Author: Momo Chan

1 For a year, my roommate Rachel and I waged a quiet war over Tristan, the campus golden boy. I woke at five for his favorite pastries. Rachel spent a fortune on a Times Square billboard. I worked three jobs for his birthday sneakers. Rachel gave him a Porsche. Seeing my exhausted eyes, Rachel sneered. Give it up, Kelly. Your broke devotion means nothing. I would trade my eight billionaire brothers for him. Can you? A leaked DNA test exposed her. She was a fraud. I was the true heiress, finally home. At the estate gates, I still clutched the cheap scarf I had knitted for Tristan. Inside, eight men awaited. A Wall Street titan, an aloof star, a surgical genius. Staring at these perfect faces, my obsession shattered. Why pine for a college boy? I was born to be their sister. Tristan was merely a footnote. With eight masterpieces before me, who needed a boyfriend? “Kelly, so what if they brought you back? You can never wash off that cheap, poverty-stricken stench. Tristan won’t even spare you a second glance!” Rachel’s shrill voice still echoed in the back of my mind. I stepped fully into the foyer. There was no melodramatic, wealthy family hostility waiting for me. Just eight men staring at me with quiet intensity. The man at the front wore a tailored black suit, his sharp features exuding absolute authority. “You’re Kelly?” I shook my head slowly. “My name is Kelly Hickey.” The eldest brother paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes, before he gave a firm nod. “I am Arthur Hickey. Your oldest brother.” His voice softened. “Welcome home.” Beside him, a man with a chillingly handsome, unapproachable vibe offered a slight nod. “Second brother, Rowan.” “Third brother, Oliver.” A man in a pristine white doctor’s coat massaged his own wrist gently. The rest of the brothers introduced themselves down the line, ending with a rebellious-looking guy leaning against the wall who let out a soft huff. “I’m your eighth brother, Zane.” Eight impossibly attractive men, bound to me by blood, just crashed right into my reality. I looked down at the handmade scarf in my hands, then back up at these eight incredible brothers. Tristan couldn’t even compare to a single strand of their hair. Without a second thought, I tossed the scarf straight into the nearest designer trash can. My eyes sparkled as I looked at Arthur. “Arthur, do you have a headache?” He froze, his fingers instinctively dropping from where they had been pressing into his temples. “An old habit. It’s nothing.” “How can it be nothing?” Rule number one of being the ultimate sister: A brother’s pain is my pain. I immediately poured a glass of warm water, pressed it into his hands, and guided him to the plush leather sofa. “I learned deep tissue therapy at one of my old jobs. Let me help you ease the tension, okay?” Just then, Rachel strutted through the front door. She playfully shook her wrist, showing off a glittering crystal bracelet with a sickly sweet smile. “Tristan insisted on buying me this bracelet today. I told him it was too much, but he just wouldn’t listen.” I didn’t even spare her a glance. Tristan buying gifts? What did that have to do with me? I only cared about fixing my brother’s headache. Meeting my stubborn gaze, Arthur finally took a sip of the water and sighed. “You don’t need to massage me. You just got home. Go rest.” He set the glass down. “Since you’re back, just settle in and breathe. If you are missing anything, tell me.” The words were spoken so lightly, but they crashed into my heart with the force of a tidal wave. A sharp, burning sensation surged at the back of my nose. I finally had a brother. Countless times in the past, I had stood in the pouring rain, watching classmates get picked up by their older brothers with warm smiles and dry umbrellas, while I had to run through the mud with a heavy backpack dragging me down. Now, someone who shared my blood was asking me what I needed. I blinked hard, forcing back the wetness in my eyes. “I’m not tired.” “Just sit still, Arthur. I promise you’ll feel better in ten minutes.” My fingers found the exact pressure points on his neck and shoulders. I had learned these techniques working at a shady spa just so I could earn extra cash to buy Tristan those stupid shoes. I never imagined I’d be using the skill to comfort my own flesh and blood. Under my steady hands, Arthur’s rigid posture slowly melted into the sofa. The other brothers exchanged surprised glances. Ignored by everyone, Rachel pivoted and latched onto Oliver. “Oliver, Tristan’s stomach is really acting up today. Could you write him a prescription?” Oliver continued massaging his own wrist, his expression cool. “Rachel, I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon. I don’t do gastroenterology. Tell him to book a regular hospital appointment.” Rachel pouted, ready to whine again. I immediately stopped massaging Arthur and looked at the doctor. “Oliver, what’s wrong with your wrist?” He looked momentarily caught off guard. “Just occupational strain from long surgeries. It’s fine.” I spun around and bolted toward the kitchen. By the time I came back, Rachel was already throwing a fit. “Tristan is in so much pain he can’t even eat, how can you be so cold-blooded!” Oliver’s face darkened, but before he could speak, I marched right past Rachel and firmly pressed a steaming hot herbal compress against his wrist. “Don’t you dare yell at my brother! Do you have any idea how important a lead surgeon’s hands are?” Rachel glared at me, her teeth grinding together. “Stop acting so high and mighty, Kelly! You didn’t have this attitude when you were following him around like a stray dog!” “Now you flip the script the second you get some money. It just proves I’m the only one who truly loves him!” She stormed off, muttering toxic complaints under her breath. I kept my head down, carefully adjusting the heat pack on Oliver’s skin. Oliver stared at me, the deep crease between his brows slowly smoothing out. For the first three months at the Hickey estate, I was a blur of motion. Mornings meant brewing a restorative stomach-soothing tea for Arthur. Evenings were for applying heat therapy to Oliver’s joints. Right before bed, I’d set up specialized aromatherapy diffusers for Rowan’s insomnia. As for Rachel and Tristan? Sorry, my schedule was fully booked. One morning, as I walked into the lecture hall, whispers erupted around me. “I heard Kelly got taken back by the Hickey family.” “So what? Rachel still gets chauffeured in luxury cars while Kelly takes the subway. Plus, Tristan still hates her.” I tuned out the noise, took a seat in the back corner, and pulled out my textbook on Advanced Kinesiology. Sebastian, my seventh brother, was having flare-ups with his cervical spine. I needed to memorize some new physical therapy techniques. Barely a page in, Tristan slid into the seat next to mine. He was wearing the limited-edition sneakers I had bled myself dry to buy, flashing a smile he probably practiced in the mirror. “Kelly, I haven’t seen you around lately.” I looked up, staring at him with absolute zero emotion. How did I never notice how asymmetrical his eyes were? And his nose bridge was incredibly flat. He didn’t possess even half the raw magnetism of my fifth brother, Jax. “Do you need something?” My voice was ice. Tristan looked genuinely taken aback by my tone. “I know you just moved back to the Hickey house, and it might be hard to adjust. If you’re feeling wronged, you can always talk to me.” He slid a ridiculously expensive chocolate bar across the desk. “This is your favorite brand. I went out of my way to get it for you.” I stared at the chocolate, feeling utterly empty. In the past, a crumb of attention from him would have kept me high for days. Now, it was just pathetic. “No thanks. I don’t like sweets anymore.” I shoved the chocolate back to his side of the table. “Tristan, unless someone is dying, don’t bother me. I have a life.” He froze, an ugly shade of red creeping up his neck. Right on cue, Rachel practically glided into the classroom and threw her arms around him. “Babe, were you looking for me?” She shot me a triumphant, venomous glare. “Kelly, he just pities you. Don’t go getting delusional.” I genuinely didn’t hear the rest of her sentence, too busy highlighting a diagram of spinal nerves. “Rachel, don’t talk like that,” Tristan scolded weakly, though he made no effort to remove her hands from his chest. Rachel’s ego only inflated. “Jax lent his limited-edition supercar to Tristan today! We’re going for a coastal drive later.” My highlighter stopped dead on the page. Jax treated his cars better than most people treat their children. He didn’t even let the valet touch the steering wheel. How did Rachel manage to get the keys for Tristan? A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest, but it had nothing to do with jealousy. I was terrified for Jax’s car. Tristan was an absolute menace on the road. When I got home that afternoon, my fears were confirmed. Jax was sitting on the living room sofa, his face resembling a thundercloud. “Jax, did the car get scratched?” He didn’t say a word, which was answer enough. I jogged down to the massive underground garage. Sure enough, a nasty, jagged scratch marred the custom paint job on the passenger side. Back when I worked at an auto detailing shop, I handled surface-level damage like this all the time. I grabbed the premium compound and polish from the garage shelves. Apply, buff, blend. In less than ten minutes, the scratch was a ghost. Jax came down and stared at me, dumbfounded. “You know how to do this?” “Picked it up at one of my old jobs.” I wiped my hands on a microfiber cloth. “Jax, if you cherish something, don’t let outsiders who don’t understand its value touch it. Don’t lend your babies out anymore.” He fell silent for a long time. Finally, he pressed a clean wet wipe into my palm. “Yeah. You have good hands. Thanks… little sister.” My head snapped up, my heart skipping a massive beat. That was the very first time Jax had called me his sister! I felt like I was floating, my brother-complex radar screaming at maximum volume. “Anytime! Whatever you need, Jax, I’ve got your back!” Watching my beaming face, the hard, cold lines around his mouth finally broke into a genuine smile. During dinner, Rachel boldly suggested that Sebastian make a guest appearance to endorse Tristan’s upcoming amateur art exhibit. “Sebastian, Tristan really needs this industry exposure. Please just help him out,” she begged. Sebastian was a reclusive soul. He despised networking and loathed the media. When no one spoke up, Rachel’s eyes filled with calculated tears. “Please…” Sebastian set his silverware down, a deep crease forming between his brows. Before he could even utter a word of refusal, I snapped. “Sebastian’s cervical spine is acting up. He can’t stand around for hours.” I glared across the table. “And what does Tristan’s little vanity project have to do with my brother?” Rachel shot me a death glare. “You’re just bitter because he chose me over you!” “Tristan is overflowing with talent. If Sebastian goes, it’ll be two geniuses joining forces!” “Joining forces?” I let out a harsh, barking laugh. “Tristan paints like a blindfolded toddler. You think that garbage deserves to even exist in the same room as Sebastian’s fine art?” “You!” Rachel trembled with rage. “Enough.” Arthur massaged his temples. “Sebastian, it is your call.” Sebastian looked at Rachel’s furious face, then shifted his gaze to me. “My health hasn’t been great lately. I won’t be attending.” Rachel’s face drained of color. She stared at him in pure disbelief. I felt a rush of absolute victory. I picked up a perfectly braised short rib and placed it in Felix’s bowl. “Felix, you need to eat more.” The usually aloof music producer looked at the meat in his bowl, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly. “Thanks.” Over the next few months, Rachel threw a new tantrum almost weekly. She cried and screamed when Rowan refused to throw his studio’s weight behind Tristan’s audition. She was caught red-handed stealing Felix’s priceless vintage vinyl records to impress Tristan’s indie friends. Whatever tolerance the brothers once held for her was completely eroded by her relentless, toxic obsession with that boy. Yet she remained entirely oblivious, her arrogance only growing. “Kelly, I haven’t seen you throwing yourself at Tristan lately,” she mocked me in the hallway one afternoon. “Finally realized you’re too trashy for him?” Recently, she had stooped to a new low, forging Arthur’s signature to secure millions in corporate sponsorships for Tristan’s “start-up.” Tristan, being the parasite he was, blew through the cash in weeks. The sponsors demanded answers from Hickey Corp. Arthur hit the roof and ordered Rachel into his study. I was in the kitchen simmering a nutrient broth for Silas, listening to the muffled screaming from upstairs without a shred of sympathy. Moments later, Rachel sprinted down the stairs, tears streaming down her face. “This is all your fault, Kelly!” she shrieked. “You snitched to Arthur! You’re trying to ruin Tristan’s reputation!” I looked at her with pure ice in my veins. “Rachel, if you’re clinically insane, go see a doctor. Tristan is a failure who can’t hold onto money. How is that my problem?” “Liar!” she screamed. “He isn’t like that! You’re just jealous that he loves me, so you framed him!” The commotion drew our parents out. Rachel instantly threw herself into our mother’s arms, hyperventilating. “Mom! Just because she can’t have him, she’s spreading rumors and tattling to Arthur! Now Tristan is drowning in debt!” Mom’s heart broke for her. She turned a severe, disappointed glare on me. “Kelly, are you really playing these dirty little tricks behind our backs over some college boy?” I took a slow, deep breath. “I have absolutely no idea what Tristan does with his money.” “Stop lying to my face!” Mom raised her voice. “Rachel has had a pure heart since she was a child. She wouldn’t make this up. You just got back here, why is your heart so full of venom?” I stared at the heavy disappointment in my mother’s eyes. “I will say it exactly one more time. I didn’t do it. Believe what you want.” Without another word, I picked up the tray and walked straight up to the sixth brother’s room. “Silas, I made you some broth. And I got these new active noise-canceling headphones. Try them out, let me know if they help you focus.” Silas took the bowl and the sleek black case. “How did you know my old ones broke?” I smiled softly. Rule number two of being the ultimate sister: Know every tiny detail about your brothers’ lives. By the next day, vicious rumors that I had framed Tristan out of spite were flying around campus. “Look, that’s her. If she can’t have him, she destroys him. Psycho.” “How did the Hickey family end up with trash like that? Rachel is way classier.” I walked through the whispers like they were made of air. At lunch, Tristan blocked my path in the cafeteria, wearing an expression of deep, wounded sorrow. “Kelly, why are you doing this to me? Even if your feelings faded, you didn’t have to push me toward bankruptcy.” Looking at his incredibly punchable, hypocritical face, I felt a wave of nausea. “Are you going to stand there and tell me you didn’t blow that money yourself?” His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. “That was just a bad investment! Why are you so obsessed with ruining me?” I let out a sharp laugh. “Get out of my way, you stray dog.” I shoved past his shoulder and marched out of the cafeteria. When I got home, Rachel was curled up next to Mom on the sofa. The second she saw me, she flinched and shrank back, playing the terrified victim. Mom’s expression hardened further. “Where have you been, Kelly? You couldn’t even bother to come home for dinner?” “I was at the library.” I bypassed the living room entirely, heading straight to the kitchen to prep a fresh herbal compress for Sebastian. They could think whatever they wanted. I only cared that Sebastian’s spine got treated on time. Rachel sniffled, her voice dripping with venom. “Who knows if she was out meeting some shady thugs. Mom, look at her attitude…” After months of relentless begging, weaponizing Mom’s guilt, and exploiting twenty years of sibling history, Rowan finally caved and agreed to bring Tristan onto a reality TV show. As a devoted sister, there was zero chance I was letting Rowan go alone. I marched right into the production crew as an assistant. “Babe, don’t be nervous. Rowan is here, no one will dare mess with you,” Rachel cooed in the green room. Tristan patted her hair. “I know. Don’t worry.” I clutched a thermos tightly to my chest, scanning the room entirely for Rowan. He was in the makeup chair. I set the thermos down in front of him. “Rowan, it’s chamomile and valerian root. Drink it while it’s hot, it’ll help with the anxiety.” He had barely taken the cup when Rachel dragged Tristan into the space. “Rowan! It’s Tristan’s first time on a variety show, you have to guide him!” Rowan frowned. After the sponsorship disaster, he had less than zero respect for the kid. He offered a noncommittal grunt. Once the cameras rolled, Tristan was an absolute catastrophe. He refused to follow the script, constantly interrupted to steal screen time, and deliberately dragged his feet during team challenges. It all went to hell during the high-altitude obstacle course. Paralyzed by fear, Tristan didn’t just fail to secure Rowan’s harness during a transition—he panicked and shoved Rowan hard. If Rowan hadn’t possessed god-tier reflexes and grabbed the safety line with his bare hands, he would have plummeted. The set erupted in chaos. The director screamed to cut the feed. Rowan was lowered down by the panicked crew. His face was chalk-white, the skin on his palms and wrists torn to shreds by the friction of the rope. I sprinted through the crowd, dropping to my knees with antiseptic spray and bandages. “Rowan! Are you okay? God, does it hurt?” He looked at my trembling hands and terrified eyes. The hardness in his gaze cracked. “I’m fine. Don’t panic.” Leaked footage of the incident hit the internet, and Tristan was slaughtered in the comments. He hid in his apartment, too terrified to show his face. But barely twenty-four hours later, the narrative violently flipped. [Who the hell does Rowan Hickey think he is? Bullying rookies just because he’s a mega-star?] [Poor Tristan. He almost died and still had to smile for the cameras.] [Cancel Rowan! Get this toxic trash out of the industry!] Inside the Hickey mansion, the atmosphere was absolute zero. Our parents were livid. “What is the meaning of this?” Rachel pointed a trembling finger at me, tears streaming down her perfectly contoured face. “Dad, Mom, she did it! I swear!” “She sabotaged the safety gear and paid troll farms to smear Rowan’s name, all just to destroy Tristan and frame him for hurting her brother!” I stared at her, my mind blanking at the sheer audacity. “Are you psychotic? Why would I ever hurt Rowan?!” “You did it!” she shrieked. “I saw you sneaking into the prop room! You are pure evil, Kelly!” The house staff whispered nervously in the background. “The real daughter is terrifying. Hurting her own brother.” “Miss Rachel is too innocent for this house.” Smack. Mom’s hand connected violently with my cheek. “You have disappointed me for the last time!” she screamed. “Has Rowan not been good enough to you? How could you try to kill him!” I held my burning cheek, the tears pooling hot and fast in my eyes. Right on cue, Tristan stepped out from the hallway shadows. “Kelly, I know you only did this to get my attention.” He sighed like a martyr. “If you just admit what you did, I’ll go online and ask the fans to forgive you.” I looked at his sickeningly fake face. I looked at Rachel, squeezing out crocodile tears. A surge of pure, unadulterated rage erupted from the very core of my soul, drowning out everything else. I lunged forward, grabbed Rachel by the collar of her expensive blouse, and slapped her across the face with everything I had. “You can insult me! You can call me poor! You can steal my life!” “But you will NEVER touch my brothers!” “What the fuck is Tristan? He isn’t even fit to wipe Rowan’s shoes! And you bet my brother’s life on a stunt just to protect this absolute garbage?!” Dead silence fell over the sprawling living room. All eight brothers froze in place. Rachel clutched her rapidly bruising cheek, staring at me like I was a monster. “You hit me?” “I hit a heartless, backstabbing parasite!” I roared. Dad surged to his feet, his face purple. “You ungrateful brat! You commit a crime and then dare to assault your sister?!” He raised his hand high, aiming a brutal strike at my face. I didn’t blink. I didn’t dodge. I stared him down. But a millisecond before the blow landed, a strong, pale hand wrapped like an iron vice around my father’s wrist. It was Rowan. He slowly turned his head, looking at my bloodshot eyes, and spoke with terrifying, absolute clarity. “Dad, I believe her.