Author: Momo Chan

At the graduation ceremony, Jasper Vance’s childhood sweetheart jumped from the upstairs balcony in front of everyone. She dragged a pair of broken legs crying to me: “Sister Scarlett, I won’t pester Jasper anymore, all my eggs have been harvested, doctor said I can never have children again, beg you don’t let them beat me, humiliate me anymore.” Speaking, she revealed purple bruises from abuse on her body. Jasper stared at me with splitting eyes, my brother Sebastian who depended on each other for life also angrily scolded me as vicious. They angrily wanted to break engagement with me, cut ties, and joined hands to send me into a hotel to work. Just to let me earn money alone, to pay Lila’s medical bills. I became a living experiment subject in the hotel, kidney dug out, uterus removed, even suffered various terrifying experiments against humanity. Finally, Jasper and Brother wanted to take me home. But at this time I was like a puppet, habitually lying beside them. “Teacher, not chopping hands tonight?” … Chapter 1 “Mr. Vance, I brought Miss Scarlett.” Hotel manager bowed and smiled to Jasper. I trembled all over following behind him, without the smell of disinfectant in the lab. Various smells outside made me uncomfortable all over. Manager seeing me not moving, stepped aside, presenting me before Jasper’s eyes. I hurriedly raised hand, soft sunlight stung my eyes pain. Three years kept in underground lab, I couldn’t see light, even daily liquid food was poured in dog bowl. That day teachers suddenly learned news I was to be taken back. Urgently injected me various nutrient shots, did scar repair, barely recovered me from skeleton look to normal human appearance. Jasper leaned on sofa, face full of displeasure. Manager seeing situation pushed my arm, smiling lowered voice said. “Still not greet people!” I looked at fake smile on his face, heart panic wanted to hide. Mind constantly surfaced manager’s warning glare at me. Cold sweat constantly seeped from my back, hugging arms rubbing up and down. Stammering said: “Mr… Mr… Mr. Vance… Good.” Long time not communicating with people. My language organization ability degenerated, could only pop out single or double words. Jasper waved hand let manager down first. After people left. He put down crossed legs, face full of impatience questioning me. “Scarlett, what exactly do you want to do?” I trembled even more severe, cold sweat on forehead big drops falling down. Jasper couldn’t see my reaction, walked to me, reached hand forcefully lifted my chin. “Look up at me, speak! You making this scene exactly want to do what!” My teeth chattering constantly repeating. “So… sorry… So… sorry…” His fierce eyes, gradually overlapped with those “Assistants” eyes. I knew this is doing wrong thing. Doing wrong thing needs punishment! I subconsciously walked towards the wall. “Slap! Slap! Slap!” One slap after another fan on my face. Face slapped red and swollen, even mouth corner faintly seeping blood. Guests checking in hotel around, one after another stopped looking at me pointing fingers. “Is this playing some thrill?” “Yo, little girl afraid caught cheating by main wife, right now facing wall self slapping.” “Want me say, definitely this man in suit forced the girl.” Jasper listened temple throbbing, stepped forward dragged me to no one place. “Scarlett what crazy disease you commit ah!” “I was just tone heavier a bit that’s all.” I low voice mumbled: “Heavier… a bit…” Mind surfaced teachers wearing white coats, face expression twisted and crazy. “Subject 8913, today need cut a piece of meat from you for test, teacher technique might be heavier a bit, you endure.” Teachers eyes revealed cold light. I covered wound on leg, pain to faint. Recover spirit, I subconsciously took off pants, grabbed Jasper’s hand probe down. “No… matter, I endure, you fast… point, okay… not okay?” Chapter 2 Jasper fierce pulled back hand, eyes flashed cold light. “Scarlett are you being cheap!” I scared trembling all over, wanted to use hand cut thigh meat down, but I had no knife. Could only use hand scratch blood marks on leg one by one. “Sorry… sorry, I can’t… scratch down, what to do?” “I no knife, no way… cut meat down, teacher sorry, sorry…” My hands dyed blood, wanted to grab Jasper’s arm. “Bang!” He lifted leg, fiercely kicked me to ground. “Crazy, Scarlett you besides going crazy, can do what!” Tile ice me recover spirit. Jasper kicked me? Jasper who once touched my head, said want protect me for a lifetime. Now actually, kicked me with foot! If change to before, I would definitely fiercely kick back, double return. But now, my brain subconscious reaction, definitely is I did wrong somewhere! Yes, must be like this! I hurriedly climbed up, knelt on ground non-stop kowtow. “Thump thump thump.” Consecutive dozen times, I kowtowed very hard, forehead blood flow straight. Just sent to lab time, like this did “wrong thing” kneel kowtow to bleeding. Frequent like home cooked meal. Start “wrong thing” was not cooperate draw blood do experiment. But that day teachers discussed, wanted to intuitively see if human and animal can harmoniously breed next generation. They found a red hair male orangutan. I aimed timing ran out, hid in hotel basement cleaner rest room. Trembling hand, used landline inside called Jasper for help. Let alone how I lowered voice cry complain, apologize, repent. Jasper still not believe, cold voice scolded me. “Scarlett can you stop a bit, isn’t it just some physical work organizing beds, must make noise want die want live!” “You can’t eat this bitterness, how before bullied Lila harmed her can’t have children, insulted by people time, didn’t think you would have today?” I cried want say not, those things all Lila slandered me. Receiver that end, then came Lila delicate voice. “Jasper you don’t be so extreme, I’m fine, as long as Sister Scarlett not angry, want me do what all okay.” “Jasper Vance you listen me say…” I just opened mouth explain, then was interrupted by Brother’s angry voice strong. “With her still have what good say, like this snake scorpion heart person, not stay far point if bitten by her a mouth, not poisoned death is disgusted death!” “I see just let her stay in hotel, when earn back Lila’s medical fee, then take back!” I cried shout: “Brother, Brother I wrong, beg you first take me back…” But no matter how I shout, phone that end like can’t hear generally. Brother urged Jasper enter venue. Turns out they just at hotel top floor, holding graduation celebration banquet for Lila. My crying sound uncontrollable bubble out, door was forcefully broken open. They swarm in, eyes wretched unbearable, sneering reach hand to me. “Dare run then dare accept punishment oh~.” “Since don’t want with orangutan, then try with us ba.” “Yes ah yes ah, try then know, you will fall in love with this feeling.” Malicious laughter, spread whole room. I paralyzed on ground, dead grabbing receiver, voice hoarse shout. “Jasper save me, Brother save me…” They lean more and more close, one after another terrifying twisted face, tight stick on me. Receiver came Lila accompanied by warm applause, go on stage thank Jasper and Brother words. “Here I want very thank, Jasper and Brother Sebastian hold me like princess treat…” Lila smiling finished get off stage. My throat shouted to hoarse, to end no longer can shout out sound. Can only numb watch ceiling shake. Jasper not love me, Brother also not love me, in this world no one love me again. “Bang!” Jasper see me not want life kowtow, one kick flip me. Angry scold: “Madman! Want go crazy also don’t go crazy in front of me!” “You in hotel name is cleaner, night but live Presidential Suite, breakfast lunch dinner abalone seafood not stopped, me and your brother monthly bill all want pay you million, which point treat you bad?” “I warn you don’t pretend in front my eyes! I not eat this set!” I blankly look at him. Can’t distinguish standing in front, is teachers, or Jasper. Jasper see me calm down, face full blood look. Hand grip fist, unnatural coughed two times. “Cough cough… you first wear pants well, I send you home, your brother and Lila prepared welcome banquet at home, waiting you go back.” I couldn’t help think, really waiting me? Since back then Lila transfer school back from abroad. Everything quietly changing, she in school intentional make whole body dirty appear in front Brother, said I in school lead bully her. Later Brother to back her up, school to from only pick Lila. And I can only walk, Brother said this is my punishment bullying classmate. Thinking this, I lift eyes look Jasper. Even always infinite doting to me Jasper, also because that year my birthday party, Lila in monitor blind spot jumped pool, cry complain said is I pushed. Thereafter all gifts he sent, give Lila all full size, give me sample. I angry threw sample into trash can. Jasper gloomy face, cold voice fierce me. “If not Lila said no your share, she not accept, otherwise you worthy let me send you gift?” This words like ten million thorns insert my heart, let me every breath painful unbearable. Back home, Brother busy take off apron on body. Not wait him speak, upstairs clear female voice rang. Chapter 3 Lila wearing lace palace dress, elegantly walked down from upstairs. Neck wearing Yoko London pearl necklace, more set off her gentle lovely. I one glance then recognize that pearl necklace, is year me and Jasper engaged he sent me. Always treasured by me in safe. Safe password only Jasper know, and safe location only Brother know. My lip corner overflow bitter smile. They are really very love Lila ah! “Ta-da, this is my welcome home gift for you, welcome Sister Scarlett home!” Lila face hang smile, from back took out embroidery cloth. Red Red Spider Lily, surrounding middle “Subject 8913”. “Ah!” I scared loud scream, horror wave away embroidery cloth. Lila however like by me big force pushed away, heavy fall on ground. Jasper fierce pushed away me, rush forward help up Lila. “Scarlett! You still dare face bully Lila!” “Lila okay right.” My life most important two men. One for Lila, angry eyes scold me. One only anxious care Lila injury, no one asked me why do like this. Jasper exclaim out sound: “Lila you wrist knocked broken, flow so much blood not pain?” Turns out floor four five drops blood stain, also is flow much blood. “Slap!” I cover face, look full face anger Brother. “Scarlett you once come back you make trouble, I still thought you in hotel, somewhat can learn good, didn’t expect compare before still bad!” Brother raise hand still want beat, stopped by Jasper. “Okay Sebastian, we better first go bandage wound for Lila.” Brother can’t stand Jasper persuasion, cold eyes glare at me. “Table has food, you hungry then first eat.” They two protect Lila in middle, she look back reveal provocation eyes to me. I eyes reveal sad expression. She proud hook lip smile. But pain on my heart, not match stomach cramping pain. Look food on table, careful step over. Before all lie on ground, like dog eat liquid food. I already forgot how like human, sit on chair eat. Wait Jasper they go downstairs, just see me lie on ground, holding soup bowl lick soup juice inside. “Scarlett you are intentional come torture me right!” Brother roaring kick fly soup bowl. I ignore black face Brother, chase soup bowl broken on ground. Sharp fragments cut my lip corner, and tongue. But I still like don’t know pain, continue lick. Just because that time in lab. My bowl bottom left point liquid food not lick clean. Seen by “Assistant” and teachers, they force pour me drink down twenty pounds liquid food. Belly almost bursted. That kind burst to want vomit, but can’t vomit feeling too painful. From then my rice bowl never dare leave things. Brother face gloomy drag up me: “Do wrong thing not apologize also count, make this kind thing, is want intentional lose my face right!” Apologize? I subconscious repeatedly nod. Mechanically repeat say: “I apologize, I apologize…” “Slap slap slap.” Another burst crisp slap sound, accompany my constant repeat: “Sorry… sorry…” Brother scared long time not sound. Jasper frown persuade: “Sebastian almost enough.” Brother wake, ignore reply his words, hurry forward pull my hand. “Okay, your apologize sincerity I felt, you quick stop hand.” I lift eyes, eye rims red staring him. “No, do wrong thing want accept punishment right?” Brother no come reason heart bottom uneasy, but thinking I said also no wrong, just straight nod. “Yes, do wrong thing want accept punishment.” I firm nod, take fruit knife on table, fierce gouge a piece from own arm. “Brother you take do test, forgive me okay?” Brother face pale, trembling back retreat. Chapter 4 I hand bloody lump forward pass. “Brother why you not want?” Blood drop on floor, sound “drip drop drip drop” sound. Jasper rush forward, tight press wound on my hand. Turn head roar shout at Brother: “Still not go call doctor come!” “Good… good.” Jasper twist brows take off clothes, take come bandage my wound. “Scarlett trouble you brain sober point!” I didn’t like he imagined, immediately repent apologize. Instead confused ask: “Is it my punishment strength not enough?” Jasper a burst speechless. I again continue say: “Not enough words, my right hand still can gouge, or you personal come.” “Scarlett don’t pretend! I tell you, even you today die here, also can’t offset wrong you did to Lila before.” “You not think make up, still one energy here go crazy, is want do what?” Jasper angry chest violent heave. I stuff knife into his hand, trembling voice say. “Then you personal come, okay?” Jasper temple crazy jump, a throw knife away. Lila drag his clothes hem, tearful cry complain. “Jasper you don’t angry, definitely is Sister Scarlett not like me stay here, I pass two days then buy plane ticket leave, she won’t deliberate hurt self to win your concern.” Saying, she turn hold my hand. “Sister Scarlett, you don’t angry, I this will asap pack things leave.” Next instant, she fierce poke down my wound place. Use only we two hear voice say. “Subject 8913 how you still not understand, this home not belong you, also not welcome you back!” “Ah ah ah!” In lab, painful memory immediately surface out. I break free her hand, horror cover head squat down. Lila lose strength back fall, Jasper a catch. “Slap!” He momentum fierce pat a palm on my head. “Really a bitch! I almost cheated by you, thought you spirit not normal, now look come is pretend!” I eyes appear double image, fall head faint pass. “Jasper you too impulsive, if hurt Sister Scarlett brain what do?” “All she self-inflicted, can be beaten to retard better, always better than now always make demon!” If can become retard, forget all this. I also will feel very good. Wake up again, already late night. Wound on arm simply bandaged. I lie in bedroom built from storage room, from corner find out box cutter. Walk up second floor, my bedroom hang Lila exclusive sign. Again forward walk is Brother room, Jasper tonight stay, sleep beside Brother. I gently push door enter. Like a puppet, habitually lie beside them. “Teacher, tonight not chop hands?” Brother hear sound look me, scared fall off bed. Jasper cold face, a kick flip me on ground. “Scarlett you still want kill people!” I horror shake head. “No no no, Teacher isn’t you said want chop my hand?” “When did I say want chop your hand!” No ma? I lower head ponder. Jasper and Brother look each other. Two people step forward drag hold me, box cutter fall on ground. “No, beg you don’t tear my clothes, Brother, Jasper save me.” I scared cover chest shout loud scream. Brother instant pale face shout to Jasper. “Jasper, Scarlett this reaction is…” Two people both blood energy strong men. Most clear, girl appear this reaction is encountered what.

