Author: Momo Chan

After five years as his secret, his shadow, I watched him announce at a family dinner that he was bringing his girlfriend to meet us. My heart swelled with a foolish hope that this was the dramatic moment he’d chosen to finally make us public. I never expected him to actually bring another woman. He had his arm wrapped around her, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Come on, Jordan,” he said, the old pet name sounding foreign on his tongue. “Say hello to your new sister-in-law.” After the woman left, he gave me a ride home, just as he had countless times before. In the plush back seat of his luxury sedan, the place where our absurd, secret life had unfolded, I finally asked him. “Landon Montgomery,” I whispered, the name a raw accusation. “You have a girlfriend now. What was my five years of waiting, then?” The hand gripping the steering wheel tightened, a brief, sharp tremor. “Waiting?” He didn’t look at me. “Did I ever ask you to wait?” He finally turned, his expression carefully bland. “Jordan, maybe don’t get so hopelessly attached to people in the future. It’s honestly… a little terrifying.” He said it so carelessly, so dismissively, as if the five years I’d sacrificed everything for had been my own ridiculous fault. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue. I smiled, a cold, empty thing. “Fine. Then goodbye, Landon.” 01 Under the dim streetlights, Landon leaned against his car, finishing his last cigarette. He ground the butt out with his Italian leather shoe. In the last five minutes, he’d checked his phone ten times and sent nine voice messages to the woman he’d just dropped off. His final text, I knew, was to his sister—my best friend, Sasha—assuring her he’d delivered me home safe. Landon lowered his phone and turned to me, a lingering trace of a smile from his other conversations still on his face. He seemed pleased, which made his tone light and easy. “Look, Jordy, you’re all grown up. You know what they say about adult breakups. Clean and simple, right?” He reached out and ruffled my hair, an intimate, brotherly gesture that completely belied the seriousness of the conversation. It was a final, damning sign that he had never once taken me seriously. He hadn’t even been serious the night we started. Five years ago, I’d gotten drunk, and we’d ended up in his bed. The next morning, he’d sat against the headboard, smoking a cigarette, the smoke curling and obscuring his handsome, flippant face. “You like me?” I’d nodded, panicked, but my fear was met with his easy, cynical laugh. “Sure, let’s go with it.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “But we can’t tell Sasha. She’d probably take a knife to me if she knew.” He said it so casually, but I took it as gospel. From that day on, I lived in his shadow, a pathetic fixture in his life, feeling like an accessory he was too lazy to discard. I thought time would eventually make me special. I was horribly, devastatingly wrong. He continued his circuit of women, and I was merely a convenient, secret toy. I stared at the ground, catching the glint of his phone screen as he sent yet another text. The person he’d saved as “Girlfriend” had, I knew, only gotten his number at a bar two days ago. I pressed down the acidic burn in my chest, took several deep, shaky breaths, and asked the question I’d been terrified to utter for five years. “Landon, why was everyone an option for you… but me?” Landon froze, then sighed, a sound of genuine, yet self-pitying, annoyance. “It’s not that you can’t be, exactly… It’s just, I regretted getting involved that first night.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I tried for five years to see you as a normal woman. I couldn’t.” He looked at me then, his eyes dark and complex, both intensely present and utterly detached. “It’s like… every other woman was a viable option for me, except for the one right here.” On the silent, empty street, his rare moment of honesty felt like the cruelest cut. I immediately averted my gaze, terrified that he would see the sudden, hot sting of tears. “I understand,” I mumbled, pulling my composure back like a heavy blanket. “Thank you for the ride home, big brother. It’s late. I should go up.” I turned to leave, but his hand shot out and clasped my wrist. Landon gently wiped a tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen. He wore a look that said, ‘Of course, I knew this was coming.’ “Why the waterworks? Why not try to fight for me, then? Stick around?” He grinned, a predator playing with its food. “Maybe, for Sasha’s sake, I’d keep you amused for a little while longer.” It was a sick kind of temptation, but I couldn’t fall for it again. The corner of a small, square package pressed against his jacket pocket—a silent, sickening reminder of the necessities he kept for his other dates. I pulled my hand back and took a resolute step away. I made sure my voice was calm. “No, thank you, big brother. I hope you have a fun night.” Without looking back at his face, I walked quickly toward the gates. My rough, uneven breathing condensed into clouds in the cold night air. I’d thought I was done with crying. But once I was inside and had unlocked my door, I went straight to the balcony. Landon was still standing by his car, staring at the apartment building. I knew he was waiting for the light in my room to come on, his perverse way of feeling absolved before he left to see Brittany. How dare he? How could he hurt me so carelessly and then wait around to collect his peace of mind? I yanked the curtains closed, slid down the wall, and finally, completely, gave in. I sobbed until my throat was raw, releasing five years of humiliation, betrayal, and unrequited devotion. A notification chimed. It was Landon. [Jordy, take advantage of being young. Go travel, go see things.] [There are plenty of good guys out there. Don’t waste yourself on one tree.] [Get some rest.] In the darkness, the three perfect, impersonal messages seemed so utterly ridiculous, so fundamentally Landon. My five-year obsession, that deep, humiliating anchor, finally snapped with those three vapid sentences. I wiped my eyes, grabbed my phone, and typed back one final message. [I will. Thank you.] Then, I immediately called my mother. “Mom? The arrangement with Theodore Brooks? The wedding? I accept. Seven days from now.” 02 After hanging up with my mother, I collapsed onto the bed, physically drained. I tried to command my mind to move on, but the control center of my heart had shut down. I couldn’t help but remember the first time Sasha introduced me to Landon. He was wearing a black track suit that day. When he made a three-pointer, the whole campus erupted in shrieks. But he ran straight to me, took the half-empty water bottle from my hand, and grinned. He asked Sasha, “Who’s this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen this little sister around.” No one could be immune to a first meeting like that. I certainly wasn’t. I fell headfirst, completely and utterly. I broke things off with my family for him, and for him, I accepted five years of being the nameless, unofficial other woman. I found out much later that my perfect, cinematic meet-cute had just been his standard opening line. He’d said it to every girl Sasha ever brought around. … “What? You’re getting married?” It had been three days since I ended things with Landon. Sasha had taken me out to lunch, worried sick over my silence, and I dropped the bombshell. She stared at me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Jordan, I know you just broke up with whoever that garbage boyfriend of yours was, but you can’t just marry some random guy out of spite!” I smiled, shaking my head. “Do you really think I’m that fragile? This is a decision I’ve thought through. And he’s not just ‘some random guy.’ It’s… well, Theo. Theodore Brooks. It’s an arrangement, technically. A childhood engagement our parents never fully let go of.” I wasn’t lying. If I hadn’t met Landon, I probably would have already been Mrs. Brooks. Sasha’s worry didn’t abate. She was genuinely concerned for me, the way a best friend should be. I pinched her cheek. “Stop worrying. You’re going to be my maid of honor, remember?” “Maid of honor for what?” The door to the private room swung open, and Landon strode in with a lack of ceremony only he could manage. He’d traded up, or at least traded out, for another date. The secret spot next to him—the spot I’d desperately wanted for five years—was, as he’d promised, always open for anyone but me. Landon stopped in the center of the room, scanning the space before his gaze landed on me. “Who’s getting married?” I squeezed Sasha’s hand to stop her from answering. “It’s nothing, Landon. What are you doing here?” The girl behind him stepped forward, a vision of wide-eyed innocence. “I made him bring me,” she chirped. “I wanted to meet his family and friends. Hi, I’m Brittany Miller.” It might have been my imagination, but a flicker of proprietary contempt crossed Brittany’s face when she looked at me. Sasha, bless her oblivious heart, didn’t notice, and dragged Brittany to the karaoke machine. Landon sat beside me, swirling the amber liquid in his glass under the room’s soft lighting. “So, already on the hunt for a rebound?” I glanced at him. “Are you really that invested in my dating life, big brother?” He let out a short, dismissive laugh. He leaned closer, watching me with a cynical amusement I recognized too well. “Just checking up on my after-sales service.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “If you can’t find anyone, I could always help you vet candidates. Someone totally different from me, of course.” He leaned in further, his voice a low, taunting murmur. “Someone who wouldn’t make you drag yourself out with a fever to deliver his condoms, or parade his rotating door of dates in front of you. Someone who’d be devoted. How does that sound?” I froze, gripping the wine glass. He knew. He knew how agonizing those moments were. He just hadn’t cared. He’d watched my pain and treated it as entertainment. I downed the wine in one gulp, turned back, and met his eyes with a genuine, triumphant smile. “No need, Landon. I’m getting married.” 03 The air in the private room went instantly silent and brittle. Landon’s eyes narrowed, his brows drawing into a tight line. A deep, cold anger radiated off him. “Jordan Wells,” he bit out, using my full name. “I don’t appreciate that kind of cheap joke.” I simply smiled back, refusing to explain. At that moment, Brittany approached with a glass of champagne. Whether by accident or—I suspected—by very pointed design, she stumbled, and the contents splashed directly onto my white dress. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, a picture of delicate remorse. “Oh, I’m such a klutz! Sister, are you okay?” Landon’s face was dark, but he looked straight at me, his voice sharp with cold displeasure. “None of your business, Britt. This is what happens when people stand in the way.” “What are you saying, Landon?” Sasha rushed over, planting herself between us. “What does this have to do with Jordan? You’re usually so protective of her. What’s wrong with you today?” I put a hand on Sasha’s arm. “It’s fine, Sasha. It doesn’t matter.” I ignored Landon’s thunderous expression and walked out toward the ladies’ room. Outside the stall, I saw Brittany’s reflection in the mirror. She stood behind me, her eyes full of undisguised, cold hostility. “You’re the one Landon called his five-year-long lapdog, aren’t you?” Her voice was low and triumphant. “Do you know what else he calls you? An attachment he couldn’t shake. A clingy shadow.” Even though I’d tried to shed that past life, hearing such a degrading description made my heart clench in a painful spasm. I took a breath and turned to face her. “Is that right? Well, I hope your time with him lasts longer than mine did.” Brittany’s smug expression faltered, her perfectly composed face twisting with sudden, raw fury. She suddenly grabbed my arm, forcing a grotesque smile. “It was only five years! And after all that, Landon tossed you out like trash! Like a stray dog he got tired of petting! Jordan Wells, the woman who walks down the aisle with Landon? That’s me!” The moment Landon arrived, he found me with my hand stinging, having just delivered a hard slap across Brittany’s face. She was clutching her cheek, tears welling in her eyes, a perfect picture of a beautiful victim. She’d clearly hit herself to make the mark more convincing. “Landon, I just wanted to apologize, but I don’t know why, she—” Landon’s expression was calm, almost unnervingly so. He looked past Brittany, straight at me, and asked only one question. “Did you hit her?” I looked him in the eye, knowing the answer didn’t matter. “What if I told you no?” He studied me for a long moment, then broke into a slow, chilling smile. “Jordy. You’re getting less and less agreeable. Lying, saying you’re getting married…” He raised Brittany’s chin, his thumb delicately stroking her cheekbone. “Such a pretty face. We can’t let it get bruised. Come on. Let’s get you to a doctor.” He wrapped his arm around Brittany’s shoulders, starting to lead her away. “Wait.” I called out, my voice startlingly steady. Landon paused and arched a brow. I walked up to him and held out my hand. “Give me back the bracelet I made you.” I was pointing to the dark wooden prayer beads he wore on his wrist. I had painstakingly sanded and stained each bead myself when I was a teenager. Landon had worn it religiously, everywhere he went. Landon’s smile instantly vanished, replaced by a deep, tight frown. His eyes were cold, and the air around us dropped several degrees. Brittany didn’t dare make a sound. Suddenly, he gave a harsh, short laugh. He raised his wrist, feigning confusion. “This old thing? This piece of junk? Honestly, I’ve been meaning to get rid of it.” With brutal force, he ripped the bracelet off. The thick red cord snapped, leaving a red welt on his wrist. He tossed the beads onto the pristine marble floor. They scattered, bouncing with dull, final thuds. “Pick them up yourself.” Landon dismissed me with that cold command, swept Brittany into his arms, and strode out. I looked down at the mess of wooden beads. I had come to find closure for a foolish, youthful devotion. It seemed the beads weren’t needed for that ritual anymore. I drew a deep breath, raised my foot, and with a silent, resolute finality, stepped right over the scattered beads. 04 In the following days, I moved back into the Wells family estate and focused entirely on the wedding preparations. Three days before the wedding, I finalized the decor with the hotel coordinator. He informed me that the flowers had all been changed. “Mr. Brooks made a special request,” the coordinator beamed. “He replaced all the classic roses with sunflowers. He said sunflowers are your favorite, Mrs. Wells. He wants to give you the very best.” A warmth bloomed in my chest. I sent a text to Theodore, who was still abroad. [The sunflowers are perfect. I love them. Thank you.] Meanwhile, Landon updated his social media. A photo of him and Brittany on a beach holiday. The sun, the sand, a beautiful resort—a trip I’d begged Landon for over five years, one he always shrugged off, now handed to Brittany effortlessly. Two days before the wedding, Theo sent over the finalized guest list. It was detailed, organized, and reflected a genuine care for the event, not just a business transaction. Sasha texted me, frantic, saying she hadn’t been able to reach Landon all day. The final day before the wedding, Theo had a designer gown—an incredible dress encrusted with diamonds—flown in from Paris. As I stood by the mirror, gently stroking the fabric, I realized I was genuinely starting to anticipate the day ahead. All the pain and shadows from the past seemed to recede. My phone screen lit up. Landon. [The keypad on the front door is dead. You still have the spare key, right?] My conversation thread with him was a wasteland of my green bubbles, my frantic texts about his absences, his lies, his excuses. His last message to me had been two months ago. I smiled, flipped my phone face-down on the vanity, and let the notifications pile up. … The relentless ringing continued. [Jordan Wells, how did you string those beads? The bracelet snapped.] [Don’t get the wrong idea. I didn’t pick up the broken one. I just want to make a new one for Britt as a gift.] [Jordan, answer me!] [Since when did you learn to play games?] … The irritating chimes drove me to finally pick up the phone. I calmly deleted the entire conversation history, then went to his contact page, and blocked him. Back at the Montgomery mansion, Landon stared at the red exclamation point next to his last message. He was so angry he wanted to throw the handful of wooden beads he’d retrieved from the club floor back into the trash. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His heart, he realized with a sickening lurch, was no longer under his control. He felt a deep, unfamiliar dread. Sasha, dressed exquisitely for the wedding, came down the stairs. She looked at her brother, who was pacing wildly, beads clenched in his fist. “Landon, why aren’t you dressed?” she asked, confused. “Are you really planning to wear that to Jordan’s wedding?”