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “534512”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The day Brooke was laid off, she hyperventilated at her desk. I packed her things and brought her home. Preston, my boyfriend, helped without hesitation, polishing her resume and running mock interviews. I urged them to use the building’s high-end gym while I worked weekends, touched by his support. I even posted online, calling him the world’s best boyfriend. Year-end, the gym app pinged with an annual report. I tapped it idly. Under linked accounts, Preston’s class history appeared. Thirty-two private sessions. Ten marked Couples Acro-Yoga. Six marked Couples Kickboxing. Partner Name: Brooke. A digital card from the trainer glowed at the bottom, framed in pink: Wishing you two a lifetime of love. Can’t wait for the wedding invites! Below, a note said post-workout photos had synced to the cloud. I opened the folder. The first image showed Preston gripping Brooke’s waist from behind, both laughing like they were engaged. I screenshot every page. Silently, I moved them to an encrypted folder and cleared my history. I would investigate alone. And when ready, I would collect every debt owed. The next morning at seven, Preston stood in the entryway fully dressed for work. “Carla, I’m taking that vintage copper Dutch oven you never use. Brooke’s stomach has been killing her these past few days, so I’m going to slow-cook some bone broth for her.” He held the antique pot I had won at an estate auction. I had spent a fortune on it and cherished it too much to actually put it on a stove. His tone was infuriatingly casual, as if he were just borrowing an old umbrella we didn’t need. My fingers tightened around the glass of water in my hand. The biting chill of the ice water seeped right through the glass and into my skin. After discovering that workout report last night, I hadn’t slept a single second. Those couples yoga photos played on an endless loop in my brain. The image of his hands wrapped around Brooke’s waist perfectly overlapped with the sight of his hands gripping my antique pot. “That pot is an heirloom from my grandmother,” I said. My voice was a flat, unreadable line. Preston frowned. He raised his wrist to check his watch, his signature move whenever his patience was wearing thin. “Carla, it is literally just a pot. Its core utility is cooking soup.” “Leaving it in a cabinet to collect dust is a gross misallocation of resources. Brooke is out here trying to survive in the city alone, and she just lost her income. As her best friend, showing a little empathy and taking care of her basic needs is the bare minimum.” He hit me with a barrage of corporate jargon, treating my feelings like a boardroom negotiation. There was not a single trace of guilt in his eyes. I set my glass down and walked slowly toward him. My eyes locked onto the collar of his crisp white dress shirt. Right there on the fabric was a faint, pearlescent smudge of pink glitter. Brooke had just gotten her nails done in that exact mermaid-pink chrome color yesterday. “If her stomach hurts, she needs a doctor and medication. My heirloom pot doesn’t cure gastroenteritis.” I reached out and firmly grabbed the handle of the pot. Preston did not let go. Instead, he pulled back, his knuckles turning white from the force. “Are you letting your work stress cause an emotional breakdown right now?” He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, his gaze turning sharp and critical. “Our relationship shouldn’t be measured by the sunk cost of a piece of cookware.” “Stop being irrational. I have a massive M&A meeting at ten, and Brooke is waiting for this broth.” I stared at him without blinking. A twenty-year friendship. A five-year romance. They were gaslighting me with such profound, unapologetic confidence. “Fine.” I released the handle abruptly. Caught entirely off guard by the sudden lack of resistance, Preston stumbled backward a half-step. He looked at me with a flash of genuine surprise, clearly not expecting me to fold so easily. “Thank you for being reasonable. This is the Carla I know.” He quickly smoothed out his expression and even reached out, attempting to pat my head. I tilted my head, dodging his touch. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air for a second before he casually shoved it into his trouser pocket. “It’s good that you’re being mature about this. What do you want for dinner? I’ll pick up groceries and cook tonight.” “Don’t bother. I’m working late.” I turned my back on him and walked into the bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut, I heard the heavy thud of the front door closing. The woman in the bathroom mirror was pale, but her eyes were absolute ice. Reasonable. Mature. Those words used to be my badges of honor. Now, they were just free passes for them to trample all over my boundaries. I pulled out my phone and opened the smart home security app for our apartment complex. I rewound the footage to the hours I was stuck at the office last night. On the screen, Preston and Brooke walked into the elevator together. Brooke was wearing the expensive silk slip dress I had bought her for her birthday. Draped over her bare shoulders was Preston’s suit jacket. She seemed unable to stand straight, leaning all her weight softly against Preston’s chest. Preston’s arm was wrapped securely around her waist. It was absolutely not the kind of distance a man should keep from his girlfriend’s best friend. Just as the elevator doors began to slide shut, Brooke tilted her head up. She pressed her lips right against Preston’s jaw. Preston didn’t push her away. Instead, he lowered his head and deepened the kiss. The security footage had no audio, but the sickeningly sweet intimacy pierced right through the screen and made my stomach churn. I hit the screen record button and saved the file directly into my encrypted folder. File name: Cheating Evidence 01. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a voice memo from Brooke. “Carla, I am so, so sorry! Preston insisted on taking that beautiful pot to make soup for me. I told him absolutely not, but he just wouldn’t listen to me.” “Please don’t be mad at me. If you guys get into a fight over this, I’ll never forgive myself.” I played the audio, listening to her deliberately soft, fragile voice. A cold laugh escaped my lips. My thumbs flew across the keyboard, typing a quick reply. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a thing. If it gets ruined, we’ll just throw it in the trash.” I hit send and tossed my phone onto the counter. I washed my face, applied a flawless coat of makeup, and slipped into a razor-sharp tailored suit. The war hadn’t even officially started yet. I needed to save my energy to see exactly how far these two hypocrites were willing to take their little performance. 2 At exactly ten o’clock, I walked into the morning executive meeting. As the Marketing Director, I was fully accustomed to operating under extreme pressure. Even though my chest felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton, I maintained a perfect, predatory smile while pointing out twelve critical flaws in my subordinates’ proposals. The second the meeting ended and I stepped back into my office, my assistant Sarah knocked on the door. Her expression was highly uncomfortable. “Carla, um. Preston and Brooke are waiting for you in the guest lounge.” I paused, my finger resting on a stack of contracts. “Got it.” I walked out of my office and immediately spotted them through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the lounge. Brooke was swimming in a massive, clearly ill-fitting men’s dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up three times just to expose her fragile wrists. It was Preston’s favorite custom-tailored shirt. Preston sat across from her. He was meticulously wiping the rim of a water glass with a napkin before gently sliding it across the table to her. Several of my colleagues were walking past the lounge, throwing highly suspicious side-glances their way. I walked over, the sharp click of my stilettos echoing rhythmically across the hardwood floor. “What brings you two here?” I pulled out a chair and sat down. Brooke jumped up like a startled rabbit, her sudden movement knocking over the glass of water. “Carla, please don’t misunderstand!” She frantically twisted the hem of the oversized shirt with both hands. “I was doing laundry yesterday and accidentally ruined all my clothes. I literally had nothing to wear, and Preston felt sorry for me, so he let me borrow this.” Her eyes turned instantly red, tears welling up on command. I sat back and watched her perform. It was just a shirt. Did she really need to run all the way to my corporate office to stage this pathetic public apology? It wasn’t an apology. She was marking her territory. “Is that so?” I leaned back in my leather chair. “I thought the shirt just shrank in the wash. Why else would it look so incredibly cheap on you?” Brooke’s face froze entirely. The tears hung on her eyelashes, refusing to fall. “Carla, do you really have to be so vicious?” Preston’s face darkened. He stood up and physically pulled Brooke behind him, adopting the posture of a knight protecting his maiden. “Brooke already feels immense psychological guilt crashing at your place. Do you really need to use your corporate intimidation tactics on a friend?” “She isn’t one of your employees.” I looked at Preston’s self-righteous face and felt a wave of pure absurdity wash over me. “If the psychological guilt is so heavy, she can move out.” I kept my voice perfectly level. The air in the lounge seemed to freeze for a split second. Brooke’s tears finally spilled over. “Carla, I am so sorry. It’s all my fault. I’m so stupid, I can’t even wear a shirt without making you angry.” “I know you look down on me for being unemployed. I’ll pack my bags tomorrow and sleep on the streets. I promise I won’t ruin your life anymore.” She wept beautifully, casting me perfectly in the role of the wicked, heartless villain. Preston lost his temper completely. “You’re independent, you’re strong, you make a seven-figure salary. Does that mean you get to trample on other people’s dignity for fun?” “Brooke has a massive scar on her arm from saving your life back in college, and this is how you repay her?” Ah, there it was. The classic guilt trip. During our sophomore year of college, we got mugged while traveling in Europe. Brooke tried to pull me away and the mugger slashed her arm. That single scar had become her get-out-of-jail-free card for years. It was a tool for endless moral blackmail. Any time I refused her anything, that scar would magically be brought up. Preston treated it like my original sin. “Repay her?” I let out a soft laugh. “For the past five years, she has lived in my house rent-free, eaten my food, and worked at jobs I pulled strings to get her. Even my boyfriend is out here providing full-service emotional support to ‘repay’ her.” “Have I not been generous enough?” Preston’s eyes darted away nervously. He clearly didn’t expect me to be so brutally blunt. Normally, whenever the mugging was mentioned, I would immediately back down and compromise. “You are completely unreasonable.” He forced his authoritative posture back into place, adjusting his glasses. “I brought her here today because I heard your marketing department has an opening for a media coordinator. Brooke needs a job.” “Keep the wealth in the family. Pull some strings and get her the position.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. He didn’t even bring a resume. He just marched into my office and demanded I hire someone who had just been fired for sheer incompetence. “No.” I rejected him without a second of hesitation. “My department doesn’t run a charity for useless dead weight. And I definitely don’t hire giant toddlers who can’t even do their own laundry.” Brooke let out a muffled sob. She clung tightly to Preston’s sleeve. “Preston, let’s just go. Carla is so brilliant and successful, it makes sense she looks down on me.” “Let’s go. I don’t want to make things hard for her.” Preston reached over and wrapped his hand around hers. He looked at me, his eyes brimming with profound disappointment. “Carla, you’ve really changed. You’ve become cold-blooded, selfish, and obsessed with money.” “If this is what climbing the corporate ladder has taught you, then I truly pity you.” Without another word, he pulled Brooke toward the glass doors. Just as he reached the exit, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “By the way, I reviewed your new project proposal. It lacks corporate empathy. I highly suggest you revise it.” I didn’t get angry. I actually smiled. An investment banker was trying to lecture a Marketing Director on corporate empathy? He really thought he was a god. I turned around and waved Sarah over from where she was hiding outside the glass walls. “Run a discreet audit. I want to know exactly which accounts Preston has been wiring our joint company funds to over the past week.” Sarah blinked in surprise, then quickly nodded. I walked back to my desk, opened my locked bottom drawer, and pulled out a brand-new external hard drive. The game was just entering the pre-heating phase. If they wanted corporate empathy, I was about to serve them a massive, unadulterated dose of it. 3 Friday night. This was supposed to be our highly anticipated five-year anniversary dinner. A week ago, Preston had sworn up and down that he had a massive surprise planned for me. He had even forced me to cancel a crucial dinner with a VIP client just to keep the evening free. At eight o’clock, I sat alone in a private booth at a Michelin-starred restaurant. The red roses in the center of the table were already starting to wilt at the edges. My steak had been sent back to be kept warm three times, completely losing its texture. The seat across from me was painfully empty. I looked down at my phone. Two hours ago, Preston had sent a text. “I am so sorry Carla. A massive, incredibly complex cross-border M&A deal just dropped on my desk. I’m going to be pulling an all-nighter. Eat without me, the bill is already taken care of.” A complex cross-border M&A deal. What an elite, sophisticated excuse. I didn’t text back. I simply cut off a piece of the ruined steak, chewed it mechanically, and swallowed. Then, I opened the smart home app on my phone. I owned a sprawling penthouse in the center of the city. It was a pre-wedding gift left to me by my late mother. Only Preston and I knew the passcode to the front door. I tapped on the camera feed built into the robotic vacuum in the living room. After a few seconds of buffering, the high-definition video loaded on my screen. There was no all-nighter. There was no cross-border deal. Preston was wearing gray sweatpants, lounging comfortably on my imported Italian leather sofa. Brooke was curled up intimately against his chest, a crystal glass of my expensive red wine in her hand. “Preston, this sofa is incredible. It is so much softer than the one in Carla’s old apartment.” Thanks to the high-quality microphone, Brooke’s breathy, flirtatious voice fed directly into my earbuds. Preston let out a low chuckle. He reached up and affectionately pinched her chin. “You like it? Once she and I get married, I’ll find a legal loophole to transfer the deed to my name.” “Then you can live here however you want.” My steak knife dragged violently across the porcelain plate, letting out a horrific screech. A waiter looked over in a panic, but I waved him off with a calm smile. On the screen, Brooke sounded genuinely worried. “But Carla is so sharp. Would she really agree to sign over the deed?” “Relax.” Preston’s tone was dripping with a nauseating level of arrogance. “She is completely obsessed with me. As long as I use marriage and emotional security as leverage, she’ll cave.” “Besides, nobody else on earth could tolerate her freezing, workaholic personality.” I sat in the dim restaurant, quietly watching the man I thought I knew spew his delusional arrogance. Five years. I thought I had fallen in love with a rational, mature partner who could build an empire by my side. I didn’t realize I was just an asset portfolio he was trying to liquidate. On the screen, Brooke suddenly stood up. She walked over to my vanity table and pulled open the bottom drawer. My pupils constricted sharply. That was my strictly private drawer. Inside was a stunning, flawless antique emerald bracelet that belonged to my mother. She had physically locked it onto my wrist with her dying breaths. “Wow, this is gorgeous!” Brooke didn’t hesitate. She yanked it out of the velvet box and aggressively forced it over her own hand. The circumference of the antique piece was too small for her. She shoved it violently. A sharp, sickening crack echoed through the speakers. I heard the sound of my heart shattering alongside it. The emerald links jammed against her wrist bone, a massive, visible fracture splitting the precious stones. “Ah!” Brooke gasped in panic, desperately trying to rip it off her hand. Her fingers slipped. The heavy antique bracelet slammed against the solid marble floor. It shattered into three distinct pieces. I stood up so fast my chair crashed backward onto the carpet. On the screen, Brooke started sobbing hysterically in terror. Preston rushed over. He didn’t even glance at the priceless shattered heirloom on the floor. He grabbed Brooke’s hands, inspecting them frantically. “Are you okay? Did it scratch your skin?” “Preston, I didn’t mean to. This is Carla’s favorite thing in the world, she is going to literally kill me!” Brooke was hyperventilating, crying like her world was ending. Preston pulled her firmly into his chest, rubbing her back soothingly. “Don’t be scared. I’m right here.” “It’s just a material object. If it’s broken, it’s broken. The worst-case scenario is I just buy her a replica.” “If she dares to yell at you, I will break up with her on the spot.” I’ll just buy her a replica. If she yells at you, I’ll break up with her. I waved off the restaurant manager who was rushing over to help me. I pulled out my phone and dialed Preston’s number directly. It rang for a long, agonizing time before he finally picked up. His voice was tight, layered with a fake sense of urgency. “Carla? I’m in the middle of a board meeting, make it quick.” In the background, I could even hear the rhythmic clicking of a keyboard he was faking. “Nothing important,” I said, staring at the screen as he held the phone to his ear with one hand while stroking Brooke’s hair with the other. It was incredibly pathetic to watch. “Just wanted to check if the M&A deal is going smoothly.” “We’re still locked in negotiations. It’s definitely going to be an all-nighter. Go to bed early, don’t wait up for me.” He lied with the flawless precision of a sociopath. “Okay,” I replied, my voice completely devoid of emotion. I hung up the phone. Immediately, I exported the entire hour-long security footage to my hard drive. I didn’t storm over to the penthouse to catch them in the act. I didn’t scream or throw a tantrum. I reached down, picked up my fallen chair, grabbed my designer handbag, and walked out of the restaurant. The freezing winter wind hit my face. My mind was terrifyingly clear. The emerald bracelet was shattered, and the very last shred of mercy I had left for this man shattered right along with it. Preston. Brooke. You want my penthouse? Fine. I will personally turn it into your absolute graveyard. 4 Two days before Christmas. Our annual joint family dinner was booked at the most exclusive, members-only dining club in the city. It was a lavish affair. Preston’s parents, Brooke’s parents, and my father were all seated around the massive table. The private dining room was warm and filled with laughter. Preston wore a perfectly tailored suit, playing the role of the flawless future son-in-law to absolute perfection. He stood up, respectfully pouring a glass of expensive wine for my father. “Mr. Mercer, we have to watch your blood pressure tonight. Let’s keep the drinking to a minimum.” My father beamed, laughing heartily. “Preston, giving Carla to you is the best decision I could ever make. This girl is too obsessed with her career, I’m just glad you have the patience to tolerate her.” Preston adjusted his glasses with practiced humility. “You’re too kind, sir. Carla is brilliant. I’m the lucky one.” What a touching display of masculine grace. I sat next to him, idly spinning a porcelain teacup in my hands. Brooke sat at the furthest corner of the table. She was wearing a plain, modest white cardigan, her eyes cast downward, playing the role of the tragic, helpless innocent. Her parents looked incredibly uncomfortable in the luxurious setting, constantly raising their glasses to toast everyone, endlessly thanking me for taking their daughter in. “Carla has such a golden heart. Brooke is so blessed to have a friend like you in this lifetime,” Brooke’s mother said, wiping a fake tear from her eye. I didn’t respond. I just looked at Brooke with a ghost of a smile. She refused to meet my eyes. Probably because just ten minutes ago, I had clearly seen the tip of Preston’s leather oxford hook itself around Brooke’s ankle under the tablecloth. They were playing a thrilling game of footsie right under the noses of our parents. Halfway through the meal, Preston’s mother set her chopsticks down, cleared her throat, and initiated the main event. “Mr. Mercer, the kids have been together for five years. It’s time we solidify things.” “Our family has prepared a gorgeous downtown condo as their marital home. As for the wedding gift, we are prepared to write a check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to help them start their life. How does that sound?” The room fell into a joyful silence. My father nodded in deep satisfaction. “You are too generous. As long as the kids are happy, I have no objections.” “Actually,” Preston interrupted suddenly. He turned to look at me, his eyes practically melting with manufactured affection. “Mom, Dad. Carla and I already discussed this. She is a highly independent woman. She hates traditional, outdated customs.” “A wedding check is just a formality.” “We decided we want to take that one hundred and fifty thousand and use it to put a down payment on a starter condo for Brooke in the suburbs.” He dropped the bomb with absolute casualness. The entire room went dead silent. Brooke’s parents were so shocked they dropped their silverware. Preston’s mother scowled heavily. “Preston, what nonsense are you talking about?” Preston didn’t even blink. He deployed his flawless corporate logic to brainwash the entire room. “Mom, Brooke doesn’t even have a roof over her head right now.” “Carla is her absolute best friend. This money is just a bonus for us, but for Brooke, it is life-changing.” “Consider it our ultimate bridesmaid gift to her. Right, Carla?” He stared directly at me. His gaze held a heavy, undeniable pressure. He was absolutely certain that I would prioritize his ego in front of our parents. He was certain I wouldn’t start a war over a “trivial” sum of money in a public setting. Most importantly, he was certain I would swallow broken glass just to maintain my reputation as the perfect, supportive best friend. Brooke’s head snapped up. A flash of pure, unadulterated greed crossed her eyes before she expertly buried it. She stood up, waving her hands frantically. “No, Preston, absolutely not! This is way too much money. I could never take Carla’s wedding gift!” Her mouth was saying no, but her feet remained securely planted in her spot. Watching their pathetic, transparent performance, I suddenly laughed. The sound was sharp and piercing in the quiet room. “Preston, you really are a master of finance.” I stood up slowly, reaching into my designer bag. I pulled out a thick stack of printed documents and a sleek black USB drive. “Taking my wedding gift to buy real estate for your mistress. The ROI on that is spectacular.” The room erupted. “Carla! What the hell are you talking about?!” Preston’s face changed drastically, and he stood up abruptly.

