Author: Momo Chan

Six years after Alpha James rejected me, we met again at the Full Moon Feast. The moment our eyes met, shock and anger flashed in James’s eyes. “Emma? What are you doing here? You are no longer the Luna of the Silvermoon Pack. You have no right to attend the Full Moon Feast.” I didn’t want to waste my breath on him. I turned to leave, but he reached out to grab my arm. “Fine. For the sake of the son you gave me, just stand behind me. No one will give you a hard time.” I sidestepped, dodging his hand, and refused coldly, “No, thank you.” Instead of letting it go, he pointed at the child beside me, his voice trembling with shock. “Is this filthy little brat your daughter? Emma, since you were once my fated mate, if you kill her, I’ll allow you to come back to me.” I almost laughed out loud. Had he lost his mind? My daughter’s status was far more honorable than his petty Alpha title! *** I pulled Lily behind me, my voice freezing cold. “Alpha James, this is my daughter. She has nothing to do with you!” With that, I took Lily’s hand to leave, but James blocked our path. He frowned, scanning me up and down. “Emma Vance, sneaking in here with a kid just to get free food? You must have suffered a lot out there these past few years, huh?” He sneered, his eyes falling on Lily with pure disgust. “Little beggar, how old are you?” Lily put her hands on her hips and glared back at him. “I’m three and a half, and I am not a beggar!” A beggar? I looked down at Lily’s clothes and mine. We had been ambushed on our way here. I had to treat some injured warriors on the spot, and our clothes got stained with mud and herbal juices before we could change. We did look a bit disheveled. Hearing her reply, James’s face darkened. “Bullshit! Just like your mother, you’re a liar! Look at your height. How can a three-year-old be this tall?” I looked down at Lily. She was indeed much taller and stronger than other pups her age. It was all her father’s fault, and the pack warriors. They spoiled her to no end. I shielded Lily behind me, my brow furrowing with frost. “Alpha James, let me say this one more time. Lily is not your child!” James let out a mocking laugh, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Emma, stop lying. If she’s not mine, then whose could she be? Who else would want a rejected woman besides me?” “Stop acting. You sneaked into this feast today just to see me, didn’t you?” I rolled my eyes. Six years, and he was still as arrogant and delusional as ever. “Move!” James didn’t budge. Instead, he spoke in a patronizing, charitable tone. “Emma, you were once my fated mate. I can overlook the fact that you had this pup with another man. Just let me wipe away that foreign mark on your neck and return to me. You can still be the Luna of the Silvermoon Pack.” He waved his hand toward the teenager behind him. “Ethan, take your sister to a lounge. Don’t let her embarrass us here and offend the esteemed guests of the other packs!” Only then did I notice the boy standing behind him—Ethan Sterling. He was the son I carried for ten months, the one I almost died giving birth to. Six years had passed, and he had grown into a handsome young man. But his eyes were filled with a coldness that did not match his age. Ethan had a stern expression, his brow tightly knit. “I don’t want a little beggar as my sister! Sophia is my only sister!” My grip on Lily’s hand tightened. The Sophia he referred to must be Olivia Thorne’s daughter. Years ago, the moment James found out I wasn’t the biological daughter of the former Silvermoon Alpha, he rejected me without hesitation. He said I wasn’t worthy of being the Luna of the Silvermoon Pack, calling me an imposter. Olivia took that opportunity to fan the flames, and even my own son, Ethan, chose to stand by their side. Heartbroken, I accepted the rejection and left the Silvermoon Pack. On the day I left, Olivia caressed her stomach and told me she was already pregnant with James’s pup. It was all her carefully designed trap. The memories of past humiliation and betrayal rushed to my mind, and my fingernails dug into my palms. Lily pulled at the corner of my shirt and retorted angrily, “Mom, I don’t want this ugly jerk as my brother either! He is way worse than Michael!” Ethan’s face darkened even more. He sneered, “A common werewolf dares to compare himself to me?” Looking at the father and son who shared the exact same arrogant face, my heart went completely cold. Fine. I would just pretend I never gave birth to this son. I held Lily’s hand and tried to walk past them, but a sweet, mock-surprised voice suddenly came from behind. “Emma?” ***