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Starting the second year of our marriage, Kendall and I had an arrangement: we would spend the holidays with our respective families. This year, my dad was supposedly vacationing in South Beach. I kept it a secret from Kendall, flying two thousand miles on Christmas Eve, ready to give her the surprise of a lifetime. I had barely stepped out of the cab when a text from Kendall popped up: “Honey, dinner is so dull without you here. Missing my guy.” Warmth flooded my chest. I took a deep breath of the freezing air and excitedly knocked on the door of the small house in Rosewood, Tennessee. The moment Kendall saw me, the color drained from her face, leaving her ghost-pale. She instantly tried to slam the door shut. “Kai! W-what are you doing here?!” I put my hand up to stop the door. From inside, her mother’s voice called out: “Honey, who’s at the door?” Kendall shoved against the door, her voice a thin, panicked whisper: “Mom, it’s nothing! Just a colleague dropping off a last-minute office gift basket!” “Sweetheart, which colleague is it?” A familiar male voice cut in. “It’s freezing out there! Don’t leave them standing in the snow, let them in.” … 1 It was Blake Harrison. Kendall’s assistant. And he was wearing the apron—the one I’d bought for her mother. The sub-zero December wind was nothing compared to the ice forming in my chest. Nothing. “Colleague?” I stared at Kendall, my voice dangerously low. “I’m what kind of colleague to you?” A sheen of sweat broke out on Kendall’s forehead. She pressed her face close to mine, her voice a desperate plea: “Kai, I’ll explain everything later. My mom’s heart… she can’t handle a shock. Please, I’m begging you, just—don’t make a scene.” Don’t make a scene? A sick joke. I traveled across the country to surprise my wife, to spend the holiday with my in-laws, and she was begging me not to make a scene? The word tasted like ash. Before I could reply, the door was pulled open from the inside. Blake, still wearing the apron and holding a spatula like some kind of domestic prince, smiled. His face froze for a fraction of a second when he saw me, but the warmth returned instantly. “Well, look who it is! Kai, man! What a surprise!” “Why are you two still blocking the door?” Mrs. Wells called from the living room. “Come in, it’s blowing a blizzard out there!” Kendall gave me a frantic, tearful look, mouthing the words: Please. I’ll explain. I swallowed the metallic taste of betrayal, nodded once, and stepped into the house, into the warmth and the noise, carrying the heavy bag of gifts I’d brought. 2 The living room was cozy. The TV was running a holiday special, and the coffee table was covered in nuts and holiday treats. Mr. Wells was on the sofa, peeling an orange. He looked up. “Well, now, Kendall, your colleague is a sharp-looking young man. Come in, come in, don’t be shy.” Mrs. Wells smiled, taking the gifts from my hand. “Out delivering presents on a holiday? That’s dedication. Thank you, dear.” Neither of them, warm and smiling, recognized the man who was actually their son-in-law. Our wedding five years ago was quiet, without a proper reception. I’d only come here once, that first year. After that, Kendall insisted we spend the holidays separately. The Wells didn’t use social media, and our contact was limited to brief, pleasant phone calls. I opened my mouth to speak. Kendall cut me off immediately: “Mom, this is Kai. He just happened to be passing through Rosewood. He can only stay a minute, he’s got to catch a train.” “Kai?” Mrs. Wells repeated the name, her brow furrowing, as if it sounded vaguely familiar. Blake smoothly intercepted the moment. “Mrs. Wells, Kai’s a mover-and-shaker. He’s probably on a business trip, had to stop by.” Blake laughed, setting a plate of sliced apples in front of me. “Kai, man, try these. Kendall and I picked them out at the market a few days ago. Super sweet.” I remembered a phone call from a few days ago, when Kendall had sighed, “Honey, I wish you were here to peel an apple for me. Nobody does it like you do.” “Blake, stop fussing, come sit down.” Mrs. Wells affectionately waved him over, her tone intimate. “You’re too good to us, son. Working so hard and still finding time to bring us all these nice things. You haven’t rested since you got here.” Mr. Wells handed the peeled orange to Blake. “Blake, show me how to use that foot spa you bought me again later.” My head snapped up. The foot spa. I remembered researching it for weeks, comparing every high-end model because of Mr. Wells’s bad circulation. It cost a fortune—over three thousand dollars—and I told Kendall specifically to show them how to use it. How did it become Blake’s? The cherries and the gourmet nuts on the table were things I’d shipped weeks ago. The massage chair in the corner? That was my Black Friday splurge. My love, my care, my every thoughtful gesture—all rebranded. All signed by Blake Harrison. 3 The snow fell heavier, making travel impossible. I wasn’t going anywhere. “So, where are you staying, Kai?” Mrs. Wells asked. Kendall reflexively glanced toward the master bedroom. Mr. Wells filled the silence. “The den has a fold-out couch, Martha. It’s a little messy, but with a thick blanket, he’ll be fine for one night.” “Oh, that’s terrible,” Mrs. Wells said, looking pained. “Blake, maybe you can double up with him?” “Mom, I’m not really comfortable sharing a bed with a stranger.” Blake turned to me, his smile fixed. “Sorry, Kai, you’re stuck with the couch.” “Fine,” I heard myself say, the word tasting like sand. The lumpy, fold-out couch in the cluttered den was rock-hard. The threadbare quilt smelled of dust and attic. We had promised to alternate holidays. The second year, Kendall claimed her mother was sick. The third, she said I’d be too cold in the South and that my own dad needed me. Last year, the same excuse. This was the fifth year. The years of “you’re too busy” and “you’ll be cold” weren’t about consideration. They were about keeping the stage clear for him. Blake wasn’t a temporary stunt; he was the understudy who took the starring role. My phone vibrated. A text from my dad: Son, did you make it? Did Kendall love the surprise? Give the Wells my love. Staring at my father’s earnest, trusting words, the dam broke. I pressed my face into the musty quilt and finally let the tears come. Later that night, I went out for a glass of water. The master bedroom door was ajar. The sheets, the ones I’d splurged on from a luxury linen store in NYC, the ones Kendall said were “too nice” for her parents—they were draped over their bed. Blake was holding a tablet, their heads bent close together, sharing a laugh so easy, so intimate, it felt like a punch to the stomach. They looked like a couple planning their future. I barely made it to the bathroom, collapsing onto my knees. I dry-heaved over the porcelain bowl, trying to vomit up the sickening image, the years of lies. I needed out. I couldn’t look at them for one more second. 4 Perhaps it was the cold, or the raw, white-hot fire of my fury, but I had developed a fever. In my hazy dreams, I was back five years ago. Kendall was broke and starting her company. I’d hold her frozen feet in my lap in our tiny, unheated apartment in New York. “Kai,” she’d promised, “when we make it big, we’ll buy a place with heated floors. We’ll never be cold again.” The scene shifted. She was kneeling in the snow, a tiny diamond chip ring in her hand. “Kai, let’s build a home. You’ll never have to feel like an outsider again.” She had loved me, hadn’t she? So where had this woman come from? “Water… water…” I mumbled, waking up. A cool washcloth was on my forehead. In the dim light of the headlamp, Kendall was leaning over me, her face etched with worry. “Kai? You’re awake? Oh God, you’re burning up.” Her voice was soft, laced with genuine fear. Seeing her distressed face, I almost believed we were back in our apartment, safe and real. “Kendall…” I whispered, the exhaustion making my voice shake. Tears streamed down my temples. “I need to go home.” “I know, I know. Just as soon as your fever breaks, we’ll go home.” She gently patted my back. The fleeting moment of tenderness almost drowned me in the illusion of our past. But the events of the night snapped me back. “Why did your parents think Blake was their son-in-law?” I demanded. “Kai, you have every right to be angry,” she said, her voice dropping. “But I swear, there’s nothing going on with Blake.” “My parents have been pressuring me for years to bring you home for the holidays. You know how small Rosewood is—the gossip, the shame. I told you I just needed a stand-in, a temporary fiancé, to shut them up.” “I didn’t want to come back?!” I was shaking with fury. “I booked a ticket for today! You told me this place was ‘too remote’ and ‘too cold’ for a ‘city guy’ like me!” “Yes, yes, you’re right, it’s all my fault.” Kendall quickly conceded. “Blake’s a committed bachelor—this was strictly business, a performance for the family. We’re totally platonic. We have never done anything that would betray our vows.” “An act that requires you to sleep in the same room? An act where he claims credit for my damn Christmas gifts?” “We didn’t sleep together! We slept separately! I swear! And the gifts… that was a misunderstanding. I didn’t want them to get the wrong impression of you, so I just let them think he bought them…” “After the New Year, I’ll tell them the truth.” Kendall knelt on the floor beside the couch, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Can you just hold it together for a couple more days? Just until after the New Year? For my mother’s sake—you know her heart.” Her eyes were wide, pleading. She knew. She knew I grew up in a single-parent home and envied the warmth of a full family. She knew I couldn’t stand to see an elderly person suffer, and I couldn’t resist the phrase “for the sake of the family.” 5 A sudden, sharp gasp came from the doorway. “What in God’s name are you doing?!” Mrs. Wells was standing there, her face a mask of rage. “Mom, I—” Kendall scrambled away from me. Mrs. Wells rushed in, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You respectable-looking scoundrel! Sneaking in here in the middle of the night to prey on my married daughter?” The scream made my eardrums ring. “I am not—” “Not what? I saw you! Groping my daughter, practically kissing! Are you shameless?” “I knew no decent man would show up here on a holiday night! Blake is sleeping just down the hall! You think you can just march in here and steal someone’s fiancé right under our roof?” Mr. Wells, now wearing his robe, rushed in, his face grim. “Kendall! What is the meaning of this? Are you drunk or just plain stupid? You’re throwing away a good man like Blake for this… this nobody?” I looked at Kendall, waiting. I waited for her to speak the truth. I waited for the five words that would save me: He is my husband. But the words never came. She looked at the floor, accepting the slander. “Dad, Mom, it’s my fault. I just came in to bring him some water… he has a fever.” “Fever? That gives you license to seduce a woman who’s practically engaged?” Her mother was hysterical. I closed my eyes, exhausted by the absurdity. “Get out,” I croaked. “What did you say?” Mrs. Wells kept railing. “I said, Get the hell out!” I roared the words, grabbing the rock-hard pillow and hurling it violently at Kendall. She ducked away, pushing her furious parents out of the room. The door slammed shut. Through the wood, I heard the old woman’s voice, raw with fury: “The nerve of that man! Tomorrow, he leaves! Don’t let him stain our floors a minute longer!” 6 New Year’s Day. The living room was packed with extended family. The moment I stepped out of the den, dozens of eyes, full of malicious curiosity, tracked my every step. “Is that the shameless guy?” “He’s not bad-looking, I’ll give him that. No wonder he tries to steal other people’s girls.” “Blake’s better. So much classier. If it were me, I’d have thrown that guy out last night.” I walked through the gauntlet, my face a cold, blank mask, heading for the front door. “Oh, leaving already? Not going to keep flirting?” Kendall’s judgmental Aunt Beth hissed. I stopped and fixed her with a cold stare. At that moment, a sharply dressed man walked in, carrying several gift bags. It was Kendall’s older brother, Grant Wells. “Kai?” he blurted out. A tiny, desperate spark of hope flared in my chest. Grant knows the truth. But Grant caught sight of Blake, who was efficiently serving coffee, and his eyes shifted away from mine. He forced an awkward smile. “Oh… I guess you’re Kendall’s colleague?” I managed a self-deprecating laugh, said nothing, and walked out the door. Back in my New York apartment, the silence was deafening. The wedding photo on the wall—Kendall’s radiant, sincere smile. Our matching coffee mugs on the counter. Every corner of the apartment, a haunted relic of a shared life. My phone was buzzing continuously. A cascade of texts from Kendall. “Honey, did you make it back okay?” “I’m so sorry. I truly am. I was just being weak.” “Please don’t be mad. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I turned the phone off. For the next two days, I was a ghost, unable to eat, floating through the apartment in a haze of confusion and hurt. It wasn’t until I found myself in the hospital, picking up a set of pre-holiday test results for Kendall, that I stopped cold. She was six weeks pregnant. The world stopped. God, are you playing some kind of sick joke? Was this my child? If it was… Just as I decided to walk away from this poisoned marriage, fate handed me this tiny, unexpected life. I remembered the silly, tender times—me listening to her flat stomach, promising a daughter who would be as beautiful as she was. What if she really was just shallow, just vain? What if the whole thing with Blake was truly a platonic ‘act’ for the sake of her parents’ pride? For the child’s sake, could I bury the truth and try again? 7 Kendall was home when I returned. She rushed to me, throwing her arms around me. “Kai! Where were you? I’ve been frantic! I thought I’d lost you!” Her voice trembled with what felt like genuine fear. Breathing in her familiar scent, the last of my resolve crumbled. “Kendall, if you’re lying to me again, it’s over. Truly over.” She nodded frantically. “I swear! I’ll never pull a stunt like that again! Never!” For the child, I was willing to risk one last act of faith. That Friday, a week after I got back, was Valentine’s Day. It was also the anniversary of our first date. Before she left for work, Kendall gave me a deep, lingering kiss. “Honey, wait for me tonight. I have a surprise for you.” I smiled and said I would. After a week of her attentiveness and my own desperate self-counseling, I decided to erase the past. I prepared her favorite dishes and tucked the ultrasound printout—our secret, our future—into a small velvet box, ready to deliver the life-changing news. I waited from day to night. Expectation soured into a cold dread. The food sat uneaten. I called her. Voicemail. I texted. No reply. She’s in a meeting, her phone died, I told myself, clutching the desperate hope. At eleven o’clock, I checked social media. It was Blake. A carousel of photos, set in a chic, upscale restaurant. Blake, his parents, and right next to him, Kendall, radiant and laughing. The caption was a knife: First dinner with the wife’s folks this year! #futuremrsH #soinlove The sound was a roar in my ears. Logic dissolved into a raw, white-hot fire. I grabbed my keys, coat forgotten, and bolted for the elevator. I was going to find her. I was going to ask this woman I’d loved for eight years if her heart was made of stone. I was going to ask her why she was destroying us. The elevator doors opened. The steel reflected a pathetic stranger: hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, wearing one sneaker and one slipper. A discarded caricature of a man. Was this Kai Ashton? The sharp, confident man I used to be? Reduced to this—a weeping, betrayed husband chasing a liar? Is she worth it? The elevator stopped at the ground floor. The doors opened. The cold night air rushed in. I looked at my reflection. I wiped the tears from my face. I stood up straight. Then, I reached out and pressed the ‘Close Door’ button. 8 The velvet box with the ultrasound. I dropped it, along with the hopes it represented, into the stainless steel bin. This child, my child, deserved a father who wasn’t a fool. It was gone. I packed my bags that night. Even if that baby were mine, I didn’t want it anymore.

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My childhood best friend threw away his Stanford acceptance—the one we’d both bled for—all for a girl who was suddenly too fragile for California sunshine. The deadline for application material submission was half an hour away when his social media updated. In the soft glow of candlelight, he was gently placing a delicate birthday crown on her head. The caption: “Some choices are more important than a future.” My phone was vibrating wildly; it was my best friend, Jade. “Riley, are you still going to submit his forms? You’ve got three minutes left.” I closed the browser tab, watching the countdown clock tick. “No,” I said. “I’m not. That’s his call.” “I only pay for my own flight plan.” … At 6:00 p.m. sharp, the Stanford application system automatically closed. Jade let out a long, relieved breath on the other end of the line. “It’s about time you came to your senses! I’ll finally get to visit you in California next spring break!” Just as she was speaking, I heard the familiar beep of my front door’s smart lock. Beckett Nolan walked in, followed by Sadie Miller, looking as comfortable as if they were entering their own home. “Riley, you submitted your grad school application, right?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “I told Sadie that given her circumstances, staying domestic for a Master’s is the safest bet, but she was worried and insisted I come check on you.” He nudged her gently. “See? She’s more focused on your life than you are.” He gave the girl next to him a fond, almost paternal rub on the hair. The moment I’d decided not to follow Beckett’s path and stay behind, many of my raw emotions had settled into a quiet calm. I no longer felt that familiar tightening in my throat when I saw Sadie clutching his arm. I nodded. “All submitted. Did you need something?” Beckett frowned at my flat expression. “Riley, what’s with the attitude lately?” Sadie subtly tugged on his sleeve and spoke in a small voice: “Riley… you know about my family situation.” “Going abroad is too much of an expense. Even with a full scholarship, I can’t afford the living costs and flights.” “My grades are just okay. It’s better if I stay here, work on a domestic research project, and get a stipend.” She lowered her gaze. “It’s because of me that Beckett gave up his plan to go abroad. Please don’t be mad at him. He’s been working all afternoon connecting me with potential domestic advisors, so he didn’t get a chance to tell you himself…” Listening to her soft, frail explanation, I cut straight to the chase. “Didn’t you know all of these difficulties back when we started the application process?” “Why wait until the eleventh hour to bring it up?” Sadie looked genuinely shocked, her eyes instantly welling up. “I—I had talked it over with Beckett a while ago. It’s just that today was the final decision…” A while ago? I lowered my eyes. So, while I was pulling all-nighters with him, working on essays, grinding out practice problems, and dreaming of watching the sunset on the West Coast together, he was already planning a completely different future with Sadie. Seeing me silent, Sadie’s voice dropped to a whimper, laced with tears. Beckett placed his hand on her shoulder, his tone turning cold. “That’s enough, Riley.” “There’s no need to be so aggressive.” His words were like a bucket of ice water, jolting me completely awake. I looked at his familiar, yet suddenly alien face, then shifted my gaze away. “I’m not mad. I just wanted to know the reason.” Now I understood. And finally, I could let go. Beckett and I were the definition of childhood sweethearts, attached at the hip since kindergarten. After my father passed away, my mother became permanently based at her company’s overseas branch. She came home less than twice a year. For most of my childhood, it was just me and my grandmother in our old house. Some relatives always whispered cruel things—mocking my mother as a “career woman who neglects her home” or hinting that my family was “lacking a strong male presence.” I’d always hide under the old oak tree in the backyard to cry, not wanting my grandmother to see. That was where Beckett found me. He’d squat down in front of me, stick up for me, and every day after that, he’d bring me a warm bag of candied pecans. From then on, I was his shadow. We went to school together, studied for tests together, and cheered each other on through countless late nights, fueling each other’s dreams. We promised to go to America together, to get into the best schools, to drive Route 66, and wait for the sunrise over the Grand Canyon. We agreed that once we were settled there, we’d finally officially be a couple. Everything changed last year, the day Sadie arrived. She was a student his mother had sponsored from a disadvantaged school district. She was given special permission to transfer to our highly selective high school for her senior year, temporarily living with the Nolans. Initially, Beckett was distant, avoiding her at home and ignoring her at school. Sadie silently followed him around, organizing his messy homework, saving him a seat in the cafeteria, and collecting his lab reports. Her cautious, almost timid devotion occasionally reminded me of my younger self. So, I often urged Beckett to be kinder to her. But he was always indifferent. When we went off to college, Sadie applied for the Humanities program—the one with the lowest admissions score—just to be on the same campus as him. Then one day, while turning in forms at the Sociology department, we saw Sadie alone in the corner of a lecture hall, secretly wiping tears while listening to a TOEFL audio lesson. Beckett’s face was a study in conflicting emotions: surprise, guilt, pity. And perhaps a flicker of something else I couldn’t quite name. From that moment, everything shifted. He started canceling our weekend dates to help Sadie with English tutoring. He started walking her to public lectures because her roommate was giving her the cold shoulder. This afternoon, he’d texted to say he was officially pulling his application and would be staying in the country to pursue a direct PhD with Sadie. I was stunned for a long time, but the overriding emotion was, surprisingly, relief. It was as if a heavy stone I’d been carrying for years had finally hit the ground. Beckett was so sure I’d follow him that he didn’t even bother to ask about my choice before he and Sadie left. That evening, the department had a dinner gathering. When I arrived, they were already there. I chose a seat as far away from Beckett as possible. He kept staring at me, his eyes full of a complicated mix of confusion and irritation. A guy at the table laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Riley, why so far away? Better keep an eye on Beckett, or someone else might snatch him up for good.” Everyone knew who that “someone” was. Sadie didn’t deny it; she just blushed and glanced at Beckett. Our class president tried to smooth things over. “Don’t be ridiculous. Didn’t Beckett and Riley promise to study abroad together?” Before I could speak, Sadie gently interjected, “Beckett didn’t accept the overseas offer. He was worried I wouldn’t adjust to life abroad, so he decided to stay here with me.” There was a hint of barely concealed triumph in her voice. The table went quiet for a beat. Someone asked me, “Riley, is that true? You don’t mind? You guys have been preparing for this since sophomore year, right?” I looked at the slight upturn of Sadie’s mouth and spoke calmly. “I don’t mind.” “To each their own path.” Just as Beckett had chosen Sadie. I had chosen my own road. Halfway through the dinner, I stepped out to take a call. When I returned, Beckett and Sadie had moved to the seats right next to me. Beckett’s cheeks were flushed with alcohol. He leaned in