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1 To earn merit, the city’s wealthiest Sterling family adopted me. A year later, my new mother bore Benjamin. Everyone predicted my downfall, but Benjamin treated me as kin. At age five, we both qualified for the National Junior Dance Finals. Backstage, our instructor Mr. Davis told Benjamin his crown was crooked and led him away to fix his makeup. In the crowd, Benjamin was snatched by traffickers. For three years, ransom calls tormented my parents. The kidnappers lied, claiming I’d handed him over out of jealousy. Believing them, my parents locked me in the basement and beat me to death. When I opened my eyes, I was five again. The stage music thundered. Mr. Davis crouched before us, smiling gently. “Benjamin, come. Let’s fix your lipstick. Your crown is tilted.” He reached for my brother. Trembling, I threw my arms around Benjamin, clinging with all my strength. “Don’t touch him! You’ll steal my brother!” Mr. Davis was the most popular instructor at our junior dance academy. He smoothed out the hem of Benjamin’s pants and patted his head affectionately. “Benjamin looks so handsome. You’re going to be the brightest star on stage today.” Benjamin shyly hid behind my back. “My big brother is handsome too.” Mr. Davis chuckled softly and looked up at my mother. “Mrs. Sterling, Benjamin’s lipstick is a little faded, and his crown needs adjusting. I’ll take him to touch it up, we’ll be right back.” My mother was just about to nod. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant fist. In my past life, this was exactly how he took Benjamin away. I hugged my little brother fiercely and screamed, “No!” The backstage area fell dead silent for a few seconds. Mr. Davis’s hand froze in mid-air. He looked at me, still maintaining his smile. “Is Leo just feeling a little stage fright before the competition? I’m just taking Benjamin to fix his makeup.” I held onto Benjamin with a death grip. “You’re a liar!” “You’re a bad teacher!” “You’re going to steal my brother!” Benjamin was startled by my screaming. He wrapped his little arms around my neck and whispered, “Brother…” People around us started to stare. A few parents frowned. “Why is that kid saying such awful things?” “Mr. Davis has been teaching for years, he’s so responsible with the kids.” “Do you think the adopted kid is just scared the real son is going to dance better than him?” Adopted kid. Real son. Those words felt like rusted nails driving straight into my brain. They said the exact same things in my past life. They said I wasn’t a real Sterling, so I had a wicked heart. They said Benjamin was the true young master, and I couldn’t stand to see him shine. But I had never, ever been jealous of Benjamin. He was my little brother. He was the very first person in this house to hug me and say, “My big brother is a baby too.” I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Dad, Mom, please don’t let him take my brother away.” “Please.” My father, Richard Sterling, had been talking to the event coordinator nearby. Hearing my hysterical crying, he strode over, his brow heavily furrowed. “What’s going on?” My mother knelt down and wrapped her arms around me. “Leo, breathe. Tell me slowly, does something hurt?” I couldn’t say anything more. I only had the body of a five-year-old. The kidnappers, the ransom money, the audio tapes, the blood-soaked reality of my past life—I couldn’t explain any of it. Even if I did, no one would believe a child. All I could do was hold onto Benjamin and repeat frantically: “Don’t let him take my brother.” “No one is allowed to take him away alone.” Mr. Davis’s eyes turned red, looking deeply hurt. “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling, I really don’t understand why Leo is suddenly so terrified of me.” “I was only worried that Benjamin’s makeup would affect his stage score.” “If I did something to upset him, I’m truly sorry.” 2 He played the victim flawlessly. Immediately, people nearby began to defend him. “Poor Mr. Davis.” “Being falsely accused by a kid like that, who could handle that?” My father looked down at me. His eyes held confusion. But also a deep sense of protectiveness. I was shaking from head to toe, gripping the cuff of his suit jacket like a lifeline. “Dad, please don’t let Benjamin out of your sight.” “I’m begging you.” My father stayed silent for two seconds. When he looked up, his voice had turned ice-cold. “He can get his makeup touched up.” “Have the makeup artist come over here. They can do it right in front of us.” Mr. Davis’s face twitched slightly. “But the waiting area is so crowded, and the lighting is terrible…” My father cut him off sharply. “Then bring over two more ring lights.” “My son is terrified. Today, absolutely no one takes either of them away alone.” My mother hugged Benjamin tighter and said softly, “Mr. Davis, please try to understand. The boys might just be really overwhelmed right now.” Mr. Davis’s fingers curled inward for a fraction of a second. But quickly, the gentle smile returned to his face. “Of course. The children’s emotional well-being is the most important thing.” He turned around to fetch a makeup artist. I stared at his retreating back. In that moment, I thought I had successfully grabbed the steering wheel of fate. But I forgot. If he had the nerve to execute a kidnapping at a national competition, there was no way he only had a Plan A. The makeup artist was brought over quickly. She reapplied Benjamin’s lipstick and pinned his little crown securely in place right there in the waiting area. Throughout the entire process, my mother held Benjamin in her lap. I sat right beside her, both of my hands gripping the hem of my little brother’s stage outfit. Four-year-old Benjamin whispered to me, “Brother, are you scared of the teacher?” I looked into his clear, innocent eyes and felt my throat burn. “Yeah.” “Then I’m scared too.” He shook his wrist, making the little silver bell on his bracelet jingle. “Listen, brother. If the bell is here, I’m here.” I almost broke down crying. In my past life, in the very last audio tape they sent us, his little voice was completely hoarse. He just kept repeating: “Mommy, I want to go home.” “Brother, I want a piece of cake.” But none of us could reach him. This time, I absolutely could not let go. The competition schedule moved forward rapidly. The loudspeakers began to announce our dance academy’s name. Director Evans was sweating profusely. She was the head of the dance academy. She was usually very kind to us, but she cared deeply about competition rankings. This was the first time she had led a team to the national finals, and the Sterling family was the academy’s biggest financial sponsor. She desperately needed everything to go perfectly. She hurried over, lowering her voice. “Mr. Sterling, the kids are all lined up. It’s time for them to head to the wing to wait for their cue.” My father glanced down at me. I immediately pulled Benjamin closer. “I have to go too.” Mr. Davis stood a few feet away, smiling warmly. “Of course! Leo and Benjamin are performing a duet, they absolutely have to go to the wing together.” He looked completely flawless. But the more perfect he acted, the more terrified I became. My father eventually assigned two massive bodyguards to follow right behind our line of children. That hadn’t happened in my past life. I let out a tiny breath of relief. But just as we stepped into the backstage corridor, the overhead lights went out with a loud crack. The darkness crashed down on us like a heavy, suffocating blanket. The children started screaming in terror. Someone knocked over a heavy metal makeup case. Kids were crying out for their mothers. My first instinct was to grab Benjamin. His little hand was still securely in my palm. Small, and so soft. “Brother…” He called out to me, terrified. I was just about to pull him into my arms when someone slammed violently into my back. I crashed hard onto the floor. My elbows hit the concrete, sending a sharp spike of pain up my arms. In the pitch black, a large hand clamped down hard over my mouth. I instantly smelled the sharp, chemical stench of fresh paint, mixed with the distinct cedarwood cologne Mr. Davis always wore. I thrashed and fought with everything I had. But I was only five years old. A second later, someone violently ripped Benjamin’s hand out of my grip. The sound of his silver bell jingled wildly for a chaotic second. Jingle. Jingle. And then it faded into the distance. “Brother!” Benjamin screamed exactly once before his voice was completely cut off. When the emergency backup lights finally flickered on, the corridor was absolute pandemonium. I was lying on the cold floor, the skin scraped raw off my knees. My hands were empty. Benjamin was gone. 3 My brain buzzed like I had just been thrown off a building. “Benjamin!” I screamed hysterically and scrambled to my feet. Hearing my voice, my mother spun around frantically. “Where is Benjamin?” All the color instantly drained from her face, leaving her ghost-white. “Where is my baby?!” My father sprinted over, his voice tight with rising panic. “Where is he?” The two bodyguards looked horrified. During the blackout, they had been blocked by panicked parents and a massive prop cart. They had lost sight of us for barely fifteen seconds. And my brother was gone. In that moment, the nightmare of my past life came crashing down on me entirely. My father’s eyes were filled with explosive rage and absolute terror. The people around us were panicking too. Voices began to overlap: “Did the kid just run off in the dark?” “It’s so crowded backstage, he probably just hid somewhere.” “Let’s not call the police yet, the competition is being broadcast live.” Director Evans was pale and sweating, but she was still trying to do damage control for the event. “Mr. Sterling, please, the child was probably just scared of the dark and ran to hide. We will find him right now.” My head snapped up. This was exactly what happened in my past life. At first, everyone told us not to make a scene. They said Benjamin was probably just lost. They said we couldn’t cause chaos at a live national broadcast. It was exactly that window of wasted time that allowed them to smuggle Benjamin completely out of the arena. I lunged forward, grabbing my father’s pant leg, crying hysterically. “Call the police!” “Lock down the doors!” “Mr. Davis is trying to take him out the side exit!” Mr. Davis was standing at the edge of the crowd. His hair was slightly messy, and his eyes were rimmed with red, looking just as traumatized as the rest of us. “Leo, please don’t say things like that.” “When the lights went out, everyone was right here. I was right here.” “Benjamin probably just got separated in the panic.” The moment he spoke, a few other teachers immediately backed him up. “That’s true, Mr. Davis was standing right next to me.” “I saw him helping a kid who fell over.” “He never left the area.” They were all providing him with an alibi. I knew he had planned for this. But I couldn’t afford to be scared. Benjamin had already been taken. This time, I had to bring him back. My father instantly ordered his security team to lock down every single exit in the backstage area. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 himself. “My son has gone missing in the backstage area of the arena.” “I suspect a coordinated kidnapping.” “Send units immediately.” Director Evans panicked, her voice cracking. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t say kidnapping! The negative press will ruin the academy!” My father snapped his head toward her. “My son is missing.” “And you are talking to me about press?” Director Evans shrank back, completely silenced. My mother was on the verge of total collapse. She was screaming Benjamin’s name, trying to physically push her way into the chaotic crowd to search for him. My father grabbed her and held her tight. “Sarah, you have to stay calm.” “He is still inside the building.” “I will find him.” My mother gripped his suit jacket, sobbing. “But what if we don’t?” Those words felt like a knife to my heart. In my past life, we didn’t find him. And then everything slowly began to rot. I ignored the searing pain in my knees and ran straight up to Mr. Davis. I pointed my little finger right at him and screamed: “It’s him!” “He took my brother!” Tears immediately spilled out of Mr. Davis’s eyes. “Leo, why are you targeting me like this?” “I wasn’t anywhere near Benjamin when the lights went out.” “All these teachers can vouch for me.” A female instructor murmured quietly, “It’s true, he was right next to me the whole time.” Another parent chimed in, “I saw him helping a kid up.” Mr. Davis cried, looking completely victimized. “Mr. Sterling, I know your son is precious, but I am an innocent man.” “Leo has been calling me a bad teacher since we got here.” “And now that Benjamin is missing, he’s instantly pointing the finger at me.” “Is this because I’m a little stricter with Leo during practice, so he doesn’t like me?” 4 People in the crowd started whispering. “Why is the adopted kid biting down so hard on Mr. Davis?” “His brother is missing, and he’s just busy trying to frame the teacher.” “Do you think there’s actually something wrong with him?” “Did you see him earlier? He was holding his brother hostage, refusing to let him go on stage.” Those whispers merged perfectly with the anonymous hate mail from my past life. My blood ran freezing cold. Mr. Davis was the one who stole Benjamin. But the second he shed a few tears, everyone immediately turned their suspicion onto me. Hearing the words “adopted kid,” my mother’s face grew even paler. Her head snapped toward me. In that split second, my heart stopped beating. Was my mother going to doubt me too? Was she going to think I hurt Benjamin, just like she did in my past life? I opened my mouth, tears spilling over my cheeks. “Mom, I didn’t.” “I didn’t hurt him.” My mother froze. A second later, she lunged forward and pulled me fiercely into her arms. “I know you didn’t.” “My brave boy was just scared too.” “Don’t listen to those people.” I went completely stiff in her embrace. The tears broke through like a dam. She believed me. In this life, even though my brother was already gone, she still chose to believe me. My father walked over and scooped me up from my mother’s arms. “Leo, look at me.” “You said Mr. Davis did this. What exactly did you see?” I was sobbing so hard I was hiccuping. But my brain was spinning at light speed. Right before the lights went out. The red string bracelet on Mr. Davis’s wrist. The stench of fresh paint on his clothes. The heavy cedarwood cologne on the hand that covered my mouth in the dark. And when Benjamin was dragged away, the sound of the silver bell moved toward the right. The right side. The side exit. The prop corridor. In my past life, the police eventually discovered that a massive peacock prop box had been moved out of the arena early. But by the time they found out, the box had already been incinerated. This time, the blackout just happened. Benjamin was likely just shoved into that box. I threw my arm out, pointing desperately toward the corridor on the right. “The big bird box!” “He put him in the big bird box!” “Go to the side door!” Mr. Davis’s face hardened for a fraction of a second. He immediately said, “Leo, there are hundreds of props backstage. How can you just make wild guesses out of thin air?” “The most important thing right now is finding Benjamin, not throwing a tantrum and making things up.” My father didn’t even look at him. He held me tight and began striding toward the right corridor. My mother followed right behind us. Mr. Davis suddenly stepped in front of us, blocking the path. “Mr. Sterling, the event organizers just announced that the right corridor is being used for heavy prop storage. Unauthorized personnel aren’t allowed back there.” My father stared him down with eyes like ice. “Move.” “I—” My father’s voice dropped to a lethal register. “If you try to stop me again, I will consider you an accomplice to kidnapping.” All the color drained from Mr. Davis’s face, and he slowly backed away. We burst into the right corridor. The lighting here was incredibly dim, and the air was thick with the smell of wet paint and heavy dust. Scattered on the concrete floor was a tiny trail of silver sequins. They were from the hem of Benjamin’s stage outfit. I scrambled out of my father’s arms, picked up one of the sequins, and cried, “He was here.” My mother’s knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed. My father caught her, his eyes burning with terrifying intensity. “Search it.” “Tear open every single box.” The bodyguards immediately fanned out. Right at that moment, the distinct sound of heavy rubber wheels rolling across concrete echoed from the end of the corridor. Someone was pushing something heavy toward the side exit. My head snapped up. “He’s right there!”

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1 The Porters took me away from St. Jude’s Foster Home. During the adoption process, Mrs. Porter made it brutally clear that she actually preferred the other boy. His name was Oliver. He was outgoing, bubbly, and full of natural talent. “Arthur, I just can’t get that little boy’s smile out of my head. Maybe we should go with Oliver instead.” Mrs. Porter bit her lip, completely torn, and looked to her husband for guidance. Mr. Porter patted her hand with an indulgent smile. “A loud, energetic kid like that will never have trouble finding a home. Besides, a noisy boy will just exhaust you. This one is much quieter.” “I suppose you’re right.” And so, accompanied by Mrs. Porter’s conflicted sighs, I was brought to their estate. I stayed with the Porter family for six months. But Mrs. Porter couldn’t let go of her obsession with Oliver. Eventually, she and her husband agreed to swap me out. “Hugo, sweetheart, Mommy just can’t forget the disappointed look in Oliver’s eyes when we left him behind. You’re such a mature, understanding boy. You can forgive me, right?” She was right. I had always been understanding. So, I was boxed up and shipped right back to the foster home. The day they made the exchange, Oliver practically threw himself into Mrs. Porter’s arms, refusing to let go. His bright, infectious laugh seemed to melt all her guilt away. Then, he looked over her shoulder at me. When none of the adults were watching, he smirked and mouthed the words. “Nobody wants a reject. You lose again.” Before she drove away, Mrs. Porter promised she would find time to visit me. I waited like a good boy. I sat by the window at the foster home for three whole months. She never came once. But three months later, Mr. Porter did come. He asked if I would be willing to go live with a friend of his. His friend’s last name was Stone. The Stones had a flawless marriage, but Mrs. Stone was unable to have children. They had always desperately wanted a son. Mr. Stone had seen me once at the Porter estate. When he went home, he showed my photo to his wife. He told her that my eyes looked exactly like hers. The foster home had strict regulations. If a child was returned within a year of adoption, they couldn’t be placed with a new family for a mandatory three-month cooling-off period. The Stones counted down the days. The very morning the restriction lifted, they dragged Mr. Porter along to officially ask for my consent. “Your name is Hugo, isn’t it?” Mrs. Stone’s voice was soft, like velvet. The way she looked at me was overflowing with a fragile, desperate kind of tenderness. She knelt down to my eye level. “Would you like to come home with me and be my one and only son?” I wanted to. When you’re a kid drifting like dead leaves in the wind, you’ll crawl toward even the faintest flicker of warmth. Let alone the promise of a real family. I placed my small hand into Mrs. Stone’s warm, soft palm. “I want to,” I whispered. “Oh, Hugo, you have no idea how happy you’ve made me!” Mrs. Stone pulled me into a fierce, crushing hug. She was laughing and crying at the same time, looking exactly like a kid waking up to snow on Christmas morning. In that moment, I knew she genuinely wanted me. As we walked out of the foster home, Mr. Porter turned to the Stones with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, if my wife hadn’t been so dead set on Oliver, I really would have hated to let little Hugo go!” Hated to let me go, yet he still threw me away. The Porter family was already a closed chapter in my life. They were the first people I had ever dared to trust. The first I ever tried to rely on. And the outcome had been humiliating. A sudden sting of tears blurred my vision. I quickly ducked my head, pretending to brush dust off my jacket. A large, warm hand rested on the top of my head and gently ruffled my hair. “Arthur, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say things like that in front of the boy anymore,” Mr. Stone said smoothly. “Family is about timing and connection. You made your choice. Let’s just wish each other well and leave it at that.” Dignified. Unshakable. That was my first impression of Richard Stone. It suddenly hit me. Back at the Porter house, I spent every waking second walking on eggshells. I was always terrified of breathing too loudly. Mrs. Porter constantly complained that I was too stiff, too unrefined to be shown off to her socialite friends. I never knew what to do to make them smile. Whenever I tried my hardest, it always backfired and made things worse. So I had just shrunk into myself, trying to take up as little space as possible. But right now, standing on the steps of the foster home, the answer finally clicked. When people don’t truly want you, nothing you do will ever be right. I hesitated for a second before reaching out to gently tug on the hem of Mr. Stone’s coat, silently thanking him for protecting my feelings. He crouched down, his tailored suit completely ignoring the dirt on the pavement. “Hugo,” he said quietly. “If you ever hear something you don’t want to hear, you can just cover your ears. You’re a kid. If you want to yell back at them, that’s perfectly fine too.” In that single heartbeat, everything around me seemed to light up. I finally understood what the older kids meant when they whispered in the dark. Being loved gives you a spine. My first time stepping into the Stone Estate was overwhelming. The staff walking across the manicured lawns all bowed their heads respectfully, greeting me as Master Hugo. Mrs. Stone excitedly dragged me from room to room. She had boundless energy, acting as though she could sprint a marathon in heels and never break a sweat. But that manic joy didn’t clash with her innate elegance. Whenever she spoke to me, her voice dropped to a gentle, comforting murmur. Martha, the head housekeeper, came by to ask about the dinner menu. Mrs. Stone started checking boxes on an iPad while simultaneously bombarding me with questions. “What does Hugo like to eat? Does he have any allergies? Oh, make sure he gets an extra glass of warm milk after dinner, he’s far too skinny…” Martha caught my eye. We shared a secret little smile, silently agreeing to just let her ramble. A full five minutes later, Mrs. Stone finally realized she was the only one talking. She gasped in mock outrage. “Hugo! How could you? Teaming up with Martha to make fun of your poor mother?” It wasn’t making fun of her. It was adorable. “Ma’am, Master Hugo just got here,” Martha said with a fond chuckle. “Adjusting to the estate will take time. We have plenty of days to figure out what he loves.” Mrs. Stone let out a long breath, clutching the iPad to her chest. “I thought I was hiding my nerves so well. I guess I am rushing things.” She looked down at me, her eyes filled with sudden panic. “Hugo, I’m not overwhelming you, am I?” I shook my head firmly. “No.” “Thank God.” The estate was massive. By the time we had toured half of the east wing, it was time for dinner. At the dining table, Mr. Stone took his phone out, switched it to airplane mode, and placed it face down. Then he picked up the serving tongs and personally plated food for his wife and me. Mrs. Stone took a bite of her roast and smiled. “After dinner, I’m taking you upstairs to pick your bedroom. I actually called Victoria Porter to ask what style you preferred. She said you didn’t care either way. Is it that you really don’t know what you like, or are you just too polite to ask?” I lowered my eyes to my plate. I truly didn’t know what I liked. Growing up in the system meant choices were a luxury I couldn’t afford. Sometimes, ten of us shared a single box of colored pencils. Before I could even figure out which shade of green I was holding, someone else had already snatched it out of my hand. When I moved in with the Porters, Mr. Porter’s favorite color was navy blue. Mrs. Porter blindly assumed all boys must love blue, so every piece of clothing, every bedsheet, every toothbrush I owned was navy. I stared at the steam rising from my bowl, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what my style is.” The air in the dining room froze for a few seconds. Mr. Stone was the first to break the silence. “It’s completely normal not to know.” His voice was steady and grounding. “You’re just a kid. You haven’t even figured out how the world works yet. How could anyone expect you to have your tastes locked down?” No adult had ever spoken to me like that. I jerked my head up, staring at him in pure shock. Wasn’t everyone supposed to know exactly who they were from the start? The teachers at the foster home, and even Mrs. Porter, always preached the same tired line. “You are the only person in the world who truly knows yourself.” Seeing my stunned expression, Mr. Stone let out a low chuckle. “My wife is thirty-two years old, and she still can’t decide if cotton or silk pajamas help her sleep better. It’s not a crime to be undecided.” “You never have to apologize for things you aren’t sure about.” After dinner, Mr. Porter called. Mr. Stone held the phone to his ear, exchanged a few brief sentences, and then glanced over at me. Catching his subtle look, Mrs. Stone leaned in and asked softly, “Do you want to see the Porters?” Silence swallowed me whole. Whenever I faced the Porter family, all I felt was bone-deep inadequacy. Especially at their high-society dinners. The gap between me and the other wealthy kids my age was a massive, gaping canyon. Mr. Porter would constantly pull me aside, making passive-aggressive comments about how I needed to catch up before I humiliated him. During those six months, my days were packed with an endless rotation of tutors. Academic cram schools. Etiquette coaches. Dining protocol instructors. It was relentless. Suffocating. The Porters would parade their wealthy friends through the house to inspect my progress, treating me like a prized show dog they were training for a ribbon. The scrutiny. The sheer terror of making a mistake. When they finally dumped me back at the foster home, my heart had shattered, but beneath the grief was a massive, shameful wave of relief. Did I want to see them? My fingers instantly curled into fists, gripping the fabric of my trousers. The Porters arrived late in the evening, parading Oliver through the front doors. Oliver looked healthier, his skin glowing and pampered. He was wearing a ridiculously expensive tailored blue suit, strutting into the foyer like he owned the place. “Long time no see, Hugo!” He lunged forward and threw his arms around me, acting like we were long-lost blood brothers. I gave him a stiff, polite pat on the back, then immediately took a half-step backward, putting cold air between us. “Hugo, I’ve made so many new friends here! All the girls in my class just adore me.” Oliver grabbed my wrist and shook it enthusiastically, practically vibrating with smugness. “Oliver really is a charmer. Everyone says he gets his shining personality from me,” Mrs. Porter chimed in, practically glowing with pride. “When we first brought him home, Arthur was so worried that Oliver’s energy would drain me. But now? He makes Arthur laugh until his stomach hurts every single day.” “He’s a handful, sure, but raising kids is supposed to be tiring. We’re loving every second of it.” Mr. Porter took over the conversation, his eyes glued to Oliver with sickening adoration. I stood perfectly still, watching them. A bitter taste flooded the back of my throat, thick and metallic. Once, during my time with them, I had scored the highest grade in my class. It happened to be the night of Mrs. Porter’s birthday gala. My homeroom teacher was on the guest list and praised my grades right in front of them. What did Mr. Porter say then? “Children are arrogant by nature. Don’t praise him in public, or he’ll forget where he came from and get a swollen head.” He had dressed down my teacher in front of fifty wealthy guests. The teacher had awkwardly stared at his shoes, humiliated. Mrs. Porter had swirled her red wine, barely sparing the teacher a glance before turning her cold eyes on me. “Hugo, you need to reflect on this. Why were you only first in your class? You and the kid who ranked first in the entire grade are sitting in the exact same building. The gap between you two is frankly embarrassing.” After that night, my homeroom teacher never gave me a second glance. Seeing the Porters dote on Oliver now, the truth was blindingly obvious. They were fully capable of unconditional love. They just didn’t want to love me. After the Porters finally left, Mrs. Stone exploded in the hallway. She was furious because Mr. Stone had held her arm, stopping her from tearing into them while they were bragging. Mr. Stone kept his voice calm and steady. “Eleanor, these are realities Hugo has to face eventually. We can’t shield him from every ugly truth. Letting him see exactly who they are right now will help him cut ties and start fresh.” “Don’t you dare use your corporate psychological warfare on my boy!” Refusing to accept his logic, she grabbed my hand and stomped up the grand staircase. “Darling, Hugo is a boy. He’s much stronger than you give him credit for. We can’t raise him in a greenhouse,” Mr. Stone called out, trailing behind us. His tone was exasperated but entirely fond. “Hugo is my son. Nobody gets to bully him under the pathetic disguise of ‘tough love’.” Mrs. Stone was still grumbling under her breath as she walked me down the hall to choose my room. She was genuinely livid. Every time Mr. Stone tried to reach for her hand, she slapped his fingers away. Left with no other option, Mr. Stone caught my eye behind her back, rubbed my head, and pressed his palms together in a silent plea for help. “Please don’t be mad,” I said, stopping in the middle of the hallway. I pulled gently on Mrs. Stone’s sleeve and looked right into her eyes. “I didn’t feel bullied.” The fight instantly drained out of her. Tears spilled over her lower lashes. She dropped to her knees right there on the Persian rug and pulled me close. “Hugo, I’ve never been a mother before, but I know what it’s like to be a child. Whenever anything went wrong, my parents stood like a brick wall between me and the rest of the world. You are my son. Anyone or anything that tries to make you sad has to go through me first.” Watching her cry over me made my own nose sting. No one had ever said those words to me. It felt like all I had to do was wear the title of her son, and I suddenly became worthy of being unconditionally loved. “I was too rational. My wife is completely right. Hugo is our son, and nobody gets to make him feel small.” Mr. Stone crouched down beside us, wrapping his massive arms around both of us. His chest felt like a fortress. Solid. Impenetrable. “We are a family now,” he murmured against my hair. “And we will always stand fiercely on your side.” I swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in my throat. I reached out and wiped a stray tear from Mrs. Stone’s cheek. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being. Thank you for letting me know what love feels like. The Stone family had prepared two separate bedrooms for me. One was styled with classic, dark-wood elegance. The other was ultra-modern and sleek. Ironically, the designs didn’t match their personalities. Mrs. Stone, the artist, had designed the sleek modern one. Mr. Stone, the ruthless CEO, had designed the warm, classic one. I stood in the doorway, quietly taking in the spaces. “Hugo, these two rooms are just our welcoming gifts. You can choose the classic, or the modern. But we also cleared out the massive suite at the end of the hall downstairs. Whenever you finally figure out exactly what your style is, you can gut it and build it from the ground up.” Mrs. Stone rested a hand on my shoulder. “You never have to twist yourself into knots to fit someone else’s mold. Not even ours.” I stared at her, my vision going dangerously blurry. They weren’t trying to prune me like a bonsai tree to fit their living room aesthetic. They were just handing me a patch of rich soil and telling me to grow however I wanted. “Then… can I sleep in this one for now?” I took a deep breath and stepped into the warm, classic room. Mrs. Stone’s face lit up instantly, her eyes sparkling like crushed diamonds. “Absolutely. And if you get bored of it next week, we switch. In this house, you always have choices.” The Stones didn’t constantly shower me with theatrical praises or smothering kisses. But the quiet, unshakeable tolerance that flowed through the very air of their home was more powerful than any grand gesture. During my time with the Porters, I had seen countless high-society couples who smiled for the cameras but despised each other in private. Even the Porters themselves, famous in the tabloids for their “perfect” marriage, would tear each other to shreds over the pettiest things. Mrs. Porter was obsessed with pastel pink. She forced Mr. Porter to paint his private home office pink. She demanded he wear pink silk ties to work every single day. Mr. Porter would put the tie on before walking out the front door, and rip it off the second he got into his Bentley. One afternoon, she showed up at his corporate headquarters unannounced to bring him lunch. When she saw he wasn’t wearing the tie, she threw a screaming fit in the middle of the lobby, sobbing to the board members that he didn’t love her anymore. Mr. Porter had finally snapped, yelling, “There has to be a limit to your psychotic delusions!” I used to think that adult marriage was just an endless endurance test. That love meant beating the other person down until they turned into exactly what you wanted. But looking at the Stones, I realized love could be entirely different. After settling in, they didn’t immediately rush to throw me into a private prep school. Mrs. Stone, a renowned painter, dragged me to gallery openings and private art salons. No matter how many millions Mr. Stone was negotiating, he always cleared his weekends to walk through the botanical gardens with us. One afternoon in the park, I heard the haunting melody of a violin. I stopped walking and stared at the street performer for a long time. The very next morning, Mrs. Stone drove me to a high-end strings shop downtown. An elderly woman, Mrs. Higgins, happened to be there. She taught me how to grip the bow. After listening to me drag out a few shaky notes, she turned to Mrs. Stone. “The boy has an ear for it. I’d be willing to take him on as a student.” Mrs. Stone didn’t immediately pull out her black card. She knelt down and looked me in the eye. “Hugo. Do you want to learn?” I didn’t answer right away. I had learned the piano at the Porter house. Mrs. Porter had bragged to her country club friends that I would pass the advanced conservatory exams within six months. To make that happen, she stood over my shoulder with a metronome. Eight hours a day. I practiced until my fingers cramped and violently shook. Just looking at black and white keys made my stomach turn. What Mrs. Porter didn’t know was that the advanced exams were only held twice a year, and beginners weren’t allowed to skip straight to the top tier on their first try. When she found out she couldn’t show off her prodigy child at her next luncheon, she felt utterly humiliated. That was the day she decided to go back to the orphanage and exchange me. “I want to learn,” I whispered softly. “But I don’t want to take any exams. Is that okay?”

