought flickered through my mind. For a split second, I had the bizarre, terrifying impression that the person in the mirror wasn’t me at all. It was Kevin. He was right there, staring out with that same cold, possessive, obsessed look he’d given me the moment before he stabbed me last time. I clutched my chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. It’s a hallucination. Just my mind playing tricks. I repeated the mantra over and over, but my body wouldn’t stop trembling. Then, a knock on the front door. “Ms. Harper, this is the police. Are you home?” The sound jolted me out of my paralyzing fear. The police! I rushed to the door and peered through the peephole. Two uniformed officers were standing outside. Relief flooded me, and I quickly unbolted the door. “Officers! Was he… was he caught?” I asked desperately, glancing down the hall, terrified Kevin might appear at any second. The officer shook his head, his expression grim. “Ms. Harper, we checked the unit across the street. The one you pointed out? There’s no one in there.” I stared at him, my mind spinning. “But… but that’s impossible! I saw the light on just now!” “We went in and conducted a thorough search. It’s empty.” The other officer spoke up. “We spoke to the building manager. They reported a break-in earlier. A petty thief likely turned the lights on when they were rummaging. We’ve apprehended the thief.” My mouth fell open, but the terror inside me refused to subside. It intensified. “Then… where is he? The man who escaped? Where did he go?” The lead officer’s voice became stern. “We are still looking. He has not been located yet.” “We have patrol units covering the perimeter of the complex, but you must be careful. Do not go out alone.” After the police left, my mind was a mess. I glanced toward the dark window across the street, sure that a pair of unseen eyes were watching me from behind the drawn curtain. Where was he? Was he hiding somewhere, still observing me? Another week crawled by. Kevin’s wanted poster was shared in our condo’s group chat and on every social media platform. But the police, the neighbors, and the building security all had nothing. He had simply vanished. My life was a constant state of hyper-vigilance. I never left the apartment. The windows and door locks were never opened. Not even during the day could I pull back the curtains. I felt that if I exposed even the slightest crack, a pair of eyes would immediately seize on it from the shadows. Every corner of the apartment felt saturated with his presence. The feeling of being watched never truly went away. To make matters worse, I started hearing strange noises at night—a faint, intermittent sound coming from deep inside the apartment. Terrified, I would huddle under the covers, barely breathing. But whenever I finally gathered the courage to investigate, I’d find nothing. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I called Maya and begged her to come stay with me. Maya walked through the apartment with me several times, but she didn’t hear anything. I clutched her hand tightly. “I swear I’m not making it up. Every night, there’s this weird noise. I think… I think he might be hiding in the walls of this apartment.” Maya squeezed my hand and sighed. “You’ve developed PTSD, sweetie. Look at these locks. The windows. How could he possibly get in here? Besides, the police are looking for him. If he were here, they’d have found him.” I was about to argue when she suddenly wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell? It’s gross. Like… like something rotting. A dead mouse, maybe?” I paused, inhaling deeply, but I didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps I was just used to the stale air in the apartment. “I don’t smell anything,” I told her. Maya tugged me toward the bathroom. “I definitely do. You’ve been cooped up here too long. You should do a deep clean. Even if it’s a dead mouse, that’s unsanitary. You’ll get sick.” She was right. Dead mouse or not, a deep clean would help settle my nerves. After Maya left, I started scrubbing every surface. After half a day of work, the air quality improved noticeably, and the oppressive, heavy feeling in the apartment seemed to lift slightly. But when I stepped into the bathroom, the stench Maya had mentioned hit me full force. I covered my nose and surveyed the room. The floor, sink, and toilet were spotless. No mouse corpse. I followed the smell, and to my horror, I realized the odor was strongest near the mirror. The closer I got, the more acrid and suffocating it became. Frowning, I reached out to wipe the mirror. But the moment my hand made contact, I froze. Instead of the usual smooth, cold glass, the mirror was slick and tacky. It felt greasy and slimy, making my skin crawl. I quickly withdrew my hand and