conspiratorially. “Riley, I know you’re upset that I gave up the study abroad plan.” “But you know Sadie’s situation. Going abroad is just too much stress for her.” “If she stays here, she can keep her financial aid and be close enough to care for her sick mother.” “She’s so sensitive; she’s never been far from home. You wouldn’t want her to be here alone, would you?” “Sadie said if you want to visit the US, we can save up after graduation and go together.” “Don’t be so dramatic, okay?” I pushed his shoulder away. “I told you, I’m not mad.” I raised an eyebrow. “But if Sadie has trouble with basic living expenses, how is she planning a trip to America?” Clang. Sadie’s glass tipped over onto the table. She bit her lip, her eyes instantly red. “Riley, I know your family is wealthy, and you’ve always looked down on me.” “I was planning to tutor on the side to save up for the trip, and I’d pay Beckett back for everything.” “Are you saying only people like you deserve to see the world?” “Am I supposed to just rot away here?” “I don’t steal or cheat; I earn every penny. Please stop talking to me like I’m beneath you.” The surrounding students started whispering: “That was a bit much from Riley…” “She’s smart, but sometimes she’s just too aggressive.” “Honestly, if I were him, I’d pick the sweet one like Sadie, too.” Sadie’s tears began to fall in earnest. Beckett’s eyes hardened completely. “Riley, apologize to Sadie. Now.” Jade, who had been quiet, finally snapped back. “Why? She’s the one who keeps playing the poverty card!” “Riley only asked a logical question based on her own words. Why should she apologize?” “Sadie had three months this summer. She could have interned or worked. But she hasn’t. She just tags along with you everywhere, planning trips to the States. Who’s being high and mighty now?” Sadie began to sob hysterically. I looked at the scene, feeling only a profound exhaustion. I pulled Jade up to leave. Beckett grabbed my wrist, his voice low with fury. “Riley, apologize. Or don’t bother coming on the graduation trip.” My wrist was throbbing. I gently peeled his fingers away, one by one, and looked him in the eye. “Beckett, you and Sadie can go wherever you like.” “Just don’t involve me in your drama.” “And don’t contact me again.” With that, I turned and walked out. That same night, Sadie posted on social media. It was a photo of her and Beckett at an amusement park. Caption: Meeting you was the best kind of luck. I glanced at it, feeling a deep, abiding peace. I went back to packing, preparing for my summer stay in the city where my mother worked. The moment the plane landed, my phone blew up with notifications—all from Beckett. “Riley, Sadie and I are planning the California trip. You can still make the reservation if you apologize now.” “There’s nothing going on between Sadie and me. That post was just a thank you.” “Riley, I truly don’t understand you.” “A domestic PhD track is a golden opportunity. What’s so terrible about it?” “You had a guaranteed spot. Why throw a tantrum over this?” I scrolled past the messages, leaving them unread. Beckett had considered Sadie’s needs from every angle. Yet, he had never once stopped to think that with my father gone, my mother’s business overseas, and my grandmother needing care in a warmer climate, staying in the country was the worst option for me. When I arrived at the apartment, a tall, well-built young man was sitting in the living room. He stood up and took my suitcase. “Do you remember me? I’m Damon Fox.” Damon, the son of my mother’s old colleague, was two years older than me and currently pursuing his PhD in California. Hearing I’d decided to go abroad, he’d flown home specifically to help me get a head start. For two solid weeks, Beckett didn’t try to call again. His social media feed was a constant stream of travel photos with Sadie. Meanwhile, with Damon’s steady help, I familiarized myself with my courses, secured an apartment, and sorted out all the details for my life across the ocean. Once all the paperwork was finalized, I returned to Boston one last time. This trip was purely to finalize the sale of our old house. My mom, still cautious, asked Damon to accompany me. Just as we entered the neighborhood, we ran into Beckett’s mother coming home from the grocery store. She insisted we come up for dinner. Unable to refuse, and hearing that Beckett and Sadie were out, we went upstairs. While cooking, Beckett’s mother lamented. “Riley, that son of mine drove me crazy.” “He secretly rejected the overseas scholarship without telling anyone. I only found out when the confirmation email hit my inbox.” “Thank God he said you eventually decided to stay, too. Otherwise, I’d have wrung his neck.” “Now that you two are doing your doctorates here, I need you to keep an eye on him for me.” Beckett’s mother treated me like a daughter. She was the one who always sat by my bedside when I had a fever as a child. I paused, then spoke softly, “Aunt Nora, I didn’t give up the scholarship. My paperwork is all done.” Beckett’s mother froze. Then she patted my hand, simply telling me to be careful out there alone. The dinner finished in a subtle, uncomfortable silence. After saying goodbye, I went home for the final clean-up. The house sale was final; the buyers were a couple desperate for a good school district for their child, scheduled to sign the contract that afternoon. I was showing them the view from the patio when a familiar voice erupted at the door: “Who are you?” “Why are you in Riley’s house?” I turned around. Beckett was standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed, staring aggressively at Damon. I stepped forward. “Beckett, this is Damon Fox, my mother’s friend’s son. Damon, this is Beckett Nolan, my oldest friend.” Beckett’s face darkened even further. He was about to press the issue when he was cut off by a tearful female voice. “Beckett, did you find out what happened?” It was Sadie. She was standing on the landing, her eyes red-rimmed. Beckett’s expression changed. He looked back at me. “Riley, did you stop by my house earlier today?” I nodded. “I ran into your mom, so I stayed for dinner.” The moment I finished, Sadie’s tears began to fall. Beckett’s brow furrowed. “Riley, what did you say to my mom at lunch?” “She suddenly gave Sadie the cold shoulder and told her to move out once she starts grad school.” “Giving up the scholarship was my decision. If you’re angry, take it out on me, but stop bullying Sadie.” “Go explain everything to my mom right now.” “Otherwise, you’ll regret it when the semester starts.” I was anxious to sign the contract. I had no energy for this. “Fine.” Beckett froze, then his face turned ashen. “Riley, what do you mean by that?” I didn’t answer. I gently closed the door. After the contracts were signed, I started the final sweep. The large furniture was staying; most of the clothes were handled. All that remained were some documents, photo albums, and a single cherrywood keepsake box. The box contained every birthday gift Beckett had given me from age eight to eighteen. The origami stars he’d folded, the simple silver necklace he’d saved up for, and the lucky charm he’d hiked for. Only my nineteenth birthday was missing. I remembered that Sunday. I was at the Nolans’ working on application details with Beckett. Things were already strained between us. All afternoon, he was helping Sadie revise her study proposal, barely speaking to me. I was hurt, but I refused to show my vulnerability in front of Sadie. As I was leaving, I spoke quietly. “Beckett, it’s my birthday today.” He paused, a look of immediate annoyance flashing across his face. He said he’d go straight out to pick up the gift he’d pre-ordered. But Sadie called out to him. “Beckett, I still don’t understand this question. Could you please go over it one more time?” Beckett looked at me, then at Sadie. After a moment of hesitation, he finally said, “Riley, just go home and wait for me. I’ll come over after I finish helping Sadie.” I waited until midnight. The clock struck twelve, and he never showed. When we met the next day at school, he didn’t bring the gift. He just frowned and told me, “Riley, you know Sadie’s never even had a birthday cake in her life.” His tone was laced with pity and concern. The ring of my phone pulled me back to the present. Damon’s voice. “Riley, your books and important documents have been shipped. Anything else I can help with here?” I looked around the empty room. “No, I’m all set. Just wait for me at the transit hub.” I sealed the cherrywood box and placed it, along with the rest of the unwanted clutter, into the recycling bin. Damon and I had a late-night flight booked. After saying goodbye to Aunt Nora, I rode my bike toward our meeting point. I didn’t expect to run into Beckett on the way.

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It was the day before Christmas Eve, and Grant had finally agreed to file the marriage license. But on the way to City Hall, he suddenly slammed on the brakes. I looked at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. He calmly lit a cigarette, the smoke curling between us. “We can’t do this, Ainsley,” he said, his voice flat. “My ex-wife is back, and she brought the kid. I quietly remarried her yesterday to get Zane’s health insurance and custody situation sorted.” My face went white, but Grant simply flicked the ash off his cigarette, his tone radiating self-justification. “It’s a paper marriage, Ainsley. It’s only for Zane. You’ve always been so mature and reasonable; I know you understand.” “The wedding is still on, you’ll wear the ring, and nothing between us has changed—except for that piece of paper.” Looking at the arrogant, utterly unfamiliar man sitting next to me, my stomach lurched. It was a dizzying, sickening roll. I had been about to tell him we were having the child we’d both longed for. But now, he didn’t deserve to know. And this marriage, the sham of it, was over before it began. … I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting down the wave of nausea. My voice was a dry rasp. “So, Grant…” “When you walked into that courthouse yesterday, did you think, even for one second, that you were supposed to be walking into the same place with me today?” Grant put out the cigarette, his expression tight, as if genuinely surprised by my question. “Ainsley, don’t make this complicated.” “Camille and I were a business merger, nothing more. We divorced because the feeling wasn’t there. This quick remarriage was the fastest way to handle Zane’s complicated legal issues. You’re the one who always said you hate unnecessary drama.” I used to go out of my way to keep him from worrying about work—always focused on the positive. He called me understanding; he called me low-maintenance. Now, my kindness was the knife he was twisting into me. I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “So, to avoid ‘unnecessary drama,’ I’m supposed to simply accept that my fiancé is now, legally, someone else’s husband, days before our wedding?” “Grant, what am I to you?” Grant reached for me, but I pulled away. His hand hung awkwardly in the air. He sighed, pulling his hand back to his side. “Ainsley, five years. Are you really going to let five years of love crumble over a technicality?” “You know how I’ve been with you. I love you. I want to build a life with you. That hasn’t changed.” I remembered a year ago, when we’d passed an upscale baby boutique. He’d pulled me inside and held a tiny pair of pink leather shoes, completely captivated. “Ainsley, as soon as we get married, we have to try for a baby right away.” “I can’t wait to see a little version of you calling me Dad.” The hope then had been real. The betrayal now was just as real. I took a breath, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat belly. I asked, my voice barely a whisper, “And the child? Once the papers are done, then what? You’re just going to keep this legal arrangement indefinitely?” Seeing a glimmer of softening in my tone, Grant relaxed. He spoke with the easy confidence of a man who knows he’s winning. “Zane’s immune system is fragile, and Camille can’t manage his specialist care alone.” “I’ll set them up in the Brooklyn brownstone, hire a full-time caregiver, and I’ll go over once or twice a week.” “Ainsley, you have my word: the majority of my time will be with you, and with our home.” Our home? I chewed on those words, the taste of them metallic and sharp. How does a married man offer another woman a home? His phone rang then. It was his mother. Grant answered, his voice instantly warm. “Yes, Mom, we’re on the way. I’m bringing Ainsley over for dinner later.” He hung up, turned the car around without asking my permission, and started driving. “My mother’s health isn’t great, and you’re her favorite. Everyone knows about the wedding. You don’t want to disappoint her, do you?” I looked at his familiar profile, and a chill settled deep in my bones. For his mother’s sake, for his son’s sake, for the sake of keeping his life neatly compartmentalized. I was, yet again, left with only one acceptable option: to be the reasonable, accommodating one. The knot of acid in my stomach twisted violently. I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself from gagging. Grant’s family estate. The moment we walked in, Mrs. Sterling pulled me close, beaming. “Ainsley, darling, you’re here! Quick, Maria just finished a special batch of that imported organic tonic. Drink it while it’s warm, sweetie.” She was completely oblivious. In her mind, tomorrow was her son’s glorious day. At the dinner table, Grant played the role of the perfect husband-to-be. He peeled the shrimp, carved the roast, and poured the wine. Every action was smooth, practiced, and attentive. “Ainsley, the garlic prawns are your favorite. Have some more.” Mrs. Sterling placed a generous serving onto my plate. I forced down the rising nausea and managed a strained smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Sterling.” “Mrs. Sterling? Tomorrow you call me Mom!” she teased. Grant’s hand paused on the table, then he quickly smiled and chimed in, “That’s right, you’ll finally have to change that.” He looked at me, his eyes carrying both a warning and a desperate plea. He was betting on my kindness, betting that I wouldn’t dare break his mother’s fragile heart. After dinner, Mrs. Sterling pulled me into her study with a secretive air. She opened a heavy safe and took out a red velvet box. Inside, nestled on the satin, was a heavy, vintage platinum-and-diamond bangle—the kind that held immeasurable generational value. “Ainsley, this is the Sterling family heirloom, passed down to the wife.” She didn’t wait for my response, sliding the cold, heavy band onto my wrist. “I can see that Grant truly loves you.” “He was such a restless soul before you. You settled him, made him into a man.” Mrs. Sterling patted my hand, her eyes glistening. “Now, you two promise me you’ll make me a grandmother soon. My heart, I don’t know how long it will last…” I stared at the blinding sparkle on my wrist, my throat constricting as if plugged with cotton. The word no burned on my tongue, but I swallowed it, choking it down. My secret, the knowledge of the baby in my womb, felt impossibly heavy. The grandchild she wished for was already here. Too bad her son had, just yesterday, personally ensured that child would be born a technical bastard. Later that night, back in our penthouse, Grant was slightly tipsy. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, his liquor-scented kisses landing on my neck. “Baby…” I went rigid, a wave of pure, physical revulsion washing over me. The acid rush returned to my throat. I pushed him away hard and ran to the bathroom, dry-heaving into the toilet. Grant followed, rubbing my back awkwardly. “What’s wrong? Did the prawns not agree with you?” I splashed cold water on my face, looking at my pale, drawn reflection in the mirror. “Grant, don’t touch me.” He froze, his face hardening. “Still making a scene? Ainsley, I thought you’d come around.” I turned, backing up against the vanity, putting as much distance between us as possible. “Grant, I need to know: in your plan, what exactly am I?” “A trophy wife you can show off but can’t legally claim? Or just a convenient accessory to help you smooth over your life?” He lit a cigarette, his expression one of mounting irritation. “I told you, I can give you everything but that paper. Company shares, properties, all my liquid assets—they’re yours.” “Camille is just a responsibility.” Always responsibility. “And what is your responsibility to me?” “What I feel for you is love!” He roared the word, sounding like a deeply aggrieved man. “Ainsley, don’t push me.” “You know how much my mother loves you. Her heart condition is real.” “If you leave me and something happens to her because of the shock… do you really want that responsibility? You’re a good woman; you care about her like a mother, right?” “And let’s not forget your father. His specialist kidney care, the exclusive palliative wing—I handle all of that. Without me, can you guarantee that level of care for him?” The veneer of love fell away, leaving behind only the cold, hard mechanics of threat and calculation. He knew my weaknesses. My kindness, my empathy, my reluctance to create a scene. These qualities he’d once praised were now the sharpest tools in his arsenal. Each word was a cut, leaving me bloody and raw. I looked at the man standing before me. Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t known him at all for the last five years. “Fine,” I heard myself say, the word flat and lifeless. “I won’t make a scene.” Grant let out a huge sigh of relief, moving toward me to hug me. “I knew it. You’re the best, Ainsley.” I stepped aside, avoiding his touch, and pointed toward the guest suite. “But I can’t look at you right now. Sleep in the guest room.” His face tightened again, but to placate me, he nodded. “Okay, fine. Get some rest.” The moment the door closed, I slid down the wall, sinking to the floor. I looked at the heavy diamond bangle on my wrist. The tears finally came, an unstoppable torrent. To reassure me and, perhaps, himself that our situation was now manageable, Grant actually suggested I meet Camille. He took me to the Brooklyn brownstone—the place where we had lived during the lean, exciting days of building his company. Now, it housed his legal wife and his child. He opened the door. The once familiar, minimalist space was now decorated in a cozy, hygge style. Camille was administering an inhaler to a little boy. She wore simple cotton loungewear, makeup-free, her hair pulled back in a casual bun. She looked up, saw me, and gave a calm, measured nod. “Come in, Ainsley. It’s a bit of a mess, but don’t worry about it.” The boy was small, maybe five or six, and he looked exactly like Grant. He hid shyly behind Camille’s legs and whispered, “Daddy.” Grant walked over naturally. He knelt to check Zane’s breathing, then got a glass of water, which he skillfully helped the boy drink, wiping the corner of his mouth. It was the practiced, ingrained familiarity of a father. I stood in the doorway, feeling like a clumsy intruder. I watched their picture of quiet domesticity. Was this the “responsibility” he claimed had no emotion attached? While Grant took Zane into the bedroom to look for a toy, Camille offered me a glass of warm water and sat across from me in the living room. “Honestly, I told Grant that this was unfair to you.” “But once he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it.” She sighed, playing the role of the world-weary sage. “Men at a certain level always want it all. They want their unshakable foundation and their exciting distraction.” “What can we do but wait for him to figure out what he actually needs?” Her words held no malice, no fire. But they subtly pushed me into the category of ‘distraction’—the fleeting, temporary thrill. She, however, was the ‘responsibility,’ the one who was always there to catch him. She picked up a framed photo—a family portrait of her, Grant, and Zane. She wiped a speck of dust off the glass. “Even when we were divorced, he never let me throw this away.” “Some things are just in the bones, Ainsley.” I looked at the piercing sight of that family photo. Then I looked at the cold, heavy bangle on my wrist. The absurdity of it all was overwhelming. I said nothing, simply standing up to leave. Camille didn’t try to stop me. She only said, her voice light and airy behind me, “Don’t blame him, Ainsley. And don’t break yourself. Give it a few years. You’ll get used to it.” Get used to it? Get used to this disgusting triad? The wedding preparations continued, and Grant seemed to truly believe I had surrendered. He was gentle, attentive, and even a little desperate to please. “Ainsley, what about this main gown? It’s a bespoke piece flown in from Paris.” “And this ring, I had them add another carat.” He was desperately trying to fill the black hole of his lie with material goods. He thought enough money could purchase dignity. He took me to the studio to pick up our massive wedding portrait. In the photo, we were kissing by the ocean. I’d thought I was the happiest woman alive. Now, that smile felt like a grotesque mask. Grant pointed at the photo, his eyes shining with false pride. “Ainsley, look how perfect we are.” “I’ll devote my life to you. I’ll put the world at your feet.” I looked at his earnest, lying face, and the nausea returned with full force. “I need the ladies’ room.” I rushed into the back, dry-heaving over the porcelain. Nothing came up but burning bile. The ultrasound image in my wallet—the one I’d memorized—was a reminder that my pregnancy was nearly three months along. When I came out, I saw Grant with his back to me, speaking quietly on the phone. My hearing was always sharp. “…Stop, Camille, I can’t talk right now.” “Zane has a fever again? Did you give him the medication?” “Fine, fine, I’m coming over. Don’t cry. I’ll pick up the cupcakes from that bakery he loves.” It was Camille. Even at this critical moment—as we stood in front of our wedding portrait—she could use her child as a lever to pull him away. He hung up and turned, his eyes flicking with panic when he saw me. He quickly masked it, rushing over with an apologetic expression. “Urgent company crisis, Ainsley. A major client just landed unexpectedly. I have to go smooth things over.” I didn’t call him out. I simply looked at him. “Grant, do you remember what day it is?” He paused, clearly blank, a slight panic in his eyes. I prompted him gently. “It’s my birthday.” His face crumpled with instant guilt. He scrambled to salvage the moment. “Oh, Ainsley, I am so sorry. I’ve been completely swamped with work.” “What do you want? We’ll go buy it right now.” He reached for my hand again. I stepped back, shaking my head. “It’s fine. You have an urgent crisis, don’t you? Go.” He thought I was being the understanding Ainsley he’d come to rely on. He breathed a sigh of relief, leaned in, and kissed my forehead, his voice falsely bright. “I’ll make it up to you tonight. Be a good girl, wait for me.” Then he snatched his keys and hurried out the door. His retreating back held not a single shred of hesitation. The studio was empty, save for me and the giant wedding portrait, which stood mockingly in the center. I walked over to the corner, where the workers had left a small sledgehammer. I picked it up, testing the weight. It was heavy. Just like the stone that had been pressing down on my heart for the last five years. I looked at the woman in the photo—the one who believed he loved her—and whispered, “Happy Birthday, Ainsley Hayes.” The next second. I lifted the hammer and brought it down with every ounce of strength I had. The sound of shattering glass was a high-pitched scream in the empty room. Shards flew everywhere, cutting my legs, but I felt nothing. Grant’s face in the photo was a jagged mess. My own smiling face was splintered into a thousand pieces. I wrenched the heirloom bangle off my wrist. I dropped it into the pile of broken glass. Then, I took the crumpled ultrasound from my bag—the one with creases from where my fingers had worried it for weeks—and calmly placed it, face-down, on top of the bracelet. Finally, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Faye, I need you to schedule the earliest D&C appointment for me tomorrow morning.” “As soon as possible.”