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1 A business associate arranged a blind date. Entering the private room, I found Serena and three other men seated at the table. She sipped her matcha, pointing at them with open arrogance. A blind date demands a thorough background check. These are my ex-boyfriends. They know my standards best. Scanning my profile, she curled her lip. Alexander Kensington. Unemployed? A grown man leaching off society in this economy? My first love is a Wall Street banker. My second, a top-tier surgeon. Even my last ex is a tenured city official. You are not fit to compare to a finger on any of them. Who gave you the nerve to sit across from me? The banker sneered. Buddy, you cannot even draw a minimum wage. How will you provide? The doctor looked down his nose. Look at those cheap clothes. Probably rotting on your parents’ couch. The official folded his arms. No job, no ambition. Worthless mud. Listening to their coordinated mockery, I nearly laughed. Serena was right about one thing. I had no job. As the billionaire chairman of Astra Holdings, I did not need to clock in. Surveying this ridiculous quartet, I decided their ego trip was too petty to warrant crushing them with my wealth. I just smiled, stood up, and prepared to leave. “Since you clearly think I’m beneath you, I won’t interrupt your lovely reunion any further.” I grabbed my coat from the back of the chair and headed for the door. Serena slammed her teacup onto the table. “Hold it right there. Who said you could leave?” She clicked her heels across the floor and blocked my path. “Do you not know the rules of a blind date? The man pays. This Omakase restaurant is three hundred a head. For the four of us plus you, the bill is fifteen hundred dollars.” She crossed her arms, tilting her chin up at me. “Don’t even think about dining and dashing. Settle the bill.” I stopped in my tracks. This was getting ridiculous. “The four of you ordered a table full of premium sashimi. I didn’t take a single bite. Why exactly should I pay?” Marcus, the banker, spun his BMW keys around his finger. “Pal, you come out on a date and can’t even cough up fifteen hundred bucks? Looking this broke, you still expect to find a girlfriend?” He pulled a gold platinum card from his wallet and slapped it onto the table. “Alright, Serena, stop making things hard for him. A deadbeat like him probably doesn’t even have fifty bucks to his name.” “I’ll cover the bill. Consider it charity for the homeless.” Lucas pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with fake pity. “Very generous of you, Marcus. But people like him are parasites. Even if you help him, he won’t be grateful.” Derek took a slow sip of his tea, putting on a bureaucratic air. “Young man, being poor isn’t a crime. What’s terrifying is your complete lack of accountability. If you run away from a simple dinner bill, how will you ever survive in the real world?” Serena looked at me like I was garbage on her shoe. “Did you hear that? That is the difference between you and real men. How can you even compare?” “You don’t even have the spine to pay a bill, and you have the audacity to go on blind dates?” As soon as Marcus dropped his gold card, Serena instantly glued herself to his side, linking her arm through his. “Marcus is so successful. When you took me to that yacht party last month, my girlfriends were absolutely dying of jealousy.” Marcus smoothly wrapped his arm around her waist. “That was nothing. I’m taking you to the Maldives next week.” Lucas refused to be outdone. “Serena, how is your mother’s back pain? I already booked her an appointment with our hospital’s top orthopedic specialist. She can go straight to the VIP wing tomorrow.” Serena’s eyes lit up. “Really? Lucas, you are so sweet! The scalpers charge thousands just to get a spot with that specialist.” Derek cleared his throat loudly. “Serena, about your younger brother’s civil service exam. I checked with my contacts, and his written score is solid. When it’s time for the interview, I’ll pull some strings with the panel to make sure he gets through.” Serena practically jumped for joy. “Derek, you are an absolute lifesaver for my family!” These three men. One had money, one had resources, and one had power. Serena swam between them effortlessly, soaking up the intoxicating thrill of being worshiped by all of them. Then she turned her head, looking at me with pure disgust. “Do you see this, Alexander? This is what high-value networking looks like.” “What could you possibly offer me? Aside from a decent face, you are completely useless.” “Even sitting at the same table as you is dragging down my net worth.” Watching her smug performance, I found the whole situation hilarious. “If your three ex-boyfriends are so exceptional, why exactly are they your exes?” Serena’s face froze. Marcus and the others suddenly looked incredibly awkward. I twisted the knife. “Is it because it takes all three of them combined to satisfy your massive ego?” “You are talking absolute garbage!” Serena shrieked, her face flushing with rage. “What would a broke loser like you understand? This is called consolidating resources!” “I am simply evaluating my options to select the most optimal partner.” I let out a dry laugh. “Calling two-timing and stringing men along ‘consolidating resources’ is certainly a creative spin. You’re quite the talent.” Marcus slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Watch your mouth, kid. Do you want me to make sure you never find a job in this city again?” I looked right at him. “Wall Street hotshot, right? Which firm?” Marcus puffed out his chest. “Apex Capital. Ever heard of it? It’s a tier of high finance a bottom-feeder like you could never even dream of.” Apex Capital? What a coincidence. That was a wholly-owned subsidiary under my conglomerate. I nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of it. Nothing special.” Marcus laughed, his face twisting with anger. “Big words for a nobody! One phone call from me, and you’ll be blacklisted from every corporate building in the state.” I shrugged casually. “Be my guest.” This Mizumi sushi restaurant actually belonged to a minor hospitality group I acquired last year. I pulled out my phone and scanned the QR code on the table. A soft chime signaled a successful transaction. I held my screen up so Serena could see the payment confirmation. “Fifteen hundred. Paid. Consider this dinner my gift to help you three fund your little shared girlfriend project.” Serena blinked, clearly shocked that I actually had the money. But she recovered quickly and sneered. “Oh, you actually paid? Maxed out your credit card, I bet?” “All this just to save face. You’ll be eating instant noodles for the next month to pay off the interest. Pathetic.” Marcus snatched his gold card back and scoffed. “Trying to act like a big shot. I see guys like him all the time. The poorer they are, the more desperately they cling to their fragile pride.” I didn’t bother wasting another breath on them. I pushed the door open and walked out. The general manager saw me step into the hallway and immediately rushed over, bowing respectfully. “Mr…” I raised a hand to cut him off. “Don’t announce me. Those four guests in that room are permanently blacklisted. Never let them step foot in here again.” The manager understood instantly and bowed lower. “Right away, sir.” I walked out of the restaurant, grateful for the fresh air. The world really was full of bizarre people. But it was just a minor annoyance, and I wiped it from my mind immediately. Astra Holdings had just acquired a massive plot of commercial land, and the development blueprints required my personal approval. As I was walking to the valet to get my car, my phone rang. It was Henderson, the building materials tycoon who had set up the date. “Alexander! How did the date go? Serena is a great girl with high standards. I hope you didn’t mind her being a little particular.” I told him the blunt truth. “She brought three of her ex-boyfriends to the date to interrogate me, then demanded I pay their dinner bill. That kind of ‘great girl’ is a bit too much for me to handle.” Henderson went dead silent on the other end of the line. After a long pause, he let out a painfully awkward laugh. “Oh… I had no idea she was like that. Alexander, please don’t take it to heart. I will definitely introduce you to someone much better next time.” I politely declined his offer and hung up. I was done with these pointless blind dates. The next morning, I headed to the corporate headquarters for a board meeting. The Astra Holdings skyscraper dominated the most expensive block in the financial district. I wore a simple, comfortable gray tracksuit, planning to hit the golf course immediately after the morning briefings. The moment I stepped into the grand marble lobby, a horribly familiar voice echoed behind me. “Alexander? What are you doing here?” I turned my head and saw Serena. She was wearing a sharp, tailored business suit, her makeup applied to absolute perfection, clutching a leather portfolio. Derek stood right beside her. He was dressed in a stiff gray suit, his hair slicked back with an aggressive amount of gel. Serena clicked her heels as she strutted over to me, looking me up and down. “That outfit… don’t tell me you’re here applying for a janitorial position?” She covered her mouth and laughed loudly. “Makes sense. Physical labor is about the only thing a deadbeat like you is qualified for.” I frowned. “Why I’m here is absolutely none of your business.” Serena rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Of course it isn’t. I just think a rat like you showing up at Astra Holdings severely drags down the prestige of this building.” She waved her leather portfolio in my face. “Do you have any idea why I’m here? I am interviewing for the position of Public Relations Director.” “Astra Holdings is the top conglomerate in the country. Only the absolute elite are allowed to work here.” “Trash like you couldn’t even afford to breathe the air in this lobby.” Derek stood beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down his nose at me. “Serena, stop wasting your breath on him. It lowers your status.” He glared at me, his eyes filled with contempt. “Kid, you don’t belong here. Leave immediately before you embarrass yourself further.” I looked at the two of them, genuinely amused by their arrogance. “Do you own Astra Holdings? Who gave you the authority to tell me where I belong?” Derek’s face darkened. “Do you understand how things work in this city? I am Derek from the City Planning Board. I am here today as an official guest to negotiate a massive government contract.” “I personally know the executives in this building. If you don’t turn around and walk out that door right now, one word from me will have the security team drag you out by your hair!” Serena immediately chimed in. “Did you hear that? Derek is close personal friends with the billionaires who run this place.” “You offend Derek, and you won’t be able to find a single toilet to scrub in this entire city.” I kept my hands in my pockets, staring blankly at Derek. “Oh? Which executive exactly do you know?” Derek puffed out his chest, radiating smugness. “The Vice President of Astra Holdings. Robert Vance. We go way back.” Robert? The guy I just promoted last month to handle external government relations? I nodded slowly. “Alright. Call him down here. Let’s see if he has the guts to kick me out.” Derek looked at me like I had just escaped from a psychiatric ward. “Who the hell do you think you are? Robert is a multi-millionaire executive. You think he has time to deal with street trash like you?” Serena laughed mockingly. “Alexander, you are seriously delusional. There’s a limit to pretending you’re a big shot.” “Did you swipe a credit card last night and suddenly convince yourself you’re a CEO?” “I am telling you, with Derek here, you won’t even get a job plunging the toilets at Astra!” Just then, a young receptionist hurried over to them. “Mr. Derek, correct? Vice President Robert is waiting for you in the conference room on the eighteenth floor. Please follow me.” Derek adjusted his tie, shooting me a triumphant sneer. “See that? That is what real power looks like.” He turned to Serena, his voice softening. “Go crush your interview. Once my meeting is done, I’ll take you out for a Michelin-star lunch to celebrate.” Serena batted her eyelashes and nodded sweetly. “Thank you, Derek.” Derek followed the receptionist toward the VIP elevators. Serena turned back to me, her expression instantly twisting into a vicious glare. “I am warning you, Alexander. Stay far away from me. Don’t think for a second that stalking me to my job interview will make me look at you.” “A toad like you will never get a taste of swan meat.” Her delusion was honestly staggering. “Serena, do you suffer from clinical paranoia?” “I am here because this is my territory.” Serena rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might pass out. “Your territory? You really think you’re the Chairman of Astra Holdings?” “If you’re the Chairman, then I’m the Queen of England!” She intentionally bumped her shoulder hard against mine as she walked past, strutting toward the interview floor. I watched her walk away, pulled out my phone, and dialed the Director of Human Resources. “Check the candidate list for the PR Director interviews today. Look for a woman named Serena.” “Fail her immediately. Put her on the permanent blacklist.” I hung up the phone and walked toward the Chairman’s private elevator. If they insisted on throwing themselves into the fire, I would gladly hand them the matches. That afternoon, the front desk called my private line. They told me an elderly woman holding a basket of vegetables was asking for me. My heart warmed instantly. It had to be my grandmother visiting from the countryside. A few days ago on the phone, I casually mentioned how much I missed the organic greens she grew in her garden. I never expected she would travel all the way to the city just to bring them to me. I dropped my paperwork and hurried down to the lobby to greet her. The moment the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, I heard a shrill, venomous voice echoing across the marble. “You senile old bat! Are you blind? How dare you rub your filthy clothes on my designer suit!” My chest tightened. I sprinted toward the center of the lobby. Serena was standing there, pointing a manicured finger right in my grandmother’s face, screaming at the top of her lungs. Scattered across the polished floor at Serena’s feet were fresh green vegetables and several crushed farm eggs. My grandmother was crouched on the ground, frantically trying to salvage the broken eggs, her face full of distress. Standing right behind Serena were her three ex-boyfriends. Because I had ordered HR to instantly fail her, Serena had been kicked out before the interview even started. She was completely humiliated and furious. Marcus and Lucas must have heard the news and rushed over to comfort her. Along with Derek, who had just finished his meeting, the ridiculous quartet had somehow reassembled in my lobby. Grandma’s eyes were red. She looked up nervously and tried to explain. “Miss, I didn’t mean to bump into you. I was just trying to ask for directions… Could you tell me which floor my grandson, Alexander, works on?” Hearing the name “Alexander,” Serena’s face contorted into pure hatred. The absolute humiliation of her failed interview finally found a target. “Alexander? You’re that useless loser’s grandmother?!” Serena viciously kicked the fresh vegetables across the floor, her face twisting with disgust. Marcus quickly stepped forward, wrapping a protective arm around Serena. “Babe, don’t lower yourself by arguing with country trash. It’s not worth raising your blood pressure.” “Take your hands off her!” I roared, sprinting forward. I violently shoved Serena out of the way and carefully knelt down to pull my grandmother up from the floor. “Grandma, are you hurt?” Seeing the sticky, shattered egg yolks coating my grandmother’s rough, calloused hands, my blood boiled with a murderous rage. Grandma shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m fine, Alex. It’s just a shame about all these vegetables. I picked them fresh this morning…” Serena, having stumbled backward from my shove, immediately shrieked like a banshee. “Alexander! You dare put your hands on me?!” “You unemployed parasite! Did you drag your filthy grandmother into Astra Holdings just to run a scam and extort us for money?!” Seeing me shove Serena, Marcus, Lucas, and Derek instantly rushed forward as a pack. Marcus grabbed me violently by the collar of my tracksuit. Lucas slammed his hands into my shoulder from the side, and Derek took a cheap shot, kicking me hard in the shin. Outnumbered and desperate to shield my grandmother behind me, I took the blows, stumbling backward until my spine slammed hard against a marble pillar. Seeing me cornered, Serena became utterly unhinged. “Security! Are you all dead? Can’t you see this maniac attacking us?” Heavy footsteps echoed across the lobby. Several security guards in tactical uniforms came sprinting over, holding heavy riot control forks. I wiped a thin trace of blood from the corner of my mouth. I pointed a finger dead at the four of them and roared at the guards. “I am Alexander Kensington! Throw these four pieces of trash out of my building immediately!” The lead security guard froze. He was a new hire, completely unfamiliar with my face. He looked at my plain gray tracksuit, then looked at the four people dripping in designer suits, Rolexes, and diamond jewelry. He hesitated, completely unsure of who to obey. Seeing the guard freeze, Serena burst into hysterical, mocking laughter. “Alexander, are you having a psychotic break? You swiped a credit card yesterday to play rich, and now you genuinely believe you’re the Chairman of Astra Holdings?” Derek pulled his government badge from his tailored jacket, holding it up with maximum arrogance. “I am an official guest of Vice President Robert! This lunatic and his peasant grandmother are physically assaulting people in your lobby! They are completely destroying Astra’s corporate image! Arrest them and throw them onto the street immediately!” Faced with a government official, the rookie guards instantly made their choice. “Sir, you need to leave the premises right now, or we will use force!” Two massive guards lunged forward, grabbing my arms and twisting them violently behind my back, forcing me to bend over in pain. Another guard looked at my grandmother with disgust. He shoved her hard with the metal shaft of his riot fork. “Grab your rotten garbage and get out, old lady!” The shove sent my grandmother crashing to the hard marble floor. But she ignored the pain, scrambling on her hands and knees to pry the guards’ fingers off my arms. “Don’t hurt my grandson! We’ll leave! We’ll leave right now, please just let him go…” Just as I was about to be dragged out of my own building like a stray dog, the VIP elevator doors pinged open. Robert, flanked by several senior executives, stepped out into the lobby. Seeing him, Derek instantly plastered on a sickeningly sweet smile and hurried over. “Robert! Perfect timing! This lunatic and his country grandmother are throwing a violent tantrum in your lobby! I told your guards to handle this trash to protect your company’s image!” Serena also rushed forward, her voice dripping with fake innocence. “Mr. Robert, look at the disgusting mess they made on your beautiful floors. It’s ruining Astra’s reputation.” Robert’s eyes followed their pointing fingers and landed squarely on me. His entire body went rigid. Then, in front of the horrified eyes of everyone in the lobby, Robert violently shoved Derek and Serena out of his way. He practically sprinted across the floor, closing the distance in three massive strides. His face was ashen, and cold sweat was pouring down his forehead. His voice violently shook with absolute, unadulterated terror. “Mr. Kensington! I am so sorry I’m late!”