looked down. It was covered in a pale, yellowish, viscous film. That’s where the worst of the smell was coming from. “Ugh—” I gagged, turning to wash my hands. Just then, the sound began. Shk-shk-shk. Shk-shk-shk. The noise… it was the weird, intermittent sound I’d been hearing every night! Every hair on my body stood on end. I turned, rigid with terror, and fixed my eyes on the mirror. The sound wasn’t coming from anywhere else; it was coming from inside the mirror. My pale, horrified reflection stared back at me. Nothing else. But the shk-shk-shk continued. I was shaking uncontrollably, but my feet felt nailed to the floor. I knew if I didn’t find out what this was, I would never have a moment of peace again. Trembling, I found a screwdriver in my toolbox. After taking several deep, ragged breaths, I wedged the flat head into the narrow gap at the edge of the mirror frame. I pried hard, and a large section of the mirror crashed to the floor. An avalanche of foul, toxic air rushed out of the cavity, making me gasp and choke. Instinctively, I peered into the dark space behind where the mirror had been. The horror I saw in that brief moment made me scream and collapse onto the cold tile floor.

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Jasper and I were the definition of a forced pair: all scorching chemistry and sheer, mutual hatred. Once the crisis that brought us together was over, I told him I wanted out. He wouldn’t say yes, but he wouldn’t say no, either. Instead, he went off on some ridiculous tangent, asking if I preferred cats or dogs. “Dogs,” I said, frowning. “Why?” He dropped his head and gave a pathetic little yelp. “Woof.” I glared. “Don’t do that.” He cleared his throat, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. “You misunderstand.” “I just wanted to make sure you remembered,” he drawled, his smile completely unapologetic. “You’ve already kissed a dog.” My jaw dropped. 01 The day Christopher Morgan and I broke up, I cried a ridiculous, snotty, heaving mess of tears. It was devastating. I genuinely loved that man—the one who was always so gentle, so thoughtful, so frustratingly handsome. With a double dose of heartbreak weighing me down, I spent the entire afternoon crying all over Jasper. He tried everything. He argued, he negotiated, he exhausted his entire supply of soothing words. Finally, seeing that I knew every logical reason to stop crying but just couldn’t, he told me the ancient joke about the old woman and her two sons. “So, what’s your takeaway?” he asked, once he was done. “It means you have to look at the positive side of life, right?” I sniffled. “Christopher and I breaking up isn’t just a sad thing, it’s also a chance to—” He cut me off with a massive, exaggerated X sign. “Wrong! It means that if an old woman can manage to pop out two sons, the world is absolutely overflowing with men!” I was deep in my misery, but Jasper always knew the exact line to make me snort-laugh through my tears. Jasper and I have been on each other’s nerves since kindergarten. We’d been in each other’s orbit, fighting and arguing, for over two decades, but I’d always had a serious question mark over his sexuality. I’d at least dated Christopher. Jasper, on the other hand, hadn’t even held a girl’s hand since preschool. Objectively, he was gorgeous, charming, and a master conversationalist who could turn on the flattery like a faucet. He regularly left girls completely dazed. But no matter what type of girl—or how beautiful—sent him a love letter or a gift, he always turned them down flat. He never gave a reason. Over time, the rumor spread: Jasper Reid preferred men. Girls who knew we were close would sneak up and ask me about it. I’d shake my head in genuine confusion. “I honestly don’t know, but he’s never actually dated a guy, either.” He was still single when we graduated college and started our careers. A sudden, brilliant idea—a desperate, stupid, childish idea—flashed through my mind. I stared at Jasper with wide-eyed intensity. After a long pause, I leaned in. “Jasper, let’s pretend to be a couple.” He frowned. “Are you finally going to use me as a rebound?” “No!” I threw myself forward, grabbing his sleeve tightly. “Just hear me out…” Jasper was initially confused. But as I kept talking, his expression slowly transformed. His eyes narrowed. His lips curled up. I could almost visualize a big, bushy fox tail unfurling behind him, swishing happily from left to right, right to left. When I finished, he kept his eyes narrowed. “Sounds great,” he said. And just like that, I foolishly coerced Jasper into playing my fake boyfriend. 