Olivia walked over, holding the hand of a little girl dressed in an elegant gown. Her gaze swept over me, and she immediately covered her mouth, gasping loudly. “Emma, it really is you! Why are you dressed like this?” Her deliberate gasp drew countless eyes from the crowd. A few women from other packs, who used to hate me, recognized me immediately and began to jeer. “Oh, isn’t this Luna Emma? It’s been years. Why are you dressed so poorly? Oh, my bad memory. Alpha James broke his bond with you a long time ago. No wonder you’re living like a stray.” Olivia sighed, pretending to be kind-hearted. “Emma, I can ask a maid to bring you some clothes. Even though they’re maid uniforms, they’re a hundred times better than what you’re wearing now.” James wrapped his arm around her waist, his voice softening. “Olivia, you are always so kind.” Watching them put on this show, I couldn’t help but sneer. Six years later, Olivia was still as hypocritical as ever. I looked up, my voice hard. “No need. I don’t take leftovers from you.” Seeing my attitude, one of the women who had mocked me earlier called the guards over. “How did people like this even get in? Guards, throw these two beggars out! They’re ruining our view!” Several guards rushed forward, ready to escort Lily and me out. My eyes turned sharp as I pulled an invitation card from my purse. “I was invited to the Full Moon Feast.” The guard took the card, and seeing the pack crest on it, he froze, unsure of what to do. Olivia took a step forward, pretending to be shocked. “Emma, did you steal that invitation? After all, you were kicked out of the Silvermoon Pack six years ago for stealing our sacred treasure. I didn’t expect you to still be a thief, daring to steal an invitation to the Full Moon Feast.” A wave of fury washed over me. I finally understood. After I left, they had framed me with the crime of stealing their pack’s treasure. I stared dead at Olivia and said coldly, “Me? A thief? Why don’t you tell everyone how you stole another woman’s husband?” Olivia’s face turned instantly dark, her eyes filled with venom. Whispers broke out in the crowd, and the looks directed at Olivia began to change. Just then, a harsh shout cut through the murmurs. “You brat! Why are you back?” The crowd parted, and two people squeezed through. It was my adoptive parents. My adoptive father’s face was livid. He raised his hand and slapped me across the face, roaring, “You ungrateful brat! Shut your mouth and stop ruining Olivia’s reputation!” The sudden blow caught me off guard. My head whipped to the side, and my ears rang. “Mom!” Lily cried out, clinging to my leg. I forced a smile and comforted her softly, “I’m fine, sweetie.” My adoptive mother rushed up, pointing a finger at my face. “Emma Vance, you ungrateful wretch! The position of Silvermoon’s Luna belonged to Olivia in the first place! You were just an imposter who took her place. What right do you have to slander her? If we hadn’t adopted you, you would have died in the wild! How dare you frame our precious daughter!” Adopted? I sneered in my heart. Years ago, when I was traveling with my biological parents, I accidentally got separated from them. I happened to run into my adoptive mother, who had just lost her own pup. Seeing no one around, she took me and ran, raising me as a replacement for her dead daughter. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have been separated from my real parents for so many years. Fortunately, after being rejected, I managed to find my biological parents and finally learned the truth about my identity. I held Lily tightly, snatched the invitation back from the guard, and said coldly, “Get out of my way!” Olivia caught a glimpse of the crest on the back of the card and sneered. “Emma, you really are bold. You even dared to steal from Alpha William.” A bystander leaned in to look, and cried out in an exaggerated tone, “Everyone knows Alpha William is the Alpha of the Shadowfang Pack, one of the four oldest packs! He has a terrible temper and is ruthlessly brutal. You dared to steal from him? You’re dead!” The mocking laughter echoed around me, but I remained calm. I met everyone’s gaze and said, word by word, “He is my mate.” ***