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1 Henry had firm rules for his charity. Four years together, my independence made me his lowest priority. Maya, his recently divorced colleague, earned all his time as a struggling single mother. He fetched her medicine at 2 A.M., built furniture on weekends, and played stand-in dad at her son’s sports day. Confront him, and he’d scoff. Just helping her. Why envy a single mother? Yesterday, my father’s heart attack demanded a $5,000 deposit. Pale and trembling, I called Henry. He hesitated. Broke this month. I gripped the bill. What about Friday’s $6,000 bonus? He stammered. Maya’s son needed private preschool fees. She was distraught, so I lent it. In the sterile hallway, I watched the SURGERY IN PROGRESS sign, shaking. My father fought for life while Henry couldn’t spare $5,000. But for Maya’s son’s $5,500 tuition, he’d handed over his entire paycheck without pause. I scraped funds from relatives. At 3 A.M., his text arrived. Stop the silence. I’ll take leave to care for your dad after discharge. I stared at the screen, nausea rising. No tears, just revulsion. Calmly, I blocked him everywhere. Henry craved playing savior. Let him save someone else. I was finished. … “Claire, how old are you? Are we really still playing the blocking game?” The front door clicked open. Henry walked in, carrying two bags of takeout breakfast. His brows were furrowed in that familiar, condescending expression of exhausted patience. I sat motionless on the couch. On the coffee table in front of me sat my father’s emergency surgery receipt. The money my mother had to beg our relatives for in a freezing hospital hallway in the middle of the night. Henry kicked off his shoes and dropped the breakfast on the dining table. He walked over and stood in front of the couch, looking down at me like I was a petulant child. “I know you were stressed, but your dad’s surgery went fine, right?” “I already told you I’d take time off to help out. Why do you always have to escalate things and make this so dramatic?” I slowly raised my head. My eyes swept over the slightly wrinkled collar of his dress shirt. “You didn’t come home last night,” I stated. My voice was eerily quiet. Henry froze. He pulled out a dining chair, sat down, and took a slow sip from a glass of water. “Leo spiked a fever in the middle of the night. Maya couldn’t carry him to the car alone, so she called me in a panic.” “I drove them to the ER and stayed with them while they ran an IV. I was so exhausted I just passed out on those hard plastic waiting room chairs.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, playing the role of the weary martyr to perfection. “Claire, I was doing a good deed. Could you try being a little understanding about how exhausted I am for once?” Listening to his absolute, unshakeable self-righteousness, bile rose in the back of my throat. My father had a massive heart attack, and Henry couldn’t spare a dime for his emergency surgery. Maya’s kid gets a fever, and Henry spends the entire night glued to his hospital bed. “Where is your bonus?” I didn’t take the bait, cutting straight to the only thing that mattered. Henry blinked, clearly caught off guard. He hadn’t expected me to instantly zero in on the money. “Didn’t I just text you? I lent it to Maya so she could pay Leo’s enrollment fee.” “She’s a single woman trying to survive in this brutal city. She doesn’t have anyone else to lean on.” “If she didn’t secure that spot, Leo wouldn’t even have a place to go to school.” The more he spoke, the more justified he felt. He actually had the audacity to glare at me. “Besides, didn’t you just get your quarterly bonus? Why couldn’t you just front the cash for the surgery? Why do you have to be so incredibly petty over a few thousand dollars right now?” I stared dead into his eyes. “My CDs don’t mature until next month. And I wired my quarterly bonus to the wedding planner last week to cover our final catering deposit.” “Henry. That was our wedding money.” His face went completely rigid. But a second later, the defensive irritation of a man whose ego had just been bruised flared right back up. “We can push the wedding back. We can cancel the catering.” “But a child’s education is critical. It can’t wait!” He shot up from his chair, his voice echoing in the small living room. “Claire, when did you become so damn cold-blooded?” “That is a living, breathing human being. Did you want me to just stand by and watch Maya lose her mind over a few thousand bucks?” The doorbell suddenly chimed. It shattered the suffocating tension in the room. Henry shot me a lethal glare before turning on his heel to open the door. Standing on the welcome mat, holding a thermal soup container, was Maya. She was wearing a loose, oversized cream cardigan. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. The absolute picture of fragile vulnerability. “Henry, I’m so sorry. Did I interrupt you two last night?” Maya stood timidly in the doorway, her gaze darting past Henry’s shoulder to land on me. “Claire, please don’t be mad at Henry. It’s entirely my fault.” “Leo’s fever was so high, I was just so terrified… I didn’t know who else to call…” As she spoke, she gently pressed the soup container into Henry’s hands. “I made some chicken congee this morning. I know your stomach acts up when you don’t sleep, so this should help.” The furious irritation in Henry’s eyes melted instantly into a pool of gentle sympathy. He took the soup, his voice dropping into a soft, protective murmur. “You shouldn’t have driven all the way over here. Did Leo’s fever finally break?” “It did. He’s sleeping it off at home.” Maya managed to force a weak, brave little smile. The two of them stood in my entryway, whispering to each other with the natural, effortless intimacy of a married couple. I watched them, my fingernails biting painfully into my palms. “Maya.” My voice cut through their little bubble like a scalpel. “Since you feel so incredibly guilty, how about you wire back the six thousand dollars you ‘borrowed’?” Maya violently flinched. The blood completely drained from her face. She looked up at Henry in sheer, helpless panic. Tears instantly spilled over her lower lashes, tracing down her pale cheeks. “Claire… that money… that was for Leo’s tuition…” “I swear, the second I have the cash, I’ll pay you both back. Please don’t back me into a corner…” “Claire!” Henry whipped his head around, snapping at me. “Are you insane?! Why would you humiliate her like this in our own home?” He stepped sideways, physically shielding Maya with his body like she was a terrified rabbit facing down a predator. “I lent her my money. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. If you have a problem, take it out on me!” I stared at the man I had been engaged to for four years. Watching him bare his teeth at me to protect another woman, while my father was lying in an ICU bed. My chest went completely numb. “Fine.” I stood up and shoved the hospital receipt into my purse. “I’ll take it out on you.” “Henry, if you don’t get that money back today, we are done.” 2 “Claire, that is enough!” Henry’s face darkened with absolute fury. He stormed across the living room and clamped his hand around my wrist like a vice. “Are you seriously using a breakup to blackmail me? Do you think this is some kind of sick game?” “I already told you I would figure out a way to get the hospital money! Why are you intentionally trying to make me look like a monster?” A dull ache radiated from where his fingers dug into my bone. I violently ripped my arm out of his grip, staring at him with eyes like dead ice. “Figure out a way? What exactly is your plan, Henry?” “Are you going to spend another night camping out in the ER for someone else’s kid, or are you just going to sit here and eat the soup she made you?” Right on cue, Maya let out a muffled, agonizing sob from the entryway. She covered her mouth with both hands, her shoulders trembling violently. “Henry, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have dragged you into my mess.” “Claire is right. I need to pay that money back…” Tears streaming down her face, she frantically started digging through her purse for her phone. “I’ll just… I’ll take out a payday loan online. I don’t care how predatory the interest rates are. I won’t let my problems ruin your relationship.” “Maya, stop being ridiculous!” Henry instantly closed the distance, grabbing her hands to stop her from using her phone. He whipped his head back toward me, his eyes burning with toxic disappointment. “Look what you’ve done to her! Are you happy now? Do you only feel satisfied when you drive people to the absolute edge?!” I looked at the two of them. A tragic hero and his damsel in distress. Suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to argue anymore. I grabbed my purse off the couch and walked straight toward the front door. As I brushed past Maya, she practically shrank into herself, stumbling backward until her shoulder bumped into Henry’s chest. Henry instinctively wrapped his arm around her, shielding her completely. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, his voice hard. “The hospital.” I didn’t even turn my head. I yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway. The heavy door slammed shut behind me. Cutting off whatever pathetic excuse Henry was about to throw at me. When I finally reached the hospital, my mother was sitting on a plastic chair in the corridor, quietly wiping her eyes with a tissue. Seeing me, she quickly stood up and grabbed my hands. “Claire, where is Henry? Didn’t he come with you?” She looked over my shoulder, searching the empty hallway with a flicker of hopeful expectation. “Your father woke up for a few minutes last night and actually asked for him.” My throat tightened painfully. I forced the corners of my mouth up into a smile. “There was an emergency project at his firm. He couldn’t get away.” “Oh.” My mother couldn’t hide her disappointment, but she nodded understandingly. “It’s good that he’s working hard. You need to be supportive, Claire. Don’t pick fights with him just because you’re stressed about your dad.” I dropped my gaze to the scuffed linoleum floor, unable to look at the exhaustion carved into my mother’s face. The money for the surgery had ultimately come from my uncle. Even though my aunt agreed to the loan, she had spent ten minutes on the phone throwing sharp, passive-aggressive jabs, loudly wondering why my fiancé—a department manager at a major tech firm—couldn’t foot the bill. My mother had to swallow her pride and cover for him, lying that his cash was tied up in investments. I sat in that hallway for almost two hours. Finally, Henry appeared. He was carrying a generic fruit basket, walking toward us with a stiff, unnatural expression. “Mrs. Solis, I’m so sorry I’m late.” He set the basket down on an empty chair, perfectly executing the role of the deeply apologetic son-in-law. “One of my major clients had a massive crisis last night. I had to go put out the fire, so I couldn’t be here with you and Claire.” My mother waved her hand dismissively, a relieved, weary smile breaking through her exhaustion. “Work always comes first. I’m just glad you could make it now.” “Sit, sit! Claire, go get Henry some water.” I watched him perform with icy detachment. A client crisis? Since when did Maya become his corporate client? Henry sat down in the plastic chair next to me. Under the guise of adjusting his coat, he reached out and secretly tugged on my sleeve. “Stop being mad,” he hissed under his breath. “I already cleared it with HR. I took the next three days off to stay here at the hospital. You go home and get some actual sleep.” If he had said that to me a year ago, I would have melted. Now, I just felt a sickening sense of irony. Three years ago, my appendix ruptured. I was rolling on our bedroom floor in agonizing pain. While he was driving me to the ER, his phone rang. It was Maya. She was sobbing hysterically because Leo had scraped his knee at the playground and was screaming for his “Uncle Henry.” Henry pulled the car over three blocks from the hospital and unlocked the doors. “The ER entrance is just down the street, you can walk from here. I need to go check on Leo. The kid doesn’t have a father, he can’t handle trauma like this.” He spent the entire afternoon at the playground, hugging another woman’s child. Meanwhile, I went into septic shock in the ER waiting room. The triage nurse had to dig my phone out of my purse to call a coworker to sign my emergency consent forms. That incident became the permanent forbidden topic in our relationship. Whenever I brought it up, he accused me of holding onto petty grudges. “Don’t bother,” I said, dodging his hand. “My dad only needs me here.” Henry’s face tightened, his ego clearly bruised. He opened his mouth to argue, but his phone suddenly blared from his jacket pocket. The sharp ringtone echoed aggressively in the quiet ICU hallway. He glanced at the screen, his eyes violently flickering. He immediately stood up and walked several paces away to answer. “What’s wrong? Did Leo’s fever spike again?” The hallway was empty. Even though he lowered his voice, the words carried perfectly clearly to where I was sitting. I couldn’t hear the response on the other end. But Henry’s posture instantly went rigid with panic. “Don’t move, I’m on my way right now!” He hung up the phone and spun around to face me and my mother. He immediately deployed his signature mask of pained reluctance. “Mrs. Solis, Claire… something catastrophic just happened at the office. I have to go back immediately.” My mother blinked, surprised, but quickly nodded. “Go, go! Don’t let us hold you back from your career.” Henry gave me one long, deeply meaningful look before turning and practically sprinting toward the elevators. I watched his back disappear around the corner. I remembered the exact expression on his face when he answered that call. It was the exact same look he had the day he dumped me on the sidewalk with a ruptured appendix. “Henry is such a responsible young man,” my mother murmured beside me, completely oblivious. I didn’t say a word. The overpowering smell of hospital bleach suddenly made my eyes sting. 3 “You better hurry, don’t keep the poor single mother waiting.” Henry had barely taken three steps when he froze as if struck by lightning. He whipped his head around to look at me, a flash of humiliated panic in his eyes at being so effortlessly exposed. But he quickly plastered his corporate mask back on, gave my mother an apologetic nod, and disappeared into the elevator without looking back. For the next three days, Henry didn’t show his face once. My phone occasionally buzzed with a few dry, emotionless texts and two Zelle transfers. I didn’t accept the money. I didn’t reply to the texts. I spent those three days practically living in that hospital room. I rolled my father over to prevent bedsores. I sponge-bathed him. Even the floor nurses were impressed by how meticulous I was. My father was incredibly weak, but the color was slowly returning to his face. On the morning of his discharge, Henry finally resurfaced. He pulled his SUV up to the main entrance, aggressively playing the role of the perfect son-in-law. He loaded the bags, held the door, and gently helped my father into the backseat. “Mr. and Mrs. Solis, to celebrate a successful surgery, I booked a private dining room at The Lotus Pavilion.” Henry adjusted the rearview mirror to make eye contact with my parents as he drove. “It’s just going to be us family. A nice dinner to wash off the hospital bad luck.” The Lotus Pavilion was one of the most exclusive, impossible-to-book private kitchens in the city. My parents were deeply touched, repeatedly telling him he shouldn’t have spent so much money. When we pulled up to the restaurant, I helped my father out of the car and guided him into the private room. There were already two people sitting at the table. Maya and her son, Leo. Seeing us walk in, Maya immediately shot up from her chair. She was wearing a tasteful, soft floral dress, looking like the absolute picture of gentle modesty. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Solis. Hi, Claire.” My mother froze in the doorway, shooting Henry a look of pure confusion. “Henry, who is this?” Henry stepped smoothly past me, his expression perfectly casual. “Mrs. Solis, this is my coworker, Maya. Leo’s preschool was hosting a parent-teacher dinner right down the street, so I figured I’d invite them over since we had extra seats. The more the merrier, right?” Right down the street? This restaurant was on the exact opposite side of the city from Leo’s private preschool. How exactly was that convenient? I stared at him, my eyes like ice. He had used my father’s discharge dinner as a pathetic excuse to treat Maya and her kid to a five-star meal. Leo was currently sitting in the seat of honor—the chair at the head of the table meant for my father. He was violently slamming a toy car into the expensive mahogany wood. When he saw us, he didn’t say hello. He just deliberately shoved a crystal water glass, making it rattle dangerously against a plate. “Leo, use your words. Say hi to the grandparents,” Maya cooed softly. Leo rolled his eyes and slammed his toy car onto the table again. “I won’t! Uncle Henry promised we were getting giant lobsters! Why are there so many old people here?!” “Leo, be a good boy. Uncle Henry will order you the biggest lobster on the menu.” Instead of correcting the kid’s bratty behavior, Henry walked over and affectionately ruffled his hair. Then he turned back to my father. “Mr. Solis, why don’t you sit over there in the corner? Leo is a little shy around strangers.” He was actually asking my father—who had just survived open-heart surgery—to sit in the cramped corner seat of his own celebration dinner. My vision went red. I marched forward and ripped the chair at the head of the table out. “This dinner is for my father. He sits at the head of the table.” I glared down at the kid. “Move to the side.” Leo immediately opened his mouth and let out an ear-piercing scream. Maya scrambled out of her chair, pulling Leo into her arms, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. “Claire, please don’t take it out on a child! We’ll move, it’s fine.” She wiped a tear from her cheek, shooting Henry a look of devastating, helpless victimhood. Henry’s face instantly went dark. “Claire, did you intentionally come here today to pick a fight? Are you seriously throwing your weight around to bully a five-year-old?” Seeing the tension explode, my mother grabbed my arm, desperately trying to keep the peace. “Claire, stop it! He’s just a little boy, a chair is just a chair. Your father and I will sit over here.” The rest of the meal tasted like sawdust. Henry spent the entire two hours obsessively catering to Maya and her son. He peeled shrimp for Leo. He spooned soup into Maya’s bowl. The two of them whispered back and forth, occasionally breaking into soft, intimate laughter. It looked exactly like a happy family dinner, while my parents and I sat there like awkward strangers sharing a table at a food court. Halfway through the meal, I pulled a heavy, silk-lined wooden box out of my bag and handed it to my father. “Dad, I had a friend track down a master craftsman in Yixing to custom-make this Zisha clay teapot.” “I know how much you love your tea. Now you can use this while you rest and recover at home.” My father’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. He took the box with trembling, careful hands. When he opened the lid, a stunning, perfectly fired purple clay teapot rested inside on velvet. It was a masterpiece. I had spent two months of my salary on it and commissioned it half a year in advance. “Oh, Claire… this is absolutely beautiful. Thank you.” My father gently traced the curve of the clay spout. Suddenly, Leo slipped out of his chair. Before anyone could react, he had darted over to my father’s side and lunged for the silk box. “Let me see it! I want to play with it!” “Hey! Leo, don’t touch that!” my mother gasped. But it was too late. Leo fumbled the heavy pot. It slipped from the velvet lining and plummeted toward the floor. CRASH. The custom Zisha clay shattered into a hundred jagged pieces against the hardwood. The room went dead silent. My father’s hands hung frozen in the air. The color drained completely from his face. “What is wrong with you?!” I screamed, violently shoving the brat away from the broken shards. Leo stumbled back, shocked, before unleashing a deafening, theatrical wail. Maya threw herself in front of Leo, shielding him like I was holding a gun to his head, aggressively patting his back. “Claire, why would you put your hands on him?! He didn’t do it on purpose!” Henry slammed his hands on the table and stood up, immediately stepping in front of Maya and her son. He glanced at the shattered clay on the floor, his brow furrowing with arrogant irritation. “It’s just a damn teapot. If it’s broken, it’s broken.” “I’ll buy your dad an identical one on Amazon tomorrow. Do you really need to get physical with a toddler over a piece of clay?” 4 “Henry, that teapot was a one-of-a-kind masterwork. How exactly do you plan on replacing it?” I stared dead into his arrogant, dismissive eyes. My voice shook with an absolute, blinding rage. “I paid ten thousand dollars for that! I had to pull favors with three different collectors just to get the kiln master to make it!” “And you think you can just wave it away by buying a cheap knockoff on Amazon?!” Henry’s face froze. He clearly hadn’t expected the teapot to cost more than a hundred bucks. But before he could say anything, Maya let out a sharp, theatrical gasp behind him. “Ten thousand dollars? How could a teapot possibly cost that much…” Maya covered her mouth, massive tears rolling down her cheeks. “Claire, I know you despise me, but you can’t just slap a ridiculous price tag on a broken cup to extort a widowed mother.” “Leo is just a baby. He didn’t even know what it was…” Her pathetic, fragile act was like a match to gasoline. Henry’s protective instincts instantly flared to life. “Claire, are you completely obsessed with money?!” Henry’s voice boomed across the room, staring at me like I was a psychopath he had never met before. “Even if that piece of dirt was worth ten grand, it’s just an object!” “If you had injured Leo when you shoved him, a hundred grand wouldn’t have covered the damage!” As he spoke, he knelt down, aggressively checking Leo’s arms to make sure there wasn’t a single scratch. Once satisfied, he stood up and shot my mother a freezing glare. “Mrs. Solis, you need to control your daughter. Just because her father got out of the hospital doesn’t give her the right to physically assault a child in public.” My mother was so furious at his gaslighting that her lips turned blue. She clutched her chest, completely unable to force a word out. My father’s face was livid. With a trembling hand, he slammed his water glass onto the table. “We are leaving! I am not eating another bite of this.” I grabbed my parents’ coats and helped them out of the private room, never looking back. Henry didn’t chase after us. As I walked down the hallway, I could hear him softly cooing to the crying brat, his voice dripping with the tender patience of a loving father. After I dropped my parents off at their house and made sure they were okay, I hailed a cab back to the condo I shared with Henry. This apartment. The little home I had spent months painstakingly decorating. Now, just standing in the foyer made me feel like I was suffocating. I walked straight into the home office and booted up his desktop. Henry’s iMessage was synced to his Mac, automatically logged in. I never, ever snooped through his phone. But today, I clicked directly on his chat history with Maya. I scrolled up. It wasn’t just the $6,000 preschool transfer. Near the end of last month, there was a massive outgoing transfer of $8,000. The memo line read: [Six months rent for the luxury apartment in the school district.] Maya’s reply was right underneath it: [Henry, thank you so much. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even know where to take Leo. That sketchy neighborhood we were living in was terrifying. Last night, someone banged on my door, and I was so scared I stayed awake until dawn.] Henry’s response: [Pack your things and move in. The door code is your birthday. Don’t be scared anymore. From now on, you have me.] I stared at the glowing pixels spelling out From now on, you have me. The blood in my veins turned into glacial ice. That $8,000… Henry had promised me that exact amount last month. He had sworn that as soon as his quarterly bonus hit, he would give me that money to use as a down payment to replace my seven-year-old, beat-up Honda. My car had literally broken down on the highway twice in the last six months. I guess my physical safety meant absolutely nothing compared to Maya typing the word “scared.” Just then, the electronic deadbolt on the front door beeped. Henry was home. He threw his suit jacket onto the couch and walked to the doorway of the office, his brows heavily furrowed. “Are you done throwing your tantrum?” His tone held absolutely zero remorse. Only the deep, aggravated annoyance of a man whose pleasant evening had been ruined. “Dragging your parents out of a restaurant in the middle of dinner? Do you have any idea how classless that makes you look?” “Maya felt so incredibly guilty about your behavior that she cried the entire drive home. You terrified Leo so badly he refused to eat his dinner.” I spun my desk chair around and stared at the man I had loved for four years. “Henry,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “That $8,000 down payment. Did you use it to pay another woman’s rent?” Henry’s face went rigid. His eyes darted past me to the glowing monitor of his Mac. His skin instantly flushed with a dark, ugly red. “You’re spying on my messages?!” he demanded, his voice thick with humiliated rage. “I asked you a question. Did you take the money for my car to rent a luxury apartment for another woman?” I ignored his pathetic attempt to deflect, slowly enunciating every single word. Henry took a deep, heavy breath, acting as though he was suppressing a massive, volcanic rage. He pulled up a chair and sat down, immediately launching into his flawless, bulletproof savior logic. “Yes. I lent it to her.” “Claire, can you use some basic logic for five seconds? Your car is old, sure, but it still drives.” “Maya’s situation was a literal emergency! She’s a single woman living alone in a dangerous slum with a child. What if someone broke in and assaulted her?” “That was my money. I earned it. Am I not allowed to decide what to do with my own paycheck? I helped a woman survive a crisis. How is that a crime?” He was always like this. He always managed to scramble to the absolute peak of the moral high ground. He took all of his blatant disrespect, his boundary-crossing, and his emotional betrayal, and wrapped it up in the shiny foil of “selfless charity.” And in his narrative, I was always the petty, heartless, materialistic villain. “You didn’t commit a crime,” I nodded slowly. Henry blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected me to cave so easily. His posture relaxed instantly. He stood up and reached out to grab my hand. “I’m glad you finally understand. Tomorrow, you just need to apologize to Maya for the scene you caused, and we can put this whole thing behind us—” I smoothly dodged his hand. I opened the desk drawer, pulled out a stack of freshly printed papers, and slammed them onto the mahogany desk. “I’m setting your charity free.” Henry looked down. The bold, black letters at the top of the page burned into his retinas.