02 After seeing Jasper out, I lay spread-eagled on my bed. The reason I’d given him was that my parents, who were constantly abroad, would definitely start pressuring me to find someone after my breakup with Christopher. Fake-dating Jasper would get them off my back. But I’d lied. The real reason was pure, unadulterated spite. I wanted to make Christopher jealous. I wanted him to see that even after he let me go, I could immediately find someone better. It was a tantrum. I couldn’t understand why our relationship felt so emotionally sterile. I wanted to introduce all my friends to Christopher, but he said a relationship was between two people, and we didn’t need to “bind our social lives.” I wanted him to check in with me throughout the day, but he told me I was being “too sensitive” and that “adults need their own rhythm.” And just the other day, I was having a meltdown after a horrible day at work, and all I wanted was for him to tell me I was right. Instead, he coolly analyzed the situation, pointing out who was at fault and telling me the workplace required “rationality.” Rationality my ass. I’d go talk to an AI if all I wanted was logic. What did I need him for? In a burst of anger, I broke up with him. He looked genuinely heartbroken, I’ll admit—a flicker of that deep, familiar melancholy in his eyes. But in the end, he agreed, saying he respected my choice. I was stunned. Why was it so hard for him to just fight for me? The problem was, I truly loved him. His quiet strength, his formidable intellect, and his underlying warmth were incredibly appealing to me. Completely lost, I cried to Jasper for what felt like hours. Hearing his ridiculously crude joke about having plenty of men in the world, a spark had ignited. If Christopher truly loved me, could using Jasper be the push I needed? But what if I was making a terrible mistake? What if I was poisoning an already struggling relationship? Was it fair to Jasper? He didn’t like me anyway, so a little cooperation couldn’t hurt, could it? Besides, the words were already out. If I backed out now, I’d look insane. I was lying on my bed, clutching my head in misery, when Jasper texted. Jasper: I’ve been gone three hours. Not one text? Is this how you ‘date’? Me: ? We agreed it was fake. Jasper: … You’re supposed to fawn over me. Me: Fuck off. I threw my phone down in a fresh wave of frustration. 03 To my surprise, I ran into Christopher much sooner than expected. Jasper, who had taken over his family’s business early, invited me to a gala a few days into our “relationship.” He sent a driver to pick me up. I was dressed to the nines… and immediately started watching the drama with Jasper. “Seriously? That Mr. Thompson looks so respectable, and you’re telling me he has four illegitimate kids?” “No way, Ms. Chen is that beautiful, and she’s dating her driver?” I was sweeping the room, asking Jasper about every recognizable face, when I spotted a tall, distinguished figure in the distance. I gasped and jabbed Jasper in the ribs. “Oh my god, is that Christopher Morgan?” Jasper followed my gaze. Christopher was wearing a perfectly tailored gray suit. His hair was meticulously styled. He was holding a glass of scotch and exchanging pleasantries with an older CEO. I sighed internally: He’s still the same. Elegant, formidable. A sleek, black Persian. “This is Noah Caldwell’s event,” Jasper said smoothly. “He’s looking to reshuffle his legal team. Christopher’s a high-profile lawyer, so it’s not surprising he’s here.” I listened, my mind racing as I hatched my secret plan. Jasper noticed my excitement. “Why are you so worked up? We live in the same city, our circles intersect. Why the surprise? You still have feelings for him?” I kept silent. Jasper adjusted his tie in the reflection of a nearby floor-to-ceiling window. Then, he casually took my hand. “Come on. Time to show off.” I tried to pull away. But with so many eyes in the room, I couldn’t make a scene. “No, no, I don’t want to,” I hissed. Christopher noticed us. He knew Jasper and I were childhood friends. He excused himself from the CEO and walked over. Jasper gave him a mocking, overly-sincere smile. “Long time no see, Mr. Morgan. You’re looking as pristine as ever.” Christopher gave him a polite nod. Then he turned to me. “Kenna, it’s good to see you.” I managed a strained smile, looking down. “Y-you too.” Christopher’s eyes landed on my hand in Jasper’s. I snatched my hand back as if burned. Jasper smoothly stepped between us, separating me from Christopher. “Mr. Morgan, I heard Mr. Zhang is looking to partner with you. We’re going over there to discuss it—I can make the introduction for you. You owe me one, okay?” Jasper pointed toward the billiards table. Christopher smiled. “That would be appreciated.” I don’t play, so I stood by and watched them shoot pool, interjecting occasionally. But Jasper was completely insufferable. Every time I tried to talk to Christopher, he jumped in to interrupt. When it was Christopher’s