The hall went dead silent for a second, followed by an explosion of laughter. “This is hilarious! Everyone knows Alpha William’s Luna is of the royal Alpha bloodline of the Blazeclaw Pack, and she’s a renowned doctor of medicine! A common wolf like you dares to claim to be the Luna of the Shadowfang Pack? How delusional!” “Exactly! Look at yourself in the mirror. You’re dragging a bastard child around, and you think you’re worthy of Alpha William?” Lily’s face turned red with anger at their mockery. She put her hands on her hips and yelled, “Don’t talk about my mom like that! My mom is a doctor of medicine!” The crowd laughed even harder. “Like mother, like daughter. Look how she raised the child.” “Just like her mother, a little liar! How shameless!” Olivia grabbed James’s sleeve, pretending to be terrified. “James, is Emma trying to ruin the Silvermoon Pack? Pretending to be the Luna of the Shadowfang Pack… If this gets out, our entire pack will be doomed!” Instigated by her words, James glared at me and ordered his men, “Guards, teach this arrogant woman a lesson!” Several thuggish wolves rushed forward, grabbing at me roughly. To protect Lily, I held her tightly in my arms. Sharp claws slashed across my skin, and the metallic taste of blood rose in my throat. “Mom!” Lily sobbed, her little hands gripping my shirt. Sophia Sterling, who had been standing next to Olivia, suddenly pointed at Lily and shrieked, “My brooch is gone! It was her! That little beggar stole my brooch!” My gaze turned icy. I clearly saw the flash of jealousy in Sophia’s eyes. Ethan stepped forward immediately. He grabbed the necklace around Lily’s neck and yanked it off with brute force, pushing her to the ground in the process. “You little thief! How dare you steal my sister’s necklace? Shameless!” Lily fell onto the floor, her eyes red as she cried out, “I didn’t steal it! My dad gave it to me! You bad guy! Give it back!” My heart clenched. I scrambled over to pull Lily up. A bright red, swollen mark was visible on her delicate neck where the necklace had been ripped away. Trembling with rage, I glared at Ethan. “Give the necklace back to her!” Ethan ignored me completely and handed the necklace to Sophia. Sophia happily put the necklace around her own neck, tilting her chin up triumphantly at Lily. James looked at me with deep disgust. “Still unrepentant. You’ve taught this child to be a thief just like you! No, I cannot let the bloodline of the Silvermoon Pack be ruined by you! You must come back with me!” A wicked gleam flashed in Olivia’s eyes. She stepped forward and said gently, “James, I think it’s better to just get rid of this bastard pup. Otherwise, when she grows up, she might go around claiming she’s of Silvermoon blood, ruining our pack’s reputation.” James nodded, his voice cold. “Guards, bring that pup to me!” Several fierce warriors lunged forward to grab Lily. One of them unsheathed his sharp claws. I held Lily tight, backing away, and screamed, “Get back! I’m telling you, she has nothing to do with the Silvermoon Pack! She is a pup of the Shadowfang Pack!” But those warriors only took orders from James. Ignoring my cries, they closed in. In the chaos, a set of sharp claws slashed toward Lily. I instinctively threw my arm out to block it. The sharp claws ripped into my arm, and blood gushed out, staining my sleeve red. “Mom!” Lily cried out in terror, her little body shaking violently. Despite the excruciating pain, I kept Lily shielded in my arms. James ordered impatiently, “Pull her away!” Several guards grabbed my arms, twisting them behind my back so hard I thought they would snap. Just as the warrior’s claws were about to strike Lily again, a figure suddenly broke through the crowd. He grabbed the warrior’s wrist and twisted it with a sickening crack. A blood-curdling scream echoed through the hall. The next second, a cold, furious voice boomed, silencing the entire room. “You dare touch my daughter? Who gave you the permission?”