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After taking the blame for the Fake Heiress and going to “prison”. The guards forced me to kneel on broken glass to repent every day, forced me to drink toilet water, and burned my back with cigarette butts. I struggled to support myself for a thousand days and nights, finally surviving until the day of execution. The dark muzzle of the gun pressed against the back of my head, but through the one-way glass, I saw my family in the observation room popping champagne to celebrate. My third brother Caleb pointed at the monitor screen and laughed: “Look at how this fool is shaking, she actually thinks she’s going to be shot for murder.” “Still Luna’s idea is good, hired a few actors to wear uniforms, and scared this proud Real Heiress into a dog.” “Who let her make our little princess cry? This ‘private prison’ is a playground built specifically for her.” A shot of a Blank Cartridge, I was scared out of my wits. Just as they were preparing to come in and enjoy my ugly state of incontinence, the cold voice of the System descended: “Host, have you had enough of this so-called family love? The teleportation countdown begins, let them cry over a corpse.” … Chapter 1 I was pushed onto the Electric Chair. Cold metal hoops clamped my wrists and ankles, digging into the already festering flesh. The back of my head pressed against a cold, hard round tube. That was the muzzle of a gun. Behind me came the crisp sound of pulling the bolt, like the knuckles of Death knocking on the door. My whole body trembled uncontrollably, teeth biting my lips into a mess, the smell of blood spreading in my mouth. Is this the end? In this sunless “death row” for a thousand days. I went from screaming for justice at first, to numbly begging for food later, it took a full three years. “Scarlett, asking you one last time, do you admit your guilt?” The executioner’s voice was processed by a voice changer, sounding like some kind of harsh electronic noise. I struggled to pull the corners of my mouth, voice hoarse like a broken bellows. “I… admit guilt.” What can I do if I don’t admit it? If I don’t admit it, today’s dinner will be sour swill with broken porcelain pieces. If I don’t admit it, I will be dragged to the water dungeon, soaking in filthy cold water for a full twenty-four hours. If I don’t admit it, that barbed whip will once again land on my back that has never healed. I’m really scared. I’m really scared of pain. “Very good.” The executioner seemed satisfied with my obedience. But I felt something was wrong. The wall directly in front suddenly became transparent. That was a huge one-way glass, powered on at this moment, revealing the scene behind. Bright lights stung my eyes into a squint. After adapting to the light, I saw the people behind the glass. Those were my family. My big brother Sebastian, shaking a glass of amber liquor in his hand, a mocking smile on his lips. My third brother Caleb, pointing at me and laughing clutching his belly, laughing until tears were about to come out. Surrounded by them like the moon among stars in the middle, was that Fake Heiress, Luna. She wore an expensive haute couture gown, like a pure little angel, snuggling in Mother’s arms acting spoiled. There was no jury. There were no victim’s families. Only my biological parents and brothers, looking like they were watching a ridiculous circus performance. I was stunned. Even if my brain was dull due to long-term torture, I also realized something was wrong. This is not a formal execution ground. Caleb’s voice came from the speaker on the wall, with undisguised mockery. “Look at how this fool is shaking, she actually thinks she’s going to be shot for murder.” “Still Luna’s idea is good, hired a few actors to wear uniforms, and scared the proud Scarlett into this state.” “Who let her make our little princess cry? This ‘private prison’ is a playground built specifically for her.” Every word was like a heavy hammer, smashing hard on my heart. Turns out all this is fake. No murder case, no prison, no judgment. All this, just because three years ago, Luna framed me time and time again, making the family disappointed in me. Until the last time she cried saying I pushed her, causing her to fall from upstairs, Just because of her sentence “Does sister hate me”, the whole family joined hands to create this hell for me. To coax this adopted daughter happy, they spent huge sums to build this basement, hired professional actors, forged everything. A full three years. Under their eyelids, I was tortured like an animal. And they, just behind this glass, while tasting red wine, while appreciating my pain. Treating this as a pastime after tea and meals. My vision blurred. Not because of tears, but because of extreme despair. Luna seemed to notice I was looking at her. She walked to the glass, picked up the microphone, voice sweet enough to make people vomit. “Sister, Happy Birthday.” “This big gift, brothers prepared for a long time, do you like it?” “As long as you kneel down and kowtow three times to me, say you know you are wrong, we will let you out, okay?” She laughed tremblingly. Sebastian behind her dotingly touched her head: “Luna’s heart is too soft, this kind of trash should be scared to death inside.” I opened my mouth, but couldn’t make a sound. A fishy sweetness surged in my throat. This is my blood relative. This is the family I desperately wanted to integrate into, wanted to please. “Execute.” Father’s majestic voice sounded, with a trace of impatience. “Don’t delay the celebration banquet tonight.” The “executioner” behind pulled the trigger again. “Bang!” A loud noise. I felt the back of my head seemed to be hit by a heavy hammer, severe tinnitus instantly swallowed everything. Although it was a blank cartridge, at this distance, the huge shock wave and sound were enough to break one’s heart and gall. My body jerked violently, heart contracted violently. The world began to spin, darkness surged like a tide. Just then, a cold mechanical voice exploded in my mind. [Detected host vital signs dropping rapidly.] [Detected host mental threshold collapse.] [System Activated.] [Host, have you had enough of this so-called family love?] My remaining consciousness grabbed this straw in the darkness. Enough? How could it not be enough. If there is an afterlife, I would rather be a blade of grass, a stone, than be a member of the Vanderbilt Family again. [Do you want to give up redeeming the whole Vanderbilt family and break away from this world?] [As long as this body dies, you can return to the original world and embrace a brand new life.] I want to go back. I dream of escaping here. [Good. Teleportation program started.] [Detachment begins.] [Let them cry over the corpse.] That severe pain disappeared. Replaced by an unprecedented lightness. My perspective began to rise, watching that skinny, scarred body, softly collapsed on the execution chair. That was my corpse. Also the last “gift” I left for the Vanderbilt family. Chapter 2 On this side of the one-way glass, laughter continued. “Oops, fell down, fell down!” Third brother Caleb excitedly slapped his thigh, pointing at the monitor screen laughing wildly. “Acting is not bad ah, this fall really looks like the real thing.” “Estimate scared to pee right? Just that loud noise, I was scared a jump.” Sebastian sipped red wine, eyes contemptuous: “Coward is coward, this bit of courage still want to compete with Luna?” Luna covered her mouth snickering, a trace of vicious pleasure flashed in her eyes. “Brothers don’t say that, sister is timid after all.” “But her expression just now, really so ugly, like a dead fish.” They were still waiting. Waiting for the person tied to the chair to wake up after extreme panic, then cry and beg for mercy, kneel on the ground and bark like a dog. That was their preset script. But, one minute passed. Two minutes passed. The person on the execution chair remained motionless, even the rise and fall of the chest was gone. Head hung weakly, like a broken rag doll. That dead silence, penetrated through the thick soundproof glass, inexplicably seeped over. “What’s going on?” Mother frowned, put down the teacup in her hand. “Why not getting up yet? Addicted to playing dead?” Caleb tsked, picked up the microphone and shouted: “Hey! Scarlett! Stop pretending!” “The play is over! Hurry up and kowtow to Luna!” No response. Only the buzzing sound of electric current came from the amplifier, and the deathly silence in that small space. Several “guard” actors behind looked at each other. They held specially made prop guns, could only make noise and slight air shock, simply couldn’t kill people. “This is the actor you guys found?” Father looked at eldest son Sebastian unhappily. “Handling things no sense of propriety, scared her directly faint?” Sebastian’s face couldn’t hold, put the wine glass down heavily. “I go wake her up.” “This damn girl, give her stairs she doesn’t go down, insist on me doing it personally.” He strode out of the observation room, passed through the heavy metal door, walked into the room named “Execution Ground”. Caleb and Luna also followed, prepared to appreciate my embarrassment up close. Sebastian walked to me, kicked the iron leg of the execution chair. “Clang” a loud noise. “Wake up! How long you want to pretend?!” My head shook with the vibration of the chair, still didn’t lift up. Messy withered yellow hair covered face, couldn’t see expression. Sebastian’s patience ran out. He reached out hand, grabbed my collar, wanted to lift me up. “I call you—” Voice not fallen, his hand fierce froze. Fingertip touched skin, cold like ice. Not that normal person’s cool, but a kind of lost all vitality, bone-chilling coldness. And, too light. Person in hand light like a piece of paper, as if only left a handful of bones. Sebastian’s heart inexplicably missed a beat. He subconsciously loosened hand. My body lost support, slid down along chair back, heavily fell on cement floor. Limbs presented a weird twisted posture, no perception. “Bro, what you doing?” Caleb walked in, disgusted covered nose. This room filled with a smell of old blood and mold. “Hurry wake up take away, this place stinks dead.” Sebastian didn’t speak. He dead stared at me on ground, pupil violently contract. Just now that touch… not right. That stiffness, not like pretended out. “Third, go call doctor.” Sebastian’s voice some hoarse. Caleb stunned a bit: “Call doctor do what? Splash basin cold water not wake?” “I let you go call doctor!!!” Sebastian suddenly roared out, veins on neck burst out. This shout, scared Luna just entered door a jump. “Big brother, what wrong with you?” Luna grievance flat mouth, “Sister pretend dead scare us, you fierce third brother for what?” Sebastian didn’t ignore her. He trembling squat down, extend finger, slowly probe to under my nose. No breath. Dead general silence. He again trembling go touch my carotid artery. There a piece dead silence, even most weak beat no have. Sebastian sat on ground, face instant pale like paper. “Gone… gone.” “What gone?” Caleb still outside situation, dissatisfied kicked my calf, “Hey, Scarlett, stop acting, you really think yourself movie queen ah?” “I said she no breath!!!” Sebastian fierce turn head, that eyes like a beast forced crazy. “She died! Understand ma?! She died!!!” “Died?” Caleb like heard what heaven big joke. “Big brother, you also cheated by her?” “Blank cartridge how possible beat dead person? This is specially found expert adjust prop!” He not believe evil squat down, want go pat my face. “Scarlett, almost get—” His hand touched my cheek. That cold stiff touch, let his words instant stuck in throat. Caleb also played racing car, seen blood person. Living person and dead person difference, feel on hand one touch then know. That not pretend dead can pretend out temperature. Caleb like electric shock shrink back hand, whole person bounce back, knocked over beside torture rack. Crash la la a piece sound. “How can be like this…” Caleb mumble self talk, eyes empty. “Clearly physical exam report said her body quality very good…” “Clearly this three years I let people regular give her nutrient shot…” “How possible just by one sound blank cartridge scared dead?” This time, parents always stood at door watch play also detected not right. Father big step walk in, face iron green. “Panic what! What manner!” He although say so, but footsteps also some rapid. In this special day, if really out human life, even here, also is a big trouble. Moreover, dead is his biological daughter. Although he never admitted. “Doctor ne! Still not come ma?!” Father roared. Actually no need call doctor. Second brother Julian is top surgical saint hand, today because have a important surgery late, haven’t rush come. But here equipped emergency team, just to prevent “play over fire”. Few people wearing white coat rushed in. They originally also hired by Vanderbilt family, usually responsible for handle my wound, ensure I can’t die, can continue suffer. “Quick! Look look what happen!” Lead doctor immediately kneel check. Flip open eyelid, pupil already dilated. Stethoscope stick chest, a piece dead silence. “Defibrillator! Quick!” Doctor forehead seeped cold sweat. If acting act smashed, really make person dead, Vanderbilt family this bunch crazy people absolutely will let them bury together. “Zzz—Bang!” Current hit on my body. That withered thin like wood body bounced on ground a bit, again heavy fall. No reaction. On monitor, that straight line walked steady and despair. “Increase voltage!” Sebastian roar beside, “Give me save her back! Hear not!” He not believe. Clearly few minutes ago, she still sat there, although embarrassed, although fear, but still alive person. How possible one sound gun shot just gone? “Is it heart disease? Ah? She before have heart disease or not?!” Sebastian grab doctor collar question. Doctor scared trembling: “No… never heard ah… these years physical exam, except malnutrition and external injury, no… no found heart problem…” “Then is how matter?!” “Maybe… maybe is stress cardiomyopathy rupture… or extreme terror lead to cardiac arrest…” Doctor stammer explain. “Also means… scared dead.” Scared dead. These two words like curse, echo in empty basement.

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I found the burner phone at the bottom of Naomi Caroline’s safety deposit box. It wasn’t even password-protected. It took only three seconds to boot up. But those three seconds were all it took to shatter seven years of marriage. The wallpaper wasn’t our wedding photo. It was a candid shot of a young man. He sat at a piano, his profile soft, almost luminous. Naomi was standing slightly in the shadow, and the depth of affection—the sheer, suffocating restraint—in her eyes was thick enough to drown in. It was a Naomi I had never seen. The young man was Liam Lee, a college student Naomi and I had been sponsoring for years. My hands and feet went numb. I tapped open the Notes app. [2018, I married Oliver Zachary. He’s compliant. He’s suitable for a husband. He makes the family happy. But how… how have I fallen for the scholarship kid?] [2020, Liam came back. We finally talked. It’s real. It’s mutual. Seeing him cry, my heart aches.] [2023, If I get pregnant, Liam will be sad. So, no baby.] The phone slid from my fingers. Finally, I understood. Why, in seven years of marriage, Naomi had only conceived once, and why, after that miscarriage, we had never tried again. 1 Naomi walked in just as I was kneeling on the floor, the old phone clutched in my hand. She was carrying a box of the best caramel cake from that bakery downtown—the one she knew I loved. The warmth in the room was immediately scattered by the chill she brought in. When she saw what I was holding, her motion of slipping off her Manolos froze mid-step. The gentle look she’d been wearing instantly evaporated. “Oliver, who told you to go into that safe?” Her voice was sharp, a freezing jab. No explanation. No panic. Her first word was an accusation. I looked up. My eyes felt dry and raw, burning with a pain too deep for tears. “Naomi. Seven years.” My throat was desperately hoarse. I pointed a trembling finger at the screen. “Is everything written here… true?” Naomi strode over, snatched the phone by gripping my wrist, and immediately switched it off. She shoved it deep into her coat pocket, her brow tightly furrowed. “Everyone has a past, Oliver, things they don’t want broadcast. You’ve crossed a line.” I nearly laughed, my heart clenching with a sickening, rhythmic ache. “Things you don’t want broadcast? You hid your feelings for another man right inside the heart of our marriage, and you call that ‘things you don’t want broadcast’?” “You married me just to appease your family? You wouldn’t have a child with me because you were afraid Liam would be ‘sad’?” “Naomi, you’re disgusting.” “Enough!” Naomi roared, then casually tossed the box of caramel cake onto the coffee table. The box tilted. Cream smeared across the mahogany. She took a deep, controlling breath, as if wrestling a beast inside her, and reverted to that cool, ruthlessly rational self. “Liam has a fragile disposition, you know that. He’s too sensitive for conflict.” “If we were meant to be, it would have happened long ago, and you wouldn’t be in the picture.” “I married you because you’re suitable, and also… because,” she paused, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes, “I don’t actively dislike you. Have I been a bad wife to you? You had the title of ‘Mr. Caroline’, a credit card with no limit, everything you asked for was yours.” I looked at the woman standing before me. Just yesterday, she would wake up instantly if I had a leg cramp in the middle of the night, no matter how deep her sleep, massaging my calf until I fell back asleep. I thought that was love. It was all an act. A performance. “I don’t actively dislike you…” I repeated the words, a dull, hollow thud in my chest. “Naomi, that’s your answer to seven years of my life?” She pressed her temples, then reached out to pull me up. “Stop this drama, Oliver. Liam had a frustrating moment at the gallery opening today, and he’s upset. I need to go check on him.” “Stay here. Cool down.” “When you’ve figured out what you should and shouldn’t ask, we can talk.” With that, she turned to leave. The hem of her cashmere coat brushed my face, carrying a sudden, cold draft. “Naomi!” I shouted at her retreating back, “If you walk out that door today, we are getting a divorce!” She paused at the door. But she didn’t turn around. “Oliver, don’t threaten me with divorce. Without the Caroline name, you think you’ll live this comfortably for long?” “Don’t be a child. Grow up.” 2 I had a fever. It must have been the stress, or maybe sitting on the cold marble floor all night. My temperature hit 103 degrees. I felt like I was simultaneously burning and freezing. In a semiconscious haze, I automatically reached for Naomi’s number. In the past, even a slight cough would stop her mid-global conference; she’d rush home. This time, the phone rang for a long time. “Hello?” But it wasn’t Naomi’s voice. It was Liam. Soft, syrupy, laced with the lazy languor of just waking up. “Oh, Oliver? Naomi’s in the shower.” In the shower at Liam’s place, first thing in the morning? I clenched my jaw, clinging to the last shred of my control. “Put her on.” “Oh, Oliver, don’t be mad, okay?” Liam let out a soft, little laugh. “I accidentally spilled coffee all over Naomi yesterday. You know how much of a germaphobe she is, so she just stayed in the guest room. She’s such a thoughtful caretaker, too. Last night… I was so exhausted, but she took such good care of me.” Every word was a deliberate stab into my chest. “Liam,” my voice was shaking, beyond my control. “Put her on the phone!” “What is it?” Naomi’s low, slightly scratchy voice came through, thick with sleep. Then Liam’s petulant whine: “Naomi, Oliver’s angry. He’s doing a check-in.” “Oliver?” Naomi’s tone instantly turned cold. “It’s too early for this. What are you playing at?” Hot tears spilled from my eyes, tracking a burning path into my hair. “Naomi, I have a fever. I’m really sick… I need to go to the hospital.” Even after seeing those notes, even after the fight yesterday. In that desperate moment, I clung to a ridiculous, seven-year-old illusion. Seven years. Surely, even a stray pet earns some loyalty? There were two seconds of silence on the line. Then, the sound of clothes rustling. Naomi’s tone softened, marginally. “What’s your temperature?” “103 degrees.” “Take some Tylenol first. Have the driver take you.” Her voice was measured, still calm. “Liam’s painting isn’t properly hung yet, and he can’t reach. I’ll help him finish and then come home.” A painting wasn’t hung yet. I was burning up, close to passing out, and my wife was helping another man hang art. “Naomi…” I gasped, weak and struggling for breath. “If I don’t get to the emergency room, I could—I’m allergic to penicillin. The house medicine is all out…” “Ah!” Liam’s sudden shriek came from the other end. Followed by the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor. “Liam! What happened?” Naomi’s voice was instantly saturated with a sheer, panicked urgency she had never shown for me. “My hand… Naomi, the frame hit my hand! It hurts so much…” Liam was sobbing. “Don’t move! Let me see! It’s bleeding… Just bear with it, I’ll take you to get it bandaged immediately!” Chaos erupted on the line. I was completely forgotten. “Naomi…” I tried to make a sound. To tell her that I hurt, too. That my heart was hemorrhaging. But the line went dead. I held the phone, staring up at the glittering chandelier on the ceiling, my vision blurring. It was crystal clear now. In her world: A scratch on Liam’s finger was a five-alarm emergency. My high fever and life-or-death crisis was just “stop playing at this.” I forced myself up, swaying unsteadily as I tried to get downstairs. Halfway down the staircase, the world went black. I lost control and tumbled down the rest of the steps. A searing pain enveloped me. In the last fragmented moment before consciousness faded. I saw Naomi at eighteen. The girl in a white shirt, carrying me on her back across the football field after I twisted my ankle, sweat pouring down her face. She said: “Oliver, don’t be afraid. I’ve got you. I will never let you get hurt.” Liar. Naomi, you are a complete and utter liar. 3 When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. I flexed my fingers. My whole body ached as if I’d been dismantled. “You’re awake?” Naomi was sitting by the bed, peeling an apple. Seeing my eyes open, she cut a small slice and offered it to my mouth, her expression as gentle as if nothing had happened yesterday. “Why so clumsy? You can’t even handle a flight of stairs.” “Slight concussion, fractured right leg.” “Oliver, you’re a