turn, I pulled Jasper aside. “What is your problem?” Jasper’s brow was furrowed enough to kill a mosquito. “I want to punch him. That sanctimonious fake!” “He’s a great guy! Don’t ruin this. If you mess with him, you’re dead to me.” He argued, self-righteous: “You two broke up! Why can’t I rough him up a little? He made you cry so much!” I yanked his arm. “No matter what, you will not do anything ridiculous. Do you hear me?” Christopher was looking over, waiting for Jasper. Under my fierce glare, Jasper sighed, grumbled “Fine,” and reluctantly agreed. Then, he suddenly swooped in and kissed me, quick and possessive, right on the corner of my mouth. Before I could react, he turned and strolled off to Christopher, looking utterly triumphant. I was fuming. For the rest of the evening, I desperately tried to find a moment to explain things to Christopher, but Jasper kept me on a short leash. Finally, I clutched my stomach. “Ow, my stomach hurts.” Jasper looked concerned. “What’s wrong? Do you need to leave?” “No, I think I just got my cramps. I’m going to the ladies’ room.” Jasper nodded knowingly and released my arm. We’d been through school together. When I was younger, I was embarrassed about my period and would just sit there, pale and silent. Jasper was always the one who noticed, raised his hand, and claimed he had a stomachache so he could run out and buy me supplies. As I brushed past Christopher, I secretly poked his side and walked straight toward the restroom. He was waiting by the door a few minutes later. 04 He offered a polite smile. “Kenna, you’re still as mischievous as ever.” “Christopher, Jasper and I aren’t actually—” I took a step forward, intending to grab his sleeve, but then I remembered my “role” and let my hand drop. Christopher’s voice was gentle. “Kenna, this isn’t good for you, for me, or for Jasper.” “I know you’re feeling resentful, but I’ve come to realize that our personalities simply aren’t compatible.” “You want me to regret things, to change everything and come back to you. I wish I could be the man you need, but I can’t. You are a wonderful woman—beautiful, vibrant, confident, and fun. Being with you is easy.” “But I cannot be the lover you envision. If you truly care for Jasper, I wish you both the best, and I’m genuinely happy for you. If you don’t care for him, then you need to figure out what you truly want and find the right person.” My eyes dropped. I couldn’t look at him. My entire petty scheme felt transparent and embarrassing in the face of this mature, rational man. Before I could speak, Jasper’s loud shout echoed down the hallway. “Kendall! What are you two doing here?! Stomach all better, is it?” I winced, a feeling of deep mortification washing over me. Jasper swaggered over, muttering a stream of passive-aggressive remarks. “Jasper has no ill will toward you,” I quickly explained. Christopher’s smile only broadened. “I know.” Jasper was getting closer. “What are you two chatting about? Speak up, I can’t hear you!” I leaned toward Christopher. “My birthday is in a few days. Will… will you still wish me happy birthday?” “Of course,” he said warmly. I smiled, nodded, and quickly ran toward Jasper. “Why are you yelling? There are so many people here! It’s humiliating to be with you!” I grabbed him and pulled him back toward the billiards table, terrified he’d start a brawl with Christopher. “Why am I yelling? I want to see what that hypocrite is going to do to you next!” He was scowling fiercely. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh, sealed sanitary pad. “Are you on? Was there one in the bathroom?” “Where did you get that?” A flush of awkward redness spread across his face. “Never mind that. If you’re on, go use it.” I giggled. “Nope. False alarm. I just ate too much cold food.” On the ride home, Christopher’s words kept echoing in my mind. I glanced over at Jasper. He’d had a few drinks. He was leaning against the car door, the window cracked open. The wind rustled his hair, sweeping a few strands across his perfect nose. He caught my eye, his own eyes slightly red at the corners from the alcohol. He looked vulnerable, but he was still trying to look menacing. He bared his teeth. “What? Thinking of yelling at me again? Let me guess, you’re mad I kissed you? I just wanted to show that fake that plenty of people want you!” The things I wanted to say got stuck in my throat. I sank into my seat and picked at my fingernails. He leaned closer, playful. “Seriously, are you mad?” I shook my head. “I just… I don’t know what I want anymore.” “I do,” he said decisively. “What you need right now is a stable relationship and a successful career.” “Not that phony, fake gentleman Christopher Morgan!” 