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For twenty years, I had been a single mother to three children, and I thought the hard part was finally over. The kids were grown. We were finally breathing. I was wrong. My youngest, Daisy, had just been diagnosed with a serious illness, and my eldest, Chelsea, was planning her wedding. That’s when she hit me with the demand. “Mom, Brent’s family is giving us thirty thousand for the bride price. I just need you to match it, maybe a little more, say thirty-two thousand for my moving allowance,” Chelsea said, her tone perfectly reasonable, as if asking for thirty-two thousand dollars was the same as asking for a ride to the grocery store. “You don’t want me to look cheap in front of his family, do you?” I kept my voice calm, though my chest felt tight. “Chelsea, I’m not touching your fiancé’s money. Your brother, Noah, is still in college, and your sister, Daisy, is sick. I simply don’t have thirty-two thousand dollars to give you for a car or whatever you’re planning to use it for.” Her pleasant expression immediately soured. “Daisy isn’t on her deathbed, is she? Can’t her treatment wait?” she argued. The sheer audacity of the question stole my breath. “And Noah? Can’t he take out student loans? Why do you always play favorites? What kind of mother doesn’t provide a nest egg for her daughter’s wedding? Honestly, what is the difference between this and just selling me off?” Ignoring the sudden, icy dread in my stomach, she kept going, her voice rising in pitch. “If you couldn’t afford us, you shouldn’t have had so many children! Not having kids is a kindness when you’re poor, but having them just to make them suffer—that’s cruel, Mom! That’s just being awful.” She stared me down, her gaze flinty. “If you don’t come up with that money, consider this the end. You won’t have a daughter in me anymore.” I felt a monumental weight lift off my shoulders, immediately replaced by a terrible, empty ache. I let out a slow, heavy exhale. “Fine. Then from today forward, I don’t have an eldest daughter.” 1 Chelsea froze, then her eyes welled up with performative, angry tears. “I knew it! You never loved me, not once, my whole life!” she shrieked, the sound cracking with manufactured indignation. “If this were Daisy getting married, you wouldn’t just cough up thirty-two thousand, you’d sell a kidney for sixty! I bet I was found in a dumpster!” Her outburst grew louder and more hysterical, drawing the attention of our elderly neighbors in the hallway. My chest was pounding; a heavy, suffocating sense of failure and exhaustion clogged my throat. Never in a million years did I think the child I risked my life to bring into this world would, twenty-five years later, feel like a bullet tearing through my heart. She saw none of it. She saw none of the years of agonizing work, the constant state of near-poverty, the humbling and dirty jobs I took just to keep a roof over their heads. She saw only an evil, withholding mother who refused her a cash prize for getting married. In a white-hot flash of pure, reactive fury, I pointed toward the apartment door. “That’s right! I did find you in a dumpster! Now get out! Get the hell out of my house!” The neighbors started to intervene, telling me not to say such wounding things, while also trying to reason with Chelsea. “Chelsea, your mother has raised three kids on her own for decades, got you all into college—that’s a miracle in itself,” Mrs. Henderson said gently. “With Daisy’s medical bills right now, you have to be understanding. It’s not that she doesn’twant to give you the money, it’s that she simply can’t.” Chelsea didn’t listen. She sniffled dramatically, shoved the neighbor aside, and slammed the door hard enough to shake the old plaster. Hollowed out, I let myself cry a few silent, ice-cold tears, then quickly wiped them away. I had to get Daisy’s dinner ready and take it to the hospital. On the bus, my son Noah texted me. “Mom, I found a part-time job. You don’t need to send me my allowance anymore.” “It won’t affect my classes, I promise. Don’t worry about me.” Right after the text, a thousand dollars popped into my account, with instructions to use it on good food or supplements for his sister. The contrast struck me like a physical blow. They were both my children, conceived and raised in the same house, but separated by a staggering, cruel gulf. When I arrived at the hospital, Daisy wasn’t resting. She was sitting up in bed, an IV drip attached to her arm, working on her laptop. She was only in her first year of college, but she had already picked up some freelance work online. Two weeks ago, they found the benign tumor. The doctors were clear: an immediate operation was necessary, or it would quickly turn malignant, and no amount of money could buy back a life then. To get her the surgery as fast as possible, I had negotiated with my employer, taking a three-year advance on my salary—a flat twenty thousand dollars—the very week Chelsea made her demand. I had no choice. Daisy’s life, not Chelsea’s wedding, came first. Suddenly, Daisy’s phone rang—a video call from Chelsea. I heard the instant, wailing accusation before Daisy could even say hello. “Daisy, you won’t believe how Mom is acting. Every other mother is throwing parties and setting up their daughters with trust funds. She’s giving me nothing, and she told me to get lost! It’s all about Noah. She’s keeping the money for him. She doesn’t care if we sink or swim.” 2 Daisy saw me enter the room and quickly tried to play mediator, looking embarrassed and frail. “Sis, you’ve got it all wrong. Mom treats all three of us exactly the same.” “The hell she does! If she treated us the same, would she send me off with nothing? She’s setting me up to be completely humiliated by Brent’s family!” Chelsea shouted, cutting her off midsentence. “Look, I don’t care what Mom says, she will give me the money,” Chelsea insisted, her voice now hard and demanding. “I’m not an idiot. I’m not letting her off the hook that easily. This is her responsibility to me as a mother.” I snatched the phone from Daisy’s hand. I was shaking with fury. “You drop this right now, Chelsea! You stop this vicious selfishness!” I spat into the phone. “You are a black hole of need! If you had a shred of decency, you wouldn’t be putting your sister through this right now!” I hung up before she could respond and turned to Daisy. “Don’t believe a word your sister says. You focus on getting better. The house and everything else is my problem.” Tears welled up in Daisy’s eyes. She held my hand, guilt radiating off her small frame. “If I wasn’t sick, you’d have the money for her. I’m so sorry, Mom.” It took a while for me to soothe her. After that horrible argument, Chelsea went silent for a few days, and honestly, I was too busy with work and the hospital to care. But the day before Daisy’s surgery, I caught something on her screen. She was transferring money. The amount stopped me dead. $32,000. “Where did you get that money? Why are you sending your sister thirty-two thousand dollars?” I demanded, my voice raw with disbelief. She couldn’t hide it anymore. “I took out a student loan—a campus-based private loan, Mom. I know I can pay it back once I graduate. I just… I didn’t want the wedding money to be the thing that tears us apart forever. We’re already a struggling family; I don’t want us to stop being a family completely.” I wanted to hug her for her kindness and shake her for her stupidity. “You sweet, foolish child. That’s a predatory loan. The interest will eat you alive!” Without another word, I found Chelsea’s chat history with Daisy. Chelsea had been feeding her a constant stream of self-pity, complaints about being the family’s neglected elder sister who raised the younger kids, and accusations about my failure as a mother. She had explicitly goaded Daisy into taking the loan. The coldness I felt was absolute. I thought Chelsea was just angry, saying hurtful things in the heat of the moment. Now I realized her heart was simply stone cold—a heart I had spent twenty-seven years trying, and failing, to warm. I immediately contacted the loan company and reversed the transaction. In less than 24 hours, the predatory fees had already cost us two thousand dollars. When Chelsea realized the money was gone, and that I was the reason, she showed up at my apartment the next morning, bringing Brent, and, worse, his parents. 3 Brent’s mother spoke first, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “Joanna, dear, Chelsea is the oldest. She must have helped you carry a lot of responsibility over the years, isn’t that right? Where I come from, even when parents give away an adopted daughter, they send her off with a new car and a down payment on a house.” She was implying I was worse than a stranger. My face darkened, but before I could respond, Brent’s father cut in with a horrifying bombshell. “Frankly, since Chelsea is already three months along, we’re mostly just doing a quick ceremony now. But we gave her thirty thousand dollars. It’s traditional for her family to show equal support. Without the matching fund, it’s just not right.” Chelsea, meanwhile, started sobbing, playing the victim. “You don’t want to help me, fine. But Daisy loves me and tried to get the money for me! Why would you ruin that for me? How am I supposed to hold my head up in my new family now?” The pent-up rage of the last few weeks erupted. I lunged forward and slapped her hard across the cheek. “You can’t hold your head up because you have no shame, Chelsea! Are you even listening to yourself? You forced your own sister—your sick, struggling sister—to take out a high-interest loan to fund your wedding ego trip!” Brent’s parents and Brent started screaming at me, pointing fingers. Chelsea shrieked back at me, her eyes manic. “You’re just hoarding the money for Daisy’s non-essential surgery and your precious son! I’m getting married! I’ve never asked you for anything big! This is my right!” I felt a cardiac event coming on. There was no reasoning with this bottomless pit of entitlement. “Get out! I am done with you! I do not have a daughter in you!” I yelled, clutching my chest. “I raised three kids on my own! You cannot be considerate of me for one second, yet you attack and demand like this? Even if I did have the money, I wouldn’t give a single cent to a selfish monster like you!” Chelsea continued to weep, still claiming I was playing favorites. “I won’t leave! This apartment was Dad’s! I have a share in it!” she insisted, her tears drying up fast. “You’re giving all the cash to Daisy, so give me the house instead! I’m not an idiot to walk away with nothing.” I stared at her, utterly cold. She wanted to strip me of everything. Driven beyond reason, I hit her again. “Are you trying to kill me?! Are you trying to destroy every single one of us?” I had rarely raised my voice to her, never struck her, always thinking of her fatherless upbringing. In that moment, I hated that I hadn’t been stricter. Chelsea glared at me, her eyes filled with wounded astonishment. “I just wanted my mother to give me something for my wedding. What is so wrong about that?” She pointed to the dilapidated room, the cracked walls, the patches of mold. “You won’t even give me this rat trap that no one would buy! You truly do not care about your eldest daughter!” She was right; the house was a wreck, scheduled for demolition years ago. Only people like us, barely making rent, were still living in the condemned building. But it was the only shelter we had left. The final insult came when Chelsea pulled out her phone, still crying, and dialed 911. “I’m three months pregnant and getting married,” she sobbed into the phone. “My mother just physically assaulted me because I asked her for a wedding gift.” 4 She showed the police officer the red marks on her face. I explained the medical emergency, the advanced loan, and the financial situation. Chelsea stood there, head held high, fully unrepentant. “I looked it up online. Daisy’s tumor is benign. It doesn’t have to be removed right now. Mom is making her suffer and cutting me out just to make a point!” I wanted to tear her apart. The police officer was holding me back. “Listen to yourself! What kind of human being says that about her own sister? It’s benign now! If it turns malignant, she dies! I don’t care if you love your sister or not, but I love her, and I will save her life! If it were you with this tumor, I would move heaven and earth to save you, too!” She just whined that I was cursing her. The officer tried to mediate: “Ma’am, marriage is a celebration, and hitting your daughter is wrong. The money for the wedding is negotiable, based on family income, not a right.” Chelsea couldn’t accept the officer’s impartial advice. “You need to take my mother in for a couple of days,” she demanded. “She needs to cool off and reflect on how she’s treating her daughter.” She claimed dizziness, emotional distress, and potential harm to the fetus due to my slap. The police took me to a holding cell. My first time detained. Because of my daughter. I spent fifteen agonizing days there. I pleaded with the officers to call Chelsea, to tell her about Daisy’s critical surgery. But she was unmoved. She even told the officer, when I compromised and offered her the dilapidated apartment: “I changed my mind. I don’t want that piece of junk. I want the thirty-two thousand dollars in cash.” I knew she was still only after the money I’d already given the hospital. When I was finally released fifteen days later, the worst possible news awaited me. Daisy wasn’t in surgery. She was discharged. Chelsea had secretly gone to the hospital and canceled the procedure, taking the entire surgery fund as a refund. I rushed to Daisy’s university. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Mom, just let it go,” she begged, holding my hands. “Let Chelsea have the money. If you don’t, she’ll never stop. I don’t want you to be miserable because of her. The doctor said since it’s benign, I’m safe for now. I’ll keep working and save up.” Looking at my sweet, self-sacrificing daughter, I felt a fresh flood of tears, but this time they were hot with fury. Though Daisy begged me to forget it, my heart was a frozen block of ice. I went to find Chelsea. She refused to return the money. In fact, she was smug. “I have my marriage certificate now. All the money is legally ours, a gift from my family to my husband and me. It can’t go back to the ‘family’ side,” she stated, totally brazen. “In fact, Brent and I are using the cash—yours and his—to buy him a luxury SUV tomorrow. He’s in sales; the car is part of his image. I need to support him.” I laughed—a sharp, cold sound that held no humor. I didn’t argue. I just told her, “Fine. I hope you never regret this.” The next day, I followed her to the dealership. I approached her and handed her a small stack of papers. The moment she saw them, her face went white with panic. She instantly collapsed. “Mom, I’ll give you the money back. All of it. I’m your daughter, please don’t do this to me!”