grown man. Can you please stop making me worry?” Her tone held a mix of scolding and that familiar, high-handed weariness. I turned my head away, avoiding the apple. “Is Liam’s finger… bandaged up?” I stared out the window, my voice flat. Naomi’s hand froze mid-air. Then, she tossed the apple into the trash. “Oliver, how much longer are you going to keep this act up?” “Liam was injured while hanging a painting. His hand is his livelihood! You? You just had a fever. Is this really necessary, to nearly kill yourself just for sympathy?” Sympathy? I spun my head back, locking my gaze on hers. “Naomi, did I not want to go to the hospital?” “I begged you to come home, and you said you had to help him hang art!” “I was rolling down the stairs, close to death, and you were coddling him, telling him to stop crying!” “Sympathy? I risked my life to get your sympathy. You don’t deserve it.” Naomi’s face darkened instantly. She stood up, towering over me. “Oliver, watch your tone.” “I am your wife.” “Not for long.” I met her gaze without flinching. “I’m having the divorce papers drawn up.” “You wouldn’t dare!” Naomi grabbed my jaw with a force that made me feel my teeth might shatter. Her eyes were blazing, a mix of fury and an almost stunned disbelief at my defiance. “Oliver, where will you go after the divorce? Back to the Zachary family, who haven’t cared about you in a decade? Or sleep on the street?” “Everything you have was given by me! Your studio, your connections, the clothes on your back!” “Without Naomi Caroline, what are you, Oliver Zachary?” I was once the top student in the Architecture program at A-State. I had won international design awards. But for her, to be a good husband, I turned down one project after another, dimmed all my lights, and stayed near the kitCaroline stove. Now, she asked me what I was. “Then we’ll see.” I pushed her hand away, speaking each word distinctly. “We’ll see if I starve to death without Naomi Caroline.” “Fine. Very well.” Naomi laughed, a brittle, infuriated sound. She smoothed the crease in her sleeve. “Since you have such backbone, let’s see you stand tall.” “Cancel all his cards.” She gave the order to her assistant by the door, her voice icy. “Pull all the funding from his studio projects.” “I want to see how many days he lasts.” With that, she slammed the door and left. From outside, I could vaguely hear Liam’s voice. “Naomi, don’t be angry. Oliver is probably just delirious from the fever… I made you some soup…” “You’re the only sensible one.” Naomi’s voice softened, trailing into the distance. I closed my eyes. Two hot tears slipped out. 4 No one came to pick me up on the day of my discharge. I walked out of the hospital, leaning heavily on a cane, moving one agonizing step at a time. My cards were canceled. My phone couldn’t process a payment. I searched every pocket and found only a few dozen dollars in loose change. I hailed a taxi back to the house Naomi and I shared. Even if I was leaving, I needed my ID and the belongings my parents left me. I pushed the door open to the sound of laughter. Liam, wearing my silk pajamas, was curled up on the sofa, feeding Naomi grapes. Naomi was looking at her tablet, occasionally opening her mouth to accept a grape, her eyes full of doting affection. When he saw me, Liam tried to jump up awkwardly, only to “accidentally” tumble into Naomi’s lap. “Oh! Oliver! You… you’re back?” Naomi naturally wrapped an arm around his waist, then looked up at me. Her eyes were glacial, like I was a stranger. “Decided to come home? I thought you were going to be defiant forever.” I ignored her sarcasm, leaning on my cane and heading straight for the master bedroom upstairs. “Stop.” Naomi’s voice was frigid. “Who gave you permission to go upstairs?” I paused, turning back. “I’m getting my things.” “There are no ‘your things’ here.” Naomi idly played with a strand of Liam’s hair. “I had someone throw everything out.” My whole body jerked. I stared at her in disbelief. “Threw them out? Naomi, that included my parents’ mementos! And all my design sketches!” “So what?” Naomi sneered. “I told you, this house doesn’t keep idle hands, and it certainly doesn’t keep garbage.” “Liam is moving in. We needed to clear space. Your junk was taking up his new closet.” Junk? The only pocket watch my parents left me. The blueprints I had stayed up countless nights to draw. In her eyes, they were just garbage, clutter to be removed to make space for Liam. Blood rushed to my head. I threw the cane down and lunged up the stairs like a madman. The walk-in closet was empty. The racks that held my clothes were now filled with Liam’s designer pieces. My desk, my drafting table, all gone. Replaced by a white grand piano, Liam’s favorite. I rushed to the balcony, looking down. Next to the trash cans in the yard, there were a few black garbage bags piled up. I could vaguely make out the familiar edge of design paper. They were soaked through with rain, a mushy mess. I ran down the stairs, ignoring the searing pain in my leg, and staggered into the yard. I fell to the ground, tearing open the bags, oblivious to the mud. Ruined. Everything was ruined. I hugged the shattered pocket watch, kneeling in the mud, crying a raw, heartbroken sound. “Naomi Caroline! You’re not human!” “Give them back!” Footsteps approached from behind. Naomi stood under the eaves, holding an umbrella, with Liam nestled close to her. She frowned slightly, as if my crying was a nuisance. “Oliver, don’t act like a hysterical mess.” “A few sheets of paper, a broken clock. What’s it worth? I’ll write you a check.” Liam burrowed deeper into her embrace, whispering: “Naomi, poor Oliver… did I do something wrong? Maybe I shouldn’t move in…” “Nonsense. This has nothing to do with you.” Naomi kissed him on the cheek. “He’s the one who doesn’t know his place. A man who won’t learn his lesson should be made to feel the pain.” She raised her gaze, looking at me with icy indifference. “Oliver, for the sake of the past seven years, I’ll give you one last chance.” “Right now, apologize to Liam.” “Say you’ll never cause trouble again, that you’ll be a good, obedient husband.” “And I’ll let you back into this house. You can resume your role.” “Otherwise…” She nudged the mud puddle with her shoe. “Take your trash and get off my property.” The rain intensified. The wound on my leg felt like it had torn open, a drilling pain. But I felt nothing. The cold had vanished. Because my heart was utterly and completely dead. Slowly, I stood up from the mud. Clutching the broken pocket watch to my chest. I wiped the rain and mud from my face, looking at the perfectly matched couple before me. And I smiled. “Naomi Caroline.” “You think I want to be your obedient husband?” “You think I won’t survive without you?” I dragged my injured leg, one step at a time, until I stood directly in front of them. Naomi instinctively recoiled, startled by the sheer hatred in my eyes. “What are you doing?” “Slap!” I put every ounce of my remaining strength into a vicious slap across her face. Naomi’s head snapped to the side. The imprint of my hand immediately surfaced on her cheek. Liam shrieked: “You hit Naomi!” “Shut up! This isn’t your place!” I swung my other hand, delivering an equally hard backhand across Liam’s face. Liam was stunned, then collapsed onto the ground, covering his cheek and wailing. Naomi finally registered the attack. She raised her hand in a furious rage. “Oliver! You’re looking for death!” I lifted my chin, staring hard at the hand hovering over me. “Hit me!” “Naomi Caroline, if you don’t kill me today, I promise you, one day, you and he will kneel before me, and I will repay the pain you gave me, a hundredfold!” Naomi’s hand froze in the air. She looked into my eyes, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of genuine fear. I looked at her with cold contempt, spitting out a mouthful of blood and rainwater. “Naomi Caroline, remember what you said today.” “I don’t know my place. I’m a mess.” “From this moment on, I cut all ties with you. With the Caroline family. We are done.” 5 Rain mixed with mud streamed down my pants. I dragged my throbbing right leg, step by painful step, out of the Caroline villa gates. Behind me, Naomi’s voice was a furious roar. “Lock the gates! Don’t let anyone open them for him!” “He won’t learn what obedience means until he suffers a little!” The massive iron gate slammed shut behind me. I stood by the side of the road, soaked to the bone. But I felt a liberating, unprecedented lightness. I pulled out my phone. The screen was covered in text alerts: notifications of Naomi’s bank card cancellations. A message popped up on WhatsApp. It was from Naomi. [The cards are canceled. When you learn to apologize, I’ll turn them back on. Stay outside for a few days and reflect. Don’t expect me to come looking for you.] Followed immediately by a voice note. Liam’s voice, dripping with feigned concern. “Naomi, don’t do this… Oliver is injured and broke. What if something happens to him?” Naomi’s cold laughter followed. “Relax. His kind has the vitality of a cockroach. Give him three days, and he’ll be crawling back on his knees, begging for forgiveness.” I listened without expression. My finger tapped the screen. Block. Then, I dialed a number I had sworn, three years ago when I retired for Naomi, I would never call again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “390624”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day Jax Coleman, the prodigal son, returned, he had all my things tossed out of my room. “I’m their real son, you fraud,” he sneered, hands jammed into the pockets of his designer jeans. “You can pack up and leave.” “Oh, and before you go,” he added, his eyes narrowing as he looked me up and down. “You owe us. I’ll charge you twenty years of Sterling hospitality at a million a year. Twenty million. Wire it directly to my account.” I didn’t argue. Instead, I calmly slid a card across the granite counter. “Certainly, Mr. Coleman. But first, you’ll need to schedule an appointment. This is the link to our digital verification portal. You’re currently number five-hundred in the queue.” Jax’s hand shot out and slapped the card away. “Tristan Stone, who the hell do you think you are, blocking my path to my parents?” I kept my voice even. “I’m not blocking you. I’m maintaining the process. There’s a waiting list.” Jax, however, was desperate to claim his birthright. He wasn’t listening. “You really think a nobody like you gets to make the true Sterling heir wait? As soon as I find my parents, you’ll be the one swept out of this house.” What Jax didn’t know was that he was just the latest in a long, humiliating line. Four hundred and ninety-nine hopefuls had come before him, each with an equally compelling, yet ultimately bogus, claim. My parents had long since handed the entire “True Heir Vetting Process” over to me. … 1 Jax cornered my mother, Charlotte Sterling, right as she was stepping out of a Board of Directors meeting at Sterling Tower. “Mom!” he cried, dropping dramatically to his knees in the marble foyer. “I’m your son! Your real son!” Mom didn’t even blink. Her executive assistant, a woman named Ms. Chad, immediately stepped in. “Sir, all claims for familial recognition must go through the online appointment portal.” Jax instantly welled up. The tears were remarkably fast. “Mom! Just look at me! You have no idea how much I’ve suffered all these years…” Mom finally lifted her head. She glanced at her watch, an understated Patek Philippe. “Thirty-six seconds,” she murmured, then looked at Ms. Chad. “Five seconds slower than last month’s contender. No new record, kid.” Jax froze, bewildered. “Excuse me?” Mom pulled out her sleek tablet and scrolled. “Vetting File JXC37. Jax Coleman, twenty-two. Lives in a walk-up in the Outer Boroughs. Parents deceased. Put himself through community college on grants. We know.” Jax’s face crumpled. “You… you investigated me?” Mom gave him a dismissive pat on the shoulder. “Your acting is solid, but the dialogue is stale. I suggest you watch The Royal Switch Season Two, Episode Eight. Much better performance.” Then she was gone. At three that afternoon, my father, Arthur Sterling, was inspecting one of the flagship Sterling Malls. Jax showed up again. This time, he changed tactics. “Dad!” He waved a faded photograph. “Look! I look just like you did when you were a kid!” My father took the photo and examined it. “Nice retouching,” he said dryly. “But next time, remember to slim the ears down. We Sterlings don’t have ears that large.” Jax panicked. “This is a real photo of me!” “Son,” Dad sighed, handing it back. “Last year, a guy showed up with a deepfake video claiming to be me. The technology was much more professional than your Photoshop skills. Go see Tristan. He handles this circus.” Jax stomped his foot in frustration. “Dad! How can you be so cruel?” Dad walked off without turning back. “Call me Mr. Sterling.” That evening, Grandma Eliza’s private jet landed at JFK. Jax had staked out the VIP exit all afternoon. “Grandma!” He dropped to his knees again, forehead touching the ground. “I’m your true grandson!” Grandma, fresh off a fourteen-hour flight, was still battling jet lag. She squinted at him. “Which number is this one?” The head of security, Mark, replied, “The fifty-seventh this year, ma’am.” Grandma nodded. “Did he make an appointment?” Jax stammered, “N-no, I didn’t…” “Unacceptable.” Grandma waved a hand. “Last year, a young man waited outside the terminal for three days before we squeezed him in. That’s the only exception we’ve made.” She had Mark help Jax to his feet, and then handed him a business card. “Here’s my grandson’s contact info. Schedule an appointment.” Jax looked down at the card. It read: Tristan Stone, Director of True Heir Vetting Projects, The Sterling Group. His face went green. The next day, Jax stormed into the Sterling compound. “I demand a DNA test!” He pounded his fist on the mahogany table. “Now! Right now! Immediately!” My parents exchanged a weary look. “Son,” Mom began, “it’s not that we don’t want to…” “You’re scared, aren’t you?” Jax sneered. “You’re afraid the test will prove I’m the real one!” Dad rubbed his temples. “We had our blood drawn thirty times last year. We’ve already done fifteen so far this year. My doctor says I’m borderline anemic.” Jax was momentarily speechless. I walked over, carrying a tray with three steaming mugs of tea. “There is another way, actually.” “What?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. “Hair or nail clippings,” I said, setting the tea down. “The technology is quite advanced now. Doesn’t necessarily require a blood draw.” Jax’s eyes lit up. “Then let’s do it right now!” I smiled. “We can. But you’ll still have to queue.” “Queue for what?” “My parents have a monthly quota for biometric samples. It’s full. We have over two hundred samples currently waiting in the lab. The earliest yours can be processed is next month.” Jax exploded. “Tristan Stone! You’re doing this on purpose!” I shrugged. “Just following procedure.” 2 Jax couldn’t wait. He spent twenty thousand dollars on a “fast-pass” from an appointment scalper. He was directed to the third floor, the “Keepsake Authentication Suite.” He walked in, puffing out his chest like a pigeon. “I have proof!” He pulled out half of a tarnished, heart-shaped locket. “The nurse gave me this when they swapped us! It’s one-of-a-kind!” The attendant, Mr. Lewis, took the locket and scanned the barcode on Jax’s appointment slip. “JXC37, Jax Coleman, Locket-Class Keepsake,” Mr. Lewis read out. “We currently have 287 registered Locket-Class items in the system.” Jax’s triumphant smile froze. “How many?” “Two hundred and eighty-seven,” Mr. Lewis confirmed, pulling up the data. “One hundred and forty-three half-pieces. One hundred and forty-four intact.” Jax sputtered. “That’s impossible!” Mr. Lewis gave a practiced, weary smile. “It started with the classic ‘two halves that fit together’ scenario. But it evolved. We’re now receiving quarter-pieces. We even offer a ‘Sterling Keepsake Fragment Puzzle’ service—ninety-eight dollars, free shipping.” Jax looked physically ill. I sent a voice note to the authentication suite, which played through the internal speaker: “Mr. Coleman, your locket is the ‘Standard Edition.’ Current market value is about four hundred dollars.” Jax whipped his head up, looking for the security camera. “Tristan! You set me up!” I replied with a laugh: “It’s called market research.” Jax refused to give up. “I have a birthmark!” He tore open his collar. “A butterfly shape on my left shoulder! Unique!” Mr. Lewis sighed and pulled up another database. “Out of the five hundred ‘heirs’ who have registered this year, one hundred and eight claim to have a butterfly-shaped birthmark.” Jax gaped. “One hundred and eight?” “One hundred and eight,” Mr. Lewis repeated, zooming in on the data. “Seventy-six on the left shoulder, thirty-two on the right.” Jax was frantic. “But mine is special! It has a unique pattern!” Mr. Lewis nodded patiently. “Yes. Claimants 43, 87, and 201 also said that.” He clicked through photos. “No. 43’s butterfly has spots. No. 87’s has stripes. No. 201’s is 3D-textured.” Jax’s lips trembled. “This… this can’t be happening…” I added the final blow via the speaker: “Mr. Coleman, you could always get a tattoo. Tattoos are now accepted as valid keepsakes.” Jax was so enraged he slammed his mug onto the floor, shattering it. “That’ll be two thousand eight hundred dollars,” Mr. Lewis said instantly, already writing an invoice. “Hand-painted Baccarat crystal.” Jax still wouldn’t admit defeat. “I look just like Mrs. Sterling when she was young!” He pointed at a framed photo on the wall. “Look at the resemblance!” Mr. Lewis let out a long-suffering sigh and turned on the projector. “Please observe this claimant.” The screen displayed a young man who looked not only like Mom but also like Dad—and even a little bit like Grandma. “We call him the ‘Family Portrait Composite,’” Mr. Lewis explained. “He won the ‘Most Sterling-Like Appearance’ award last year.” 3 Jax was quiet for three days. But I knew he was just plotting. Sure enough, he showed up at the Sterling Quarterly Gala. Midway through the evening, Jax let out a piercing scream. “My necklace is gone!” He covered his face, sobbing dramatically. “It was a gift from my adoptive mother!” The entire ballroom fell silent. All eyes were on him. Jax sniffled. “It was just here a moment ago…” His gaze swept the room, finally landing on me. “Mr. Stone,” he said, timidly. “Didn’t you just go to the restroom?” I raised an eyebrow. “I did.” “Then…” He hesitated, putting on a show of reluctance. “Could I please check your bag?” A murmur rippled through the guests. Mom frowned. “Young man, what exactly are you implying?” Jax’s tears came on cue. “Mom, I don’t mean anything by it! I just need to check…” I smiled. “Be my guest.” I handed him my leather messenger bag. “Take a look.” Jax took the bag and pretended to fumble through it. Then, “accidentally,” he flipped it upside down. Clatter— Keys, my phone, and a slim billfold tumbled out. And a glittering diamond necklace. “There it is!” Jax gasped, snatching it up. He looked at me, eyes brimming with false accusation. “Mr. Stone, why would you…” I cut him off. “Mr. Coleman, do you know why the Sterling Grand Ballroom has 128 multi-angle security cameras installed?” Jax blinked. “What?” I pulled out my phone and cast the security feed to the nearest display screen. The footage clearly showed Jax furtively creeping behind me and slipping the necklace into my open bag. “Over the last three years,” I scrolled through a private database, “forty-seven previous ‘heirs’ have used this exact maneuver.” Mr. Lewis, who happened to be tending the bar, called out, “That’s the 48th time. Could we get some new material, please?” I picked up the necklace. “Also,” I added, looking at the clasp. “I bought this last week. I still have the receipt.” I turned my attention back to Jax. “Do you have yours?” Jax’s face flushed a deep crimson. “The Sterling family treats its true son like this?” Grandma Eliza chuckled, a cold sound. “The last person who pulled that stunt is currently serving time for attempted grand larceny.” Jax bolted from the room. The next day, a major gossip site exploded with a headline: “Sterling Heir Caught in Midnight Rendezvous with Corporate Rival” The accompanying photo, taken from a high, distorted angle, showed me helping a woman into a car, making it look suspiciously like we were kissing. I checked the author of the post: A well-known gossip blogger. I clicked on the comment section. “Here we go again. Which number heir is responsible for this one?” “The last guy who tried to smear Tristan had to pay a five-million-dollar settlement. Deleting this post is my advice.” “Bro, the Sterling legal team moves faster than FedEx.” I took to my own professional social media account. “I want to thank Mr. Coleman for helping me generate buzz for my new High-Density Battery project. Also, congratulations on setting the record for the ‘Fastest Lawsuit Filed.’” The attached photo was a screenshot of the official indictment. Jax panicked and immediately deleted his posts and his burner accounts. On the third day, Jax somehow managed to get a visitor’s pass and infiltrated Sterling Tower. He walked into my office, carrying a porcelain mug of coffee. “Mr. Stone,” he said, head bowed low. “I apologize for yesterday’s incident…” I didn’t take the mug. “Just leave it on the desk.” He put it down but remained standing. “Something else?” I asked. He bit his lip. “Can you forgive me?” I smiled slightly. “You can go now.” He turned reluctantly to leave. I picked up the mug, took a perfunctory sniff, and pressed a discreet button on my desk. “Mr. Coleman is suspected of product tampering,” I said into the internal mic. “Security, please detain him.” Jax went ballistic. “You’re lying! You’re making this up!” I pointed to the mug. “Did you know that all Sterling executive drinkware is custom-made?” He stared blankly. “They have micro-sensors in the base,” I explained, showing him my phone screen. “They’re programmed to identify common pharmaceutical agents.” The screen displayed a notification: Laxative component detected. This is the 23rd detection this year. Jax’s face was chalk-white. “You… you’re hallucinating!” Security burst through the door. “You can’t arrest me!” he shrieked. I pulled out a thick stack of files. “We can,” I said. “This is the documentation for the eighty-nine individuals who have attempted to spike my drink over the past five years. Every single one is currently facing charges.” As the security guards hauled him away, he was still screaming, “Tristan Stone! You just wait! I’ll be back!” 4 Two weeks later, Jax, ever persistent, managed to secure an entry-level internship at the