05 Nothing happened after that night. I kept meaning to tell Jasper we should stop the charade. But then I saw how excited he was about it, and I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. On my birthday, I was slumped over my desk at work, feeling miserable. My mom had texted: Kenna, your dad and I are swamped with work, so we can’t be there. We ordered a massive cake for you, sweetie. Don’t forget to pick it up. She followed up with a massive transfer. I flipped my phone face down in frustration. My parents had barely been there for my birthday growing up. This year, though, I really wished they would come home. Christopher and I were done, which made me sad. Playing house with Jasper felt wrong and confusing. A knot of tangled, messy emotions tightened in my chest, making it hard to breathe. And lately, work had been one crisis after another. All I wanted was to have a carefree birthday with my parents. Why was it so difficult? The sunset cast long shadows across the huge office. My colleagues were slowly trickling out. Someone asked why I wasn’t leaving. I told her I was tired and needed a minute to rest. “Kenna, don’t let it get to you,” she said softly. “Briana messed up the numbers and passed the buck to you. You’ll get yelled at, but who hasn’t dealt with that? Just learn your lesson for next time.” I turned my head to watch her go, the sunlight blinding me. I was new to the corporate world. I made mistakes and was easily manipulated. The world felt predatory. I just wanted to go home and have my mom hug me. A loud ring broke the silence. I grabbed my phone. It was Jasper. His bright, clear voice came through the speaker. “Happy birthday, Kenna! You haven’t left work yet, have you?” “How did you know?” I muttered listlessly. “I drove past your place and the lights were off. Get down here! I’m outside your building. I’m taking you to a great dinner.” I didn’t answer right away. My parents’ apartment was inside a gated community. He clearly went out of his way to check on me. “Do you know how hard it is to get a table at that fine dinning place? I pushed off a massive meeting just to spend your birthday with you.” He rattled on, urging me to hurry. I stood up, shoving my things into my tote bag. Stepping out of the elevator, I saw Jasper waiting in the lobby. Long legs propped against his car, one hand in his pocket. He had a lollipop sticking out of his mouth, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Always trying to look cool. I walked toward him. The moment he saw me, his face lit up. But when he saw my downcast expression, he bent down, turned his head, and looked straight into my eyes. “What’s wrong, Birthday Girl?” “You’re unhappy?” “Yes! Unhappy!” I’d been waiting all day. Waiting for my parents to surprise me by flying back from France. Waiting for Christopher to keep his promise. Nothing. And then I got humiliated by a colleague. In the car, Jasper drove and spoke casually. “Christopher didn’t send you a birthday message, did he? That’s what’s got you down.” “How did you know?” “Ugh, classic fake-gentleman move. Tell you what, I’ll go buy him some rat poison to verify his species.” I turned to him, confused. “If he takes the rat poison and dies,” Jasper explained with mock gravity, “he’s a rat. If he takes it and doesn’t die… he’s a demon rat who needs a stake through the heart.”

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I caught the transfer student slipping an ultra-thin condom into my childhood fiancé’s pocket. She clapped a hand over her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh, please don’t misunderstand, little sister. I’m not planning on using these with your sweet boyfriend.” Gavin, my so-called fiancé, quickly explained, “We ran out of the rubber membrane we needed for a science experiment. We’re just substituting. Don’t get the wrong idea, Ainsley.” He braced himself, anticipating my usual spoiled tantrum. I saw the familiar, weary impatience settle between his brows. But I simply lowered my head and continued with my studies, my face expressionless. Gavin didn’t know it, but the day he shared an ice cream cone with that girl—Kylie—was the day I finalized my plans to leave the country. As far as I was concerned, he was already out of the game. 1 “We’re just using it for a lab experiment. Ainsley, don’t be so unreasonable.” I hadn’t uttered a single word, yet Gavin was already launching a preemptive strike. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation, preparing himself for the relentless questioning and demands he expected from me. I hadn’t actually been paying attention to what he was saying. I only looked up because their noisy little exchange was disrupting my English listening comprehension practice. Annoyed that I’d missed a sentence, I rewound the audio track, dropped my gaze, and started listening again. Gavin froze. Kylie nudged him in the arm, a sly, teasing look in her eyes. “Oh, is your little childhood fiancée trying a new tactic? Realized that being aggressive doesn’t work, so now she’s playing hard to get?” “Better go, childhood darling. She’s sulking and waiting for you to beg her to be okay.” Gavin’s voice was laced with frustration. “Beg her for what? She really acts like she’s my wife. If anyone needs begging, you do it.” “Ooh, tough guy. Be careful, or your little fiancée might stop talking to you forever.” Gavin’s cold gaze landed on the top of my head. “Then I pray she actually follows through with it.” Kylie snickered. “You are seriously the most ungallant man, Gavin.” The classroom was slowly filling up. The buzzing, fly-like noise around my ears gradually faded. I finished checking the final question on my listening quiz just as my housekeeper called. “Miss Ainsley, all the paperwork has been processed. You will depart in seven days. I have also forwarded all the information regarding Mr. Gavin’s recent behavior to the Chairman.” I hummed in response, glancing diagonally ahead at Gavin, who was whispering something into Kylie’s ear. I didn’t catch what he said, but Kylie giggled and playfully reached her hand into the back of his shirt collar. I looked away, speaking calmly into the phone. “Once my mother reviews the file, inform her that I am canceling the verbal agreement of the engagement with Gavin and that all projects with the Henry family are to be immediately halted.” 2 I walked out of the Principal’s office. The Principal had been smiling deferentially after I confirmed that the campus supply donations, promised long before my departure, would not be withdrawn. As I turned the corner from the office corridor, I ran straight into Kylie and Gavin. “Hey, Gavin, why is your little fiancée coming out of the Principal’s office? She wouldn’t be reporting us for the thing this morning, would she?” Kylie put on a pitiful, frightened expression and reached out to take my hand. “Oh, please, little sister, don’t get the wrong idea. We really were just using that thing for a science experiment. We didn’t break any school rules, honestly.” I pulled my hand back, a surge of distaste rising in my chest. “We aren’t friends. Please call me by my name, Ainsley.” Kylie looked momentarily stunned, her eyes welling up with contrived hurt. “I… I just thought it sounded friendlier to call you that.” “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have tried to climb the social ladder with a rich person like you. Ainsley, please, I beg you, don’t report me. I promise I’ll stop talking to Gavin completely!” Gavin stepped in, shielding Kylie behind him. “Ainsley, this is a school. Cut the Upper East Side Queen Bee routine.” His eyes held an obvious mix of rebuke and impatience. “Go back inside right now and tell the Principal you were lying and playing a joke. Kylie and I have a completely innocent friendship.” “Stop it, Gavin,” Kylie said, peeking her head out, her tone one of long-suffering helplessness. “Everyone in the grade knows you two are childhood sweethearts, inseparable. I shouldn’t have been delusional enough to think I could be your friend.” With that, Kylie adopted a look that suggested she was about to burst into tears and turned to walk away. Gavin grabbed her arm, stopping her, then glared at me. “Ainsley, do you know how disgusting you are? I’m a person, a living, breathing human being. Why do you insist on shackling me to you every day, denying me the freedom to even have a friend? Am I for sale?” They kept up their dramatic back-and-forth, giving me no space to speak until now. I looked at the undisguised loathing in Gavin’s eyes and asked softly, “Aren’t you?” 3 I was born emotionally detached; connecting with anyone outside my parents was always difficult. When I was five, I was kidnapped by an enemy of my father. After escaping and nearly being caught again, it was Gavin who blocked the abductor, allowing me to be saved. He took the beating, breaking two of his ribs. Later, in his hospital room, I, the usually distant child, voluntarily told my parents that I wanted Gavin to be my friend. My words shocked them both. It was the first time I had ever expressed a desire for a friend. After a thorough investigation of the Henry family background, they readily agreed. Gavin’s parents were ecstatic, their eyes alight with greedy ambition. My mother came from a prominent old-money family in New York; my father was the patriarch of a top-tier London financial powerhouse. Their son aligning himself with me meant that the Henry family, who barely registered in the city, would suddenly have unlimited prospects. After that, whenever Gavin’s parents visited for the holidays, they would intentionally or unintentionally try to push us together as a couple. My