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New Year’s Eve. I was pushing my beat-up delivery scooter through a blizzard when my phone vibrated. “Rory.” Just two syllables, cutting through the static and the roar of the wind, landing like a thunderbolt on my skull. But I’d signed the non-disclosure agreement. I’d taken the money and vanished a decade ago. I couldn’t fathom why my younger brother, the one who’d taken my college spot and my name, was contacting me now. “I’m outside the complex where you’re delivering.” “Mom and Dad are dying. They want to see you one last time.” Outside the complex? … I slammed on the brakes. My tire skidded, carving a black scar into the snow-covered asphalt. A stretch Cadillac idled by the security gate. A window rolled halfway down, revealing a face I knew too well—handsome, chiseled, and perfectly maintained. Staring at that face—a mirror image of my own, yet a world away in fortune—my frozen hands tightened on the scooter’s handlebar. They’d bled me dry to pave his golden path. What else could they possibly want? I exhaled a cloud of white steam, ignored the car, and twisted the throttle, speeding past the massive luxury vehicle. I didn’t even glance in the rearview mirror. Behind me, a car door opened and closed with a heavy thud. Jasper hadn’t chased me. Of course not. How could a man in a fifty-thousand-dollar bespoke suit, wearing pristine Italian leather shoes, sully himself with this kind of sludge and snow? Ten minutes later, I parked the scooter outside the dilapidated building slated for demolition. My hands were numb, practically welded to the grips. I wrestled the thermal bag free. My phone buzzed again—an unknown number. I didn’t need to check the caller ID. I hung up instantly. Then came the barrage of texts: “Rory Miller, how much longer are you going to play the martyr?” “Dad has end-stage renal failure. He needs a kidney, immediately.” “If you have an ounce of conscience left, stop pretending you’re dead.” At the words “renal failure,” I wanted to laugh. I truly, bitterly wanted to laugh. Ten years ago, they’d used the same tactic. They’d claimed Grandpa Robert had a massive brain tumor and needed the money—the supposed “blood money” from selling my future. And the result? I shoved the phone into my pocket, rubbing the back of my hands. The chapped skin on my knuckles, cracked open by the cold, wept fresh blood. I climbed the six flights of stairs. Before reaching the landing, I heard a racking cough from inside. I pushed the door open. A wave of damp, mildewed air slapped me in the face. The one-room apartment, maybe three hundred square feet, was cluttered with stacks of salvaged cardboard boxes. “Honey, you’re back?” Hannah heard the noise and walked toward me, leaning on the wall. An old injury left her with a pronounced limp. She held out a steaming cup of plain hot water. “Come, warm your hands.” I looked at her faded cotton dress and the leg that had never fully healed after the accident. The ice in my chest thawed just a little. “Daddy!” Our son, Caleb, scooted out from behind her, clutching a handful of plastic blocks. A smear of red paint covered his cheek. He grinned, showing off his tiny white teeth. “Look, Daddy! I built a huge house! We’re going to live here!” It was a lopsided construction of primary-colored blocks, with a little courtyard. My nose stung. I squatted down, ready to pull him into a hug, when the door was brutally pounded. BANG. BANG. BANG. The force was immense, the rhythm urgent, and it reeked of entitled arrogance. No neighbor in this broken-down building would ever knock like that. Hannah’s face paled. She looked instinctively at the door. “Who is it?” She barely cracked it open before a foot in a black leather shoe violently kicked it inward. Hannah, unsteady on her injured leg, stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the small gas heater. Two black-suited bodyguards strode in, followed by a blast of expensive cologne. Jasper Miller stepped into my “pigsty,” pinching his nose with a look of disgust. He surveyed the mold-speckled wallpaper, his eyes finally settling on Hannah and me. The condescending pity in his gaze was a physical sting. “Brother, you’re actually living here?” He kicked aside a stack of newspaper. “Come home with me. Save Dad’s life. I’ll give you half a million.” Half a million dollars for my kidney. Just like ten years ago: three million dollars to buy out my entire life. The air in the room seemed to solidify. Caleb, terrified, buried his face in my shirt, whimpering softly. Despite her limp, Hannah positioned herself between us, a protective lioness. “Get out!” She snatched up the small pair of embroidery scissors she used for mending clothes. One of the bodyguards took a step forward, raising a hand to shove her. “Don’t touch her!” I screamed the words. My hand closed around the utility knife I kept on the table for cutting open cardboard boxes. I leveled the razor-sharp tip at Jasper’s handsome face. “Tell your men to back off, or I won’t guarantee this face will ever play a violin on stage again.” Jasper flinched, instinctively shielding his face, and took two steps back. “Rory, are you insane?!” “I’m here to help you!” His eyes were wide with incomprehension. “Look at that cripple you married, and look at this little brat you fathered.” “Don’t you want a better life?” I gave a cold laugh. “Help me?” “In what capacity? The one who stole my name, Jasper Miller, or the one who stole my life, ‘Rory’?” Hearing that, Jasper’s face went white. It was his only stain, the wound he feared most being exposed. He gritted his teeth, pulled a checkbook from his limited-edition briefcase, and tossed the flimsy paper to the floor. It landed on the cold, cracked cement. “Mom and Dad worked hard to raise you, even if the methods were a little intense back then. But you took the money.” “You squandered three million, ended up like this, and you blame who? Not me. I was diligent. I was successful. I deserved that spot.” He grew more self-righteous with every word, as if I was the one who had taken a fortune to live a life of decadence, and he was the diligent, struggling genius. I felt a surge of pure absurdity. Rage detonated in my chest, burning through my insides. But I couldn’t lose control. For Caleb, I couldn’t risk getting arrested. I took a deep breath, bent down, and picked up the check. A smug smirk played on Jasper’s lips. “That’s right—” SSSKKKKK— The sound of tearing paper. I shredded the half-million-dollar check right in front of him. I tossed the pieces high, letting the paper snowflakes drift down onto his expensive cashmere coat. Then, I grabbed the mug of lukewarm, bitter tea from the table—old, dark tea leaves still floating at the bottom. “WHOOSH—” The brown liquid streamed down his meticulously styled hair, ran across his perfect face, and dripped onto the pristine white cashmere. Jasper’s shriek nearly lifted the ceiling. “AAHH!! Rory Miller! You dare to splash me?!” The bodyguards moved. I pointed at the old, dusty security camera mounted in the corner. “This room is wired. It’s synced to the cloud.” “Touch me, and I release the story of how you bought a college spot and impersonated a student ten years ago. I’ll send it to every media outlet.” “We all go down together.” Jasper froze. He was a celebrated concert violinist, a public figure. He had everything to lose. “Fine. Very well.” Jasper wiped the tea from his face. His makeup was smudged; he looked like a pathetic clown. “Rory, you will regret this.” He scrambled away with his bodyguards. I heard the frantic tap-tap-tap of their dress shoes echoing down the stairwell. Only when the sound was completely gone did the tension leave me. I was shaking, and the utility knife clattered to the floor. Hannah came over, asked nothing, and simply wrapped me in her arms. Her embrace smelled faintly of cheap laundry detergent, but it was the safest place in the world. “It’s okay, Rory. It’s okay.” But was it, really? At three in the morning, Hannah’s phone rang. It was the owner of the garment factory where she worked. “Hannah, we have a clear complaint. Someone says you deliberately ruined a shipment of high-end silk.” “Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Prepare the compensation payment.” I listened to the dial tone, my hands gripping the sheets. The retaliation was swift. Hannah hung up. In the dark, she didn’t say a word. She just walked to the window, staring out at the distant city lights, as if counting down our remaining time. The next morning, Hannah put on her faded work uniform, pretending everything was fine. “I’m heading out. I’ll bring home some caramel apples tonight.” Her smile was gentle, but the fine lines around her eyes were etched with exhaustion. I knew she wasn’t going to work. She was going to beg for her job back or try to find day labor somewhere else. With her leg, good jobs were impossible. After she left, I dropped Caleb off at his daycare and boarded the bus bound for downtown. I needed to end this. Outside the window, the scenery flew by. As we passed the famous Eastwood School of Music, a sharp, familiar pain seized my chest. Ten years ago, I looked out a window like this. Back then, I clutched a gold-embossed acceptance letter. I was the state violin champion, the so-called “prodigy.” My future was limitless. Until that night. My parents suddenly knelt before me. That single, desperate act broke something deep inside me. “Rory, sweetie, Grandpa Robert is dying from the tumor. We need a million dollars for the surgery.” “We don’t have it! Even selling the house won’t cover it!” “But someone is offering the money… if you… if you just give up your acceptance.” Give it up? It wasn’t just giving up a college spot. It was erasing me from existence. It was letting Jasper take my name, my life, and my university seat. I refused. I was human. I had dreams. But then my father pulled out a small bottle of antifreeze. He stood by Grandpa Robert’s hospital bed, threatening to force the poison down the old man’s throat. “If we can’t afford treatment, then we’ll all just die!” My mother, Susan, was sobbing, her face streaked with blood from hitting the floor. “Rory, he’s your brother! He’s delicate. He can’t do hard labor! If you don’t help him, his life is ruined!” “You have your health. You can survive without a degree!” What utterly ridiculous logic. To save Grandpa, and for the sake of the family, I signed. I signed the legal document severing our relationship. I signed the non-disclosure agreement. That same night, my ID was confiscated, and I was put on a bus bound for a factory in the South. I pressed my face to the window, watching Jasper, wearing my favorite white button-down shirt, standing under a streetlamp, smiling. He took everything. The memory was a rusty saw, scraping back and forth in my skull, the pain almost suffocating. The bus pulled up to the City General Hospital. I stepped off, inhaling deeply. The cold air rushed into my lungs, making me cough violently. I followed the information Jasper had given me, finding the VIP suite. Through the glass window, I saw my vampire parents. Robert was lying in bed, sallow, hooked up to an IV. Susan was peeling an apple for him. Jasper sat on a nearby sofa, polishing his expensive Stradivarius violin. The scene was sickeningly cozy. I pushed the door open. BANG! It hit the wall, the noise echoing through the sterile room. The three of them looked over at once. When Robert saw me, his clouded eyes didn’t show surprise, but calculation—like a hungry wolf sighting prey. “Rory? You came?” Susan dropped the apple, instantly putting on her ‘doting mother’ mask, and rushed toward me. “My son! Your father is fading, he just wanted to see you one last time.” She tried to take my hand. I sidestepped, avoiding her touch. Her hand hung in the air, a moment of awkwardness, which she quickly covered by dabbing her eyes. “Still mad at Mom and Dad, sweetie? But we gave you the three million, didn’t we?” I stood in the center of the room, looking coldly at the trio of actors. “Was it your doing? Hannah losing her job?” I didn’t bother with small talk. “Get her reinstated. Pay her damages. Otherwise, we have nothing to discuss.” Jasper rose. He was wearing a different suit today—Armani—still impeccably tailored. “As long as you agree to the matching procedure and donate a kidney to Dad.” “Forget the job; I’ll give you a million dollars.” “A million. That’s enough for a bottom feeder like you to live on for the rest of your life.” His tone was dismissive, as if he were shooing a beggar. I fixed my gaze on his eyes and walked toward him, step by slow step. “You thought I spent all those years living well, squandering that so-called blood money?” Jasper frowned, playing innocent. “Weren’t you? “Mom and Dad gave you three million. You said you wanted to travel the world, that studying was too much work. I reluctantly agreed to step in.” “You must have blown through the money by now, right?” “Why else would you be delivering food?” I paused, then a massive wave of pure, cold absurdity washed over me. I started to laugh. I couldn’t stop. I doubled over, tears streaming down my face. “Ha ha ha ha ha…” “Three million? Travel the world?” I snapped the laughter off. I grabbed Jasper’s wrist in a death grip. It was a musician’s hand: pale, slender, without a single callus. Then, I shoved my own hand right up to his face. “Open your damn eyes and look!” “Does this look like a hand that traveled the world?!” My hands were covered in rough calluses, the knuckles thick and misshapen, the skin red and weeping from frostbite. They were the hands that had tightened screws for ten years, delivered food for three, scrubbed dishes in winter, and hauled cement in summer! Jasper recoiled in panic, trying to pull away. “Get off me! You’re… you’re filthy!” “Filthy?” I held fast. “It gets worse.” I turned to the father, Robert, feigning illness in the bed, and the mother, Susan, looking utterly guilty. “Jasper, ask your wonderful parents.” “Where did the three million dollars really go?”

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The apocalypse didn’t turn my fake sister into a survivor, but it certainly turned her into a leech, clinging to me for every dangerous supply run. She was useless, a burden, but my parents—Robert and Joyce Sinclair—loved her so blindly they insisted she accompany the most powerful operative in the sector: me, Delilah Sinclair. I froze mid-step, my grocery basket clattering against a derelict checkout counter. My fiancé, Garrett Caldwell, and the leech, Dahlia Parrish, were gone. “Dahlia is just so much softer, so much more delicate than that savage woman.” The voice, Garrett’s voice, hit my mind like a low-frequency hum. I pressed my lips together, a razor-sharp edge of shock slicing through the bitter familiarity of his betrayal. “Why is she walking toward us? Did she spot me?” “Good thing I managed to yank Dahlia into the industrial freezer right away.” My eyes fixed on the massive, double-door freezer unit near the back wall, a knot of pure, cold rage tightening in my chest. If they thought they could humiliate me and get away with it, they were wrong. If they wanted to play house, I would make sure their love nest became their tomb. I walked over to a damaged leather sofa near the main entrance, brushed off the dust, and sank onto it, announcing to the team, “We’re setting up camp here for the night.” Don’t worry. They would get to savor every minute of their last night alive. 1 The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the distant, wind-whipped groan of the ruined supermarket. Every eye turned to me in disbelief. Mitch Doherty, one of Garrett’s loyal subordinates, was the first to object. “Dee! Are you serious? You know that’s suicide!” he barked, his face red with panic. “Camping out in the open is insane! The infected are getting more aggressive. We can’t gamble with everyone’s lives!” Garrett’s mental voice spiked with panic and fury. “What the hell is this idiot doing? Setting up camp? Has a zombie taken a bite out of her brain? Get your people and leave, you psycho!” “Damn it, she can’t hear me screaming at her. This is driving me insane! Dahlia is going to suffocate in here!” The more he cursed, the deeper the smile settled on my face. Before the fall, I was the Sinclair family’s long-lost true daughter, found and brought home, only to be treated like an unwelcome guest, a glorified housemaid. Everyone in the Sinclair compound—my parents, my supposed fiancé—adored the fragile, doe-eyed Dahlia. Then the apocalypse hit. I woke up with the rarest of gifts: S-class electrical power. I became the strongest asset in the Sector, the lightning in the storm. Yet, my parents and Garrett still only had eyes for Dahlia, the fragile woman with no power at all. If they wanted to prioritize her life over the safety of the entire camp, then I wouldn’t bother with mercy anymore. Ignoring Mitch, I flashed a grin at my team. “We’ve been on our feet all day, and there are enough supplies here to outfit an entire small base. We can’t move it all tonight. We might as well use some of it up, rest up, and hit it hard again tomorrow.” It was a perfectly rational plan for a sane world, and my loyal team members immediately nodded in weary agreement. “No! We absolutely cannot stay here!” Mitch persisted, his face a mask of frantic desperation. He was practically roaring. “We’ll draw every infected within five miles! Captain Sinclair, you are throwing our lives away for a whim!” Garrett’s thought was a wave of approval. “Well said! Mitch, keep pushing! Get this maniac out of here before Cora freezes over!” The smile finally dropped from my face. My eyes turned to granite. “Mitch Doherty.” My voice was deceptively low, but the authority in it was absolute. “Who the hell do you think you are, questioning my command?” Snap! A cluster of silver-blue electrical energy sparked at my fingertip, letting out a sharp, tiny crackle. The air in the store seemed to grow instantly taut and charged. Mitch recoiled, his face pale and eyes wide with terror. He wisely backed down, not uttering another word. I turned away from the coward and walked straight to the supermarket’s main electrical panel. I pressed my palm against the dust-caked metal. The sheer volume of my lightning power surged from my center, a sleeping dragon awakening. It slammed into the ancient wiring, instantly revitalizing the long-dead system. “Zzzzt—” The massive, overhead fluorescent lights flickered violently and then blazed to life, bathing the entire store in harsh, artificial white light. Even the dual-compressor motor on the industrial freezer unit Garrett was hiding in whirred to life. In that dead, silent world, I had single-handedly resurrected the light and life of the pre-apocalypse world. I turned back, standing in the sudden, blinding light, and gazed at the gleaming stainless-steel freezer. My heart was a frozen block. They liked hiding in the refrigerator, did they? Today, I would let them find out what it felt like to be frozen to death. 2 “You’re insane! You are completely out of your mind!” Mitch shot up as if I’d zapped him, instantly rallying Garrett’s men. “Look around, people! You see this? The Captain has decided to light up the entire store! In the middle of the night! She wants to make us a giant, moving target for every stray infected! She has no right to lead us! Let’s get out of here and head back to the Sector!” The crowd instantly erupted into a panicked murmur. “Oh God… Mitch is right. That light, the noise—we’re basically sending up a flare! Everything for miles will swarm us!” “We’re going to be overrun! We’re dead!” “Captain, you can’t do this! Turn it off! Please, we don’t want to die!” The loyalty of the men from Garrett’s team, who had respected me just moments ago, crumbled under the raw fear of death, turning into outright terror and accusation. Even a few of my newer recruits looked uncertain. Fear always stripped away a person’s humanity and loyalty in the end. “Delilah Sinclair is a fool. Lighting up the store? She might as well ring a dinner bell for the undead.” “Mitch, hurry! Dahlia is barely hanging on. Keep them busy!” Garrett’s mental voice was now frantic. But before Mitch could continue his toxic campaign, a roar cut through the noise. “Shut up, all of you!” My second-in-command, Justine “Jus” Reyes, a powerful Strength-type, stomped forward. The impact of her heavy boot hitting the floor was enough to shatter the cracked tile into a fine spiderweb pattern. A ferocious aura of pure power burst from her, instantly silencing the chaotic crowd. Justine’s icy gaze swept over the most vocal of the complainers. Her voice was steady and loud enough to carry through the massive space. “Since the Fall, how many missions has the Captain led us on?” she demanded. “Which one wasn’t a complete success? Which one didn’t leave us better supplied and safer than before? The Sinclair Sector’s fatality rate is the lowest in the region, and that’s her doing!” She paused, pointing a finger at my shamed-looking recruits. Her tone grew sharper. “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Who arrived like an avenging angel to save your lives when you were cornered by a horde? Who found the supply caches when you were out of food and ammo?” “And now, because of a couple of fear-mongering traitors, you question the Captain’s judgment? Is your loyalty that cheap?” Her words were like heavy stones. My own team members quickly looked down in shame. Mitch, however, was not done. He huddled in the back of the group and muttered under his breath, “That’s different. We’re talking about basic survival now! Lighting the place up is a death wish. It’s common sense!” “Yes! That’s right! Say it again! This stupid woman doesn’t understand the rules of the new world!” Garrett’s thoughts were a mix of desperation and hope. My eyes narrowed. In the next instant, a strand of silver-blue electricity condensed in my hand, morphing into a long, crackling whip. I snapped it forward, and it slammed across Mitch’s body with terrifying speed and precision. “CRACK—!” The crisp explosion was followed by Mitch’s pig-like scream. He was hurled backward, smashing into a wall of canned goods. His body convulsed, and the sickening scent of burnt flesh filled the air. I walked slowly toward him, looking down at his twitching form. My voice was utterly devoid of warmth. “You are nothing. And let me be perfectly clear: your master, Garrett Caldwell, is equally unqualified to question any decision I make.” The entire supermarket fell utterly silent. Everyone was paralyzed by the ruthlessness of my power. No one dared to challenge me again. The assertion of my authority was complete. Now, for the final setup. I retracted the lightning whip and spoke to the group in a softer, more reassuring tone. “No one needs to panic. I wouldn’t have done this without backup.” I let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “I’ve recently awakened a secondary power. I can mask our presence from the infected for a substantial radius.” “It covers the entire store. So, rest easy, eat your fill, and enjoy the light.” A cheer erupted around me. “Really? That’s amazing!” “I knew the Captain had a plan!” “What? Did Delilah actually awaken some kind of broken stealth ability? Why didn’t I know about this?!” “Why is Dahlia so hot? I almost forgot she’s a baseline human, her immune system is shot. Her lips are blue… She’s shaking so badly.” The forced pity in Garrett’s internal voice only made the cruel smile in my heart deepen. This was just the appetizer. The main course was still ahead. 