company. Within days, he was in the breakroom, spreading rumors. “Did you hear?” he whispered to a group of colleagues. “Tristan, the director of the battery division? He got the deal by sleeping his way to the top.” A colleague, Liam, looked up from his tablet. “Sleeping his way with what?” “With Mr. Zhao, the CEO of the rival firm!” Jax elbowed Liam conspiratorially. Liam laughed. “Are you not aware of Tristan’s track record? He won an International Programming Championship at fifteen, founded his first tech firm at eighteen. He’s closing multi-million dollar deals on his merit. He needs to sleep with people?” Jax choked. “Then why does he get all the big projects?” “Because he’s brilliant,” another colleague, Chloe, interjected. “He writes code that most of the company can’t even decipher.” Jax was stubborn. “You’ve all been fooled by him!” Liam threw his hands up. “Seriously, Chloe, which number is this guy?” Chloe counted on her fingers. “Seventeenth this year.” Jax was confused. “You don’t believe me?” Liam gave him a cold look. “I was claimant number thirty-eight last year.” He stood up and pointed a finger at Jax. “Tristan didn’t press charges. He actually gave me a job. He’s more benevolent than you deserve. Why do you think you can spread this nonsense and still walk free?” Jax went pale. The HR manager walked in. “Mr. Coleman, this is a formal warning. Another incident and you’re terminated.” Jax gritted his teeth. “By whose authority?” The manager held up her phone. “By the authority of this audio recording. Everything you just said was captured.” I smiled from the surveillance room. Jax really thought the Sterling breakroom was a secure place for gossip? My then-fiancée, Blair Ashford, came by the office to see me. Jax’s eyes lit up. He “accidentally” ran into her in the elevator. “Oh!” He faked a stumble and tried to fall into her arms. Blair immediately slammed the emergency stop button. “Security. Code 29 on the third floor. I have a trespasser.” Jax was stunned. “Ms. Ashford, I’m the new intern…” Blair’s voice was icy. “You are the 29th attempt this year. Try a new tactic.” Jax didn’t give up. He manufactured several other “chance encounters.” The breakroom, the hallway, the executive parking garage. Blair finally seemed to take the bait. “Mr. Coleman.” She cornered him in the stairwell. “Do you have too much free time?” Jax’s face flushed. “Ms. Ashford, I was just…” “Just what?” Blair’s eyes were predatory. “Trying to seduce me?” Jax bit his lip. “Tristan doesn’t deserve you…” Blair leaned in close to his ear. “And you do?” Just like the previous twenty-nine times, she semi-reluctantly allowed Jax to lead her away. I watched the surveillance feed and shook my head. Anyone who uses their body to plot corporate gain is a fool. (Though I wasn’t suggesting the one being lured wasn’t one either.) That evening, I called a private family meeting. “Mom, Dad,” I said. “I think the Ashford family is no longer a suitable match for an alliance.” Dad frowned. “What’s the issue?” I presented my tablet. “The Ashford Group’s financial reports have been doctored for the last three quarters.” Mom leaned in. “I noticed some inconsistencies.” “And,” I swiped the screen, “Ms. Ashford’s private investments are all money pits. She has no business sense. We can’t have her draining the family capital.” Dad’s face tightened. “How did you find this?” I smiled. “I have my channels.” Grandma Eliza settled the matter. “Then we switch. Tristan has never been wrong about a deal.” Mom hesitated. “But the engagement…” I showed them the latest security feed. “Ms. Ashford has been hit on by twenty-nine of the ‘heirs’ who’ve tried to replace me. She acts coy, but she’s never actually succeeded in turning any of them down.” Mom looked closer at the footage. “Unacceptable.” Grandma slammed her hand on the table. “A woman with no loyalty is a liability! We will not have her!” I nodded. “Phoebe Chad’s daughter, Phoebe Jr., is newly back from London. She has several cutting-edge tech projects.” Dad looked surprised. “How do you know about her?” I pulled up the data. “Last year, twelve of the previous ‘heirs’ tried to hit on her, too. Every single one was shot down instantly.” Mom’s eyes sparkled. “She sounds perfect!” Grandma gave the final word. “Done. We’re changing alliances.” As the meeting concluded, the butler rushed in, breathless. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling! Mr. Coleman is here! He has the DNA test results!” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? The results are in?” Jax burst through the door, waving the report above his head. “Dad! Mom!” His face was streaked with tears. “The results are back! I am your biological son!”

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In the rarefied world of luxury fragrance on the East Coast, there was an unwritten rule: no high-grade essential oils or ancient aromatic resins entered the country without the Beaumont family’s approval. Eight years ago, Camilla “Cami” Beaumont lost her sense of smell in a horrific car crash. The only scent she could register—the only one that anchored her—was the custom-blended Sustaining Scent I created. That unique power made me the Beaumont House consort, the trophy husband, the man tethered to her side. I was the one who was supposed to be the beating heart of her world. Then Blaine Maxwell arrived. The new male assistant had been with the company barely a month when I saw Cami’s eyes track him across the mahogany boardroom table. “He smells so… alive,” she’d murmured, her voice laced with a raw hunger I hadn’t heard in years. From that day on, she took him to galas and industry meetings I was expected to attend. The nights Cami spent away from our penthouse grew more and more frequent. Three months later, a pristine white envelope was left on our doorstep. Inside was Cami’s prenatal scan report. Blaine’s number flashed on my phone. He answered with a victorious, challenging laugh. “Trophy husband,” he drawled, the words designed to hit low. “My scent is natural. Cami says it’s got a pulse, a real person’s scent. Better than your manufactured dead perfume.” He didn’t hang up. Instead, he sent a video. Cami was lounging on a chaise, her eyes distant and cold. “If Grandmother Beaumont hadn’t forced me to swear on her deathbed that I wouldn’t divorce Caspian Thorne, do you think he’d have lasted a single week as the Beaumont Consort?” She let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Eight years of smelling that one, unchanging scent. It makes me sick to my stomach now.” I gripped the phone, my knuckles bone-white against the black glass. Cami didn’t know the truth. She died in that car crash eight years ago. The Camilla Beaumont who was walking, laughing, and getting pregnant relied entirely on the Soul Incense—a fragile, forbidden alchemy—to keep her fractured life force tethered to her body. Grandmother Beaumont had lost her gamble. It was time for me to walk away. 1 Grandmother Beaumont’s will stipulated that on the first day of every month, only I was permitted inside the family’s old Memorial Chamber. I worked quickly, competently, placing the fine ash of the Sustaining Scent into the small, ancient ritual vessel that held Cami’s residual life force. Before I could finish, I heard a clamor at the door. Blaine Maxwell burst in, his eyes suspiciously red and brimming with theatrical tears. He dropped to his knees in front of me. “Mr. Thorne, please. Have mercy on me and the baby,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “You can get divorced and remarry. You don’t have to cling to the title and pretend to be this child’s father.” I closed my eyes and continued my silent prayer for the Beaumont family’s ancestors. I knew this move. Every time he played the pathetic victim, Cami would arrive, ready for a fight. Sure enough, a furious shout erupted behind me. “Caspian Thorne! Blaine was right! You’re using your Consort status to abuse him, forcing him to grovel!” Cami’s face was dark, clouded with fury. “Who gave you the authority to throw your weight around in my family’s sanctuary?” I stared at the two security guards at the door, who looked away like startled quail. “Why didn’t you stop him? Are you all incompetent?” “Don’t you dare lecture my staff, Caspian.” Cami’s voice was sharp with rage. She strode over and gently helped Blaine to his feet. “Don’t be afraid of him, Blaine.” She tenderly wiped the manufactured tears from his cheek, treating him like a priceless, fragile heirloom. I pressed my lips together and turned away, trying to mask the tremor of rage in my hands. To cover my distress, I feigned calm and adjusted the ashes in the vessel. As I closed the lid, a hand slammed down, knocking the small box to the marble floor. The fine, silver-gray ash exploded upward, clouding my face and stinging my eyes. “All you ever do is fuss over this junk—this incense for the dead,” Cami spat. “The ashes, the scents, it all smells like a goddamn mausoleum.” Her gaze suddenly landed on the small, ancient oak plaque in the center of the chamber. Her eyes narrowed. She grabbed my throat, her grip instantly tightening. “How badly do you want me dead, Caspian? Why did you put my name on a tethering plaque in the family’s Memorial Chamber?” A bitter, humorless smile touched my lips. She had finally noticed. Eight years ago, Cami had survived the crash with her body mostly intact, but her psyche was shattered, her soul fragmented. Grandmother Beaumont, desperate, came to me—the last of the Thorne scent-alchemists—begging for a solution. I agreed on one condition: I would create the Sustaining Scent and use the ancient Thorne Plaque to tether her life force. The debt was mine, the secret was ours, and during the duration of the ‘Scent Bond,’ she could never be told the truth. So, when Cami demanded an answer, I said nothing. But Blaine, ever the opportunist, leaned forward, a look of faux contemplation on his face. “I… I heard of a kind of old-world occult magic. Where you tether a name to a marker to keep a spirit trapped…” He shook his head quickly, acting horrified. “No, no, that’s impossible. Mr. Thorne would never dabble in anything that dark. I must be wrong.” Cami didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the oak plaque and smashed it to the floor, stomping on the fragments. I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “Cami, stop! You’ll destroy yourself!” Without that anchored fragment of her soul, her time was terrifyingly limited. My panic only seemed to fuel her conviction. She sneered. “Stop the theatrics, Caspian. What will it take for you to give Blaine his rightful place as the Beaumont consort?” My throat was tight, choked with despair. I managed to force out one word. “Divorce.” Cami’s brows knitted together. She massaged the throbbing vein in her temple. “You know Grandmother’s Will prohibits it unless ninety percent of the family signs off. You’re asking for the impossible.” I twisted my mouth into a pained smile. “And aren’t you doing the impossible to me?” Cami fell silent, the rage briefly replaced by a flicker of confusion. Blaine immediately pointed to her slightly swollen belly, reminding her of the urgency. “Cami, our baby can’t wait. Why don’t we talk to the elders tonight? Maybe they’ll finally agree.” After a moment of thought, Cami pulled out her phone and had the house manager summon all the senior Beaumont family members to the old estate. Half an hour later, Cami stood holding Blaine close, announcing to the gathered assembly, “I want to divorce Caspian Thorne.” 2 The conference room fell into a sudden, icy silence. Uncle Robert, the eldest patriarch, slammed his hand onto the table, splashing his Earl Grey tea. “Absolutely not! Over my dead body, Camilla.” A chorus of agreement followed. “He’s right, Cami. You’re not getting any younger. What kind of snake oil has this boy been feeding you? You’d throw Caspian away?” they muttered, shaking their heads in disappointment before filing out. Cami was vibrating with fury. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “What did you promise them? What kind of blackmail do you have on them to make them support you like this?” Blaine, his face crumpled with fake sadness, sighed dramatically. “If Mr. Thorne won’t agree, let’s just drop it, Cami. The baby can always just take his last name.” Cami pulled him into a fierce embrace, promising, “I will fix this, Blaine. I promise you.” I lowered my eyes to hide the devastating loneliness churning inside me and walked straight upstairs. My covenant with Grandmother Beaumont was simple: as long as I was the Consort, Cami’s physical safety was my paramount responsibility. With the Plaque destroyed and her soul-fragment scattered, I had to create an even more potent Soul Incense just to keep her body alive. I pulled out the sealed Thorne Family Grimoire—the book of formulas my father left me—and worked for three days straight. I found a way, a desperate, final solution, requiring a single, harrowing catalyst: my own heart’s blood. When the three-inch needle pierced the skin just above my heart, I didn’t cry. But when I looked at the bowl containing the precious, nearly-congealed paste, I sank to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Cami had promised me she was only using Blaine to try and recover her sense of smell. She swore he was merely a tool, and that I was the one she truly loved. I had been the fool, buying the lie and becoming the industry’s joke. Lost in the crushing memory, I didn’t notice the sharp, burnt smell emanating from the ceramic dish until it was too late. “Need a hand, Cas?” Blaine had appeared silently behind me. Quick as a snake, he grabbed the jade mortar and began mixing the paste rapidly. My eyes widened in terror. “Give that back!” He sidestepped my outstretched hand, a glint of perverse pleasure in his eyes. Crash. The mortar slipped, shattering into a million white fragments on the floor. “What did you do?” Rage, primal and suffocating, burst from my chest. Cami, hearing the commotion, rushed in. Her immediate concern was for Blaine. “What happened here?” “I just wanted to help Cas, but I accidentally broke his dish. I even cut my finger.” He showed her the microscopic scratch on his thumb. Cami’s face was instantly flooded with concern. She turned on me, her voice a roar. “Caspian Thorne, what in God’s name is the matter with you?” She stopped short, her eyes landing on the scattered pieces of jade. An uncharacteristic flicker of guilt crossed her face. My shoulders shook, and I choked on the lump in my throat. “You know… you know that was my father’s.” Cami looked away. “It was an accident, Blaine didn’t mean it. Besides, your father left you so much. What does one dish matter?” Her blatant favoritism was a physical punch to the gut. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “Would you be so generous,” I whispered, “if he had smashed your mother’s last possession?” The question hadn’t even finished leaving my mouth when a stinging slap connected with my cheek. My right eye immediately swelled. Cami was breathing hard, her eyes blazing with hatred and disgust. “Don’t you dare bring my mother into this! If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive!” Five years ago, Grandmother Beaumont had a massive heart attack. The staff had the day off, and I was away on an emergency trip. I had promised Cami before we married that I would always look after her family. I broke that promise. It was the poison that had slowly killed our marriage. Seeing Cami on his side, Blaine grew emboldened. “Caspian, Cami is the heir. How dare you publicly challenge her like this?” He turned to the guards. “For a lesson, smash every single one of his things! Do it!” The security team immediately began following his orders. Glass vials, delicate measuring cylinders, and precious copper vessels were all smashed against the tile floor. I was shaking, a silent scream caught in my throat. I lunged forward, but Cami pinned my arms behind my back. “Regret it now, don’t you? Where was this passion five minutes ago?” My instruments—my inheritance, passed down through generations—were being destroyed. It felt like watching my family die again. But Blaine wasn’t finished. He held up my father’s Grimoire, the leather-bound book that held centuries of Thorne knowledge. I fell to my knees, pleading, tears streaming down my face. “No. Please. Don’t.” It was the last piece of him I had left. Blaine raised an eyebrow, a triumphant smirk on his face, and tossed the book into the massive stone fireplace. In that instant, as the flames licked the ancient leather, I wrenched free of Cami’s grip and dove headfirst into the fireplace. “Caspian, are you insane!” Cami shouted, a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes. It only vanished when I stumbled back out, coughing and scorched. My hands were covered in massive blisters, but I clutched the remaining, charred pages of the Grimoire to my chest, sobbing until my ribs ached. Blaine, pleased with the spectacular result of my breakdown, swaggered off to the master bedroom. Cami threw a tube of burn cream at me. Her fingers twitched, as if she wanted to touch me, but I turned my head away, my jaw locked. “You are impossible!” Cami muttered, her face hardened again. She spun and stalked off. I stayed huddled in the corner, clutching the sacred, burnt pages, staring blankly at the ceiling. Then, my phone rang. “Caspian,” a familiar voice purred. “Interested in making a deal?” 3 The voice belonged to Blair Ashworth, Cami’s fiercest business rival. “Yes,” I said, nodding even though she couldn’t see me. “But you have to do something for me first.” Cami’s cruelty had been absolute. I had nothing left to lose. Blair agreed without hesitation. I buried my head in my arms, allowing myself one last moment of grief before I began my final campaign. A while later, my face wiped clean of tears and my expression a mask of indifference, I knocked on the master suite door. The muffled laughter inside immediately stopped. Cami opened the door, her silk robe slightly askew. “What do you want?” I handed her the remaining jar of the precious, thick paste. I spoke in a dead, flat tone. “I won’t be making Scent anymore. This is the last batch…” Before I could finish, Blaine snatched the jar from my hand. He held it up, a triumphant look on his face. “It’s this stuff. I had a little bit of the residue tested last week. It contains a chronic toxin. It’s highly addictive and leads to systemic collapse and eventual death.” Cami’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure fury. She slapped the tray from my hand, sending the last of the Sustaining Scentsplattering onto the carpet. I watched the precious balm absorb into the wool, my expression unchanged. I had expected this. Her shoe ground the paste into powder. “I knew it! I’ve been feeling so light-headed without your perfume lately. It was withdrawal! Caspian Thorne, you have a truly vile heart!” She grabbed my throat again, her eyes bulging. She was waiting for me to beg. I refused. Without the Sustaining Scent, Cami had less than a month to live. I didn’t say it. She wouldn’t have believed me anyway. I was done explaining. Seeing my lack of reaction, Cami’s grip tightened, but she was suddenly distracted by a sharp, aggressive bark. Winston, our elderly Golden Retriever, stood with his tail high, baring his teeth at Cami. “The disloyal brute,” Cami snarled, kicking out at him. Winston easily dodged her. We had gotten Winston when we first married. Cami never had time for him; I had raised him. He was fiercely loyal to me. I gasped for air and gently stroked the top of his head, signaling for him to go out to the garden. I returned to my room and began packing. One carry-on suitcase. It was all I needed. A knock. Blaine stood there, looking remorseful. He slipped his arm around mine, far too familiar. “Cas, I was a total jerk this afternoon. I apologize, okay? I made a feast to make it up to you.” He pulled me into the dining room and seated me at the table. The meal was spectacular, and the aroma was genuinely tempting. But when I looked at the shimmering, perfectly cooked meat on the platter, a strange sense of unease settled in my gut. Seeing I wasn’t eating, Blaine smiled thinly and placed a piece of meat on my plate. “Go on, Cas. Eat.” When I still hesitated, Blaine looked to Cami. She cleared her throat. “If you eat this meal, I promise I will move out with Blaine immediately. We won’t bother you again.” At her final word, I took a small bite. The moment the meat touched my tongue, Blaine slammed his hands on the table and let out a manic, cackling laugh. “Caspian, doesn’t that taste familiar? That’s your sweet little Winston!” Staring at his gloating, triumphant face, a wave of nauseating horror washed over me. Gag. Puke. I vomited violently, the food mixing with bitter bile. Ignoring the mess, I sprinted outside to the garden. Winston wasn’t there. Instead, I saw a bloody pile of fur and muscle near the stone fountain. Two bodyguards were calmly washing the dog’s skin. “The Madam really spoils the Young Master,” one chuckled. “He wanted Winston’s fur for a rug, and she just had the dog killed. Wonder what Mr. Thorne will do.” “Who cares? He’s yesterday’s news. The future is the Young Master.” Tears streamed down my face, hot and agonizing. I raced back inside and slapped Blaine across the face with all the remaining strength I had. “You sick psychopath!” Cami fiercely shoved me away. “It was just a joke, Caspian! You don’t need to be so dramatic about a dog that was going to die soon anyway. I’ll buy you a new one!” My forehead cracked against the corner of the dining table. Blood streamed down my face. I glared at her, trembling with venomous hatred. A look of genuine distress crossed Cami’s features. She started to reach for me, but Blaine immediately shouted, pointing down. “Cami! Look! You’re bleeding! The baby! That bastard Caspian must have caused this!” He was a master of his craft. I was the one who was bleeding and broken, yet he somehow made himself the victim. Cami felt a sharp cramp. She immediately forgot me and rushed off to the hospital, not forgetting to leave one last warning: “If anything happens to my baby, I swear I will make you pay!” 4 By the time Cami returned from the hospital with Blaine, the old estate was packed with every senior member of the Beaumont family. Her eyes were murderous when they landed on me. She spat out the words. “Caspian Thorne, what fresh hell are you trying to cause now? Did you call them here to defend you?” I was given the blame before I had a chance to speak. Uncle Robert stood up, looking at Cami with an expression of profound disappointment. “Camilla, we came on our own accord. We have conferred, and we agree: We approve your divorce from Caspian.”