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1 Three years of my life, distilled into raw data and sleepless nights, magically appeared in my best friend Sian’s award-winning dissertation. When I confronted my boyfriend of ten years, Ben didn’t even look up from his phone. “She needs this opportunity more than you do, Hazel.” The real gut-punch came days later. I walked into the lab to find them tangled together, kissing against the countertops. Sian playfully pushed his chest. “Aren’t you worried Hazel will find out?” Ben pulled her closer by the waist, a lazy smirk on his face. “She’s too dense to figure out anything.” Ten years of loyalty. Rewarded with the word dense. I walked out quietly, wiped my face completely dry, and pulled out my phone. I called my academic advisor. “Professor Grant, I need to officially report Sian for academic fraud.” The moment he hung up, I opened Instagram and typed out a quick status update. Congratulations to Sian on her big award. And a special thanks for “babysitting” my raw data. Post. Twenty minutes later, Ben practically kicked my apartment door off its hinges. He walked in expecting me to be mid-meltdown. Instead, I slid a sleek silver debit card across the kitchen island. “This covers the rent and utilities you’ve pitched in for over the last few years. We’re completely even.” He froze, his anger morphing into confusion. “What the hell is this supposed to mean?” I offered him a tight, polite smile. “It means I don’t want you anymore, Ben.” … Ben stared at the plastic card, his fingers twitching. “Hazel, are you done throwing this tantrum?” His tone was thick with exhaustion, like I was a toddler acting out in public. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I nudged the heavy suitcase sitting by the entryway. He had bought it for our anniversary last year. I didn’t need it anymore. “Ten years.” He took a heavy step forward, reaching for my arm. “You’re tossing ten years in the trash just like that?” I sidestepped his grip. “Ten years?” I repeated, locking eyes with him. “Are we talking about the same ten years that bought me the title of being too dense to figure anything out?” All the color drained from Ben’s face. Panic flickered in his eyes, but his defensive ego quickly swallowed it. “You heard that.” “Loud and clear.” He stood there in suffocating silence. Then, with agonizingly bad timing, his phone vibrated against the silence of the room. The screen lit up with Sian and a heart emoji. He scrambled to silence it, but his thumb slipped, answering the call on speaker. Sian’s sweet, breathy voice echoed through my living room. “Hey baby, are you home yet? Did Hazel give you any trouble, the poor idiot?” Ben scrambled to kill the call. His face was ash white. I actually laughed. “Look at that. She thinks I’m an idiot too.” “Hazel, just listen to me. She and I…” “Save your breath.” I reached past him and twisted the doorknob, pulling the front door wide open. “Rehearse your excuses in the mirror.” He didn’t move. His broad shoulders completely blocked the exit. “Don’t push me, Hazel.” “Am I pushing you? Or did you push me?” I tilted my head, studying the stranger standing in my hallway. “You helped her steal my intellectual property. You helped her win an award with my blood and sweat, and told me she needed it more. What exactly am I to you, Ben?” His jaw worked, but no sound came out. “Move.” My voice dropped to absolute absolute zero. Instead of stepping aside, he clamped his hand around my wrist. “We need to talk.” “We have nothing left to talk about.” I yanked my arm back with everything I had. “Touch me again and I’m calling the cops.” He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “The cops? Who do you think you are, Hazel?” I didn’t waste another syllable. I slipped past him and marched down the hall. He chased after me, his voice echoing off the walls, laced with genuine panic. “If you walk into that elevator right now, we are really done!” My sneakers paused on the carpet. Then I stepped into the elevator without looking back. The metal doors glided shut, perfectly slicing his shocked, furious face out of my view. I leaned heavily against the steel wall and checked my phone. Sian had texted me a minute ago. Ignoring my calls? Getting scared? You can’t beat me, Hazel. I blocked her number without a second thought. Then the screen lit up with a call from Mrs. Brooks, Ben’s mother. I hit accept. The screaming started before I even put the phone to my ear. “Hazel! What kind of garbage are you posting on social media? Have you lost your mind? Sian is a sweet girl, how dare you drag her name through the mud! Take it down right this second!” I let her rant. “Let me tell you something, our family will not accept a vicious, bitter girl like you. As far as this wedding goes, I think…” “Mrs. Brooks.” I cut through the noise. “Ben and I broke up. And I never planned on marrying into your family anyway.” I ended the call and walked out into the night. I signed a lease on a new studio apartment the next morning and changed my phone number. The only person who had the new digits was Professor Grant. He called me later that afternoon. “Hazel, the university has officially assembled an ethics committee. You need to brace yourself. This is going to be a bloodbath.” “I know, Professor.” “I need every shred of your raw data. Every lab notebook. Do not miss a single page.” “It’s all boxed and ready.” I hung up and cracked my laptop open. Every file, every spreadsheet, represented three years of my youth. My feed was already a warzone. Sian had posted a massive, tear-jerker statement. She didn’t name me directly. She just painted a tragic picture of being stabbed in the back by someone she trusted deeply, claiming this person was so consumed by jealousy over her academic success that they resorted to fabricating lies. She attached a photo of her arm hooked up to an IV drip in a hospital bed, looking frail and broken. The comments were a landslide of sympathy. Stay strong Sian. Haters can’t stand to see a girl boss winning. We believe in you! Even Toby, a junior grad student in our lab, chimed in. Rooting for you, Sian. The truth always comes to light. I had spent countless weekends teaching Toby how to run basic assays. I had literally outlined his last paper for him. Ben had liked the post. I closed the app, my face perfectly blank. The ethics committee summoned us three days later. Three senior professors sat across a heavy mahogany table. The air in the room was thick and clinical. Sian sat opposite me, her eyes puffy and red, playing the part of the exhausted victim flawlessly. The second she made eye contact with me, the tears started flowing. “Hazel, I know we’ve had our personal differences lately, but you can’t try to ruin my life like this. We worked on this paper together.” She stared straight at the committee and lied through her teeth. She claimed we were co-investigators, that the data was fully shared. “I just managed to synthesize the findings and submit them first. I fully intended to add her as a co-author, but then she…” Her voice cracked perfectly. She couldn’t finish the sentence. The lead investigator turned his sharp gaze to me. “Miss Hazel, is there any truth to Miss Sian’s statement?” “None whatsoever.” I unzipped my tote bag and dropped a massive stack of thick, physical lab notebooks onto the table. I arranged them chronologically. “This is my complete, unedited documentation from day one of the project up until last month. Every date, every protocol, every raw variable, and my personal analytical notes are here. I’d like to ask Sian where her physical logs are.” Sian’s pale complexion turned a sickly shade of gray. “I… I keep all my records digitally.” “Then please provide your digital logs to the board,” I countered. “Complete with the backend timestamp metadata for every edit.” She chewed on her bottom lip, the silence stretching out awkwardly. Another professor leaned forward. “Miss Sian, figure four in your publication shows an incredibly clean electrophoresis gel blot. However, looking at Hazel’s notebook for that exact batch, the results show heavy smearing. She even marked it to be rerun. Can you explain this discrepancy?” Sian started shaking. “I… I must have misremembered the batch number…” “That’s impossible.” I pulled a printed document from a manila folder. “This is a weekly progress report I emailed to Ben Brooks on October 17th of last year. It contains the exact smeared gel image that needed rerunning. The image published in your paper is my failed blot, heavily altered in Photoshop.” I slid the printed email, complete with server headers and attachments, across the mahogany table. Sian stared at the paper. All the fight drained out of her. she slumped back into her chair, looking like a deflated balloon. Nobody in the room said a word. The university did not waste time. Sian was found guilty of severe academic misconduct. Her awards were stripped. The journal retracted the paper. She was slapped with a massive disciplinary record and barely avoided outright expulsion. The day the official notice hit the university bulletin, the campus went wild. Everyone who had been playing defense for her online quietly deleted their comments, pretending nothing ever happened. I bumped into Toby in the stairwell that afternoon. His face flushed bright red. He dropped his gaze to the floor and tried to sneak past me. “Toby.” He froze, too terrified to look me in the eye. “Hey… Hazel.” “Next time you run an experiment, do the actual work. Piggybacking off stolen goods will always catch up to you.” He shrank into himself. “I’m sorry. I really am.” I kept walking. Ben called me that night from an unregistered number. His voice was raw, like he had been screaming into a pillow. “Are you happy now, Hazel?” “I simply took back what was mine.” “You completely destroyed her! Do you have any idea what this means for her career? She’s having a total breakdown!” His voice dripped with sympathy for her and absolute venom for me. I suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. “Let me get this straight. You tracked down my new number just to play the white knight for the girl you cheated with?” Dead silence on the line. “I thought maybe you’d ask how I was doing,” he whispered. “My firm suspended me. The scandal got too loud. HR didn’t want the bad PR.” “Okay.” My voice held zero emotion. “Okay? That’s it? Just okay?” His volume spiked. “Hazel, I’m a victim in this too! Sian played me! I genuinely thought she was struggling with her thesis. I just wanted to help a friend out!” “So you helped her by handing over my private research?” “I didn’t steal it! I just let her look at the progress reports you sent me. I never thought she’d copy and paste the whole damn thing!” “You’re an idiot, Ben. Just don’t treat me like one.” I hung up. A few days later, Mrs. Brooks bypassed my apartment entirely and stormed straight into my university lab. She locked her fingers around my bicep like a vice, her eyes wild and bloodshot. “You toxic bitch! You ruined Sian, and now you’ve destroyed my son’s career! What kind of sick game are you playing?” Every researcher in the room stopped and stared. I calmly tried to pry her fingers off my arm. “Mrs. Brooks, let go of me.” “I will not! You are marching over to Sian’s right now to apologize, or I swear to God I will make your life a living hell!” Her grip was shockingly strong. Her manicured nails dug into my skin. Professor Grant marched out of his office, his face like thunder. “Ma’am, I need you to step back immediately. This is a secure research facility.” “I don’t care! My son lost his job because of her! Is this the kind of garbage you raise here? Cold-blooded, vindictive snakes!” She was practically foaming at the mouth, her voice echoing down the hall. I stared at her twisted, furious face, and a strange calm washed over me. “Did you know Ben called me dense?” Mrs. Brooks stopped screaming. “He told Sian, ‘She’s too dense to figure out anything.’ He said that while he had his hands all over her.” Her face went from crimson to stark white. “You’re lying!” “Go home and ask your golden boy if I’m lying.” I peeled her fingers off my arm, one by one. “And if you ever step foot near me again, I will have you arrested for assault. Get out.” She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She didn’t say another word. She just turned and fled down the corridor. Life finally found its rhythm again. Professor Grant handed me the reins to a massive new project, giving me total creative control. I practically lived in the lab. The pure, quiet joy of watching the data align, of building something real, filled all the empty spaces in my chest. I hadn’t thought about Ben in weeks. Until one night, I stayed until 2 AM trying to finalize a statistical model. I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the science building and realized a massive thunderstorm had rolled in. Sheets of rain battered the concrete. I stood under the awning, debating whether to just make a run for it. Suddenly, a black umbrella clicked open above my head. I turned. Ben. He looked hollowed out. He had lost weight, his cheekbones sharp and harsh. He held the umbrella over me, letting the freezing rain soak his own shoulders. “I’ll drive you home,” he murmured. I took a sharp step back, stepping out from under the canopy. “No thanks.” “Hazel, it’s pouring. You won’t get an Uber out here.” He stubbornly nudged the umbrella forward to cover me again. “Not your problem.” I pulled out my phone and opened a rideshare app. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. “Hazel, please. Just talk to me.” His skin was freezing, slick with rain. I glared at his hand and ripped my arm away. “Back off!” “I won’t!” he shouted over the thunder. “Are you really going to execute me over this? I have absolutely nothing left!” “You did that to yourself.” “I know!” Tears mixed with the rain streaming down his face. “I know I did! I was out of my damn mind, Hazel. I cut Sian off entirely. She’s a manipulative liar. I was completely brainwashed to ever trust her!” The wind howled, snatching his words and throwing them into the dark. “Please, Hazel. Just forgive me. We can start over. We have ten years of history…” “Ben.” I cut him off, my voice terrifyingly calm. “We don’t have ten years.” “What does that mean?” “It means those ten years died the exact second you decided to help her steal my work. It’s dead.” He stood paralyzed, his arm dropping to his side. Headlights swept across the wet pavement. A sleek sedan pulled up to the curb. The passenger window rolled down to reveal Nolan, the brilliant post-doc who had just joined our team. “Hazel? What are you doing out here? Get in, I’ll drop you off.” “Thanks, Nolan. You’re a lifesaver.” I pulled the door handle and slid into the warm leather interior. As the car pulled away, I glanced in the side mirror. Ben was just standing there in the torrential downpour. He looked utterly broken. But frankly? That wasn’t my problem anymore.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “534506”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was at the absolute peak of my career when I officially went public with Hugh Hayes. He was Hollywood’s most brilliant young director, the mastermind behind two consecutive blockbuster television series that had broken streaming records worldwide. The moment my Instagram post dropped, my comment section exploded. Not with congratulations, but with an avalanche of sheer venom. Stop trying to clout-chase, okay? Everyone knows Hugh has had a girlfriend for years. If you’re his girlfriend, then what the hell is Chloe Vance? Lmao, go look at Hugh’s comments. He literally said he doesn’t even know you, lady. What are you trying to prove? Plus, his next lead actress is literally Chloe. Reading those comments, I felt the air leave my lungs. Chloe was his childhood best friend. She had clung to him like a shadow since they were kids. But he had looked me in the eyes and promised me the lead role in his new series. I took a screenshot of the comments and texted it to him, demanding an explanation. Hugh brushed it off like it was nothing. The industry is cutthroat, Phoebe. Chloe doesn’t have any backing; she gets walked all over. She’s only been in the business for a year, she needs a lead role to cement her status. Don’t take it personally. I promise the lead in my next project is all yours. Just delete that post. It’s not a good look for you anyway. I stared at those three text bubbles for a long time. Suddenly, I just felt utterly exhausted. If this was how it was going to be, then fine. I was done. 1. I deleted the post claiming Hugh as my boyfriend. But the internet had already done its thing. I was trending everywhere. #PhoebeCloutChasing #HughHayesDeniesKnowingPhoebe #ChloeAndHughRealCouple In less than thirty minutes, my name was attached to half a dozen toxic hashtags dominating the trending page. My DMs were flooded with death threats and vile curses from Chloe’s fan base. I scrolled through them slowly, my thumb swiping across the screen. My expression didn’t even flicker. After clawing my way up through this industry for seven years, I had heard far worse. I was bulletproof when it came to internet hate. I closed my DMs and clicked over to Hugh’s profile. He had posted a new photo five minutes ago, officially announcing the female lead for his new series. It was a candid, beautifully lit photo of Chloe reading a script. His comment section was having a field day. Is this Hugh’s subtle way of clapping back at that desperate clout-chaser? Lmao, that actress must be desperate for fame. Claiming Hugh is her boyfriend? The delusion is real. As if she could ever get the official girlfriend treatment like our girl Chloe! I lowered my eyes, double-tapped the comment to like it, and closed the app. Let them think I was just desperate for attention. It was true that I didn’t get the “official treatment” Chloe did. Nobody in the industry would ever connect me to Hugh Hayes. If I really had Hugh pulling strings for me, I would have skyrocketed to the A-list years ago. I wouldn’t have spent seven grueling years playing minor roles just to build a shred of name recognition. But the bitter irony was that Hugh and I did have a relationship. We had been quietly, secretly dating for nearly ten years. I scrolled down his feed and saw the specific comment someone had left, asking what his relationship with me actually was. Hugh had replied with exactly four words: We aren’t close. Don’t know her. Those four words were the reason I was being torn apart online. A bitter, hollow smile touched the corners of my mouth. Right then, a text from Hugh popped up. I saw the trending topics. Let’s talk when I get home. Hugh didn’t come home alone. He walked through the door with Chloe. The moment she saw me, Chloe raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Sorry about this, Phoebe. A couple of stalker fans were following my car, so I had to ride back with Hugh.” Chloe had had Hugh, the powerhouse director, shielding her from day one of her career. Every major audition, every role she landed, was handed to her by him. Everyone in the industry knew Hugh was Chloe’s safety net. They had slowly started feeding the media dating rumors, pushing her into the spotlight until she became an overnight sensation. Hugh dropped his keys on the counter. “Her stalker situation is getting bad. Just try to be understanding.” Understanding. I couldn’t even count how many times Hugh had thrown that word at me. Understand the PR dating rumors with Chloe. Understand why he posted a birthday shoutout to her right at midnight every year. Understand why he was funding her career. Understand why he drove four hours out of his way just to visit her on set. And now, I was supposed to understand why he brought her to our home. Again. I ignored his excuse and brought up the internet firestorm. “Chloe’s career is just taking off, and you’re finally getting public recognition too,” Hugh said smoothly, unbuttoning his jacket. “Going public right now would be toxic for both of you.” “I’ll have my PR team pull the trending topics down later tonight. Just ignore the hate comments and DMs for now.” I just stared at him. When my brain finally processed his words, a soft laugh escaped my throat. Going public wasn’t bad for me. It was bad for Chloe. If we announced we were together, Chloe would instantly be branded as the homewrecker who tried to steal Hugh Hayes. Waiting until “later tonight” to pull the trending topics was just a calculated move to let Chloe soak up the sympathy and exposure. There was a time when Hugh would see a negative comment about me and get angrier than I was. If a bad hashtag started trending, he would have it killed in minutes. Not anymore. All his protective instincts belonged to Chloe now. I uncurled my fists. Suddenly, the urge to fight just evaporated. “Sure. Whatever.” It wasn’t like he needed my permission anyway. He had already orchestrated the whole thing. Not to protect me. To protect her. Seeing me fold so easily caught Hugh off guard. He blinked, then exhaled, slipping back into his old, comforting tone. “It’ll all blow over in a few days. I promise.” Another line I had heard a hundred times before. I stayed silent. Chloe smiled, a sickly sweet expression on her face. “Phoebe, you’re not mad, are you?” I looked at her, my voice deadpan. “Mad about what?” Should I be mad that Hugh told millions of people he didn’t know who I was? Or that he refused to shut down the dating rumors between them? Or maybe I should be mad that he gave the role he promised me to her? Or that he brought her into my sanctuary. There was too much. I didn’t even know where to start. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Which part are you referring to?” Chloe faltered, glancing quickly at Hugh. She recovered with a nervous laugh. “I mean… if you’re uncomfortable, I can just go back to my place.” She looked at me like a puppy kicked out into the rain, but her eyes were glittering with smug satisfaction. She knew exactly what she was doing. Right on cue, Hugh frowned. “Go back where? There are stalkers out there. Did you forget what happened last time they followed you home?” His tone was sharp, but the underlying panic and care were impossible to miss. Chloe immediately looped her arm through his, leaning into him. “I know, I know! I just don’t want Phoebe to feel weird about it. I’d hate to cause friction between you two.” “Besides,” she added, “you came and got me last time, right?” My stomach dropped. That had been a day the production was completely shut down. A six-hour round trip just to get back to the city. I had made that drive. I hadn’t seen Hugh in weeks, and the whole drive back, I kept imagining the look on his face when I surprised him. But when I unlocked the front door, the house was dark and empty. I called him, only to find out he had driven out to ‘rescue’ Chloe. The words “I’m home” died in my throat. Hugh didn’t even wait for me to speak before he rushed me off the phone. The next morning, photos of him and Chloe walking into a boutique hotel were plastered across every gossip site. Even though her PR team claimed it was to escape crazy fans, the public narrative was cemented: they were together. And Hugh never released a single statement denying it. When I confronted him about it, what had he said? He told me to be understanding. That shutting down the rumors would hurt Chloe’s rising star. Hugh let out a heavy sigh, looking exhausted. “You know how it is.” He looked at me, hesitating slightly. “Phoebe, Chloe really does have people stalking her building. Let her crash in the spare room tonight.” He wasn’t asking. I looked him dead in the eye. “And if I say no?” Hugh’s jaw tightened. Annoyance flashed across his face, quickly masked by forced patience. Even if I screamed and threw things, he would still let her stay. “Phoebe, you know how dangerous stalkers can be,” Hugh said, his voice dropping into a patronizing register. “Don’t be so petty. You know what my relationship with Chloe is like.” Oh, I knew. After Chloe’s parents passed away, Hugh’s family had taken her in. They grew up under the same roof. When it came to Chloe, Hugh’s compass was permanently skewed. He always said she was fragile, that if he didn’t look out for her, she’d have no one. So, when I finally had a rare weekend off, he spent it with Chloe. On my birthday, he was with Chloe. On our anniversary, Chloe mentioned a headache, and he vanished. When she was filming, he was on her set every single week. When they were photographed together, he let the rumors run wild. He claimed stalkers were terrifying, but when I had aggressive paparazzi tailing my car, he blamed me for being too flashy, saying I brought it on myself. Whatever, I thought. Let it rot. I looked at Hugh, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I know. Let her stay.” Chloe blinked, surprised I caved so easily, then flashed a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Phoebe.” I stood up to leave the room, but my phone started buzzing. It was Sarah, my agent. I swiped to answer, and her furious voice blasted through the speaker. “Phoebe, you told me Hugh greenlit going public! Now the entire internet is dragging you, calling you a desperate clout-chaser! What the hell is going on?” He had agreed. He told me going public would be a relief, that we wouldn’t have to hide from cameras anymore. When I asked him for final confirmation last night, he paused for a long second, but he didn’t stop me. And when I hit post, his response was to publicly announce he didn’t know me. I let out a soft “Yeah.” Then I said, “It’s exactly what he posted online. We aren’t close.” Hugh stared at me, his expression darkening. He reached over, snatched the phone from my hand, and spoke directly to Sarah. “Now isn’t the right time. We’ll announce it properly later. I’m having my team kill the trending topics.” “It’s not her fault.” I just stood there. For a second, the back of my eyes burned. He ended the call and handed the phone back to me. He hesitated, then muttered, “We’ll do it right next time.” I gave him a small, empty smile. There wasn’t going to be a next time. When I walked out of the bathroom after my shower, Hugh and Chloe were standing in the hallway. And a fresh set of expensive silk sheets was sitting on my bed. I looked at Hugh, my voice freezing over. “What is this?” He shifted his weight, looking anywhere but my eyes. After a long pause, he muttered, “Phoebe, could you just swap rooms with Chloe for the night?” “The mattress in the guest room is too small, she can’t sleep on it.” I looked at Chloe, standing there looking perfectly innocent, then locked eyes with Hugh. “Hugh. This is the master bedroom.” Asking the woman you live with to give up her bed for your ‘friend’ was a new level of disrespect, even for him. “It’s just a bed, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he deflected. “The guest mattress is firm, Chloe isn’t used to it.” “You sleep in cramped trailers on set all the time. You’re adaptable.” Right. I hadn’t just slept in trailers. Once, on a remote location shoot, the crew accidentally left without me. I spent the entire night huddled on a freezing rock waiting for dawn. When Hugh found out back then, he was sick with worry. He didn’t sleep for days, obsessing over whether I was okay. And now? He was worried Chloe wouldn’t sleep well because the mattress was a little firm. I wasn’t giving up my bed. Why should I? I held Hugh’s gaze, unblinking. “Then she can book a suite at the Four Seasons. I am not moving.” “Phoebe!” Hugh snapped, his frustration boiling over. “It’s just a room swap! Why are you being like this? Chloe isn’t as tough as you, can’t you show a little grace?” “No,” I fired back. “I’ve shown enough grace to last a lifetime, Hugh.” I was done compromising. Chloe reached out and tugged gently on Hugh’s sleeve. “It’s fine, Hugh. Don’t fight with her.” She looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes. “I’ll just make do. It’s really not that bad. I’m not that fragile.” Somehow, she managed to twist the narrative perfectly. I was the irrational, jealous girlfriend, and she was the mature martyr making peace. She offered me a gentle smile. “Don’t be mad at him, Phoebe. He’s just overprotective of me.” I didn’t dignify that with a response. She said it so effortlessly, like it was a universal truth. And she wasn’t wrong. Hugh was overprotective of her. He was so protective that he dropped everything to cater to her every whim, completely disregarding anyone else in the blast radius. Just like right now, demanding I hand over my own bed because he didn’t want her to be slightly uncomfortable. That was Hugh Hayes’ love. Hugh shot me a look of pure ice, leaned over, and yanked the fresh sheets off my bed. Once they finally left, I collapsed onto the mattress, my body heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion. Hugh didn’t come back to the bedroom that night. The next morning, I was violently woken up by my phone ringing. It was Sarah, and she sounded borderline hysterical. “Hugh said he was pulling those hashtags down! Not only are they still up, but two new ones just broke the top ten!” “Everyone is tearing you apart, saying you’re trying to homewreck his relationship with Chloe.” “The director for your next project just called. He’s ‘reconsidering’ your casting. I’ve got three different brand sponsors breathing down my neck…” “Phoebe, what the hell is actually going on between you and Hugh?” I took a slow, shuddering breath. “Sarah, let me talk to him. I’ll call you right back, okay?” “Okay. Hurry,” she said before hanging up. I threw off the covers and marched downstairs. Hugh and Chloe were sitting at the kitchen island, eating breakfast. The moment Chloe saw me, the bright smile vanished from her face. “Good morning, Phoebe.” She sounded like a bullied schoolgirl forced to greet her tormentor. I completely ignored her, walking straight up to Hugh. “Hugh, why are the hashtags still trending?” “You looked me in the eye and promised you were taking them down.” I couldn’t stop my voice from shaking. Hugh looked up from his coffee. He offered a cold, casual smirk. “I changed my mind.” He stared me down. “You deal with it.” Those few careless words were the final nail in the coffin. The last microscopic shred of hope I had for us shattered into dust. It hit me then. This was punishment. Because I refused to give up my bed for Chloe, he was letting my career burn to the ground. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my chest. Hugh frowned. “What’s so funny?” The back of my eyes burned fiercely. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let a single tear fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything. No more tears. If this was who he was, there was nothing left to salvage. I looked straight into Hugh’s eyes, my vision perfectly clear. “Hugh, we’re done.” “Excuse me?” Hugh leaned back, his tone mocking. “You’re breaking up with me?” “Yeah.” My voice was dead calm. “We’re done. It’s over.” If his heart was permanently tethered to her, I didn’t want it anymore. Chloe jumped up, suddenly panicking. “Phoebe, is this because of me? If you’re that upset, I’ll pack my bags right now. Please don’t ruin your relationship over me.” She played the role flawlessly. If her eyes hadn’t been swimming with fake tears, I might have actually believed she cared. She bit her lip, looking devastated. “You guys have been through so much. Don’t just throw the word ‘breakup’ around.” Hugh couldn’t stand seeing her distressed. He stood up and pulled Chloe against his side, rubbing her arm protectively. “That’s enough,” he snapped, his voice rough with irritation. “Phoebe, stop throwing tantrums and using breakups as a weapon. Grow up.” Watching him shield her from the big bad monster that I apparently was… I just looked away. I had absolutely nothing left to say. I didn’t want him anymore. I walked back up to the bedroom and called Sarah. She picked up on the first ring. “Phoebe! What did he say?” I looked out the window at the manicured lawn. After a long silence, I whispered, “Sarah, forget it.” “He did it on purpose.” The exhaustion in my voice was absolute. “Can the agency do anything to pull the tags?” Sarah let out a heavy sigh. “No. Your contract expires next month, Phoebe. The label isn’t going to spend money fixing this.” I knew that was coming. The executives had dragged me into several meetings over the last few weeks, but I had made it clear I wasn’t renewing my contract. “Okay,” I murmured. “Then let it burn. Calculate the penalty fees for the lost sponsorships and send me the total.” “We’ll just handle it.” Sarah couldn’t hold back. “You’re not going to ask Hugh for help? He’s your boyfriend! He’s just going to sit back and watch the internet tear you to shreds?” “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said. She paused. “What?” I repeated it, my voice steady. “We broke up. Ten minutes ago.” “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” I ended the call and opened Instagram. The app lagged violently before finally loading. My DMs were a toxic wasteland of death threats and slurs. I couldn’t even scroll through them. My comment sections were a bloodbath. My loyal fans were desperately trying to fight off the mob, but they were drowning. Lmao, this girl needs a reality check. You really think you can compete with his actual childhood sweetheart? Hugh needs a restraining order against this stalker. I don’t know what this psycho was thinking, claiming they were together. Hugh literally said ‘who?’ Embarrassing. I closed the app and turned off my phone. That evening, Sarah emailed me the itemized list of breach-of-contract penalties. I let out a breath of relief. I had lived out of a suitcase for years, hoarding every paycheck. I had enough to cover it. I transferred the funds and pulled my suitcase from the closet. Hugh and Chloe had left around noon. His new blockbuster was scheduled to start shooting in two months, which meant endless pre-production meetings and script readings. Because I practically lived on film sets, I didn’t actually have that much stuff at the house. Everything fit perfectly into one large suitcase. I dragged it downstairs and placed my spare house key perfectly in the center of the coffee table. I took one final look at the pristine, gorgeous house I had shared with Hugh. Then I turned around, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, sounding incredibly final. I texted Sarah and told her I was stepping away from acting indefinitely. “Stepping away?” Sarah sounded alarmed. “What else are you going to do?” “I’m moving to London to study at the Royal Academy,” I told her, finalizing my decision aloud. “My flight leaves the day after tomorrow.” Whatever chapter Hugh Hayes had occupied in my life, the book was finally closed. … It took a full month of grueling pre-production before Hugh suddenly realized he hadn’t received a single text from Phoebe. He pulled up their chat history. The last message was from the day she blew up the internet. Nothing since. Hugh stared at his screen, his brow furrowing. Was she seriously still throwing a tantrum? A month was a long time to hold a grudge. This was the longest they had ever gone without speaking. A strange, uncomfortable itch started crawling up the back of his neck. “Everything okay?” Chloe asked, looping her arm through his as they left the studio. “Dinner tonight?” Hugh locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He needed to go home. “Raincheck. I’ve got something to handle tonight.” Chloe’s bright smile tightened for a microsecond before smoothing out. “Going to see Phoebe?” Hugh didn’t try to hide it. “Yeah. We haven’t talked in weeks.” “I need to check in on her.” “Okay.” When Hugh unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the house was dark. Phoebe wasn’t there. He realized he had no idea what her shooting schedule was. She always used to send him perfectly color-coded PDF itineraries of her locations. Since they hadn’t spoken, he had completely lost track of where she was supposed to be. He opened their text thread, typed a message, then deleted it. He scrolled through his contacts and called her agent instead. When she answered, he asked, “What set is Phoebe on right now? I’m going to send a coffee truck.” He used to ignore her hints about visiting her sets, brushing her off with excuses about his own workload. He figured a grand gesture would be a good peace offering. Sarah was dead silent for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. “She didn’t tell you?” “She left the country over a month ago.”

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1 Late at night, Jordan’s heart rate spiked to 180 while he was “out of town.” I called and heard panting, though he claimed to be jogging after texting he was in bed. A woman’s giggle echoed before the line died. Checking his hidden Twitter, I saw his post: “If this gets 100 likes, I’ll confess I’m cheating.” An anonymous text followed, dozens of photos proving Jordan and my best friend Ruby had been together for over a year. My phone clattered to the floor. Jordan hated watches yet wore the one I gave him tonight. This was his twisted confession. Nails biting into my palms, I called back, throat tight. “I got your confession,” I said. “We’re done.” … Half an hour later, Jordan burst through the front door. He had rushed all the way back from his supposed out of town trip. He rubbed a towel over his rain soaked hair and shot me a deeply annoyed glare. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing this time? Breaking up out of nowhere?” I didn’t scream. I just turned my phone around and shoved the gallery of him and Ruby right in his face. For a rare second, Jordan was actually speechless. A long, suffocating silence stretched between us. Finally, he gave a careless shrug. “Since you already know everything, I guess there is no point in hiding it.” “Ruby and I are together.” His tone was incredibly casual. He sounded like he was deciding what to order for takeout. The sheer disrespect felt like a physical blow to my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. My last shred of sanity snapped. I lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar of his expensive shirt, and screamed until my throat tore. “Why? Why would you do this to me?!” “You promised me you would never cheat again!” “You swore on your life!” Jordan frowned. He reached up and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. His touch was so tender, yet his words were dipped in absolute poison. “Stella, you know your health is fragile. You can’t handle anything too strenuous.” “I just needed a physical outlet. Is it really such a crime for a guy to find a release?” I froze completely. My hands lost all their strength and dropped dead at my sides. He had used almost the exact same excuse before. A year ago. The very first time I caught him sneaking around with Ruby. Back then, Jordan’s eyes were bloodshot as he frantically tried to explain himself. “I just got caught up in the moment, Stella! I lost control. I just needed to blow off some steam!” He had dropped to his knees right there on the living room rug, begging me over and over not to leave him. Being betrayed by my partner and my best friend at the exact same time broke me. I fell into a pitch black depression. One night, completely overwhelmed by the pain, I climbed up to the rooftop of our building. Jordan had completely lost his mind. He sprinted up the stairs, grabbed me away from the ledge, and dragged me back to safety. He was sobbing uncontrollably. “I messed up! I messed up so badly!” “I will never see her again! I swear to God I will never do anything to hurt you ever again!” “You can punish me however you want, just please do not hurt yourself!” “I can’t survive without you, Stella!” I eventually caved. I chose to forgive him. And for a long time, Jordan actually kept his word. He stopped going out for drinks. He stopped attending late night networking events. He went straight to the office and came straight home, checking in with me constantly. But there was a catch. Every single month, he had to take a mandatory five day business trip. I honestly believed it was just corporate obligations. Until tonight. He was just using company time to hook up with Ruby. He never cut her off. He just got better at hiding her. The dam finally broke, and tears spilled hot down my cheeks. I forced myself to look him dead in the eye. “Jordan. We are done.” “I cannot forgive you this time. I won’t.” Seeing that I wasn’t getting hysterical or throwing things, Jordan seemed to realize I was actually serious. He reached into his duffel bag, pulled out a small velvet ring box, and held it out to me. “Come on, stop being mad. Ruby is literally just a toy to me. Just a distraction. Why are you letting this get under your skin?” “Haven’t you always wanted to lock this down and get married? You even tried to trap me with a baby back then.” “Well today is your lucky day. I’m willing to make it official.” My nose burned fiercely, but I bit my lip hard enough to keep fresh tears from falling. My body had always been incredibly frail. Whenever Jordan and I were intimate, he always had to be incredibly careful. Three years ago, against all odds, I finally got pregnant. I was absolutely thrilled. I brought the ultrasound printout home and showed it to him, expecting him to lift me in the air. Instead, he just stared at the paper and frowned. “Stella, I still want to enjoy our freedom for a few more years. We can always have kids later.” But because my body was so weak, the subsequent termination completely destroyed my reproductive system. The doctors told me I would never be able to conceive again. I looked at Jordan through blurred vision, a bitter, broken smile forming on my lips. With shaking hands, I popped open the velvet box. There was no diamond inside. Just the cheap metal pull tab from a soda can. I stood there totally paralyzed. At that exact moment, Jordan’s phone speaker crackled to life. It was Ruby, laughing hysterically. “Surprised, Stella?” “I snuck into his bag and swapped out the huge diamond he bought you.” “Honestly? I think a piece of trash like a soda tab suits you way better.” Jordan laughed lightly, playfully scolding Ruby through the phone, before turning back to me with a smooth explanation. “Ruby just wanted to see how you would react to catching me again. She is just a little wild and loves playing pranks. Don’t take it personally.” “I swear I had no idea she swapped the ring out, though.” I clamped my teeth down on my bottom lip, refusing to speak. Jordan ended the call and reached out to gently ruffle my hair, exactly like he used to do when things were perfect. “What’s wrong? Are you actually upset?” “Ruby grew up in the system with no parents. She barely even finished high school. You know she lacks basic manners, so just be the bigger person.” I stared into Jordan’s eyes. My chest felt like it was packed with burning coals. He was lying through his teeth. Nobody goes out of their way to make long, passionate excuses for a woman who is just a “distraction.” He was only defending her because he was terrified I might snap and go after her. Jordan changed out of his damp clothes. He was about to say something else when his phone lit up again. He answered it briefly, hung up, and walked over to the hallway mirror. He spent a solid minute perfectly styling his hair before grabbing his car keys. “Ruby needs me for something real quick. I’m going to run over to her place.” Right as his hand touched the doorknob, he paused and looked back at me. “Stella, I promise I will never let her take your place.” “In my heart, you are the only woman I will ever call my wife.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read my expression. “Just please. Don’t go out of your way to bully Ruby.” “She has already had a really hard life.” The front door clicked shut. His headlights swept across the living room wall, fading into the dark street. I stood alone in the massive, empty house, and finally let out a raw, agonizing scream. No one on earth knew Ruby better than I did. We grew up together in the same run down brick apartment complex on the east side of the city. When she was seven, loan sharks drove her parents to suicide. The police found her sitting on the pavement outside her building, crying hysterically. My mother had a heart of gold. She brought Ruby home and raised her exactly like she was her own flesh and blood. But Ruby absolutely hated school. She started skipping class, hanging out with the local gangs, and constantly getting into trouble. My mother bailed her out of holding cells and apologized to neighbors time and time again. My mom wasn’t even forty, but the stress turned her hair completely gray. When Ruby turned eighteen, she got into a massive bar fight and slashed another girl’s face with a broken bottle. The victim’s family demanded a two hundred thousand dollar settlement to drop the charges. My mother had no choice but to bite the bullet. She worked three brutal jobs just to keep Ruby out of prison. The very week the final payment was made, my mother collapsed at the diner where she worked. Her body just gave out from sheer exhaustion. She died before the ambulance even arrived. She left me all alone in the world. I bet my mom never imagined this. She traded her own life to save Ruby. And a decade later, Ruby would be the one twisting a knife into her daughter’s back. A sharp knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. It was Simon, Jordan’s executive assistant. He handed me a small jewelry box. The real one this time. “Mr. Jordan knows you have been looking at this specific cut for a long time. He custom ordered it for you last month.” I opened the box and ran my thumb over the cold, heavy diamond. Jordan remembered that I loved this design. But this was the ring I wanted two years ago. The style was already outdated. I didn’t get it when I wanted it, and I certainly did not want it now. Simon cleared his throat. “Mr. Jordan also said you have full creative control over the wedding arrangements. You don’t need to worry about the budget.” A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t even form words. A wedding is supposed to be for two people. But he was just dumping the entire burden of planning onto me while he went off to sleep with my best friend. If this marriage meant so little to him, then it simply wasn’t going to happen. I looked out at the storm raging outside the windows. I pulled out my phone and dialed my corporate director. “I’ll take the transfer to the Berlin branch.” A month ago, upper management asked me to relocate to Europe as a regional Vice President. I had been stalling because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Jordan. Now, there was absolutely nothing tying me down. The very next morning, Jordan walked through the front door. He wasn’t alone. Ruby was trailing right behind him. “Ruby heard you were stressing about wedding planning, so she came over to help you bounce some ideas around.” As Jordan bent down to take off his shoes, his collar slipped. I saw fresh, aggressive red scratch marks trailing down his collarbone. My stomach violently flipped. A wave of pure nausea crawled up my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, bolted to the downstairs bathroom, and started dry heaving over the sink. Jordan rushed in behind me, rubbing circles into my back, his voice full of panic as he asked if I had food poisoning. Ruby just leaned against the doorframe and laughed out loud. “Stella isn’t sick. She is just disgusted seeing us together. It’s a psychological reflex making her gag.” The second the words left her mouth, Jordan’s hand dropped from my back. “Stella, please stop throwing these little tantrums.” “Ruby came all the way out here out of the goodness of her heart to help you. Do you really have to act like this?” A tidal wave of pure anger and betrayal rushed into my brain. I completely lost it. “I never asked for her help! She invited herself!” “She is just trying to rub her shameless face in my home!” The temperature in the bathroom plummeted to freezing. Ruby’s eyes immediately filled with crocodile tears. Her lip quivered perfectly. “I’m so sorry, Stella. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so impulsive and crashed your morning.” “Please don’t be mad. I’ll just leave.” She said she was going to leave, but her feet stayed planted exactly where they were. Jordan immediately stepped in front of Ruby, shielding her with his body. He glared at me like I was a complete monster. “Stella, you are crossing a massive line right now!” “Ruby has been your best friend since you were kids! How can you stand there and say such cruel things to her?” “She always puts you first! She has never once tried to compete with you for anything! You have a friend who would jump on a grenade for you, and you are still complaining?” The raw fury in Jordan’s eyes burned straight through my soul. I closed my eyes, and a montage of our entire relationship flashed behind my eyelids. A year ago, when I first found out he was cheating, the betrayal triggered severe clinical depression. I completely lost my grip. I started hurting myself just to feel something other than the crushing heartbreak. Every single time Jordan caught me cutting myself, he would grab the blade and cut his own arm twice as deep. He would press his bleeding hands over my eyes, pulling me into his chest. “It’s my fault, Stella. If you’re going to bleed, I’m going to bleed with you.” When my insomnia got so bad I couldn’t sleep for days, he hired contractors to tear the roof off the master bedroom and install massive skylights so he could hold me and count the stars until the sun came up. When I refused to eat, he starved himself right alongside me. We lived in that dark, agonizing purgatory for over six months before I finally started to heal. I clawed my way out of the mud for him. I never expected this. Barely a few months later, he was the one shoving me right back into the swamp. The man who had cried blood swearing he would never betray me again. Was now standing like a bodyguard, protecting another woman from me. Jordan took a deep, jagged breath, clearly trying to reign in his temper. He pointed up the sweeping staircase to the guest wing and looked at Ruby. “Go on upstairs and pick out whichever room you like best.” That was when I noticed the pink designer suitcase Ruby had been hiding behind her legs the entire time. “You’re letting her move in here?” I asked, my voice completely hollow. Before Jordan could even respond, Ruby completely broke character. She clapped her hands and lunged forward, trying to grab my arm. “Stella! We finally get to be roommates again! Aren’t you excited?!” “Remember when we were little kids in the projects? You said you wanted us to live together forever!” “Well your dream finally came true! Are you happy?!” I stared at her in sheer disbelief. A toxic cocktail of rage and pure, unfiltered hatred boiled over in my chest. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had. “Are you proud of yourself, Ruby?” “Twenty years ago, you took my mother away from me. Now you want to take my fiancé. Do you just get off on ruining my life?” “Are you completely incapable of building your own damn home?!” The massive house fell dead silent. The only sound was Ruby sobbing into her hands. And my own ragged breathing echoing off the walls. Jordan gently pressed an ice pack against Ruby’s swollen cheek. When he finally looked at me, his eyes were devoid of any warmth. “Stella, let’s get one thing straight. This isn’t your home.” “I bought this house. My name is on the deed.” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water directly over my head. He was right. He paid for the mortgage. What right did I have to claim this as my territory? A pathetic, tragic smile broke across my face. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.” Ruby immediately dropped the ice pack and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip, refusing to let go. “Stella, please don’t do this! Jordan didn’t mean it, he is just stressed out!” “I’m the one who should go!” I looked at Ruby’s face. The fake concern painted over the smug, victorious gleam in her eyes made me physically sick to my stomach. Jordan’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Ruby, let her go.” “If she is dead set on walking out that door, let her. Let her see exactly how miserable her life is going to be without me bankrolling it.” The storm outside was absolute chaos. The freezing rain soaked me to the bone in seconds. I dragged my feet through the flooding streets, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I just instinctively walked back to the old, run down neighborhood where I grew up. When I pushed open the rotting wooden door of my childhood apartment, I froze. Jordan was sitting on my dusty childhood bed. He noticed my shock and tossed a dry towel at my chest. “Dry off before you catch pneumonia.” I let the towel drop to the floor. I just stared at him, my eyes burning. “How did you know I would be here?” Jordan smirked confidently. “Where else could you possibly go?” He stood up, picked the towel off the floor, and started aggressively rubbing my wet hair. “Walking in the rain isn’t as romantic as it looks in the movies, is it?” “Stop being a brat. Come back home with me.” I let out a long, shuddering breath. My hands balled into tight fists at my sides. When I finally spoke, my voice was so quiet I could barely hear myself. “Jordan, is it really that difficult to just love one person?” His hands paused. His entire demeanor shifted, irritation instantly flaring up again. “Is cheating a crime? Show me the law that says I can’t look for a little fun.” “Stop being such a drama queen, Stella.” Those two words hit me harder than a physical punch to the jaw. My face burned with humiliation. I stared at him, feeling like someone was carving pieces off my heart with a rusty butter knife. The pain was so relentless it was starting to make me numb. “Why did it have to be Ruby?” “You knew exactly what she meant to me. She was my absolute best friend. Are you really that desperate? Did you absolutely have to sleep with the only family I had left in this world?!” “You make me sick, Jordan!” He aggressively ran a hand through his hair, threw the damp towel onto the bed, and finally snapped. “Yeah! I am desperate!” “I have no morals! Is that what you want to hear?!” Jordan’s chest heaved. The volume of his voice shook the tiny room. “You know that massive car crash you got into six months ago? When you were terrified and called me from the ambulance?” “You think I was choked up on the phone because I was scared for you?!” “I wasn’t crying, Stella! Ruby just knew exactly how to work her mouth, and I was too overstimulated to hide the groans!” The tiny apartment plunged into a terrifying, suffocating silence. It wasn’t until a tear slipped down my chin that Jordan finally realized what he had just confessed. Panic completely erased the anger on his face. He reached out, desperately trying to backtrack, but I shoved him backward out the front door. Six months ago, a semi truck had rear ended my car on the freeway. The moment I regained consciousness in the wreckage, the very first thing I did was dial Jordan’s number. I had always wondered why it took him two full hours to drive ten miles to the hospital. While I was sobbing in absolute terror, bleeding onto a stretcher, my fiancé and my best friend were using my trauma as background noise for a hookup. The physical pain in my chest finally outpaced the pure rage. It felt like my heart was being crushed in a vice. Through the thin wooden door, I could hear Jordan apologizing over and over, begging me to open up. When I didn’t make a sound, he finally let out a heavy sigh. “Stella, I have a massive crisis at the firm. I need to go handle it. I will come back and check on you tomorrow.” His heavy footsteps faded down the stairwell. Inside the dark apartment, I sank to the floor and vomited until my throat bled, tears streaming down my face. My phone buzzed on the floorboards. The corporate office had pushed my flight forward to tonight. I wiped the spit and tears off my face. It felt like I was wiping away the last seven years of my life. I threw whatever essentials I had left into a duffel bag, called a cab, and headed straight to the international terminal. Right before I approached the boarding gate, my screen lit up with another desperate apology text from Jordan. I didn’t reply. I just permanently blocked his number and deleted his contact. The plane pierced through the clouds, leaving the wreckage of my city far below. From this moment on, Jordan and I were separated by an ocean. We would never cross paths again.