mother privately asked me if, since I was only willing to accept Gavin, I should perhaps secure an engagement with him first. I didn’t feel strongly one way or the other, but meeting my mother’s anxious gaze, I nodded my agreement. I didn’t want her and my father to worry or feel sad over my small affairs. And so, during yet another instance of Gavin’s mother praising us as a perfect couple, my mother promised a verbal engagement. That simple, non-binding agreement was enough to rocket the Henry family into the core circle of New York’s elite. Gavin’s parents were overjoyed. They made Gavin spend every day with me, constantly trying to keep me happy, terrified that I might change my mind. But as he grew older, Gavin’s intentions began to shift. The patience and happy smiles he once offered me gradually curdled into irritation and contempt. He grew to hate hearing people at school call us childhood sweethearts. Until Kylie appeared. The first time I saw her, she was sitting at my desk, rifling through my things. “Gavin, your deskmate is really a girl? Why is all her stuff so ugly? Her taste is so weird.” Gavin leaned against the desk, looking relaxed, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes when he looked at Kylie. “She’s not like you. You like things that are all pink and immature.” “I am not immature!” Kylie pouted, gesturing wildly as she spoke, and promptly knocked over my ceramic mug, sending it crashing to the floor. Gavin’s smile vanished when he saw me suddenly standing there. “Kylie just transferred; she didn’t know any better. Don’t hold it against her.” I kept my gaze fixed on Kylie, my voice flat. “That mug was eight hundred dollars. Pay me within three days.” Kylie gasped, disbelieving. “Eight hundred dollars for some stupid cup! Who do you think you are, a billionaire heiress?” Someone nearby whispered, “She is a billionaire heiress. Her family donated the new middle school dorm and the high school computer lab.” Kylie’s body trembled, her face suddenly flushed red. “But, hey, I didn’t mean to! Why should I pay?” She tugged on Gavin’s sleeve, whimpering softly, “Gavin, your deskmate is such a snob.” Gavin tightened his lips. “Ainsley, it was an accident. Besides, eight hundred dollars is nothing to you. Don’t be so petty. We’re all students here. Stop being such a bully.” “Fine. Then you pay for her. Eight hundred dollars, transfer it to me today.” Gavin’s face turned instantly ashen. “It’s eight hundred dollars! Are you serious?” “I am.” I nodded. “My family’s money doesn’t grow on trees.” With other students watching, Gavin couldn’t back down. He pulled out his phone and transferred the money. Then, he started gathering his books. “Kylie, didn’t you say you needed my help with tutoring? From now on, I’m moving to your desk.” He said it to Kylie, but his eyes were glued to me. It was as if he was waiting for me to plead with him to stay. I merely stepped aside, gesturing for him to hurry up and move his things. He paused, then slammed his books onto the seat next to Kylie in a renewed fit of rage. I remember thinking then: How should I convince my parents? Even if my personality was odd, their love was enough. Whether I had a friend or not truly made no difference. 4 The Principal was leaving to run an errand and chuckled when he saw us standing by the office door. “Gavin, are you also here to withdraw?” Gavin looked confused, turning to me. “Also? Where are you going?” “A competition,” I replied tonelessly. The Principal’s eyes flashed with understanding, and he wished me well before departing. Back in the classroom, the teacher announced the list for the mid-term Most Improved Student Scholarship. It was an award specifically for students who showed significant progress, one per class, given every semester. As the teacher discussed the exam results, I overheard Kylie quietly thanking Gavin. “Gavin, thank you for tutoring me. I’ll buy you dinner when I get the scholarship money.” Gavin smirked. “It’s nothing.” But a moment later, the teacher announced the winner’s name, and it was a different girl. Kylie let out an involuntary, horrified squeak. “How could it be Grace!” The teacher frowned. “If you have an issue, see me after class. Don’t disrupt the room.” After class, Kylie immediately rushed out to corner the teacher. When she returned, she slumped onto her desk, sobbing. “Is it because you rich people think you’re so high and mighty?” Hearing her, everyone gathered around to ask what the teacher had said. Kylie walked toward my desk, her expression a mix of wronged innocence and defiance. “Ainsley, I know this scholarship was set up by your family, but you shouldn’t use your power for private revenge! Just because Gavin and I are friends and you’re jealous, you yanked my spot. How could you be so