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I squatted outside the hospital doors, finishing the last bite of a day-old flatbread, before finally dialing my granddaughter’s number. She was the golden ticket out of Red Rock County, the only one who’d flown out the second she got her college acceptance and never looked back. The only letter she’d sent informed me she was cutting ties, but she would wire my support payment every year. The line clicked open. I had meant to tell her I was sick, that soon I’d forget who she was—a joke to finally give her some peace. But the words caught in my throat, twisting into the familiar, bitter demand: “…Ella, when are you going to send this month’s money?” A cold laugh hissed from the other end. “Getting soft in the head, old man? I wired it at the beginning of the month, just like always. What is it, not enough for the coffin fund yet?” I leaned against the hospital flower bed, a thin stream of saliva running down the corner of my mouth. Ella was a success, all right. Our county’s finest. She even knew I needed a coffin. … Ella’s grown-up voice was nothing like the little girl’s. Squatting there, I suddenly remembered walking her to the village school when she was six. She’d clung to my legs, shaking, her tiny voice choked with sobs: “Grandpa, I… I’m scared…” Her voice had been soft, just like her mother’s, sweet and sticky like slow-dripping molasses. Now, this voice. It was cold. It was hard. If she pitched it right, it could probably leave a bruise. I peeled my lips back, letting the drool slide down my chin. Yeah. This was the voice of a phoenix that had flown out of the dust. Crisp. Efficient. Unapologetic. I swallowed. A strange surge of pride made my throat ache. “Ella, your voice… it changed.” There was a brief pause on the line. When she spoke again, the tone was the same, perhaps even colder. “Let’s stick to business. The money is there. Just check your balance and don’t call me again.” I mumbled, “Oh.” I wanted to say something else. Tell her about the awful noise from Cal, the County Official’s new motorcycle, or how the wild magnolias on the back hill were late blooming this year, or how my mind was getting foggier by the day, how after over a decade, I could barely remember her face. But the words died before they reached my lips. It wouldn’t be right to tell Ella any of that. “Alright then. That’s that.” I tried to mimic her clipped tone, making an abrupt end to the call. The dial tone buzzed in my ear as I slowly pushed myself up. My legs were asleep, and I stumbled. Cal, the County Official, who’d driven me here, caught my arm. He sighed. “Hank, why didn’t you tell her anything?” He pulled out his own phone. “Let me call her back. Just tell her about the sickness. Someone needs to know, Uncle Hank.” I slapped his hand away, my voice booming with a strength I no longer had. “Tell her what? The city doctors say this damn thing is a losing battle! Why bring her back here?” The wind kicked up, bringing the scent of hospital sanitizer and old fryer grease from a nearby food cart into my face. I sniffled, suddenly remembering making flapjacks for Ella when she was small. She’d always complain about too much onion, pouting and refusing to eat it. Now, I wondered if Ella still ate grease-soaked flatbread. Cal steadied me, a look of exasperated pity on his face. “Uncle Hank, your temper… no wonder my mother says you were stubborn as a mule when you were young.” I grunted. “Your mother’s right. Only the stubborn and the hard survive in this county.” Cal fell silent, pulling out a crumpled cigarette. “But you’re sick, you can’t just—” “Can’t just what?” I cut him off, straightening my back. “My Ella is a respectable woman now. She sits in an office with air conditioning. Why would I drag her back to this?” A siren wailed in the distance, a long, mournful sound that twisted my insides. “This county raises people, and it eats people. Her mama was the chewed-up husk left behind. Ella finally… finally flew away, her feathers clean and shining. What happens to me is my business. It has nothing to do with her.” “Come on. Let’s go back to the shack.” “My old place is still standing. When the time comes that I can’t move…” I didn’t finish the thought. When that time came, I’d take care of myself, clean and simple. That was the best way. The phoenix can fly as far as she wants, but she must never look back at this dirty, hard, thorny lump of earth. She had to stay clean and keep flying forward. She couldn’t end up like her mother, Violet. When I was seventeen, my parents arranged for me to take a bride, June, from a neighboring settlement. My folks made the call, and I had no say. The men in this part of the county were, mostly, awful. When I saw June arrive—her eyes full of fear and tears—I knew I couldn’t treat her like the other men treated their wives. I treated her like a person. I was good to her, believing life would eventually get better. A year later, we had a daughter, Violet. My Violet was a good girl from birth. I swore then that my Violet would not go down the same road as her mama. I didn’t know much, but I knew an education was the only way out. So I worked myself to death to keep her in school. She was smart, always at the top of her class. Her teacher said she could be the first girl in the county to go to a major university. I thought books could take her away, to a place I couldn’t see but knew was good. But when Violet was seventeen, on her walk home from school, she was cornered on the dirt path behind the hill by Roy, a trashy local who couldn’t get a decent wife. When I got the news, I grabbed my machete and ran to his place. My Violet, she was always so gentle and compliant. How could she have fought him off? But my own father grabbed me, wrestled me to the ground, and after a long silence, spat out a single sentence. “You’re bringing shame on us. If this gets out, how will our family ever show its face in this county again?” He told Violet she had to marry Roy. I went insane, lunging to kill that animal, but my father and my brothers pinned me down. My mother stood nearby, weeping, and June was nearly fainting from shock and grief. But in the end, my mother was the one who cried as she pleaded with me: “Let it go, son, let it go… Our girl is ruined now. If she marries him, at least she’ll have a roof over her head. It’s better than everyone pointing and whispering.” June looked at me, her eyes hollow with despair, her lips trembling, unable to speak. They had been worn down by this damn world, believing that a woman’s reputation was worth more than her life. But I didn’t agree! My father tied me up, strung me from the rafters, and whipped me with a belt. I cried and screamed, begging him to let Violet go, to send her away, anywhere. He didn’t listen. Violet stood nearby, utterly bloodless, her eyes empty. When they finally cut me down, she walked over, knelt by my side, and gently touched the wounds on my face. Then she said: “Daddy, stop fighting. I’ll marry him.” I’ll marry him. Those three words nailed me, and my Violet, to the coffin. Less than a year later, Violet was gone. She died giving birth. That day, it seemed like everyone in the county came by. They stood in my yard, cracking sunflower seeds and spitting. One said Violet had a low-born spirit, always trying to be some big scholar; she was cursed and it killed her. Another said a woman with no talent is virtuous, that she should have just married when she was supposed to, and that trying to get an education meant she deserved what happened to her on the way home. Later, I took a knife and went to that man, Roy. I gave him every last penny I had to take Violet’s daughter back. He despised Violet’s baby because it was a girl; he wanted to sell her off. But I didn’t care. She looked so much like Violet! Just one look at her, and my heart turned to bitter, burning ash. The baby didn’t cry or fuss. She just stared at the world that had swallowed her mother, her eyes wide and dark. I sat with her on the old plank bed where Violet used to sleep. My only thought was that I couldn’t let her become a second Violet. That thought burned like wildfire, drying up my tears and hardening my bones. I became the most fearsome mule-headed old man in the county, guarding her fiercely. The truck stopped at the edge of the county. Cal helped me out. “Uncle Hank, we’re home.” Home? I looked up at the familiar, yet alien, county, at the silent old oak tree by the road. This was never a home. It was a graveyard. It buried June, it buried my Violet, and it damn near buried Ella. Ella, like her mother, had a soft disposition from birth. And that was my biggest fear. It kept me awake all night, every night. I was terrified she was too pretty, that she would attract the wrong kind of attention, that she would be like her mother—swallowed whole, skin and bone, by this hungry place. I raised her in constant terror, never letting her out of my sight. But then one day, she was coming home from school. A group of men loafing by the county entrance gathered to mock her. “Well, lookie here, Ella’s growing up into a big girl.” “Yeah, couple more years and she’ll be ready for marrying.” Ella stood there, helpless, her face flaming red, unable to squeeze out a single word. The men laughed harder. One of them actually pushed his simple-minded, drooling son, who was squatting by his feet, toward Ella. “Ella, why don’t you be my boy’s wife? You give us a grandkid, and Uncle will treat you like a daughter.” I stood around the corner, watching her silently. Her lips trembled. Her body shook. But she couldn’t even utter a clear “No.” She couldn’t even find the strength to push away that dirty, grinning idiot who was rubbing against her. A surge of pure evil rage shot from my soles to the top of my head. I charged out, grabbed a porch stool, and slammed it down on those loose-lipped bastards. Ella screamed, her voice shaking, “Grandpa!” “You crazy old fool, Hank!” “You’re so old you’ll kick the bucket any day now! I was just offering to take Ella in so she’d be protected! I was helpingyou!” That last line made my heart clench. Yes, I was old. I might not be around to protect Ella. And then, she would surely go the same way her mother did. I looked at Ella, who was crying so silently you could barely hear her. At that moment, I made a decision. She had to learn to be covered in thorns, to protect herself. I was too old. I was running out of time. That evening after dinner, I held her down and hacked off her hair into a choppy mess. I stuffed all her little dresses into the stove. She cried hysterically, but she only shrank into herself, just calling “Grandpa” over and over. I refused to give her a moment’s tenderness. She started working harder around the house, trying to appease me. She’d sneak glances at me, her eyes void of resentment, filled only with an almost primal dependence and submission. But the more she tried to please me, the more timid she became, and the more hateful things I spat at her. I wanted to see her leap up—to point her finger and curse me, even to throw something at me. Anger was life; it was a shield. What terrified me was her gentle, compliant nature. In this poor, hungry place, that was a weakness that would get her eaten alive. I began to escalate my methods. I brought home a large, black dog from the next county over. Ella had been afraid of dogs since she was small. She backed against the wall, pale-faced, looking at me with pleading eyes. I released the leash without a word. The black dog snarled and lunged toward her. Ella’s scream caught in her throat. She kept calling for Grandpa to save her. I stood in the doorway, my hand resting on the rough wooden frame, my nails digging in until they hurt. Ella finally choked on her screams. She looked at me one last time, then abruptly squeezed her eyes shut. Her hand scrabbled along the wall until she found the heavy wooden plank we used as a carrying pole. She swung it with all her might at the dog’s head. In that instant, my body went slack, and the broken nails on my fingers stung. Ella slowly opened her eyes and looked at me again. But this time, I knew something in her eyes had changed. Ella’s need to please was gone, replaced by a cold silence and avoidance. The stone in my own heart finally settled. She no longer needed my lessons. She was hardening. I caught her once. That worthless local from the next county was whistling at Ella while she hung laundry. The fury flared up in my chest instantly. I grabbed the plank by the wall, ready to rush out. But Ella was faster. She picked up the empty wooden basin at her feet and slammed it hard into the man’s side. The sputter of the motorcycle engine stalled for a moment, then revved up in annoyance, and the man sped away, weaving down the road. I stood there, the plank raised, frozen. Ella went inside, expressionless. She hadn’t said a word. But I saw it: the ice in her eyes. Tears welled in my own eyes at that moment. But I was also strangely elated. Even without me, my Ella could protect herself. Ella went to high school, smart as her mother. Her teachers said if she kept up her grades, she was guaranteed a university spot. A new round of gossip started in the county. The same things they’d said about Violet. They said Ella was cursed, that she was aiming too high, and would likely fall to her death like her mother. That day, I went door-to-door with my machete, leaving a slash mark on the doors of a dozen houses. Finally, I stood at the county entrance, my throat hoarse as I yelled: “The way my Violet died—everyone in this county knows the truth! Some of your tongues tasted my daughter’s blood back then, and now you want to lick my granddaughter clean?” “I’m telling you! Half my body is already in the dirt! If any of you so much as think about messing with Ella, I will wipe out your whole damn family! Try me!” The county went silent. But the next day, I went to the little town where Ella went to school. I found a job washing dishes. I had to be closer to her. Every night, in the deep dark, I’d curl up on a makeshift bed of benches and slowly, painstakingly, count the money I’d earned. Ella would need even more money when she went to the big city. Ella was a quick study. Her grades were stellar. She was braver now. I kept wishing for the day she would fly far, far away. But then, Ella’s teacher contacted me through Cal.