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1 On the exact day our mandatory divorce waiting period was supposed to end, Bill threw a lavish, highly publicized wedding for his mistress. The local Boston networks were practically foaming at the mouth to cover it. My best friend, Hanni, was one of the reporters in the crowd. Watching the two of them share a passionate kiss on the altar was the final straw for her. She grabbed the microphone, cutting through the applause. “Mr. Kingston, rumor has it your divorce with your wife, Sierra, isn’t even finalized yet.” Her voice rang out, sharp and accusing. “How do you sleep at night doing this to her?” Bill’s face instantly darkened. “Sierra is the one who filed for divorce, and she is the one playing hide and seek to drag out the clock,” he said coldly. “I spent three days and three nights kneeling in a blizzard to prove my innocence. What more does she want from me?” Hanni’s voice began to tremble. “Did it ever cross your mind that something terrible might have happened to her?” “What could possibly happen? She is just throwing a tantrum and hiding because she regrets filing.” His tone dripped with absolute disgust. “You can tell her that hiding is useless. This marriage is over.” I hovered in the air above them, a weightless phantom, smiling a bitter smile. Bill really didn’t need to rush. Very soon, the County Clerk’s office would notify him that he was officially a widower. … The banquet hall was a sea of floating white balloons and floors carpeted in crushed red roses. On every guest’s seat sat an expensive floral arrangement hiding a thick silver envelope stuffed with cash favors. Bill and Violet’s wedding was arrogant, loud, and incredibly expensive. The dozen or so reporters swarming the venue were entirely his doing. He had invited them specifically to make a spectacle. He wanted me to see it. He wanted me to lose my mind with jealousy and come crashing through the doors. Because six years ago, we got married in this exact same ballroom. The layout, the floral arrangements, the music. Everything was identical. Hanni had been my maid of honor back then. She knew exactly what Bill was doing. It was a deliberate, cruel provocation. She was shaking with rage, her knuckles turning white around the microphone. “Mr. Kingston, you are the one who destroyed your vows. Have you ever wondered why Sierra had to disappear? If you hadn’t cheated on her with…” “Stop making things up!” Before Hanni could finish her sentence, Violet shrieked like a startled bird, aggressively cutting her off. “I am not a homewrecker! Bill and I only got together after they separated!” Hanni stared at Violet with pure loathing, her lips curling into a sneer. “Oh? Are they divorced yet?” Violet’s face drained of color. She gripped her bridal bouquet so hard the stems nearly snapped. Bill took a protective step forward, shielding Violet behind his broad shoulders. “Sierra refuses to show her face to sign the final decree. That is the only reason this marriage isn’t legally dead,” he said, staring dead into the camera lenses. “And the idea that Violet is a mistress is complete garbage. Sierra saw us share a single, innocent hug and immediately convicted me of cheating. She refused to listen to a single word of explanation.” He leaned closer to the microphones, his voice dropping to a terrifying calm. “I invited the press here today because I want the woman hiding behind the screen to hear this loud and clear. Even if you are drowning in regret right now, it is too late. You pushed me away with your own two hands. You have exactly three days to show your face. If you don’t, you will face the consequences.” The entire ballroom fell into a stunned, suffocating silence. Only Hanni was crying, hot tears of fury spilling down her cheeks. “Bill, you grew up with Sierra! You two were childhood sweethearts. How can you be this cruel to her? Do you want to know where she is? She is dead! She is already dead!” “This reporter is emotionally unstable. Escort her out.” Bill’s voice didn’t even waver. He didn’t believe a single syllable that came out of Hanni’s mouth. Two massive security guards lunged forward, grabbing Hanni by both arms and dragging her toward the heavy mahogany doors. Panic seized me. I floated down frantically, trying to push the guards away, but my translucent hands slipped right through Hanni’s shoulders. She kicked and thrashed, her voice echoing through the silent hall. “You are going to regret this, Bill! You will pay for what you’ve done to her!” Bill casually looked away, completely unbothered, not even willing to waste another breath on her. The atmosphere in the room was freezing. The wedding officiant nervously cleared his throat to break the tension. “And now, the groom may kiss the bride!” Forced applause and awkward cheering erupted. Bill took Violet’s hand, a gentle smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he leaned down toward her blushing face. I squeezed my eyes shut. But even over the deafening noise of the crowd, Bill’s words from our own wedding six years ago echoed perfectly in my ears. “I finally made you mine, Sierra. Don’t even think about running away from me in this lifetime.” Bill and I used to be the gold standard in our social circle. The textbook definition of soulmates. We grew up on the same street, leaning on each other through everything. I stayed completely behind the scenes, gladly swallowing my own ambitions to manage every trivial detail of his life while he built his empire from scratch. When his tech company finally took off, he didn’t forget me. Almost every major asset and property was placed under my name. It was a perfect fairytale, until the sixth year of our marriage, when Violet showed up. She was a charity case Bill had sponsored in high school. Later, she graduated top of her class at a prestigious business school in Boston. Fresh out of college, she was instantly hired as a senior executive at his company. The nightmare started the day I brought homemade lunch to his office. I pushed the door open only to find them wrapped in each other’s arms. Violet was sobbing, tears streaming down her perfect face, while Bill gently stroked her back, whispering softly to her. The intimacy in the air was suffocating. My sudden appearance threw them both into a panic. Bill practically shoved her away. Violet started stuttering, calling me “Mrs. Kingston” over and over, begging for forgiveness and swearing it wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just set the lunchbox on the coffee table, turned around, and walked out. As I waited for the elevator, I could hear his employees whispering in the cubicles. “The boss’s wife is looking a little tired these days. She definitely can’t compete with Violet.” “No kidding. If I were the boss, I’d pick Violet too.” “It’s a shame. I heard his wife used to be a valedictorian back in the day. No idea why she threw it all away to be a desperate housewife.” My steps quickened. I basically sprinted out of the lobby, got into my car, and locked the doors. Bill came tearing out of the building, chest heaving, and threw himself in front of my hood. “Sierra, please! There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Violet!” he yelled, banging on the glass. “Her grandmother just passed away! I was only comforting her!” “Move.” I stared at him through the windshield, my voice utterly devoid of emotion. He was pale, his eyes wide with panic. He slammed his hands onto the hood, refusing to budge, demanding I get out and listen to him. I narrowed my eyes and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. The engine roared. Bill barely jumped out of the way in time, stumbling awkwardly and falling hard onto the concrete. I glanced at the rearview mirror as I drove off. Violet had already rushed out of the building. She was kneeling next to him, gently wiping the dirt off his expensive suit with tender, careful hands. I pulled out my phone and texted him that I wanted a divorce. For the first time in years, Bill blew off work. It was the dead of winter. He chased me all the way home, only for me to drag him straight to the lawyer’s office to file the separation papers. That afternoon, he knelt in the snow in our front yard, his eyes bloodshot, begging me to take it back. “Sierra, I swear to God, Violet and I are clean! If you don’t trust us, I will fire her right now! Please don’t do this. Please don’t divorce me.” A massive blizzard rolled in. The snow fell for three days, and he stayed on his knees for three days. By the end, he was using his dead mother’s name to swear he hadn’t slept with her. Looking back on it now as a ghost, I realize my anger wasn’t just about catching them in an embrace. It was the crushing inferiority complex that had festered inside me after playing the perfect, invisible housewife for five years. I was furious at his lack of boundaries. But I was mostly furious at myself for rotting away. I went from being the brightest, most ambitious girl in my class, to being reduced to nothing more than Bill’s shadow. The boss’s wife. Standing next to a young, brilliant, and vibrant woman like Violet, I felt pathetic. On the fourth day, I finally walked out the front door. I told him I was going out of town to clear my head, and ordered him not to follow me. As I walked down the driveway, he panicked and tried to stand up, calling my name. But his knees were so badly frostbitten he collapsed back into the snow, his face turning an ashen gray from the blinding pain. I never looked back. The wedding finally ended. As the last few guests filtered out, Violet wrapped her arms tightly around Bill’s waist. “Dom, there are only three days left on the waiting period. What if she still doesn’t show up to sign?” She pouted, looking up at him through her lashes. “Maybe you should put more pressure on Hanni. She definitely knows where Sierra is hiding.” Bill fell silent for a moment before pulling out his phone. Hanni picked up on the first ring, probably thinking he was calling to apologize. Instead, his voice was laced with a chilling threat. “Hanni, if Sierra doesn’t stand in front of me within seventy-two hours, I will personally see to it that your career in journalism is over.” “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Hanni screamed through the speaker, her voice raw with grief. “I told you she is dead! Dead! Do you not understand plain English?” “I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.” Bill’s jaw tightened. “Bring her to me.” “Fine! You wait right there!” Hanni snarled. “I’ll bring her to you right now!” That afternoon, Hanni kicked the front door open at Bill’s house. The house that used to be ours. Violet was curled up in Bill’s lap on the living room sofa, watching the drone footage from their wedding. Hanni marched straight in with her muddy boots, marched up to the sofa, and slammed a piece of paper directly into Bill’s chest. “You want to see Sierra? Here is her death certificate. Take a good look!” Bill’s face instantly turned glacial. Just as he reached for the paper, Violet snatched it out of his hands. With three quick, violent tugs, she ripped the certificate into tiny pieces and threw it on the floor. “What is your problem, Hanni?” Violet snapped, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows you and Sierra lie for each other all the time. Who in their right mind would believe this cheap fake?” Hanni froze, staring at the shredded paper on the rug. Then, a primal scream ripped from her throat as she lunged forward. “You absolute bitch! How dare you!” She raised her hand to slap Violet across the face. But before she could make contact, Bill caught her wrist in a vice grip. “Hanni, if you want to throw a tantrum, do it somewhere else. This is no longer Sierra’s house.” Hanni winced as his grip bruised her skin. She yanked her arm back, failing to break free, as hot tears spilled over her lashes. “You are a monster, Bill!” she cried. “Sierra gave up her entire life for you! Is this how you repay her?” “What did I do to her?” Bill’s eyes were practically made of ice. “I got on my knees in a blizzard and begged her for three days, and she still walked away. It has been ten months. I have sent her hundreds of messages, and she hasn’t replied to a single one. Tell me, what else am I supposed to do?” My ghostly heart shuddered, plummeting into a deep, endless void. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reply to his messages. I physically couldn’t. Shortly after I drove out of Boston, my phone rang. It was Violet. Her voice was sweet, dripping with fake sincerity. “Mrs. Kingston, can you please just let Bill go? The company is in a critical stage right now and he has so much to deal with. He hasn’t answered a single business call in days, he is just kneeling in the freezing snow at your house. Are you made of stone? Do you not feel bad for him at all? If you are mad, take it out on me. I’m the one who fell in love with him, it’s not his fault…” Before she could finish her sentence, a horrifying crunch of metal shattered the air. A massive semi-truck, driven by a man asleep at the wheel, swerved into my lane. I was too distracted by Violet’s sickening words to react in time. My sedan smashed through the guardrail and plummeted down the side of a steep, rocky ravine. I died on impact. My phone was crushed into pieces. The highway patrol only managed to salvage the SIM card well enough to pull my emergency contact. My mother. She rushed to the county morgue to identify the body. When she saw the mangled mess they pulled out of the body bag, she fainted on the spot. By the time she woke up in a hospital bed, several days had passed. She called Bill, sobbing uncontrollably, which was when she finally learned about our impending divorce. At that point, Bill was suffocating in his own pride and anger. He spat cold words into the phone. “Since Sierra is so convinced I cheated, then fine, I cheated. Tell her not to forget the clock is ticking on our divorce papers.” He hung up. My mother, completely shattered by the double blow, suffered a heart attack and slipped into a coma. If Hanni hadn’t been there to pay the bills and keep vigil, my mother might not have survived at all. But Bill didn’t know any of this. And even if he were told, he wouldn’t listen. Hanni’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot. She violently shoved Bill away, pulled out her phone, and shoved the screen into his face, pulling up our text thread. It was the messages I sent her the day I left for a cabin in Vermont. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m going up to the cabin for a few days to breathe. When I get back, I’m going to pull the divorce papers. I want to work things out with him. Hanni had replied, clearly annoyed: You are so blind when it comes to him! What if he really is sleeping with Violet? I had sent a little sighing emoji. He’s not. I know him. I trust him. Bill read the screen, a dark, mocking laugh escaping his lips. “You think these pathetic little tricks are going to work on me?” He shoved her phone away. “Go back and tell Sierra that faking text messages is insulting to my intelligence. If she has something to say, she can look me in the eye at the courthouse and say it herself.” Hanni’s pupils dilated in absolute disbelief. She opened her mouth to argue. Bill leaned in, his voice a low, venomous hiss. “If you utter one more lie to cover for her, you will never work in this city again.” Hanni left. But Violet was still pacing the floors, chewing her nails. There were only three days left before the judge finalized the paperwork. And judging by everything, I really had no intention of showing up. The anxiety was eating her alive. The next morning, she wrapped her arms around Bill’s neck, pouting playfully. “Dom, we already had the wedding. Without the actual certificate, I feel like a fraud. Why don’t we go visit Sierra’s mother? If Hanni won’t talk, her mom definitely will!” Bill frowned, a flash of hesitation in his eyes. “Let’s leave the parents out of our mess.” Violet tightened her grip, refusing to let it go. “But I just want to be legally yours! Didn’t you see the comments under the news segment? People are calling me a gold digger and a homewrecker. They are saying Sierra is doing this on purpose to punish me. Does it not break your heart when they talk about me like that?” Bill stared into her tear-filled eyes. After a long, heavy silence, he finally gave in. “Fine. We will go talk to her. But remember, her mother has severe hypertension. You need to watch your tone.” Violet’s lips twisted in annoyance, a flash of ugly jealousy crossing her face. “Wow. You remember her medical history perfectly. You’re divorcing the daughter, but you still care so much about the mother?” Bill sighed, gently pinching her cheek. “Mrs. Cole treated me like her own son when I was a kid. I owe her that respect.” Floating near the ceiling, my soul felt like it was encased in ice. That afternoon, they drove to my mother’s suburban house. Hanni must have given my mom a heads-up. The second she opened the front door and saw their faces, her expression turned to stone. “What do you want?” Bill’s eyes softened slightly. “Mom… Mrs. Cole. I just came to ask…” “What the hell is this?” Before he could finish, Violet pushed past them and barged right into the living room. She grabbed the framed photograph sitting next to the urn on the mantle. Her voice was shrill and mocking. “Wow, you guys are really committed to the bit, aren’t you? You even set up a fake funeral shrine?” “Put that down! Don’t touch her!” My mother screamed in horror, lunging forward to wrestle the photo out of Violet’s hands. Bill stepped into the living room, taking in the black-and-white portrait. The temperature in his eyes plummeted to absolute zero. “So this is Sierra’s new strategy to delay the paperwork.” My mother didn’t even hear him. She was desperately grappling with Violet, trying to pry my memorial photo away from her manicured claws. But she was old, and her body was frail. With one hard shove, Violet pushed her back. My mother crashed heavily onto the hardwood floor with a sickening thud, her face turning gray with pain. Bill instinctively reached out to catch her. But halfway there, he froze, pulling his hand back as a flash of bitter resentment crossed his face. Violet gritted her teeth, holding the portrait high above her head before smashing it violently onto the ground. “Keep playing dead, Sierra! You think making me look like a villain is going to stop this divorce?” Crack. The glass shattered into a hundred jagged pieces across the floor. My mother stared at the broken glass for three agonizing seconds before letting out an earth-shattering wail. Ignoring the sharp shards slicing into her hands, she scrambled across the floor, desperately trying to put my smiling face back together. Bill finally couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped closer, his voice tight. “Mrs. Cole, just tell me. Where is she hiding?” “Get out of my house!” My mother shrieked like a wounded animal. She grabbed handfuls of his expensive coat, hitting his chest with weak, trembling fists. “You ungrateful animal! Sierra gave you everything! You used to eat at my table when you had nothing! You promised me you would protect her with your life! Is this how you protect her? You monster! You monster!” Bill took the beating without flinching, his brows knitted tightly together. But he refused to accept her words. “I have a clear conscience when it comes to your daughter. You might hate me right now, but you need to accept reality. She is the one who abandoned me.” “You…!” My mother pointed a shaking finger right at his face, but before she could get the next word out, her eyes rolled back and she slumped against the sofa, gasping for air. Bill quickly hoisted her up onto the cushions, his jaw set in stubborn defiance. “Since you refuse to tell me where she is, I’ll find another way to flush her out. Let’s go, Violet.” He grabbed Violet’s hand and marched out the front door. But the second they stepped onto the driveway, Violet let out a horrified gasp. She shoved her glowing phone screen into Bill’s chest, her face pale with terror. “Hanni… Hanni just posted a video!” Bill frowned, grabbing the phone. On the screen, Hanni was sitting in her car, her eyes completely red and swollen from crying. “Hello everyone. I am a reporter for Boston Metro News. And I have something to say about the character of Bill Kingston, CEO of Kingston Corp. “Ten months ago, he began sleeping with his executive, Violet Dunn, completely betraying my best friend, Sierra. While still legally married, he decided to parade his mistress around in a sham wedding yesterday. “I am not posting this to seek revenge. I am posting this because I need to deliver one final message on behalf of my dead best friend.” Hanni choked on a sob, covering her mouth as she struggled to breathe. It took her a long time to look back into the camera lens. “Bill, Sierra is really dead. She isn’t playing a game to trap you in a marriage. She was never that kind of person. “And you don’t ever have to threaten my career again. Because ten minutes ago, I handed in my badge. I quit.” The video abruptly cut to black. Bill’s face was a mask of cold fury, a thick vein pulsing dangerously at his temple. Violet was stomping her feet in panic. “She is trying to destroy us! This is going to tank the company’s stock by morning! Why aren’t you suing her for defamation? And just file for an absentee divorce against Sierra! The judge will grant it if she refuses to show up to court!” Bill tossed the phone back to her. He pulled out his own phone, his voice dropping into a register so cold it didn’t even sound human. “Legal? Draft a lawsuit for extreme defamation against Hanni immediately. And prep the papers to sue Sierra for emotional distress.” He didn’t even wait for his lawyers to respond before hanging up. For the rest of the day, a suffocating, terrifying storm cloud hung over him. He didn’t speak another word to anyone. Early the next morning, the legal team was already in the elevator heading up to his penthouse. But before they knocked, his cell phone rang. “Hello, is this Mr. Kingston?” “Speaking.” “We are calling from the County Probate and Vital Records Office. Your wife’s death certificate has been fully processed and her social security number is now officially retired. Please make an appointment to come down and finalize your survivor benefits and the legal change of your marital status to widowed.”

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