3 Garrett’s thoughts continued to trickle, weak and frantic, into my mind. “It’s so cold… Why is this stupid box so cold…” “Dahlia, stop shaking. Put my coat back on.” “That damn Delilah. When I get out of here, when I marry her and take over the Sector, I will strip her of everything and make her pay for this.” The final part was drowned out by a suppressed sound of chattering teeth and ragged breathing. I could picture the scene: the tiny, confined space, the temperature dropping rapidly. Dahlia was just a baseline. My overly-doting parents had sheltered her her entire life, making her even weaker than the average survivor. Garrett, though an elemental, had a combat-focused power that did little for his own physical endurance. The situation inside the freezer was rapidly deteriorating. “Stop it—don’t wrap your limbs around me! Can’t you keep your arms and legs to yourself?” “This is annoying! You’re freezing! Stop clinging to me!” “S-stop touching me!” It seemed Dahlia was desperately seeking warmth from her lover. The cold smirk on my face grew wider. There it was. The true nature of a man. When the romance faded, when the danger got too close, the lover became a burden, a repulsive dead weight. This was merely the introduction. I set down my glass of scavenged wine and rose to my feet. The noisy crowd immediately quieted, their attention snapping to me. “Justine.” I addressed my second-in-command. “Yes, Captain.” Justine stepped forward instantly. “Take two men and drive back to the Caldwell compound immediately,” I instructed. “Tell them that Delilah Sinclair has located an immense cache of supplies and is willing to share it with them. Ask Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell to send their heavy retrieval teams to help us move it.” I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping just enough to convey the gravity of the request. “And make sure you emphasize that I would like them to come personally to oversee the split.” Alistair and Camille Caldwell. Garrett’s parents. The true power players in their Sector. The muddier the water, the easier it was for me to fish. “What?! That stupid Delilah is calling my parents here?” Garrett’s thoughts were pure terror. “No! They can’t come! If they see me and Dahlia… everything is over! My engagement, the merger, everything!” Mitch, sensing the true danger to his leader, started thrashing against his restraints, letting out muffled, desperate sounds, his eyes pleading with Garrett’s remaining team. This time, however, Garrett’s men turned on their own. The man who seemed to be their new leader kicked Mitch in the ribs. “What the hell is your problem?” he snarled. “Captain Sinclair is showing unprecedented generosity, sharing a major haul with our Sector! And you keep trying to mess things up? What are you, some kind of spy trying to steal it all?” “Yeah! Gag him! Don’t let him cause any more trouble!” “Captain, please ignore him. We’ll follow your lead.” I gave them a small, satisfied nod before turning to Justine. “Speed is key. Get back here before dawn.” “Yes, Captain.” Justine acknowledged the order, gathered her two men, and sped off into the night in an armored SUV. I settled back onto the sofa, closing my eyes, pretending to rest while focusing every ounce of my attention on the freezer unit. Garrett was spiraling into full-blown panic. “What do I do, what do I do? My parents will be here any minute!” “Dahlia! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t found that skimpy lace lingerie and insisted on wearing it to seduce me, I never would have lost control!” “Wait, Dahlia is really fading fast… Her breathing is shallow. Hot and cold. She’s babbling nonsense!” “Damn it, she’s trying to push the freezer door open!” 4 A dull thud echoed faintly through the store. “She’s lost it! The woman’s completely lost her mind! She’s trying to open the door! Thank God I reacted fast enough!” “I snapped her hand! I had to! If she’d gotten that door open and Delilah had seen us, my engagement and the Caldwell merger would have been ruined forever!” I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, completely ignoring the pain. My engagement to Garrett was initially a political maneuver to solidify my position against my parents. But when Garrett first saw me, he claimed it was love at first sight. He brought me a flower every day—a clumsy gesture, but in an apocalypse, where life was fragile, a flower was the most precious thing in the world. I, the girl raised in the foster system, the orphan, wanted nothing more than a real family. I let down my guard. I let him in. And what did I get in return? An illicit affair with Dahlia and a vile plan to murder me after the wedding so he could take over the Sinclair Sector completely. No. Exposing them and ruining their reputation wouldn’t be enough. I wanted them dead. All of them. “She’s dying… her breathing is so faint… her hand is broken, so she’s kicking the door instead…” Garrett’s mental voice became a strangled whine. Thump… thump-thump… The subtle banging came from the freezer. “Hey, did anyone else hear that noise?” a recruit asked nervously. Everyone stopped eating and tilted their heads, listening. Garrett’s mind-voice was a scream in my head. “NO! They heard it! That bitch Delilah definitely heard it too!” I met the team’s gaze, my expression perfectly neutral. I spoke calmly. “It’s an abandoned supermarket, guys. It’s been derelict for three years. Old wiring, shifting rebar. You’re going to hear strange noises.” I swept my gaze over them, giving them a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry. I’m here. You’re safe.” My words, backed by the reality of the blazing lights and my S-class power, were the perfect sedative. The team instantly relaxed and went back to their meal. But Garrett’s fear had hit its peak. Dahlia’s desperate survival instinct was kicking in. Near death, she found a final surge of strength. “THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!” The banging grew louder, more frantic, and the freezer door began to visibly vibrate. “That miserable whore! She’s trying to kill me! If you want to die, don’t drag me with you!” “I’m sorry, Dahlia… but blame that witch Delilah! If she hadn’t insisted on camping here, you wouldn’t be dying right now!” “Don’t worry, I’ll get my revenge for you! When you become a ghost, go after her! She’s the one who killed us both!” A cold, murderous intent, far more terrifying than the fear, settled in Garrett’s mind. Just then, the roar of multiple SUV engines filled the air outside the supermarket. Justine was back. She had brought Alistair and Camille Caldwell. But behind them, I saw another familiar pair step out of a second armored vehicle: Robert and Joyce Sinclair. Perfect. “A family reunion,” I whispered to myself, a true smile finally touching my lips. “It’s time to bring everyone together.” “Delilah Sinclair, what in God’s name is going on? Why did you drag us out here in the middle of the night for supplies?” My mother, Joyce, immediately started her typical scolding. “You’re always so inconsiderate, unlike your sister. If you had half of Dahlia’s common sense, I wouldn’t have to—” Her words were cut off. I lifted my hand sharply. A thin, silver-blue current of electricity zipped from my finger, transforming into an electric serpent. It shot across the room and expertly wrapped around the freezer’s door handle. Click-Clack. The magnetic door lock shattered under the force. The freezer door swung open, revealing the scene inside. My mother’s “sensible” daughter, Dahlia, was dressed in a scandalous purple lace negligee, her eyes wide and staring blankly, slumped in the arms of Garrett Caldwell. Garrett’s hands were still clamped around Dahlia’s pale neck. The pupils of every person present snapped to a terrifying, pinpoint focus.

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“You owe the family $380,000.” Mom sent an Excel spreadsheet to the family group chat. The header read “Family AA Bill,” followed by three rows: Ashley: Surplus $120,000. Brian: Surplus $20,000. Me: Debt $380,000. The group exploded instantly. “Time to pay up, right?” Ashley sent an emoji. “Mom calculated it clearly,” Brian followed. I stared at that number and smiled. $380,000. Did she ever calculate how much money I’ve transferred to the family since I grew up? Chapter 1 I handed the phone to my husband, David. “Look.” He took it, his face changing bit by bit. “What does this mean?” “The bill my mom calculated.” I took a sip of water. “Says I owe the family $380,000.” “$380,000?” His voice raised. “For what?” I clicked on the spreadsheet and zoomed in. It listed clearly: [Cost Breakdown for Raising Scarlett] Tuition (Elementary to College): $48,000 Living Expenses (18 years): $120,000 Clothing & Shoes: $32,000 College Dorm: $8,000 Wedding Subsidy: -$6,000 Other Expenses: $58,000 Subtotal: $260,000 Interest (5% annual rate, 18 years): $120,000 Total Debt: $380,000. David stared at the last line: “Interest? She even calculated interest?” “Yes.” I nodded. “Mom says if this money were in the bank, it would have earned this much interest. Spent on raising me, so I have to make it up.” “What about your sister?” I scrolled to Ashley’s column. [Cost Breakdown for Raising Ashley] Tuition: $45,000 Living Expenses: $100,000 Clothing: $40,000 Other: $25,000 Subtotal: $210,000 Given to Parents at Wedding: $80,000 Regular Filial Piety: $250,000 Surplus: +$120,000. David stopped talking. I scrolled down to Brian’s column. [Cost Breakdown for Raising Brian] Tuition: $62,000 Living Expenses: $150,000 Other: $88,000 Subtotal: $300,000 Given to Parents at Wedding: $100,000 Regular Filial Piety: $220,000 Surplus: +$20,000. “Wait.” David frowned. “When your brother got married, didn’t your parents give him $350,000 for the down payment? Why isn’t that counted?” “Not counted.” “And your sister’s wedding, didn’t your mom give her $200,000 as dowry?” “Not counted either.” “What about your wedding?” I smiled. “For my wedding, my mom gave $6,000. The bill says ‘Wedding Subsidy negative $6,000’.” David’s hands clenched. “How does she calculate? Giving your sister $200k doesn’t count, giving your brother $350k doesn’t count, but giving you $6k is a negative number?” “Because that $6,000 was deducted from the money I gave her before.” “What do you mean?” “My first year working, I gave the family $2,000 a month. $24,000 a year. Mom said the $6,000 she gave for my wedding was deducted from that.” “What about the rest you gave?” “She said that’s ‘filial piety’, doesn’t count as repayment.” David slammed the phone on the table. “What the hell is this!” I didn’t speak. The group chat kept pinging. Ashley: “@Scarlett, did you see? Mom calculated very clearly.” Brian: “Sis, you owe the most.” Mom: “Scarlett, it wasn’t easy raising you all these years. Now that you’re capable, you should pay it back.” I stared at those messages, didn’t reply to a single one. David asked me: “What do you think?” I opened my photo album, found a screenshot. It was the record of transfers I made to Mom over these years. 2018: $5,000. 2019: $12,000. 2020: $20,000. 2021: $18,000. 2022: $30,000. 2023: $25,000. 2024: $45,000. Plus a few separate ones: Dad’s hospitalization: $15,000. Brother’s wedding gift: $10,000. Sister’s baby gift: $5,000. New Year/Holiday red envelopes: About $3,000 annually. “How much total?” David asked. “I calculated.” I said. “Not counting small stuff, just these, $185,000.” “In the bill?” “Zero.” I saved the screenshot of transfer records. “She says these are my ‘filial piety’ to her, can’t count as repayment. The money she spent raising me is hers. The money I gave her as filial piety is also hers.” David’s hands were trembling. “What are you going to do?” I looked at the message in the group, another one came. Ashley: “@Scarlett, you’re not trying to bail on the debt, are you?” I slowly typed a line. “Sis, Mom gave you $200,000 dowry for your wedding, why isn’t it in the bill?” Send. The group was silent for ten seconds. Then Mom spoke: “That was our dowry for your sister, a different matter from the bill.” I typed another line. “Then Brother bought a house, you gave $350,000 down payment, why isn’t that there either?” Another five seconds of silence. Brian rushed to answer: “That’s Mom and Dad’s own money, what’s it to you?” I smiled. “Good.” I put down the phone and looked at David. “She wants to settle accounts, I’ll settle with her.” David nodded. “What do you need me to do?” “Help me dig up how much my family gave and how much we spent when we got married.” He immediately went to find the folder. I reopened my phone, screenshotting every transfer record, one by one. I want to see exactly how this account should be calculated. Chapter 2 At 9 PM, I finished organizing all materials. David sat beside me, face iron-green. “Do you know what makes me angriest?” He said. “What?” “The year we got married.” I didn’t speak. I knew what he was going to say. When we got married, my family asked for $80,000 as a “Wedding Contribution” (like a reverse dowry/bride price). David’s family wasn’t rich, but they scraped it together. On the wedding day, my mom took that $80,000. “The money is for you,” she said then. “But leave it with me for now, I’ll give it to you when you need it later.” I thought then, okay, listen to her. The result? The second year of marriage, Brian bought a house, down payment wasn’t enough. Mom called: “Scarlett, lend that $80,000 to your brother first.” “Mom, that’s my wedding money…” “Lend it, lend it! Not like he won’t pay back! Your brother buying a house is a big deal, why are you so selfish?” I gave the money. And then? Brian bought the house, got married, never mentioned paying back. I asked once. Mom said: “Your brother just got married, where does he have money to pay you? Besides, you’re married out, still calculating with your brother?” I never asked again. David flipped through the records from back then, voice muffled. “Our wedding, what did your family give?” “You know.” “I want to confirm again.” I sighed. “On the wedding day, Mom gave me a red envelope, $6,000. Said it was to add to my makeup fund.” “And then?” “Nothing.” “What about bedding? Furniture? Appliances?” “We bought them all ourselves.” “What about your sister’s wedding?” I opened my phone, found an old photo. That was posted by Mom on Facebook when Ashley got married. In the photo, Ashley stood amidst piles of red bedding, behind her were sets of furniture, appliances, a new car. Caption was: “Eldest daughter married, grand and glorious!” I counted those things. Ten sets of bedding. Six sets of linens. TV, fridge, washing machine, AC. A car worth $120,000. And $200,000 cash Mom gave on the spot. David looked at the photo, speechless. “Do you know how I felt then?” I smiled. “When I got married, Mom didn’t post on Facebook.” “Why?” “She said, your sister’s was held in the hometown, relatives and friends all came, needed face. Yours was in the city, few people knew, no one would look even if posted.” David slammed the phone on the table. “Your mom…” He held back for a long time, couldn’t speak. I patted his hand. “It’s okay.” “What do you mean okay?” His voice trembled. “She gave your sister $200k dowry, your brother $350k down payment, gave you $6k and took away $80k wedding money. Now she turns around and says you owe her $380k?” I didn’t answer. Phone rang again. It was Ashley’s DM. “Sis, what you said in the group just now was a bit too much.” I clicked open. “How so?” “Mom and Dad giving me dowry, giving brother house money, that’s their business. You can’t compare with that.” “Then what can I compare with?” “Just admit you owe Mom and Dad, isn’t that enough? $380k isn’t asking you to pay all at once, you can pay slowly.” “I owe them?” “How much did you spend on school? Living expenses? Don’t you know in your heart?” I laughed. “Sis, let me ask you. The money spent on your school, did you pay it back?” “I paid it back. I gave money to Mom and Dad every year after marriage.” “Then the money you gave is ‘filial piety’ in the bill. Why is the money I gave also ‘filial piety’ and can’t count as repayment?” Ashley didn’t reply. I continued typing: “Also, Mom and Dad gave you $200k dowry for your wedding, why isn’t it deducted in the bill?” “That’s dowry! Every daughter has it!” “Do I have it?” Ashley went silent again. “Do I have it, Sis?” I sent again. “When I got married, how much did Mom give me?” Half a minute later, Ashley replied: “Your situation is different.” “How is it different?” “You weren’t likable since childhood, relationship with parents wasn’t good either. When you got married, you fought with Mom, of course she didn’t want to give you too much.” I stared at this line, hands shaking a bit. “So, I’m not likable, so I have no dowry. But I’m not likable, I still have to pay back $380k?” “Those are two different things!” “Sis, tell me, what are two different things? Giving to you is one thing, asking from me is another?” Ashley stopped replying. David finished reading the conversation beside me. “What does she mean? You weren’t likable since childhood?” I put down the phone. “Mom said it about me since I was little. Said I can’t talk, can’t read faces, not pleasing. Sister can coax people, Brother is a boy, only me…” “Only you what?” “Only I ‘look like an outsider’.” I remembered childhood. Ashley’s birthday, bought cake, invited relatives for dinner. Brian’s birthday, Mom cooked specially, a table full of dishes. My birthday, Mom usually said: “Celebrate with your sister, buy one cake together, save money.” Ashley had new dresses, I wore Ashley’s hand-me-downs. Brian had new sneakers, I wore cheap canvas shoes. I asked Mom, why. She said: “Your sister loves beauty, wants face. Your brother is a boy, can’t wear girl’s clothes. You just wear whatever, you don’t care anyway.” Did I care? I cared. But I didn’t say. Useless to say. Said too much, Mom would say: “Look at you, why so insensible? Your sister and brother never calculate these with me. Only you have so many issues.” Slowly, I stopped saying. Slowly, I became the “unlikable” one. Slowly, I owed $380,000. David held my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” “Tell what?” I smiled. “Say my mom is biased? Say I wasn’t liked since childhood? Telling you would make you think I’m complaining.” “I wouldn’t.” “But my mom would say I’m complaining. She said, other kids suffer much more than me, I’m still picky, ungrateful.” David was silent for a while. “Then what do you plan to do now?” I looked at the phone screen, new messages in the family group. Mom: “Scarlett, what do you mean exactly? Family, talking about dowry or not?” Ashley: “Exactly, bills are bills, dowry is dowry.” Brian: “Mom, she just doesn’t want to pay, making excuses.” I took a deep breath. “David, help me turn on the computer.” “For what?” “They want to settle accounts,” I said, “Then let’s settle it clearly.” Chapter 3 I spent two hours making a new spreadsheet. Header read: [Recalculation of Scarlett’s Family Accounts] I listed every sum of money. Part 1: My Expenditures. 