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I flew all the way to Newport on Christmas Eve, determined to give my boyfriend a surprise. I was expecting to find Carter buried in a project at his studio, but his apartment was filled with laughter and shouting. Peeking through a sliver in the blinds, I saw him and a girl surrounded by a dozen of his friends. The girl had lost a game, chosen ‘Truth,’ and was being playfully grilled about her romantic past. Carter Maxwell leaned in, casually placing a hand on her shoulder. “My house, my rules,” he said, his voice easy. “I’ll trade a story about Autumn Clarke for this one. Deal?” The hand I was about to raise to knock on the door froze mid-air. His light, airy voice cut through the glass, clear as a bell, and lodged itself in my ear. “She was assaulted in high school. Followed home and…” … 1 A loud, ringing buzz filled my ears. The room’s atmosphere, however, instantly ignited. “Whoa, dark!” “I thought people with that kind of history were super quiet and guarded? Autumn is always dressed to the nines and seems perfectly outgoing. Doesn’t fit the profile.” Someone else nudged Carter, a knowing smirk on their face. “Maybe she just has a thick skin. Didn’t you say she wears that ‘siren scent’ perfume? Gotta keep the guys interested.” “If it were someone sweet and quiet like Holly, she probably wouldn’t have handled it.” Holly. Holly Jennings. I recognized the name. She was Carter’s assistant. He mentioned her often on our calls, always in passing. Out of respect for his work, I never pressed. At the mention of her name, Holly spoke up in a soft, small voice. “Don’t say that. Autumn might just have a resilient spirit.” “Holly, you’re too kind. Not everyone is as simple and innocent as you are. Some people have complicated pasts and deep baggage.” “Right, Carter?” Carter took a sip of the amber-colored whiskey in his glass, neither confirming nor denying. A tide of whispered commentary rushed in. The hand clutching the handle of my rolling suitcase began to shake uncontrollably. Carter had introduced me to this group before. Back then, they’d crowded around me, calling me ‘the future Mrs. Maxwell.’ Now, they were dissecting my past with the maximum amount of malice, treating my trauma as entertainment. “Alright, that’s enough.” I saw Carter knit his brows, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. Pathetically, even though my heart was already turning to ice, a faint, desperate spark of hope ignited within me. I hoped he would shut them down, tell them that I wasn’t the damaged goods they were painting me to be. The next second, that hope shattered into shards. “She’s still technically my fiancée. I don’t need this trash talk making me look bad. All this stays in this room.” It wasn’t a defense of me; it was about preserving his own image. “After all that… are you seriously still going to marry her?” Holly pressed closer to Carter, giving his chest a playful but possessive thump. “Then what does that make me? I refuse to be the other woman.” “If you don’t give me a solid answer soon, we’re done.” “No way!” Carter visibly panicked, his fingers tightening around his glass. He had never looked so distraught, so unsettled, because of me. “Someone with that kind of baggage… why should I be the one to clean it up?” “If my folks weren’t so hung up on this ‘take care of Autumn’ garbage, I would have broken things off a long time ago.” As he spoke, a look of cold contempt, almost disgust, involuntarily surfaced on his face. I couldn’t breathe. My arm dropped uselessly to my side. He loathed me. If that was true, why the endless charade? Was the kindness and tolerance he’d shown me for years, the entire history between us, nothing but a fantasy? “I’ll go home right after the holidays and set things straight.” Carter turned and kissed Holly on the cheek, his voice intimate and tender. “Then, I’ll formally introduce you to my family.” A roar of celebration filled the room. Everyone raised their glasses. “A toast to the future Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell!” Inside, it was warm and loud. Outside, I stood in the dead of winter. I don’t know how long I stood there, numb. When my vision finally cleared, my fingers were frozen. I deliberately typed out a message on my phone screen: It’s over. A soft chime sounded in the apartment. Carter picked up his phone, glanced at the notification, and recorded a short voice message: “Mom, I have an overseas client meeting, I really can’t make it home tonight.” “Yes, I’ll let you know the flight details once I book them.” He put the phone down, ignoring the text. It took me a few slow, painful seconds to realize—I wasn’t just not his ‘Starred’ contact; I had been set to ‘Do Not Disturb.’ Living long-distance, he often took a full day to reply to my texts. I always excused it—new business, busy, tired. I never imagined he was just too bored to deal with me. Tears rolled down silently, hitting the cold screen. Unwilling to let it go, I dialed his number. This time, Carter looked at the caller ID. Then, he hit the silent button and tossed the phone onto the sofa cushion. He nonchalantly tore the cellophane off a new deck of cards and started dealing them out. “Who was that?” “Autumn, who else? Calls every three days. It’s annoying.” Someone laughed. “Why not just hang up?” Carter expertly shuffled the deck, his tone utterly dismissive. “If I hang up, she’ll just text nonstop. I’ll let it ring out and tell her I was busy and didn’t hear it.” “Classic Carter. You’ve got her wrapped around your little finger.” I couldn’t listen anymore. I stumbled away, turning my back on the apartment. It was Christmas Eve, and the streets were lit up, crowded with happy people. I dragged my suitcase aimlessly, a lost specter in the cheer. A young couple walked by, laden with shopping bags, sharing one long, cozy scarf. The girl murmured, “Can we really pull off Christmas dinner, just the two of us?” The guy ruffled her hair. “If not, we’ll order takeout. What matters is we’re together. Everything is perfect as long as you’re here.” That was the picture I had drawn for myself when I boarded the plane. I couldn’t fathom it. Why would Carter treat me like this? Not long ago, we were fine. I was twenty-seven, and we had known each other for over two decades. At five, before starting preschool, he grabbed my hand and declared, “Autumn, you’re my future wife. You only get to play with me.” In middle school, before the awkwardness of dating hit, he’d find a reason to sit by my desk after every class, completely unbothered by the inevitable teasing. When he was sixteen, facing academic pressure, covered in stress hives, he’d sunk into a spiral of doubt. “Autumn, am I a write-off?” I took his hand and told him the one secret I had buried deep inside me. “I thought my world had ended back then, too.” “But once you get through it, you realize there’s nothing you can’t overcome. You have to fight this.” The shock and immediate, agonizing pity in his eyes, followed by the way he sobbed and held me tight—it was still vivid in my mind. On my twentieth birthday, the second the clock struck midnight, he confessed his love. “Autumn, I will always take care of you.” We were in college in the same city, separated by an hour-long subway ride. Every week, he made the arduous round trip just to see me, share a meal, or sit quietly with me at the library. After graduation, he stayed in Newport to launch his startup. I moved back to our hometown, Crestview, for a stable job. This year, our families had begun discussing wedding details. I had quit my job before the holidays, ready to move to Newport and end the long-distance relationship after the new year. Now, everything was hollow. Carter had a new girlfriend he planned to introduce to his family. He was annoyed by me. He had turned the secret I shared with him—my deepest, most painful vulnerability—into fodder for casual gossip. As the night deepened, the streets grew sparse. I checked into a cheap motel nearby. Just as I finished unpacking, my phone screen lit up. It was my mother. “Autumn, have you had dinner? We have so much food here!” A photo of the family dinner followed. Relatives crowded around the table, beaming. The chill seeping in from the motel window’s crack sent a shiver down my spine. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing a cheerful reply: “Just eating now, Mom. The food is great! Don’t worry about me.” I couldn’t bear to tell them the truth and cause them pain. I found a random photo of a lavish dinner online and sent it back. Then, compelled by a cold dread, I opened the chat with Carter. Still silence. Late into the night, the faint crackle of fireworks—early New Year celebrations—kept me awake. Torturing myself, I scrolled through Carter’s social media, searching for any hint of his infidelity. He was careful, protecting her identity fiercely. Finally, in the corner of a team dinner photo, I spotted a distinctive social media handle on Holly Jennings’ phone. A unique nickname. A sudden, sharp thought made me search the name across all platforms. Among the results, I instantly recognized her. Her profile picture was a sickeningly familiar sight—it was the other half of the ‘couple’s avatar’ Carter and I had used briefly. When he had first changed his, I happily found the match and set mine. He immediately frowned, saying he picked the photo randomly and didn’t want to be “too high-school.” He’d half-jokingly, half-insistently made me change it. Holly’s account had few followers, but hundreds of posts diligently documented her relationship with Carter. The trail began last March. “My boss is pushing himself too hard! He’s in the office with a stomach ulcer, I bought him medicine, and his eyes were red. Sigh, I don’t know how his fiancée can be so neglectful.” At that time, Carter’s mother was hospitalized with a recurring back issue. To let him focus on his crucial new project, we hid the news. I took an extended leave to care for his mother until she recovered, missing out on a promotion to department head. “To take me on a relaxing trip to the coast, BOSS canceled several meetings and a business trip. It feels amazing to be his favorite.” That day was our seven-year anniversary and my birthday. I had pulled an all-nighter finishing a report, hoping to squeeze in a few days of vacation with him. He told me he had a critical client he couldn’t push off. “BOSS gave me a bracelet! The braided wrist strap on it was kinda ugly, so I’ll leave that part to him.” I froze, looking down at my own wrist. I was wearing an identical braided wrist strap, the small, seemingly insignificant birthday gift Carter had belatedly given me. I had cherished it, careful not to let it fray. It took me an hour to read every post on Holly’s account. My heart was cold and still. The photos cleverly avoided Carter’s face, but the familiar cuff of his shirt, the matching band on his finger—identical to the one I was wearing—all confirmed his identity. Carter Maxwell had been cheating on me for a long, long time. A cluster of premature fireworks burst outside. Jolted out of my stupor, I violently ripped the braided strap from my wrist and tossed it into the trash can. Ding. Holly updated her status. This time, it was an audio recording. I pressed play and heard her small, teasing question: “Carter, who do you love more? Me or… your placeholder?” “Mmm?” Carter’s voice, languid and rough with affection, was like warm velvet. “You, of course. How could she compare to you?” “Be a good girl, just hold on for a little longer…” The sound of rustling fabric and low, knowing laughter followed, leaving nothing to the imagination. I slammed the phone shut and stumbled into the bathroom, dry heaving. Looking up, I saw my reflection, face streaked with tears. I immediately booked the earliest flight home. I needed to escape this city, escape everything connected to him. I don’t remember the journey home. The next conscious thought I had was two days later. Seeing my dazed, distant state, my parents refrained from questioning me, simply trying to cheer me up with small things. That morning, my mother quietly asked me, “The Maxwells invited us over for dinner. Do you want to go?” I looked at my phone. Carter had only just replied to my text from Christmas Eve. One message was unsent. The latest was a single word: Fine. I agreed. Some things needed to be finished face-to-face. There were neighbors gathered outside Carter’s house. When they saw me, their expressions were a complicated mix of pity and curiosity. My heart sank. As I stepped into the living room, I saw Carter kneeling in the center. Holly stood beside him, wringing her hands, looking distraught. The timing suggested he had rushed back and brought her here the moment he saw my message. Inside, Mrs. Maxwell’s face was red with fury, her hand slamming the coffee table. “You absolute scoundrel! How could you do this to Autumn?” Though Carter looked disheveled, his expression was defiant. “I’ll explain everything to her. I don’t love her anymore. Holly is the one I belong with.” My heart felt like an invisible fist was violently squeezing it. Hearing it spoken aloud was still a sharp, unbearable pain. Mrs. Maxwell laughed, the sound brittle and heartbroken. “Then tell me, what is so special about her that you can throw away eight years with Autumn?” Carter finally found his vent, his face lighting up. “She cooks for me. She helps organize my chaotic blueprints. When the company was facing a funding crisis, she stayed up all night with me, going through the data, getting us through it.” “Autumn just stayed in Crestview, didn’t bother to check on me, didn’t even know I had stomach issues.” “If that’s the case, why should I continue this relationship?” His words were loud, righteous, and self-justifying. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as his parents. Low whispers rippled through the onlookers. “Well, the Clarke girl was a bit neglectful, wasn’t she? Relationships are about support.” I stopped in my tracks, my throat dry and bitter. The irony was suffocating. No one knew I had planned to stay in Newport. I had a path there, a career I loved. But Carter was determined to start his business, and his parents were anxious. They were getting older and wanted their children close. To support his dream, I gave up the city and the career I wanted. I took a secure job in Crestview, looked after his parents, and ran errands for them. During the toughest periods of his startup, I sent him most of my paycheck, living frugally myself. Any small crisis at their house, any doctor’s appointments—I was there. Now, he claimed he needed someone who was simply closer and more attentive. My fingernails dug unconsciously into my palms, the sting a tiny anchor in the storm. Seeing me, Mrs. Maxwell rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Autumn, I am so sorry. Carter is confused, he’s lost his way, I promise I will—” Carter raised his voice, cutting her off. “Autumn Clarke! You were the one who broke up with me! Just tell my parents the truth!” “Tell them Holly isn’t the other woman!” Mr. Maxwell lost it, kicking Carter hard. “You bastard!” “Get that woman out of my house and apologize to Autumn! Otherwise, don’t you dare step foot in here again!” Carter crumpled on the floor, struggling to get up. Holly cried out and hurried to help him. She looked up, her expression hardening with resolve. “Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, you can’t force affection. Carter doesn’t have feelings for Autumn anymore.” Then, her eyes flickered over me quickly. My heart seized. I knew what was coming. She immediately ratcheted up her volume. “You can’t let your son sacrifice his life out of pity because Autumn was assaulted in high school!” The words detonated like a thunderclap. A collective gasp echoed in the room. All eyes snapped to me, a sudden focus of pity and probing curiosity. My mind went blank. My greatest fear, the thing I had buried so deep, was now public. Terror and blinding fury surged through me. I lost control, charging forward, shoving Holly to the floor, and scrambling over her. A massive force wrenched me away, throwing me hard against the wooden coffee table. A searing pain shot through my side, and my vision swam. Carter shielded Holly, his eyes blazing with pure rage. “Autumn! Are you completely insane?” My voice was hoarse, raw with fury. “Can’t you see she did that on purpose! She wanted everyone to know!” “And so what?” Carter cut me off, his voice venomous. “What she said isn’t a lie, is it?” The muffled gossip around us began to sharpen. “Oh God, it’s true… The Clarke girl is a victim, isn’t she?” “But keeping that a secret wasn’t right, either. It’s like tricking him…” Pity and condemnation washed over me from behind. I swallowed the choking sensation in my throat, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “I told you that secret! To comfort you! Was it so you could announce it to a room full of strangers?” Carter looked at me, all the old affection gone, replaced by glacial indifference. “You told me. If you don’t care about it, why should I protect it?” “Besides, why did it have to happen to you? A fly won’t land on a sealed jar, you know? Maybe if you weren’t so… flashy, you wouldn’t have—” SMACK! Carter’s head snapped sideways, the handprint vivid on his cheek. Mrs. Maxwell was breathing heavily, her eyes full of pain and profound disappointment. “You beast!” “Do you have any idea that what happened to Autumn back then was entirely your fault!”