awful?” That statement stunned everyone. The way they looked at me changed instantly. I looked up from my textbook. “Did the teacher tell you that directly?” Kylie’s eyes darted away. “Do you think I’d lie? Everyone knows that the minute I arrived, Gavin lost interest in you. I even heard you two were engaged. Of course you’d resent me and try to ruin me.” “I know you don’t need the money, and you can’t understand the struggles of people from poor backgrounds like mine. But I desperately need those few thousand dollars. Please, I’ll give Gavin back to you, just give me the scholarship spot, okay?” Gavin, who had just walked back in, saw Kylie crying her eyes out in front of me, and his face hardened. “Ainsley, deal with me if you have an issue. Don’t bully a younger girl.” A younger girl? I felt a fresh wave of disgust. “First, the ‘younger girl’ you speak of is a college repeater who’s older than both of us.” “Second.” I shifted my gaze to Kylie’s face and held up my phone, which was clearly recording. “I have every right to report you for slander based on everything you just said.” Kylie froze, her face turning chalk-white. She stammered and hid behind Gavin. “Forget it, I can’t fight you. I’ll let Grace have the spot. I’ll just swallow my pride and accept that I had to learn the harsh truth about society early.” Pity flashed in Gavin’s eyes. “Ainsley, Kylie improved her score by over a hundred points on the diagnostic. Don’t drag other people into your personal grudge with me.” “Kylie and I are real people, not just tools for your spoiled little power trip!” Before I could say anything else, a girl from the corner of the room, usually quiet and shy, suddenly stood up. Her eyes were red, and her whole body was shaking with the tension of what she was about to do. She walked over, stared at Kylie, and spoke, her voice trembling but every word clear and impactful. “Ainsley didn’t abuse her power. This scholarship is mine by merit.” “My parents passed away, and my grandmother is paralyzed. I live on meager public assistance. Ainsley’s family only set up this scholarship after she learned about my situation. I’m not very smart, and I’ve struggled with certain subjects, so even though it was set up because of me, I haven’t won it in two years. Until this time. I improved my score by 109 points and my rank by 305 places.” “I live honestly and study diligently. I earned this scholarship. Nearly a hundred students benefit from this fund every year, and Ainsley does not deserve to be slandered like this!” By the time she finished, Grace’s face was bright red, and tears were running down her cheeks. 5 The classroom fell silent. Then, low murmurs began to surface. “Ainsley might be cold sometimes, but she’s never looked down on anyone or been a bully.” “Totally. And the payout is six thousand dollars. Four times a year, across dozens of classes. Her family genuinely spends a ton of money. That’s really kind.” “Grace is usually quiet and keeps to herself. She improved that much? Choosing her is definitely the right call.” The room’s sympathy shifted entirely to Grace and me. Kylie’s face cycled through white and crimson before she couldn’t take it anymore and ran out crying. Gavin looked at me, his expression complex. “Even if you didn’t pull strings, did you have to humiliate Kylie? We’re all classmates.” I looked up, a rare flash of genuine anger sparked by his blindness. “Gavin, I’ve tolerated enough.” I had never spoken sharply to Gavin. Firstly, there was no need, and secondly, as my only friend, I was willing to keep him around to manage my parents, provided he didn’t cross the line. This was the first time I had ever confronted him like this. Gavin was stunned. He seemed to feel utterly humiliated by my words, and his face instantly flushed. He gritted his teeth, spat out, “You’re completely impossible,” and stormed out of the classroom. Kylie didn’t return for the remaining two classes. And Gavin, surprisingly, skipped out as well. My mother was three hours behind the domestic time zone, so the news of the engagement cancellation hadn’t yet reached the Henry family. That evening, after showering, I was reading a foreign policy journal when a text from an unknown number flashed on my screen. It was a photo of several opened condom wrappers, thrusting themselves into my view. The photo was accompanied by the text: [You stole my scholarship, so I guess I’ll steal your man. Moron. Did you really believe we were using these for science?] I had expected this, but seeing the visual still made my stomach turn with a sense of nausea. I didn’t reply. I screenshotted the image and the text and forwarded it to the housekeeper. [Send this with the engagement cancellation statement to the Henry family.]

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