2018-2024 Annual transfers to parents: $185,000 2020 Dad’s hospitalization: $15,000 2022 Brother’s wedding gift: $10,000 2023 Sister’s baby: $5,000 Annual holiday red envelopes: Approx 7 years × $3,000 = $21,000 Subtotal: $236,000 Part 2: Parents’ Expenditures for Sister. Dowry: $200,000 Car: $120,000 Furniture/Appliances: Approx $30,000 Subtotal: $350,000 Part 3: Parents’ Expenditures for Brother. House Down Payment: $350,000 Wedding Gift: $120,000 Renovation Subsidy: $50,000 Subtotal: $520,000 Part 4: Parents’ Expenditures for Me. Given at wedding: $6,000 Wedding money taken away: -$80,000 Actual: -$74,000 David watched beside me, face getting darker. “So…” “So by my mom’s logic,” I pointed at the table, “Sister got $350k, Brother got $520k, I lost $74k.” “But in her bill…” “In her bill, Sister surplus $120k, Brother surplus $20k, I owe $380k.” David took a few deep breaths. “How did she calculate?” “Because she only counts raising costs, not money given out.” I smiled. “What she gave Sister and Brother is called ‘Parental Love’. What she took from me is called ‘You Should’.” David stopped talking. I saved the screenshot of the table. “You really going to post in the group?” He asked. “Not rushing.” “Then what do you want to do?” I thought about it. “I won’t post first. I’ll wait, see what else they say.” David nodded. “I support you. Whatever you decide, I stand by your side.” My heart warmed a bit. Luckily, I have him. Next day, Mom called. I didn’t answer. Called three more times. Still didn’t answer. Then WeChat voice call. Then text message. Text content: “Scarlett, are you trying to piss me off? Your dad knows this, his blood pressure went up from anger. Are you still part of this family? Call me back immediately!” I put phone on silent. David asked: “You really not answering?” “Say what if I answer? She opens mouth with ‘You owe me $380k’. I answer a hundred calls, she says the same thing.” “Then how long you plan to stay cold?” “Wait till she calms down.” But my mom didn’t plan to calm down. In the afternoon, Sister sent WeChat. “Sis, Mom asked me to persuade you. Don’t be stubborn with her, she’s old, can’t stand anger.” “Sis, do you think this bill is reasonable?” “Reasonable or not, she is your mom.” “So I have to accept?” “Can’t you yield a bit? $380k, you just pay slowly. A few tens of thousands a year, done in ten years.” “Sis, let me ask you, the money you gave Mom, did she ever ask you to pay back?” Sister didn’t reply. I continued: “You know how much you give her annually. New Year two or three thousand, birthday few hundred, holidays token gesture. Add up these years, is it $50k?” “That’s different!” “How is it different?” “Money I give Mom is filial piety. Money you give Mom… is also filial piety. But your raising cost is higher, you went to better college, spent more money than me.” “I got into college myself, half of my college living expenses I earned part-time. Did Mom count these?” Sister was silent. “Sis,” she changed tone, “We are family, don’t calculate so much. Mom is old, she does this for the good of the family.” “For the good of the family? Sis, tell me, in this ‘family’, is there me?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, this bill benefits Sister, benefits Brother, harms me. Who is this ‘family’ for?” Sister stopped talking. I continued typing: “Sis, you said I wasn’t likable since childhood. But do you know why? Because I can’t pretend. I can’t be like you, saying yes to whatever Mom says. I can’t be like Brother, asking for whatever. I just be myself, then got called ‘not pleasing’.” “This…” “I’m not pleasing, so I’m not valuable. I’m not valuable, so I have no dowry. No dowry, still have to pay mortgage for Brother, be ATM for Sister. Now Mom calculated a bill, Sister surplus $120k, Brother surplus $20k, I owe $380k. Sis, do you think this is reasonable?” Sister’s reply came: “Scarlett, you are too extreme.” I laughed. “Yes, I am too extreme.” I exited chat, threw phone aside. David looked at me. “Are you okay?” “Pretty good.” I said. “Do you know, when I was little, the saddest thing wasn’t having no new dress.” “What was it?” “It was every time I asked why, Mom always said: You calculate too much, insensible.” “Seemed like my fault. Seemed I shouldn’t ask. Seemed I should be like Sister, turn a blind eye to all unfairness, smilingly say Mom you are right.” “But I couldn’t do it.” David held my hand tight. “You don’t need to do it.” He said. “You asked right.” I leaned on his shoulder, eyes a bit hot. Phone rang again. Family group. Brother sent a voice message. I clicked, his voice: “Sis, Mom said, before end of this month, you transfer $380k. Or don’t come back for New Year.” Chapter 4 I laughed after listening to that voice message. David asked: “What are you laughing at?” “Laughing at my brother.” “What did he say?” “He said, transfer $380k before end of month. Or don’t come back for New Year.” David was silent for a few seconds. “Does your mom agree with him saying this?” I handed him the phone. In the group, after Brother sent the voice message, Mom sent another one: “Your brother is right. Scarlett, if you don’t recognize this debt, don’t recognize this family.” David’s eyes narrowed. His eyes only do that when he’s extremely angry. I reached out and patted him. “It’s okay.” “What do you mean okay?” His voice lowered. “They are threatening you.” “I know.” “What do you plan to do?” I thought about it. “I plan to settle an account with her.” “That spreadsheet you made last night?” “Yes. But posting the spreadsheet isn’t enough. I want them to know, this account isn’t up to them to decide.” David nodded: “What do you need me to do?” “Help me find the chat records from when we got married. WeChat, text messages, transfer records, all of them.” He immediately went to look through his phone. I continued organizing materials. At 10 PM, I organized everything. Total three documents. First, my transfer records to the family over these years. Second, chat records of family taking my wedding money. Third, screenshots of what my mom said these years. A few of them, I remember especially deep. 2019, first time I didn’t send money home because David lost his job that month, we really had no spare money. Mom said: “Other people’s daughters know filial piety. You have a husband now, don’t want mom?” 2021, Brother married, asked to borrow $50k. I only had $30k, lent $30k. Mom said: “Your brother marrying, you can’t even take out $50k? You earn so much every month, where did you spend it?” 2022, I was pregnant, wanted to take leave home to rest a few days. Mom said: “Why come back? No one serves you at home. Stay in the city honestly, find a confinement nanny isn’t enough?” 2023, I gave birth, Mom didn’t come. She said: “Your sister is busy, your brother needs people too. Doesn’t your husband have a mom? Let your mother-in-law take care of you.” I organized these screenshots one by one. David watched beside me, face getting uglier. “You… never told me before.” “Tell what?” “These words. What she said.” I smiled. “Telling would make you sad.” “I’m sad now.” “I know.” He hugged me. “In the future whatever they say, you don’t have to carry it alone.” I leaned in his arms, didn’t speak. Phone rang again. Sister’s DM. “Sis, thought it through? Mom said, if you don’t pay back, don’t contact anymore.” I put the phone aside. “I thought it through.” David asked: “You posting in group?” “Mm.” “You sure?” “Sure.” I opened the family group, typed a line: “Mom, I also calculated an account.” Send. Then I sent out three documents one by one. First: Money I gave family these years, total $236,000. Second: Wedding money family took from me $80,000, dowry given to me $6,000. Actual: -$74,000. Third: Sister’s wedding dowry received: $350,000. Brother’s house down payment, wedding gift, renovation: $520,000. Finally, I typed a paragraph: “Mom, according to your calculation, raising me cost $260k, plus interest total $380k. Then I ask: What about the $236k I gave you? What about the $80k wedding money you took from me? What about the $350k dowry you gave Sister? What about the $520k house money you gave Brother? If we calculate all, let me help you calculate one more: You gave Sister and Brother total $870,000. You gave me $6,000. You took from me total $316,000 (including $236k filial piety and $80k wedding money). So, who owes whom exactly?” Sent. The group was silent for a full three minutes. Then, Sister sent one: “What do you mean by this?” Brother sent one: “Are you crazy?” Mom sent a voice message. I clicked. Her voice trembling. “Scarlett, your wings hardened, calculating with me? I raised you all these years, is this how you repay me? You ungrateful wolf!” I finished reading, didn’t reply. David looked at me. “Are you okay?” I nodded. “Pretty good.” “She scolded you.” “I know.” “You not angry?” I thought about it. “When I was little, every time I felt unfair, she would scold me. Said I wasn’t sensible, greedy, not likable.” “I was very sad then. Because I thought, maybe it really was my problem.” “But now I know, it’s not my problem.” I looked at phone screen, a pile of messages in group again. Ashley: “You are deliberately looking for trouble!” Brian: “Don’t recognize this family if you have guts!” Mom: “I shouldn’t have given birth to you!” I put phone on silent, on table. “David,” I said, “They want me not to recognize this family, right?” “Mm.” “Then I grant their wish.” I opened group settings, set “Family Group” to Do Not Disturb. Then I clicked Mom’s avatar. Delete. Clicked Sister’s avatar. Delete. Clicked Brother’s avatar. Delete. David looked at me. “You sure?” “Sure.” I put down phone. “They say I owe them $380k. Fine, from today, I don’t owe. This account, cleared.” “But family affection…” “Affection?” I smiled. “David, there is a kind of affection called ‘Only obligations, no rights’.” “Me giving them money is ‘should’. Me having no dowry is ‘not likable’. Me paying back because they raised me.” “But them giving Sister and Brother money, that’s ‘Parental Love’. Sister and Brother don’t need to pay back, because they are ‘own people’.” “What about me? What person am I?” David didn’t speak. I took a deep breath. “From today, I am not that ‘unlikable’ second child. I am myself.” “I owe no one. And need no one to like me.” David held my hand tight. “I like you.” I smiled. “I know.”

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At the end of the year, Xavier, who told me he was on a business trip, appeared at my family dinner, sitting intimately next to my cousin. Seeing me, he froze. “Sarah? Why are you here?” “You know each other?” My cousin was surprised for a moment, then hugged my arm, whispering gigglingly in my ear. “Hehe, Cousin Sarah, this is the CEO of my company. Just because I complained about my parents pressuring me to get married, he couldn’t wait to propose pretending to be my boyfriend to accompany me back!” “How is it? Is he super nice? All those things in the living room were bought by him! Calling my parents ‘Mom and Dad’ so naturally! Acting like it’s real!” I stood frozen on the spot, stiff all over. More than knowing each other, he is my boyfriend of seven years who always used being busy as an excuse not to meet my parents. But… not anymore. Chapter 1 “Oh right! Cousin Sarah, how do you know each other? You don’t have a crush on Xavier, do you?” Lexi looked at me with a smile, a hint of hostility flashing in her eyes unnoticed. She is extremely possessive, loved snatching my things since childhood, and now declaring sovereignty blatantly. I chuckled lightly, glanced at the stiff Xavier, and was about to speak. Xavier’s text message came. [Sarah, don’t make a scene. Be angry if you want, but today I’m here as Lexi’s boyfriend. Don’t slip up and make everyone unhappy.] [Lexi is young, she can’t afford to lose face.] “Not familiar, met by chance.” I gritted my teeth, knuckles turning white, almost laughing in anger. “Oh~ I want shrimp! Xavier peel for me quickly! And that crab, pick out the meat for me!” Lexi was heartless, skillfully commanding Xavier to do this and that, as if they had done such things countless times. But Xavier is allergic to shellfish! I subconsciously wanted to stop it, but met Xavier’s warning eyes. When Lexi was happy eating, Xavier sent me another message. [The little girl loves to eat, peeling a bit won’t cause allergy. Don’t make a fuss, just go buy me an allergy pill later.] My heart went cold, gripping the chopsticks tightly. Together for seven years, he always refused to peel anything for me on the grounds of mysophobia (fear of dirt), let alone peeling shrimp risking allergy! “Cousin Sarah, didn’t you say you have a boyfriend of seven years? Why not bring him home to see?” “Yeah! Didn’t you say he runs a company? Wouldn’t be bragging to save face, right?” “Did you break up? You are really stupid, slept for free for seven years, slept into worn shoes…” A group of people talking at once, pointing fingers at me. My parents smiled reluctantly, wanting to smooth things over. But interrupted by Lexi’s mom, my Aunt Karen, with a shrill voice. “Oh my, you wouldn’t be a mistress outside, right? That’s not okay!” “Just sat at the table and you kept looking at our Lexi’s boyfriend. Wouldn’t even spare your cousin’s boyfriend, right? Sarah, one must have a bottom line!” A sentence made me unable to step down, face turning pale instantly, subconsciously looked at Xavier for help. Touching my gaze, Xavier dodged, grabbing Lexi’s hand tightly in front of the whole table of relatives. “No matter what, I only like Lexi! It’s useless for others to have crooked thoughts!” After speaking, he glanced at me warningly. Just this glance, made the relatives present more certain that I wanted to seduce him. “Oh my! Look, look how good the boyfriend our Lexi found is? Some people want to be homewreckers, pity no one wants them!” “Sarah, tell us the truth, are you really a mistress outside?” “Must be! She sends two or three hundred thousand to family every month! What job makes so much money? Isn’t it being kept by a sugar daddy? No wonder she has no face to bring him home! Her parents must be pissed off!” I bit my lip hard, nails digging deep into flesh. Parents were talked down unable to lift heads, faces white and green. Just defended me a few words, quickly choked back. I couldn’t help standing up abruptly, angry and uncomfortable. “Xavier! You speak!” “Don’t you know clearly if I am a mistress or not! You speak!” Chapter 2 The scene quieted instantly, everyone’s eyes focused on us. Lexi’s face pale, holding Xavier’s hand uneasily. “Xavier, don’t you plan to explain?” I looked at him with disappointment. He didn’t want to meet my parents, delayed marriage, even when I proposed with a ring and got rejected, I accepted all these! But I can’t accept my boyfriend rushing to pretend to be a couple with someone else! Xavier was silent for a long time, eyes gloomy. “Sarah is not a mistress, the person she dated for seven years, is actually…” I gripped my clothes, full of hope. But he avoided my gaze, tidying Lexi’s hair. “Is my good brother Sebastian. Sebastian chased her. Sarah never acted as a mistress for anyone.” At this moment, my heart shattered completely. The dignity supported for days, the smile maintained at the table all shattered, nose sour terribly. “Sarah, you should also bring Sebastian back to meet parents, consider marriage.” Xavier said lightly, but his eyes stared at me tightly. I understood his meaning. Nothing more than asking me to endure, to be obedient. Since so, then I do as he wishes, really become Sebastian’s girlfriend. I held back tears, smiling pretending to be relaxed. “Yes, it’s Sebastian. I’ve been with him for seven years, planning to get married this year.” “Sebastian? Isn’t Sebastian that boy who followed Sarah’s butt since childhood? Even said everywhere he wanted to marry Sarah when grew up!” Someone spoke in surprise, like discovering a secret. “I remember! Delivering gifts to the door every year! Turns out Sarah was hiding it! I said why so diligent without kinship!” Everyone changed faces, no one noticed Xavier’s face getting darker and darker. We three have a good relationship. Sebastian confessed to me more than once. Xavier was very jealous, once even angry with me for a long time because Sebastian sent me home, so I never said Sebastian was my childhood friend. “Uncle, Auntie, late this year. Where is Sarah? I bought her favorite cake from that shop, freshly baked! She definitely likes it!” Speak of the devil, Sebastian pushed the door and walked in, pointing skillfully at the pile of gifts at the door, waving the cake at me. “Why eyes red? Who scolded you? I’ll scold back for you!” I couldn’t help laughing, held his arm under his shocked gaze. “Mom, Dad, Sebastian, my boyfriend! We plan to get married next year.” “When did you become childhood sweethearts with Sebastian? Why didn’t I know! You never told me!” My voice and Xavier’s voice overlapped. Sebastian froze on the spot, looked at Xavier, then at Lexi snuggling beside Xavier, frowned. Xavier’s eyes slightly cold, staring tightly at the hands of mine and Sebastian holding together. “Sarah, I need an explanation.” Lexi bit her lip, a trace of venom flashing in her eyes. “Cousin Sarah, wouldn’t be you finding Brother Sebastian to act with you right? Last year you said your boyfriend was better than Brother Sebastian. Besides, Brother Sebastian doesn’t run a company.” “Xavier! You can’t join them to deceive parents just because you have good relationship with them!” She looked innocent, as if mentioning inadvertently. Xavier sneered, a trace of understanding flashing in his eyes, voice carried a bit of impatience. “Sarah, your trick is really low level.” Chapter 3 “Xavier, others don’t know, don’t you know? My company is already open, everything is going smoothly.” Sebastian frowned, expression unkind. Under my whispered explanation, he roughly understood the matter, glanced at Xavier with a sneer. “How come I didn’t know you found a girlfriend? Didn’t you say going on business trip for New Year? Causing…” “Sebastian!” Xavier face dark, silent warning. Lexi’s face turned white instantly, clutching Xavier’s clothes tight. Finally my mom smoothed things over, pulling Sebastian to sit down for a good chat. After meal, Xavier indeed had an allergy. Arms and neck densely red, Lexi distressed shedding tears. “You knew you are allergic to shellfish, why peel for me! Are you stupid!” “Not painful, I like peeling for you!” Turned to look at me again, crying accusing “And Cousin Sarah! Why didn’t you remind me! Do you like seeing Xavier sick so much! In your eyes, is there only Sebastian!” Last sentence fell, Xavier’s face instantly became ugly. “Sebastian is my boyfriend, of course I only have him in my eyes.” I looked at the two hugging together amusingly, trying hard to ignore the heart pain. “Sarah!” Xavier roared at me angrily, face dark enough to drip water. “You don’t need to find Sebastian to pretend boyfriend for face, very boring.” I understood his meaning, asking me to stop while ahead. But. “Didn’t you say it? My boyfriend of seven years! Is Sebastian…” Before I finished, I was dragged by the exasperated Xavier to the unmanned backyard garden. Veins on his forehead were jumping with anger. “What exactly are you making a fuss about? How to end this later?” “Lexi is a little girl urged to marry and blind date during New Year, what’s wrong with me helping her? I just didn’t want you to be sad so I hid it from you! Do you have to be so serious?” “Sarah, my patience is limited too! You know I hate you being with Sebastian the most!” “I tell you one last time! Matter between me and you not allowed to tell anyone! You as my girlfriend! Also not allowed to have intimate contact with Sebastian! Understood?” I stared at Xavier for a long time, seeing he wasn’t lying, laughed directly. Laughed until tears fell, I spoke choking. “So you mean! You can cheat, but I must be your girlfriend obediently and! Can’t complain?” “I don’t mean that! Not cheating either! I’m just helping Lexi!” He was exasperated, trying to deceive himself. But we dated for seven years, he never called any female other than me by nickname! Even less would actively propose to fake boyfriend for help! No wonder, since Lexi started working, he would smile at the cup inexplicably every day after coming home! Turns out spring heart sprouted! “Sarah, Lexi is different, completely different from you! She is fresh and vigorous, straightforward. I just think she is special, that’s all!” I laughed sarcastically, backhanded him a slap. Heartache, but stomach churned more disgusting! “Xavier, let’s break up.” “We are done.” Chapter 4 I turned and left after speaking, but bumped into Lexi who eavesdropped for unknown how long. Her eyes red, face white as paper. “Cousin Sarah, you…” I had no time to listen to her sadness, left straight away. At night, don’t know how Xavier coaxed, two people came back talking and laughing intimately. Lexi even looked at me provocatively, deliberately exposing the eye-catching mark on her neck, pouting red swollen lips. “Xavier! No empty room at home, you sleep with me tonight, I warn you! Don’t be like this afternoon…” Xavier saw me slightly stunned, a trace of guilt flashed in eyes, but still hugged Lexi, smiling said okay. He was certain, I was just throwing a small tantrum, will return to him naturally when anger subsides. But this time, I am serious. “Sarah, apologize to Lexi for your nonsense wishful thinking causing her cry for long time afternoon.” He signaled with eyes, but I treated as invisible, sneering at red mark on his neck. Seven years, I was never allowed to leave marks on him. “I know you always liked me, but I never had you in my heart from beginning to end, hope you don’t let Lexi misunderstand later.” “Oh my? What misunderstanding? Sarah, you have boyfriend yourself still pestering Xavier ah? Do you want face?” Aunt Karen full of anger, pointing at my nose cursing. “I said you are a mistress! Thanks to Xavier speaking for you! How can you even snatch cousin’s boyfriend!” “I saw it afternoon! Sarah pulling Xavier in backyard garden, probably seducing Xavier!” A group of people talking at once, wanting to nail me on pillar of shame. I wanted to explain several times, couldn’t insert words. Only Lexi, lying in Xavier’s arms with shocked aggrieved face, looking at me triumphantly provocatively. Next moment, received message from Lexi on phone. [Cousin Sarah, you dated Xavier for seven years, feelings just so so! Still snatched by me easily?] [He kissed me afternoon, hugged me, even confessed to me, said he was attracted by my maverick in company long ago, you are really boring.] “Cousin Sarah, is what my mom said true? But aren’t you marrying Sebastian soon? How can you…” She bit lip with tears, totally unlike person who could send such message. Aunt Karen crazy angry, rushed up slapped me hard, dragging my hair hitting against wall. “Pui! How did our family produce such shameless bitch!” “Are you cheap or not! Snatching sister’s man too!” “She said my son sexually harassed her few years ago! Probably she failed seduction herself!” “Start live stream! Post her online! Go to her company make scene! Ruin her reputation!” Group of people surrounded me cursing, Xavier watched coldly me being beaten, ignoring my help-seeking gaze. [Sister, you can never beat me in this life.] Lexi looked at me provocatively, moved mouth silently. I sneered, wiping blood trace at mouth corner. Slapped Aunt Karen’s face, then slapped the relative who claimed witnessing me seducing Xavier. Threw a stack of things on their faces.