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I was walking off the heavy guilt of another microwave meal when I stumbled upon the heir to a Manhattan dynasty on his knee, flashing a Centurion Card at the heroine of our little drama. Suddenly, a flurry of text scrolled across the sky like dense pop-up comments: [The Heroine has been Reborn! In her previous life, she accepted the sicko heir’s confession, only to be imprisoned like a gilded bird—living a life of luxury but zero freedom.] [In this new life, she’s decided to reject the heir’s offer and run into the arms of the poor-but-free school sweetheart hero instead!] [Wow, with no possessive villain standing in their way, this book is going to be a pure, sweet romance, right?] [What good is all the heir’s money if the heroine won’t even look his way?] I stared, stunned, at the celestial commentary. The next second, I heard the heroine’s cool, aloof voice. “Hmph. I would never accept your proposal.” “You will never understand the value of freedom. A man as pathologically possessive as you? No woman could ever love you.” I fought my way to the front of the small crowd, raising my hands high in a dramatic, opportunistic claim. “I can love you! I don’t mind the lack of freedom!” The heir, his eyes rimmed with red, looked over at me. “I have severe separation anxiety. If you’re with me, you’ll have to check in constantly. I’ll need cameras installed in the bedroom and the living room—” I cut him off, feigning shock. “Why not the bathroom? Are you telling me your love for me is… reserved?” 1 The comments section went ballistic. [Wait, who is this woman who just popped out of nowhere?] [Just some disposable cannon fodder who died poor in the original plot. Weird, she didn’t have a scene here before. She must smell the money and is trying to snag a payout.] [Just wait until she’s actually with the sicko heir. She’ll find out just how terrifying his possessiveness is.] The comments scrolled so furiously, my eyes started to sting. They confirmed I wasn’t hallucinating from cheap instant ramen. The stream revealed: The world I inhabited was a “Captive Romance” novel. Gia Bellwether, the girl being proposed to, was the heroine, the object of forced affection. In her first life, after accepting the sicko villain’s proposal, she had endured a humiliating cycle of buying things she didn’t need and living without autonomy. This endless, suffocating existence led her, in the third year of her captivity, to run away to find the one true love she had kept secret. Jett had found her. On the way back, Gia, in a desperate struggle for the steering wheel, crashed their car into an oncoming truck. Both died instantly. Reborn, Gia flat-out refused the villain’s love and ran to the poor school sweetheart, Sam Miller—the official hero. This was meant to be their sweet, pure, second-chance love story. Her moment of rebirth was this very proposal scene. Gia gave me a dismissive, head-to-toe once-over, letting out a soft, contemptuous sneer. When her eyes landed on Sam, however, her face melted into a saccharine smile. She darted into his arms like a butterfly finally freed. “Sam, fate gave me this second chance to get away from that life of confinement and finally love you.” Their four arms were locked in a tight, syrupy embrace. The intensity of their emotion was almost repulsive. Jett, the possessive villain, stood alone, staring at them with a dark, brooding expression. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his side. The Centurion Card in his hand curved sharply, then was successfully shoved into my arms. “Since Gia doesn’t care for this card, then… take it.” I clutched it with both hands, excited. “Possessiveness? That’s just another way of saying he loves me. I happen to adore possessiveness.” Gia’s peripheral vision snagged on the black card. Her head went higher, her chin more aristocratic. I heard her sneer: “Pathetic display. Always flaunting that blood money to humiliate people. I’d love to see how far this gold digger lasts in that cage without her precious ‘freedom.’” 2 On the drive back to my cheap off-campus apartment, Jett Coleman’s expression was a study in shadow. “Thank you for getting me out of that situation. Consider the black card a gift.” His voice was low and troubled. “Even though Gia rejected me because of my possessiveness, she is the only person I have ever loved.” He sounded exactly like the tragic second male lead in every melodramatic novel—the one whose heart belongs only to the heroine. The stream of comments was scrolling thick and fast: [LOL. Does this cannon fodder really think she has the heir’s attention? She’s just a tool to make the heroine jealous.] [Exactly. Jett has been obsessed with Gia since he first saw her. That’s why the proposal was such an insane public spectacle.] [In the original plot, his possessiveness over the heroine was off the charts. He couldn’t go a minute without seeing her.] [Waiting for the cannon fodder to be discarded and return to her predetermined fate of dying poor.] That last one startled me. I could see my own tragic future unfold: graduating, renting a cramped basement apartment, miserable commutes for a pitiful salary, subsisting on instant ramen, and wearing cheap, synthetic fabrics—my last shred of dignity. I shuddered and looked up at Jett’s sharp brow, his clean, powerful jawline. His eyes were dark, swirling with the ink-black storm of Gia’s rejection. He was still lost in the image of the hero and heroine embracing. I couldn’t let this money tree escape. Mustering all my courage, I reached out to take his hand. Snap! An electric spark jumped between us. A sudden, crackling flash of manufactured intimacy. Jett recoiled instantly, like he’d touched a live wire. He was utterly shocked, the dangerous aura surrounding him dissolving into bewilderment. He stared at me, then at his hand, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “What was that? I… I felt a static charge.” I flung myself into his arms, burying my head into his expensive, custom-made shirt. “Yes! Because I am your soulmate! Your destiny!” I declared dramatically. “Love at first sight is cheap. Love that grows over time is enduring. Just spend a little time with me, and you’ll see how amazing I am.” Jett actually looked down at me nestled in his arms. After a moment of genuine hesitation, he wrapped his arms tightly around me. He muttered softly, “Could… could you really be the one?” We stayed locked in the embrace for a long time. In a place Jett couldn’t see, I subtly tugged down the hem of my synthetic, fast-fashion dress—just to make sure the static cling didn’t strike again. 3 The next day was my university graduation. Students were everywhere, hauling boxes and suitcases, ready to leave. I spotted Gia Bellwether in the same dorm complex. It was her last day, too. She looked every bit the beautiful, aloof campus queen. When her eyes met mine, her expression turned instantly contemptuous. “Hmph. A gold digger. Sees a pile of cash and scrambles right to the top of it.” Behind us, a group of girls gasped. “Look, everyone! A Rolls-Royce! Who is that here to pick up?” At the same time, the comments began to scroll again. [Wow, that Rolls-Royce Ghost is gorgeous! Has to be over half a million, minimum. The Elite Heir is here for our heroine!] [Aww, but she won’t get in his car this time. No matter how much he begs, she won’t give him the time of day.] [Heroine, go start that sweet romance with the hero already! I can’t wait!] Gia held her neck perfectly straight, like an elegant swan. She walked down the steps under the envious gaze of every girl there. Her tone was sharp and unwelcoming as she addressed Jett Coleman. “I have told you many times, I will not accept your confession. Can you please stop stalking me?” 4 The sounds of admiration from the other students continued to swell. Gia seemed to bask in the spotlight. She slowly descended the last step. But Jett’s voice was calm. “I’m sorry, Gia. I’m here to pick up my girlfriend. Not you.” He paused, then added: “That electric shock feeling I felt last night was a bolt of fate. The person I love is Lana.” Gia’s face instantly drained of color. The humiliation and shame made her bite her lower lip until it was white. Jett bypassed her completely, waving at me. “Lana, my driver will take your bags.” Then, his face slightly darkened. “Lana, why were you talking to someone just now? Even if it was a girl, I’ll get jealous—” Gia’s expression relaxed slightly, a scornful smile crossing her lips. She looked completely familiar with this behavior, waiting for me to break under his overbearing possessiveness. Instead, I glanced at my wrist and frowned, cutting Jett off. “We agreed on 10:30 AM. Why are you one minute late?” He froze. “I… I got held up by traffic.” “I don’t believe you. A whole minute! You could have done a lot in sixty seconds. Were you looking for another woman?” “No! Lana, you have to believe me. One minute is barely enough time to look for a woman!” “Then were you looking for another man?” The chatroom exploded in shock: [What is happening? This cannon fodder is more possessive than the Elite Heir!] [Hah, just wait until she’s actually confined like a golden canary and has to check in for everything she does. She’ll regret this.] [@SecretSleuth, look, your favorite dual-male plotline is bleeding into the forced-love narrative! Come witness!] I shot a cold, confident look at the comments. Jett Coleman was that rich. If I wasn’t strict, what if someone else snagged him? In the end, Jett had to pull up his dashcam footage to finally satisfy my suspicion. Gia stood on the sidelines, seething. In her past life, it was always Jett who strictly monitored everyone she contacted. She never had to question his social circle. Her memory was broken by a clear shout: “Gia! I’m here to help you with your bags!” Gia smiled again, turning toward Sam Miller, the school sweetheart who had secretly adored her for years. The smile vanished instantly. Sam had pulled up on a beat-up electric scooter. 5 Gia stared at the miserable vehicle in disbelief. In her past life, she had been chauffeured everywhere. An army of staff ensured she never had to lift a finger. Now, she had to pack her own bags, and she’d already chipped two nails. Even the comments couldn’t handle it. [Why is Sam so poor? How is he supposed to carry all that luggage on a scooter?] [I came for a sweet romance, not a tiny rental apartment novel! He rented a place off campus—is the heroine going to live in a basement apartment with him?] [He was a successful entrepreneur in the first life! He’ll succeed in this one, too. Don’t worry.] Gia seemed to latch onto that last thought. She forced down her displeasure and reluctantly climbed onto the back of the scooter. They set off for their tiny apartment outside of campus. The Rolls-Royce Ghost blew past the electric scooter, spewing exhaust in the hero and heroine’s faces. I clearly saw the resentment and regret in Gia’s eyes. The gilded cage villa she had desperately tried to escape in the first life was now my home in this life. 6 Sitting on a sofa that cost more than my entire extended family, Jett leaned forward, trapping me between his arms. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and his jawline was sharply defined. His expression was the familiar, slightly dangerous one from our first meeting. He smiled, that slightly wicked, mesmerizing smile. After several of those “electric shock” moments, he was now convinced I was the one. His low voice rumbled in my ear. “Baby, you are the first woman to embrace my possessiveness. But you have to understand, I grew up with zero sense of security.” “This entire estate is riddled with cameras so I can see you at all times.” “You can swipe my card whenever you want, but you must have a security detail with you when you leave—” “Enough,” I interrupted impatiently. What was he rambling on about? I was the one dating this ridiculously rich man! I was the one who had no security! I wanted to keep Jett locked to my hip 24 hours a day. I reached up, grabbed his jaw, and lightly patted his cheek to relax his muscles—to make him look less like a brooding anime villain. Then, I pulled out a handwritten A4 paper from my pocket. I shook it open, cleared my throat, and began to read aloud: “From this moment on, you must check in with me wherever you go.” “You must be back in the villa by 10 PM sharp every night. If you’re late, you must send me your live location, and I will track you until you return.” “Also, we need to install a camera in the bathroom. This ensures I have a seamless, 24/7, 360-degree view of you.” “Don’t look so shocked. We’re dating. What do you have that I haven’t seen?” “When you are at the office, you must report your activities every hour. What you did, what you ate, who you met. Everything.” “Jett, you have to understand. I love money… and if I don’t hear from you for an hour, I’ll worry so much I can’t eat or sleep…” Jett Coleman’s wicked smile froze solid. His pupils slowly dilated. The ‘sicko villain’ aura evaporated instantly. He leaned back, sinking into the sofa cushions. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily from his fingers. After a long, drawn-out silence, he finally made a decision. “Lana… maybe… maybe you should go get a job.”

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On the long drive to my in-laws’ town, I was scrolling through a toxic, viral social media thread. The post title was: [My brother married an outsider, and she acts like a guest when she visits. She never helps Mom with chores. She’s coming for the holidays—what should I do?] The comments section was predictably explosive. The original poster (OP) was replying to every piece of advice with aggressive details: [She’s from the city and won’t eat our local food. After Mom cooks a huge dinner, she just sits there picking at her plate, looking miserable. It’s so irritating! If she hates it so much, why doesn’t she cook? Does she not have hands?] [This holiday, I’m going to properly discipline her.] [I’m going to make Mom pretend her arm is broken. Let’s see how she can justify sitting around then.] The car was just reaching the town limits. I quickly closed the thread, ready to brace myself for the visit. But before my husband, Bryce, could even pull the SUV to a stop, I got a text from his younger sister. **Maddie: June, Mom broke her arm. Maddie: She’s being discharged today. Can you guys pick us up at the hospital? ** 01 I stared at the screen, then turned to Bryce Harrington, who was maneuvering the car into a parking spot. “Your mom broke her arm? Why didn’t you tell me?” His hands on the steering wheel tensed, and the SUV jerked to a stop. “My mom broke her arm? When? Who told you? I had no idea.” Seeing the genuine shock on his face, I knew he was clueless, too. I showed him the message. He immediately pulled out his phone and called his mother, Beverly. She picked up quickly. “Hello, sweetie, you’re here already?” Bev’s voice was too cheerful for someone in pain. “Your sister, bless her heart, I told her not to bother you two. She just never listens.” “It’s nothing major, just an unfortunate fracture. I saw the doctor, no need to worry.” She sighed theatrically. “It’s just impossible to grab an Uber here. Would you mind having June drive the car to the hospital to get us?” “You don’t need to come. You’ve been driving all day—go home and rest.” Listening to the don’t-overexert-my-son spiel on the speaker, I pursed my lips. It was always this way. Bryce, the precious son, was to be shielded. I, the daughter-in-law, was perfectly disposable. Resigned, I took the keys and drove to the hospital. I saw Bev and Maddie the moment I pulled up. They were standing outside, laughing. As the car stopped, Maddie yanked open the passenger door. She froze when she saw Bryce. “Bryce, what are you doing here? Mom told you to go home and rest!” She looked over at me with a judgmental frown. “June, honestly, you’re so inconsiderate. My brother is exhausted from the drive. Why couldn’t you have just let him go rest?” I almost laughed out loud. We’d driven cross-country from San Francisco to his little town in Idaho. I drove the first twelve hours; he drove the last eight. I was just as exhausted. Before I could fire back, Bev slipped into the backseat. She shot Maddie a warning look. “Madison, don’t talk to June that way. You’re being rude.” Then, she smiled apologetically at me. “June, you must be worn out from the trip.” “I was planning to make a beautiful dinner, but then I slipped and fractured my arm. Now I have to bother you to pick me up.” I forced a smile and shook my head. “It’s no trouble, Bev. We’re family. Is your arm okay?” Bev avoided my gaze, her voice a little too light. “It’s fine. I just can’t do any heavy lifting. I’m afraid the housework is all going to fall on you.” On the way home, I remembered the awful thread I’d been scrolling through. The situation was similar—a broken parent. But the details felt wrong. The OP claimed the sister-in-law wouldn’t cook. When Bev had been sick a couple of years ago, I didn’t cook, but I hired a professional chef. The food was great. Maddie, however, had spent the entire time making snide remarks. “Big city girls are something else. Asking her to help Mom is like asking for her life. She’d rather spend a fortune on a chef than get her hands dirty.” “If you have money to waste, you can just give it to me. I need it.” I’d been so angry that I took her plate right off the table. If you don’t like the food I paid for, don’t eat it. Had she been holding onto that grudge this whole time? That seemed too petty, even for Maddie. While waiting at a red light, I reopened the thread. It was still being updated. [My sister-in-law is picking us up from the hospital right now. We’re on the way home.] [When we get there, I have a HUGE surprise waiting for her.] [Discipline Step Two: Changing the master bedroom she commandeered into my princess suite. We’re going to grind away her arrogance little by little.] Reading that last line, I finally relaxed. I didn’t live with Bryce’s family. 02 When Bryce and I got married, my parents, Laura and George, bought a three-bedroom townhouse in Bryce’s hometown as part of my settlement, knowing we’d return for holidays. We lived here when we visited. Bryce’s family lived in their own house nearby. Sometimes, they’d come over to my house and cook dinner for us before going home. So, when we reached the turn-off, and Maddie called out, “June, take us straight to the new house,” I didn’t think much of it and turned onto the street leading to my townhouse. We soon arrived. When the elevator reached the 18th floor, I stepped out first to open the door. It was the same biometric lock, but my fingerprint failed several times. I tried the old code. That failed too. I frowned, turning to Bryce. “The lock’s broken. Can you call a handyman?” “Broken? No way. I was here on business last month, and it was fine.” When he saw me fail one more time, he reached for his phone. Maddie stopped him. “Bryce, don’t. The lock isn’t broken.” She squeezed past us and placed her finger on the reader. The lock clicked open. Maddie saw my confused look and waved her hand dismissively. “Oops, sorry, I accidentally deleted the old fingerprints a while back. And that old passcode was way too simple, so I changed it.” “You don’t mind, do you, June?” Her face held no trace of apology. I looked at her, my voice low. “What’s the new code?” “My birthday, obviously.” With that, she ushered Bev into the house, leaving me and Bryce standing in the hallway. The old code had been my birthday. Now it was hers. And this was my house. I looked for Bryce, but he was already inside, laughing and chatting with his family. The hallway light timed out, plunging me into darkness while they stood together in the light. I took a deep breath and slowly stepped inside. After a moment of searching, I found my indoor slippers crammed into a corner. One of the white velvet slippers had a dark, muddy footprint on it. I changed my shoes, my lips pressed into a thin line, and headed for the master suite to drop my bags. On the way, I noticed unfamiliar anime figures on the TV stand, and plates of old, uncovered takeout on the dining table. The wall of the open office—my office—was covered with several framed school awards that weren’t mine. A knot tightened in my chest. When I reached the master bedroom door, I saw a pink, beaded curtain hanging on the frame, and a fluffy pink cartoon cover on the doorknob. These were not there before. The word “surprise” from that thread flashed in my mind. The moment I pushed the master bedroom door open, the heart in my chest plummeted. The original charcoal and white furniture—my furniture—was gone. In its place was a monstrous pink canopy bed and a huge white armoire. A fuzzy, deep-pile carpet covered the floor, stopping me from taking another step. The room that belonged to the owners of the house was completely transformed into Madison’s princess suite. The person on that disgusting thread—the arrogant, hated sister-in-law—was me. A sudden, sharp chill pierced through my body, as if I had been plunged into a lake of ice. A sound of hurried footsteps came from behind me, followed by Maddie’s voice, full of manufactured outrage. “June, why did you just open my door without knocking? Bedrooms are private spaces! Didn’t you learn any basic manners in the city? That’s so rude!” She then feigned a look of shocked realization, covering her mouth as she looked at me with faux embarrassment. “Oh, June, I’m so sorry! I forgot to tell you—we changed the master bedroom into my suite. You and Bryce can take the small guest room.” “I mean, you only come back a couple of times a year. This huge room would just sit empty. Why not let me use it?” I looked at her, my voice glacially cold. “No. I mind. Change it back immediately.” Maddie glared, ready to fight. “Why should I?” “Because this is my house.” Maddie let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “Your house? Get it straight, June. This is my brother’s family’s house, not yours. Your home is in San Francisco, Princess.” “If you want to play the mistress of the house, go back to California. Don’t think you can throw your weight around in our family’s home!” She shoved past me, planting her hands on her hips, standing guard at the bedroom door like she was defending a fortress. I looked at her with a bitter smile. Bryce didn’t even have the right to call this his house. How dare she? “My parents bought this house for me, and the title is in my name. Does that make this my house? Does that make me the mistress?” Maddie’s face instantly paled, but then she shrieked. “Mom! Bryce! Come quickly! She’s bullying me!” Bryce and Bev rushed over, standing immediately on either side of Maddie as she spun a tale. “She’s tormenting me!” “I’m in my final year of high school. I need a quiet, spacious place to study! And she’s saying I stole her room and told me to get out!” Bryce frowned, looking at his sister with disapproval. “Maddie, you should have at least asked us before moving into the master. That’s inappropriate.” “Apologize to June!” Maddie pouted, looking at her mother. Bev was instantly defensive. She shielded Maddie and looked at me with a pained expression. “June, this is my fault, not hers. Please don’t blame her.” “The old house’s plumbing failed, and we couldn’t stay there. We had to move into the new house temporarily.” “There are only two bedrooms here, and I didn’t want to affect her studies, so I told her to use the master suite.” “I meant to call you, but I was so busy, and with the accident… I just forgot. If you’re angry, be angry at me. Please don’t blame Maddie, she’s still a child. She doesn’t know any better.” 03 A child? She was eighteen, perfectly capable of running a calculated online smear campaign about me and twisting the narrative about occupying my master suite. Still a child? I laughed without humor. I looked at Bryce. “Your family moved into my house. Why didn’t you tell me?” I’d bought this place specifically to avoid conflict with his family. When we bought it, I made it clear to Bryce: this was my property. They could visit, but they could never move in permanently. He had agreed. But now… Before Bryce could speak, Bev cut in. “Bryce, your sister is at a critical point in her studies. Please just let her stay here.” “The moment she finishes her exams, I promise I’ll make her move back to the old house. We absolutely won’t impose on you anymore.” “As for me and your dad, we’ll move back today. We’ll just manage with the leaking pipes.” Bryce’s face darkened at the thought of his parents suffering. He quickly rushed to prove his filial devotion. “Mom, don’t talk like that. My house is your house. Stay as long as you want. I would never kick you out!” “If you left, what would the rest of the family say? They’d think I’m a terrible son.” He turned to me, his voice pleading and helpless. “Honey, we’re only here for a few days anyway. Let her use the master for now.” “We’re family. There’s no need to make a fuss over something so small.”