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In three years of marriage, Ethan never once sat down and shared a meal with me. I couldn’t go a single meal without fish, but he’d curse at the mere whiff of it—said it reeked. So every time he sat at the dining table, I’d carry my plate to the living room and eat alone. When I was done, I’d rinse my mouth three times before daring to kiss him, and even then he’d grimace and pull away. I told myself it was his boundary, and I needed to respect it. Three years. Every single day. Until my birthday, when I went to the fish market to buy something for soup. I was passing a stall when my feet stopped dead. There was Ethan, standing behind the counter in an apron streaked with dried blood, bringing a cleaver down on a fish for a customer with practiced ease. Beside him stood a young woman, holding a plate of sashimi. She dipped a slice in soy sauce and lifted it to his mouth. He opened up without hesitation, barely chewed before swallowing it down. The girl flashed him a smile. He set the knife down, tilted his head, and kissed her on the lips. The fish market was deafening, but standing there, I couldn’t hear a thing. In that moment, it hit me all at once— I didn’t love him anymore. … A sharp ache tore through my chest. Not because I’d caught him with another woman. But because I pitied myself—three years of bending over backward, and for what? What a joke. For three years, just to eat fish, I’d hidden outside with my plate like some stray. Every time I walked through the front door, he’d make me gargle five times before he’d let me so much as touch him. And yet just now—both their mouths fresh with raw fish, no rinsing at all. Right there in that reeking market, he’d kissed her deeply. My stomach lurched. Disgusted. Nauseated. I lifted my foot gently and walked forward. My heels clicked against the stone path. They heard someone approaching and pulled apart instantly. “Welcome, ma’am… Can I—” Ethan’s face was all smiles as he greeted me, but the moment he saw who it was, the color drained from his face. I didn’t look at him. Didn’t care what his reaction was. I pulled out my wallet, took out some bills, and turned to the girl selling fish: “I’d like a fish. The bigger, the better.” She clearly had no idea who I was. She glanced back at the tanks and gave me an apologetic look: “Sorry, gorgeous—you got here a little late. We’re all sold out. Would you like to reserve one for tomorrow?” I shook my head. My voice was calm: “I’m not late. I got here the moment the market opened.” Ethan, standing off to the side, went visibly rigid again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his fingers trembling. “Oh—then how come you’re only buying now?” I smiled at her: “Now seems like perfect timing, doesn’t it? There’s still one fish left.” She didn’t quite follow. Instinctively, she turned to look. There was one fish left in the tank—dead, no telling how long. She waved her hands frantically: “Oh no, miss—that one’s dead. It’s not fresh. We can’t sell it to you.” I kept smiling: “It’s fine. It’s just dead—it’s not dirty. Give me a little discount and I’ll take it. After all, it is my birthday.” Ethan’s head snapped up. His expression darkened. “Oh no, miss—that one’s dead. It’s not fresh. We can’t sell it to you.” I kept smiling: “It’s fine. It’s just dead—it’s not dirty. Give me a little discount and I’ll take it. After all, it is my birthday.” Ethan’s head snapped up. His expression darkened further. A flicker of barely concealed delight passed through the girl’s eyes. She put on a show of reluctance and nodded: “Oh… well, alright then. But my boyfriend can’t help you clean it—he’s been at it all morning, he’s exhausted. You understand…” Before I could say a word, Ethan had already scooped the fish out, pulling on his gloves with practiced efficiency: “It’s fine, Mia. I’ve got it. Just one more.” The girl—Mia—gave me an apologetic smile, then rose on her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on his cheek: “Thanks, babe.” Something lodged itself in my chest, pressing down until I could barely breathe. Ethan stunned the fish and asked me: “How do you want it?” “Sashimi.” My answer made his hand freeze again. He pressed his lips together, silent for a long time before finally speaking: “This one isn’t fresh enough for sashimi. You’ll get sick.” I looked at him. The hurt crept up before I could stop it: “Is this fish the one that’s not fresh—or was it never fresh to begin with?” Ethan stiffened. He set down his tools and tossed the fish back into the tank: “Sorry. This one’s not for sale.” “I want to eat fish on my birthday.” He stood there, frozen, utterly lost. Mia finally picked up on the tension between us. She asked cautiously: “Ethan… do you two… know each other?” Ethan shot me a desperate look. He wanted me to say no. In three years of marriage, this was the first time he’d ever asked me for anything. And it was for another woman. Whatever warmth was left in my heart cooled, degree by degree. I closed my eyes. Gave him what he wanted. Let a single line fall: “No. I don’t know him.” Eyes burning red, I turned and walked away. What he didn’t know was this: It wasn’t just the fish I was giving up. It was him.