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Branch manager Linda passed by my desk and suddenly exclaimed: “Scarlett, your hair is so messy, doesn’t your husband mind?” Colleagues next to her winked frantically, signaling her to stop. But she didn’t receive a single signal. I slowly put down the proposal I was halfway through revising, stood up, enthusiastically took the supervisor’s arm, and said gently: “Linda, seeing you’re not busy, let’s chat for a while?” Chapter 1 On the way to the break room, she didn’t forget to give me advice: “Scarlett, with your square face, try not to dye it red. Better do hair masks often after perming. Young girls shouldn’t always look so old-fashioned.” Linda usually dresses very exquisitely. Approaching forty, she often reveals an innocent look like a little girl, posting some heavily filtered selfies from time to time. Unlike me, wearing ugly cotton clothes to work every day, plain-faced, hardly wearing makeup. I nodded and perfunctory her: “Sis, you are right. I will definitely pay attention next time.” My mind was full of thoughts that it’s not easy to find a listener, can’t let her run away. Colleagues’ expressions changed from concern to schadenfreude. Linda probably doesn’t know yet that I am a “Trophy Wife” + “Love Brain”, super fond of sharing my private life with others. Chapter 2 I made a cup of coffee for Linda and pressed her into the chair: “Sis, you are really beautiful and attentive.” She looked a bit proud, corners of her mouth couldn’t be suppressed: “Just okay.” “Sis, why are you being modest! I’ve been working for three months, and you are the first person to notice my messy hair.” She was a bit embarrassed and wanted to explain something. I didn’t give her a chance to speak at all, speaking somewhat shyly: “My husband does dislike me, disliking me for being too clingy. Before I left this morning, he insisted that I smelled good, rubbing against me like a puppy, and kissed me for a full fifteen minutes, messing up my braided hair.” Linda’s hand holding the coffee trembled, a look of disgust appeared on her exquisite face, not wanting to listen to details. I was completely intoxicated in love, involuntarily opened the photo album and shoved it in front of her face: “Look at this one.” In the photo, I was wearing pajamas taking a selfie, a stubbly chin intimately pressing against the top of my head, I grinned silly at the camera showing big white teeth: “I didn’t wear makeup that day, my husband kept saying I looked good, simply growing on his heart tip. Sis, do you think men’s words are all deceiving ghosts? I’m just an ordinary person, where am I pretty.” Linda’s mouth barely maintained a smile, trying to get up to grab the folder: “Scarlett, I still have to find Mr. Chen to sign.” I snatched the folder and threw it aside: “Mr. Chen is not here today.” Seeing her lack of interest in my private affairs, I also actively switched topics. She usually carries designer bags and wears watches worth over ten thousand, should like talking about outfits. I sighed, putting on an envious expression: “Sis, your husband chose this bag, right? Very tasteful.” A trace of embarrassment flashed in her eyes. I spoke again: “My husband has straight-man aesthetics. The ugly bags he buys for tens of thousands every business trip, simply no face to carry out. Last month I said I wanted a commuter car, he actually secretly bought a G-Wagon, don’t mention how hard it is to drive, and fuel-consuming. So angry I went to buy an electric scooter myself…” At this moment, I was talking endlessly with unfulfilled desire, but she still wanted to leave. I cursed myself secretly for being too ruthless and forgetting feelings again, killing the conversation. Next time I definitely won’t lead the topic to my husband. Just then the break room door opened. Colleague Millie, suppressing subtle sympathy, said to me: “Scarlett, your phone has been ringing at your desk for a long time…” I complained coquettishly: “My husband is so annoying, just a few minutes not replying messages, and he calls like crazy!” Supervisor Linda took the opportunity to flee: “Scarlett! Sorry, I suddenly remembered I have an appointment with a client from The Hamptons at 10:30, leaving first!” I hurried to chase out, sending her to the company gate: “Linda, come often, I like you especially.” Chapter 3 Back at my desk, thinking back and forth, I felt Linda is a good person. I came to the headquarters for three months, colleagues around have too much sense of boundary. Every time I talk about my husband, they find excuses to run. As if I am some terrible person. No one chats with me, I can only bury my head in work. Accidentally pushed the performance to number one in the whole company. Now hubby must love me to death. Actually, if colleagues are willing to be closer to me usually. Once I get excited, I can’t help sharing many spicy secrets with them. For example, who and who in the headquarters drink from the same cup. For example, the big boss’s trunk has an adult Toy. And the afternoon tea sent by the company is actually from… I don’t believe anyone in this world can walk out of the break room with closed ears. At lunch, I ate the Sweet and Sour Ribs my husband cooked while scrolling TikTok. The homepage pushed me a workplace complaint post: “What to do with a poser in the company? I don’t want to talk to her, she has no sense at all, dragging me to show off love then showing off cars and bags, every sentence not leaving husband. Actually riding an electric scooter every day wearing Temu, probably marriage unhappy delusion syndrome committed, finding presence everywhere. I’m really going to vomit.” The comment section was also lively: “Is she writing a novel, is her husband fictional?” “Which company? Really want to apply, watch this kind of disgusting colleague.” “Yeah, the more a person shows off what, the more she lacks what, must be poor and lack love.” The poster liked these comments one by one. I also replied anonymously: “How is her performance?” Result poster turned a blind eye, continued complaining: “I asked around, the husband, G-Wagon, tens of thousands bags she mentioned, no one has ever seen, high probability fabricated. Does anyone have a good way to slap her face? I must expose her!” A bunch of people below gave bad ideas. The poster’s avatar is a city night view taken from the top floor. Really didn’t expect, the seemingly high-intelligence branch manager is a person with low cognition. She dares to really listen, believe and practice the bad ideas given by netizens. They discussed enthusiastically wanting to embarrass me at the Holiday Party. Chapter 4 Lisa from the admin department usually has a good relationship with Linda. When Lisa came to send the notice, she specifically told me: “This time employees can bring family members to participate in the on-site lottery at the annual meeting. The grand prize is a two-person trip to the Maldives. If you don’t want to go, the boss also gives cash.” I was shocked: “Really? Hubby and I have been to Maldives more than twenty times, not much interest. But cash would be great.” She looked at me like I was a psycho. Obviously, Linda had already complained to her that I was a poser. But she still said patiently: “Scarlett, do you have a suitable dress for the annual meeting? Now many places rent clothes and do makeup, not too expensive. Shall I send you the link?” The makeup artist Crystal she recommended, I know, $5000 an hour, hard to book. They are testing me again. Actually, I am also very curious about their motives. Last week, internal staff Yun wore an affordable dress, they publicly commented it wasn’t classy. Intern Min has oily hair, they concluded Min failed blind dates because she was sloppy and didn’t pay attention to image. And Millie was the most wronged, she forgot to cut the tag on her coat. They claimed Millie’s whole body luxury brands were rented. Must be afraid the rich second-generation boyfriend she just dated would look down on her. These years, Linda and Lisa’s eyes have been staring at others’ appearance, enthusiastic and mean. And what confuses me is, no matter how smelly men are, they won’t say a word. I politely declined Lisa: “No need, I’ll go back and let my husband borrow one from the brand side.” At this time Linda also came, hearing me say borrow from brand side. The teasing look could hardly be hidden: “Scarlett, your husband is so considerate, will you bring him to the annual meeting? Listening to you all day.” I shook my head: “Not bringing.” Lisa pretended to be surprised: “Doesn’t your husband love you the most? Not accompanying you on such an occasion, how awkward you alone.” I answered honestly: “My husband is relatively busy and very introverted, only enthusiastic to me. He feels uncomfortable in crowded places.” I have already hinted at my husband’s noble identity very obviously. But they still didn’t realize. Linda asked with concern: “You wouldn’t have no husband at all, right?” Hehe, waiting for me here. No wonder hubby didn’t let me work these years, he even bet a Penthouse with me, saying I would definitely be bullied in the company. In a bad environment, people and things are just so disgusting. If I bow my head, they will step on it. If I prove myself, they treat me as a psycho. And once I prove myself, they will also pick new problems from my husband, like rich people must cheat, or he has leverage in my hands so didn’t divorce me etc… Then I completely fall into their logic. Since they are certain I am a delusional person, can neither wear decent clothes nor bring a real husband. Then I’ll just fulfill their wish first. I didn’t answer this very offensive question. Instead, my eyes turned red, teardrops crumbling: “Linda, actually he doesn’t want me to work this crappy job, let alone accompany me to this level of annual meeting. He goes on business trips for months, cold pot cold stove at home every day, sometimes I really feel, better to divorce.” Linda and Lisa looked at each other. Busily took out tissues from bag and handed to my hand. Such a flawed marriage fits their imagination. Linda patted my back hypocritically: “Don’t be sad, men all run for career.” Colleagues also stopped work in hand. Pretending to bury heads in work, ears didn’t miss a sentence. I sniffled: “Linda is right. But he also suffers on business trips, he said the anniversary buffet at The Hamptons Hotel is particularly terrible.” Linda’s action of comforting me stiffened slightly. I secretly observed her expression. The category of anniversary celebration is different from the usual set meal. Two more Boston lobsters. And I found the reflection in her night view photos on social media had the anniversary table card of The Hamptons Hotel, so just bluffing her. But looking at her expression, this melon should be true. I just need to use my gossip connections to find evidence. So I leaned in intimately: “Sis, you often go on business trips to The Hamptons, must also think it’s terrible right?” She pushed me away alertly: “Never been, the meal fee there exceeds reimbursement ratio.” “Oh, then Linda is very lucky…” She didn’t listen to my nagging, dragged Lisa up and left. I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, sat back at the workstation. Continue to maintain the potential customers just connected. Chapter 5 After work, I returned to the empty home, lazily fried a piece of Wagyu beef, opened Linda’s complaint post. She indeed updated again: “Sisters, so annoying, our company is having an annual meeting, I recommended a top makeup artist in NYC to that poser, she didn’t even dare to add, said she would borrow a dress from the brand side herself. What brand side is willing to lend to her kind? Simply addicted to pretending!” The comment section has started partying. [Laughing to death, how can she pretend so much? Borrowing Old Navy to attend annual meeting!] [I think Shein suits her identity better.] [Looking at sister’s daily life, know this company has good benefits, want to attend this specification big annual meeting, help sister slap poser face, beg for referral.] Immediately she posted a diamond necklace. Asking sisters on social media, will such big one be hard to match. I smiled without speaking, secretly added some heat to this post, selected precise push to women over forty in The Hamptons. Before long, someone will dig out the company name. When small matter becomes big matter, making trouble until PR team needs to step in, the best time belonging to me arrives. Chapter 6 On the day of the annual meeting, of course I didn’t borrow clothes from the brand side. This grade of annual meeting is not worth being so grand. I wore a simple little black dress. Casually matched with a faux fur short jacket sent by the brand. Can’t ride an electric scooter wearing this. Bestie Crystal drove her Maserati to send me to the banquet hall entrance. On the way she said distressedly: “Scarlett, you insist on suffering hardship.” I smiled: “For the Penthouse, I go all out.” Entering the hall, I saw Linda at a glance. She wore a valuable champagne dress, a big diamond shining on her neck. She was raising champagne laughing with a few male colleagues, eyes and brows full of practiced charm. She absolutely won’t bring her husband to this occasion. Her gaze drifted to my empty wrist and neck, smile in eyes growing: “Scarlett, you really came alone.” Lisa followed behind her, gently touched my fur, said teasingly: “Does faux fur get static? Riding an electric scooter so far is cold. Don’t freeze. Let your CEO husband park the helicopter on the roof, send you a thick coat.” They laughed to tears themselves. Gazes from people around carried scrutiny and pity. Also an excitement of about to eat melon. I indeed prepared a big melon for everyone to gnaw. Just not mine. A gentle female voice appeared behind me: “Scarlett?” I turned around, it was the company’s big client Mr. Zhou and his wife. “Sis, long time no see, thinner again.” People in the company don’t know. Mr. Zhou was an ordinary salesman at first. Relied on wife’s family support to have current social status. Just Mr. Zhou got tired of good days, a bit inflated, actually had an affair taking advantage of business opportunities. Linda panicked as soon as she saw Mr. Zhou and Mrs. Zhou, turned to leave, but was held by my wrist calmly: “Linda, don’t rush, I remember Mr. Zhou is your client. No reason to leave the client behind.” Mrs. Zhou asked me familiarly: “Scarlett, this is?” “Look at my brain, forgot to introduce, this is our company’s big hit, Linda, Supervisor Lin.” Linda reached out awkwardly to show goodwill, Mrs. Zhou scoffed lightly, didn’t move, just stared at that dazzling diamond on her neck, then looked at Mr. Zhou who was sweating cold sweat: “Husband, this diamond looks very like the one I asked you to send to the second-hand luxury store for recycling. This carat weight is rare.” Her words, like a ladle of cold water thrown into hot oil. Gossip sizzling in the pot. Mr. Zhou wanted to explain something, but his expression was unnatural. Linda’s hand unconsciously protected the necklace. “Mrs. Zhou, this is a second-hand gift from a friend, maybe the style is very similar…” Mrs. Zhou’s tone remained peaceful, didn’t pursue, indifferently praised: “Your friend has good taste.” Mrs. Zhou didn’t bother to look at her again, took my arm: “Scarlett, let’s go sit over there, also want to thank you for inviting me. Tell me about your husband quickly, my life is too boring, urgently need to hear your stories…” A resentful gaze followed me behind. Don’t need to look back to know who. Linda wanted my husband to come to the annual meeting, wanted to embarrass me. But she would die not thinking, I invited her old baby Mr. Zhou she dated in The Hamptons Hotel. Throughout the annual meeting, Mr. Zhou was eight meters away from Linda. Discussion sounds were endless. They should rejoice, Mrs. Zhou only touched the point today. Just didn’t want to make him more embarrassed in public. But I just like watching something awkward.

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