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My husband kept a mistress in the walk-in closet. Every night, she’d creep out after midnight, giggling, and slink onto the bed. Two bodies, unrestrained in the darkness. I, the oblivious wife sleeping beside them, would occasionally cough. Instead of being deterred, Callan Ashford found it exhilarating. The thrill of the forbidden would send shivers through him, pushing him trembling toward his peak. Afterward, my so-called best friend, Blair, would dig her heel viciously into my face. “Look at her,” she’d sneer, her voice low and venomous. “She sleeps like a tranquilized hog.” “I doubt she’d wake up if the roof caved in.” “But thank God for her little problem, or we wouldn’t be able to have our nightly fun, would we?” Callan, spent and gasping, would mumble, “Adora is a good girl, a placid little wife. Not like you—you’re a fever dream, a goddamn siren. You’re endless.” Then, they would start all over again. I lay facing the wall, a quiet, chilling smile spreading across my lips in the pitch black. 1 The pale, ghostly blue light of the monitor screen reflected off my face. I pulled my arms tighter across my chest, watching Callan, a primal, rutting beast, straining and grinning in excitement. Sweat slicked the two writhing bodies. My own lips curled upward in a slow, uncontrollable arc. My body was shaking slightly, not from fear, but from a surge of heady, victorious adrenaline. I snapped the laptop shut. Turning to the mirror, I studied the woman staring back: dressed in soft, unassuming silks, utterly without pretense or attack. I spoke quietly, barely a whisper. “Perfect. The game is finally on.” “Five years of playing the placid wife. I’d say I’ve played the role long enough.” The next moment, I couldn’t help but laugh. I wasn’t the only one who’d been acting, was I? It was incredible. The man who projected such an image of gentle composure and steady temper—the distinguished Callan Ashford—had this subterranean side. Cheating on me with my best friend was one thing. But to sneak her into my house and hide her in the walk-in closet? To exploit my infamous ability to sleep through a hurricane—my deep, near-comatose sleep cycle—just to release her onto my marital bed, right next to me? And he’d kept this sick little charade going for a month. If I hadn’t feigned sleep that night—if I hadn’t actually bought him a surprise anniversary gift to celebrate our fifth year and then overheard those noises—I would have remained the perfect fool. It was too rich. He craved this furtive thrill, this lick of honey from a knife’s edge. The more dangerous the risk, the more satisfied he felt. He had concealed it so well over the years. Honestly, he’d genuinely impressed me. My phone vibrated. A text from Blair: “Tell me what you think of this bangle?” The accompanying photo showed a high-carat opal bangle, its surface glowing with rich color, encircling a slender wrist. It rested casually against a man’s forearm. Near the crook of the thumb was a tiny, almost invisible black mole. It was Callan’s hand. A mocking smile touched my mouth. So, she couldn’t hide it anymore. Was this her subtle little provocation? I tapped the screen, typing cheerfully: “Gorgeous color! Must have cost a fortune?” Blair replied instantly: “It’s a newly-excavated, intensely colored opal. The auction houses were fighting over it, but he loved it, paid triple the asking price, and had it cut for me on the spot.” Based on the clarity of the stone, the uncut gem would have been worth well over three million. Triple… I clicked my tongue, a pang of calculated disdain. The most expensive gift Callan had ever given me was a ten-thousand-dollar branded brooch—and that was just a required purchase to access something else at the boutique. Yet, Blair had acquired this in a matter of weeks. Clearly, Callan was obsessed with her. I didn’t know how she’d stumbled upon his forbidden kink, but her approach—lowering her standards to meet his perverse needs—was undeniably clever. It made me recall a scene from years ago. I was in my tiny rental, meticulously going through the dossiers of various eligible bachelors from prominent families, choosing a suitable husband. Then, I saw his file, and a shudder ran through me. His mother died giving birth to him, leading to cold neglect from his father. He was constantly undermined by his two older brothers, which fostered a personality defined by deep reserve, extreme caution, and profound cunning. The family had repeatedly instilled the belief that he was responsible for his mother’s death, making him instinctively averse to childbirth and children—yet, he also harbored a deep, desperate longing for maternal comfort and tenderness. His history guaranteed he would guard himself against everyone. Even his wife would not necessarily be privy to his wealth. Since I was kicked out of my stepmother’s house at fifteen and forced to survive on my own, I knew one truth: nothing in this world is reliable except the money you hold in your hand. Callan was high-difficulty. He wasn’t the most suitable choice. But I liked a challenge. Easy wins had no flavor. Hard bone was worth the satisfying crunch. The process of securing him was arduous. He liked a blank slate. So I bleached myself into a virgin canvas. He liked the soft, flowing nature of water. I presented myself in the most gentle and agreeable manner every single time. It took painstaking effort, but I finally became Mrs. Ashford. I thought I knew him. I was wrong. My best friend understood him better. But… I walked barefoot to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled, mirroring the subtle, devious light in my eyes. Darling, I’m the one playing the long game. You want to replace me as Mrs. Ashford. But that title? That’s not what I care about at all. I shot a reply back to Blair: “He sounds like a keeper. I approve, sis.” Then, I snapped a photo of the pre-prepared pregnancy test results and posted it to my private social media. Caption: “An angel is on the way.” 2 The next morning, I deleted a text message that read, “Grandma is fading fast. Maybe two weeks at most.” I looked up to see Callan, who had just rushed back on a redeye flight. He was haggard, but his eyes held a layer of terrifying, chilling malice. “What the hell is this? How are you pregnant?” I pretended not to notice the fresh hickey he hadn’t bothered to cover on his neck. I gave a flawless performance of bewildered innocence and terror. “I… I don’t know, honey. I just started feeling nauseous and unwell, so I went for a check-up… I truly don’t know how this happened…” “Stop acting! What did you do to sabotage our agreement?” He lunged forward, gripping my wrist so tightly I nearly cried out. Blair, who’d followed him in, rushed to restrain him. “Callan! Don’t you dare! This is your wife! Even if she went against your solemn childfree pact—look, a woman needs security, doesn’t she? Even if her motives are selfish, it’s because she loves you too much, not because she’s cheating!” Callan shot her a look, took a deep breath, yanked off his tie, and sat down hard on the sofa. Blair rushed to hand me a glass of water. “Adora, as a woman, I understand your need for security. But from Callan’s perspective, he’s being forced to accept this. Isn’t that unfair?” “And you told me yourselves, Callan always uses protection, right? So, how did you… how did you get pregnant?” Callan’s head snapped up. His eyes were dangerously dark. Blair picked up the results again, examining them closely. She murmured, “Seven weeks. That means two months ago… Hmm. The timing seems off. I recall Callan was overseas meeting clients that whole period, wasn’t he?” Callan sprang to his feet, enraged. “Aha! I get it now! Adora Bellwether! No wonder you’re pregnant! You found yourself another man outside!” My heart gave a practiced jolt. My eyes immediately filled with tears. “Callan Ashford! What are you saying? Five years of marriage! Don’t you know what kind of person I am? How can you accuse me of that?” He looked at my tear-streaked, pitiful face. His brow twitched. He was starting to realize that for five years, my life had revolved entirely around him. Apart from my friendship with Blair, I had no social life. I was the perfect, standard-issue trophy wife and homemaker. This kind of woman was like a perfectly trained dog. Give her a bone, and she’d wag her tail for life. How could she possibly have the guts to carry another man’s bastard? His expression softened slightly. But then Blair cried out, “Oh!” “Two months ago… I think I remember… It was pouring rain that night. I dropped Adora off, and as I walked away, I saw a man waiting for her near the lobby. Adora looked really nervous and rushed me away…” She suddenly covered her mouth, looking at me with feigned anxiety. “Adora, I didn’t mean anything by it! I’m just worried about you both!” Ah, the scent of fresh, high-grade petticoat poison. I had to clench my palms until my fingernails dug in to keep myself from bursting out laughing. Callan’s face, however, went utterly slate-gray after hearing Blair’s words. He reached out, seizing my jaw with his large hand, his entire body radiating cold fury. “Adora Bellwether, who was the man?” 3 Look at my devoted husband. No matter how filthy his own actions, he couldn’t tolerate even the suggestion of disloyalty from his wife. How ridiculously predictable. A flash of malice crossed Blair’s eyes, though her tone remained frantic. “Callan, don’t get worked up. Let’s talk this through calmly… Adora, please, just explain it to him.” I laughed suddenly, but the tears flowed in earnest this time. “Callan Ashford, you still doubt me, don’t you?” He grabbed my shoulders, squeezing so hard he nearly crushed my bones. “Doubt? Are you saying Blair is lying?” He turned to Blair, his voice involuntarily softening. “Blair, tell me, what else did they do that day?” Blair glanced at me in apparent distress, then stammered, “Well, she was holding an umbrella for him, and they spoke for a while… then the man followed Adora into the building… Oh!” Before she could finish, she let out a shriek and stumbled backward. Her lower back slammed heavily against the staircase railing. As she fell, she grabbed my dress, making it look as though I had shoved her. “Blair!” Callan shoved me aside without thought. I lost my balance, my head hitting the cold, hard wall with a muffled groan. Callan rushed past me, carefully helping Blair up. The woman leaned into his chest, tears streaming down her face. “Adora, why did you push me? Is it because you think I’m a bad friend for telling the truth? But this pregnancy is suspicious. Callan is your husband. He has a right to know the truth…” He helped Blair to sit safely aside, then slowly turned and walked toward me. The rage in his eyes threatened to incinerate me. “Adora Bellwether, you commit a disgusting act, and then you try to hurt an innocent person?” Before I could even process his movement, he clamped his hand around the back of my neck, slamming me against the wall again. “Tell me! Whose bastard is this?” I didn’t struggle. I just closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. Just as his hand drew back, ready to strike my stomach with devastating force, the housekeeper, Mr. Davies, rushed into the living room with a woman in tow. “Mr. Ashford, this is Mrs. Chen, the cleaning lady from the community. She insisted on thanking the Mistress.” The middle-aged woman, with short hair and a broad, sturdy build, bowed deeply to me, tears in her eyes. “Mrs. Ashford, thank God. After two months of treatment, my son is finally improving. I had to come and thank you.” “If you hadn’t told me to wait for you by the door that night, and given me that money for the hospital bills, I honestly might have lost him… I would have buried my own child. Mrs. Ashford, you are a saint! I can never repay your kindness…” She broke down into sobs, quickly wiping her eyes before offering him a few boxes. “Mr. Ashford, you were away last time. I remember the Mistress saying you love tea. These are some simple leaves from my hometown. It’s a small gift, please accept it.” Callan froze, his gaze snapping back to me. Blair’s face drained of color. I spoke calmly. “Mrs. Chen, I only did what I could. Please don’t be so formal.” Then I looked deeply into Callan’s eyes. My gaze was one of icy calm. “You can call Dr. Albright and ask if the embryo implantation date is subject to variation. A few days’ margin is perfectly normal. If you still don’t believe me, we can go right now. Amniocentesis, DNA test, whatever you want.” I turned to walk away, but my body swayed. I quickly grabbed the wall for support. Callan looked at my ashen face, then at the genuinely distraught Mrs. Chen. His suspicion immediately evaporated. Before he could speak, Blair, who had been frozen in shock, quickly recovered. 4 “Callan, I knew Adora loved you too much to ever cheat! But still… Adora, you shouldn’t have used a trick to get pregnant and break the agreement you made with Callan! You were only thinking of securing him with a child. Why weren’t you thinking about your husband?” Callan’s face went instantly dark. “That’s right! I will not be having this child! Go to the hospital immediately while it’s still early and terminate it, or else—” The phone in his pocket suddenly rang, cutting him off. “Hello?” “You said what?” I pretended not to notice the flicker of utter astonishment in his eyes, lowering my head to wipe the last tears from my cheek. The next second, he scooped me up into the air. “Wife! You are absolutely incredible!” A sudden, earth-shattering shift in fortune. The Ashford Patriarch had just made a declaration: he had three sons, and the one who gave him the first grandson would inherit the family’s control. Five years married to Callan, I knew how brutal the struggle was between the three brothers. And now, I had effortlessly handed him the key to crush his siblings. No matter how much he hated children, he wouldn’t turn down this opportunity. Watching the excited, avaricious gleam in his eyes, I smiled internally. The so-called famous Clairvoyant was just a con man. Years ago, after Callan had him brutally beaten and left for dead, I had saved him. He proved surprisingly loyal and thrived in his new profession. All it took was a few well-placed suggestions to the ailing Patriarch about the family’s “lineage stability” and “destiny tied to the first heir” to make him believe that only by handing the entire Ashford legacy to the first grandson could the family’s prosperity be ensured. Blair was stunned. The venom in her eyes was now undisguised, like a cold needle aimed directly at me. I walked silently back to the room. I didn’t turn on the light. The cruel, pleased curve of my lips finally unfolded in the total darkness. Blair and I were truly kindred spirits. Both of us, once we decided on a course of action, would pursue it to the bitter end. Three years ago, she engineered a chance encounter while I was grocery shopping, eventually becoming my one and only, my very best sister-friend. She waited three full years. She finally discovered Callan’s weakness, and finally secured her secret relationship with him. Her tenacity was, I admit, impressive. But the moment I first saw her, I knew exactly what she was after. I guessed that the day she started catering to Callan’s perversion, hiding in the closet, she began planning how to usurp my place entirely. So, I deliberately allowed her to witness me meeting a vaguely defined “man.” It was all for the sake of the theatrical performance I’d watched unfold today. Life is too tedious. One must find ways to entertain oneself. A week later, at the Ashford Family Manor. Dr. Albright moved the cold ultrasound wand from my abdomen without looking up. “Eight weeks. The heartbeat is strong. Congratulations.” His single sentence immediately changed the complexion of every face in the room. The Ashford Patriarch was ecstatic. The elder brother, Garrett, and the second brother, Preston, frowned deeply. Their wives’ faces were tight with jealousy. The Patriarch raised a hand. Mr. Davies immediately produced a file and three sets of keys. “Adora, these City View condos are now in your name. They are a family safeguard for you. And this offshore trust fund has been transferred to your account. You rest well and care for the child. Once the baby is born… there will naturally be more.” The Patriarch didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone understood the implication. After the others departed, their faces a mixture of emotions, Callan took an envelope from his suit pocket and handed it to me. “This card is for you, Wife. Spend whatever you want. Don’t deprive yourself or the child.” In five years of marriage, this was the first money he had given me outside of my monthly household allowance. It was a start. But… I curled my trembling fingers around the card. I looked at the envelopes and the legal documents. What was this? In the Ashford family’s vast financial empire, this was less than a crumb. It didn’t even cover the edges. Not enough. Far from enough. I put on a performance of being still deeply affected by the accusations from a few days ago. I moved away, avoiding his attempt to touch me. “You go home first. I need to walk alone for a while.” 5 By the entrance, I ran into Dr. Albright, who was leaving. I gave him a polite smile. He reacted as if he’d seen a ghost, quickly turning and walking away. I clicked my tongue in displeasure. All I did was discover that his academically brilliant son, who was about to go overseas for research, was involved in serious academic plagiarism. So I asked him to casually misrepresent my examination results to buy me a few days of time. Was that so much to ask? That afternoon, I arrived at a suburban coffee shop. Blair was waiting for me in a corner. Her perfectly made-up face looked stressed. “Did the Patriarch really say that whoever produces the first grandson gets control of the whole corporation?” I covered my mouth, my shoulders shaking, tears rolling down my cheeks. “Yes, Blair, he did. He only agreed to keep the child because of the leverage it gives him in the family succession… If it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t even look at my stomach…” I sobbed, almost suffocating, then coughed. But out of the corner of my eye, I clearly saw a calculated glint ignite in Blair’s eyes. “Adora, stop crying. It’s bad for the baby… Listen to me. Now that you’re pregnant, no matter the reason, Callan has to treat his own flesh and blood well, and he has to treat you well! Don’t worry, I’ll help you protect that baby.” I raised my tear-filled eyes, looking at her with manufactured gratitude. “Blair, you’re so good to me.” She smoothed the stray hair back from my ear and gave me a sweet smile. “Of course. We’re the very best of friends, aren’t we?” My gaze settled on our clasped hands. My lowered lashes concealed the cold detachment in my eyes. Yes, Blair. We are the best of friends. And only you deserve to be my opponent. That same evening, Blair moved into our home, claiming I was too emotional and needed company. Every night, in the deepest hours, the two of them resumed their routines. And now, they were no longer satisfied with waiting until I was asleep. I’d be cooking soup in the kitchen, and Callan would have Blair pressed against the bathroom wall. I’d be reading in the study, and he’d be pulling Blair’s hair right outside the door, his eyes locked on the sliver of light beneath it. I repeatedly replayed the surveillance footage, scrutinizing his face after each release. A cold smirk played on my lips. Callan was already getting bored with these amateur theatrics. He was addicted to the thrill of theft. He only became excited when he was close to total destruction. Simply being caught by his wife no longer satisfied his palate. Human desire, once awakened and left unchecked, only grows larger. The next day, news came from the Ashford Manor. The 90-year-old Ashford Family Matriarch had passed away. Three days earlier than I had anticipated. Given the circumstances, the funeral rites had to be perfectly orchestrated. I, who hadn’t spoken to Callan in days, took the initiative to break the silence. “Let’s go. We should see Grandmother off.” Blair suddenly interjected. “Callan, Adora is pregnant. A funeral might be too uncomfortable for her. Plus, there’s the vigil, the kneeling, the crying. What if she has a miscarriage? Why don’t I go with you both? I can help look after Adora.” I turned, addressing her with an unprecedented iciness. “Blair, this is Ashford family business. What are you doing there as an outsider? Are you vying for the role of the Ashford Third Granddaughter-in-law, hoping to kneel and mourn for Grandmother in my place?” Her eyes immediately filled with wounded tears. “Adora! Why would you say that? I just wanted to help!” Seeing her distress, Callan quickly spoke up. “You’ve accompanied Adora to visit Grandmother before. She was fond of you. It’s not inappropriate for you to see her off. You can come with us.” He turned a cold gaze on me. “Blair used to spend time with Grandmother, talking poetry and literature, keeping the old woman happy. Grandmother used to quietly nag me about her, saying she was graceful, educated, and far better than my always-dull wife. She even asked why I didn’t marry her instead.” “Since Grandmother liked Blair so much, her soul will be happier to see Blair at her send-off. It’s certainly preferable to seeing you.” An undeniable look of triumph flashed across Blair’s face. I lowered my head, a faint, bitter smile on my lips, and didn’t argue. I replied softly, “Fine. As you wish.” Callan continued, “Is the Shroud of Passage ready?” According to Ashford tradition, the youngest granddaughter-in-law must personally drape the deceased with the Shroud of Passage, symbolizing peace on the journey to the afterlife. I pointed to the purple sandalwood box by the door. “Grandmother wasn’t well for a while, so it was prepared long ago.” “Good. Let’s go.” Watching their backs, I sighed softly. Grandmother. I warned them, but they wouldn’t listen. The stage is set. The actors are about to make their entrance. A funeral. A wake. Relatives. A lover in a figure-hugging black dress. Ultimate danger. Ultimate sacrilege. Ultimate transgression. It is the very scenario your grandson craves most. If he does anything highly disrespectful to your memory later, please try to be tolerant.

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