Back home, Ethan’s texts came flooding in. “Wait for me at home. I’ll explain everything.” “I remembered your birthday. I got you a present. I’m already on my way back…” Message after message, all the same hollow promises. I didn’t reply to a single one. I just sat in front of my computer screen, staring at the overseas job offer, my cursor hovering over the “Accept” button for the longest time. My mind drifted through our three years of dating, our three years of marriage. There had been so much good. But now I couldn’t tell which parts were real and which were lies. He’d told me he hated fish, couldn’t stand the smell. Yet there he’d stood in the fishiest place in the city, kissing a girl who sold fish for a living. He was supposed to be the youngest, most promising professor at the university. The upstanding educator. The gentle husband who treated me with courtesy and respect. And in the blink of an eye, he was gutting fish for some market girl—willingly, eagerly… Tears pooled at the rims of my eyes. The sun sank behind the western hills. The house went dark. Night fell. Ethan didn’t come home. No explanation. No messages. I pressed my hand over my mouth and finally let myself cry. That job offer—the one that had been sitting in my inbox for a week—I quietly clicked Accept. So be it. It was time for this to end. When I was done, I contacted a lawyer. Drafted a divorce agreement. Calculated the division of marital assets. Ethan pushed through the door late that night. I was sitting in the living room, the divorce papers on the coffee table in front of me. He stood in the doorway, staring at the back of my head in surprise. His first words weren’t an explanation. They were a confession: “My relationship with Mia isn’t what you think.” “Four years ago, I was out at sea on a research expedition. There was an accident. She saved my life.” “Everything I’ve done—it’s to repay that debt.” “She has no one. I’m all she has in this world. Without me, she wouldn’t survive.” “But you’re different. You have family. You have friends. She has nothing but me.” The ache in my chest returned, sharp and raw. My nose stung. I asked him: “There are a thousand ways to repay a debt. Did it have to be by cheating?” He exploded. Hurled his jacket to the floor, jabbed a finger at me, and shouted: “Clara! Who said anything about cheating? Mia and I—it’s been nothing more than a kiss! Nothing else has happened between us!” This was the first time Ethan had ever raised his voice at me. The first time in three years of marriage. I swallowed the bitterness rising inside me and asked: “Fine. I understand. I accept. But if you can eat her fish, why the hell couldn’t you let me eat mine at home?” He faltered. The fury on his face slowly retreated. He stepped forward and pulled me gently into his arms. The stench of fish clung to him, thick and nauseating. I wanted to retch. I struggled, but I was no match for his strength. He spoke: “Clara, you and she are different.” “You come from a good family. You’re beautiful. You have parents who adore you.” “But her?” “She doesn’t know who I really am. Doesn’t know where her own parents are.” “All she wants is for me to be there for her. She doesn’t care about anything else. I have to give her something.” Give her something? I laughed—furious, incredulous—and looked him dead in the eye: “So you gave me the lie that you hate fish, and then went and ate with her?” “No!” “Then what?” “I promised her I’d only ever share meals with her. For the rest of my life.” The air around us went still. I stared at him, red-eyed, brimming with disappointment. The last trembling flame inside me—the one still hoping we had a chance—flickered out. He opened his mouth, then stopped: “Don’t look at me like that…” I praised him. Lavished him with praise: “Ethan, you are so noble! So selfless! You’ve managed to draw such a clean line—even over something as simple as eating fish—keeping her and me in our tidy separate boxes!” “Clara, don’t do this. I haven’t betrayed our vows. I haven’t betrayed our marriage. I just—” “Ethan!” I said his name deliberately, cutting off whatever excuse was coming next. His gaze trembled. I said it softly: “Let’s get a divorce.” The tears and the words came at the same time. Because I’d never imagined there would be a day when Ethan and I would divorce. His pupils shook. He stammered: “Clara, this isn’t what I want—I never wanted to lose you! I—!” His phone rang in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and every word of his plea died in his throat. I said quietly: “Answer it. Someone’s calling this late—she’s probably in trouble.” Ethan tried to soothe me with one hand while rushing to the window to take the call. As if to prove to me that there was truly nothing between them, he left it on speaker: “Ethan, the harbor flooded! All those fish you caught for me today—they’re gone, every last one!” “Please, can you come help me!” Ethan looked back at me. His eyes were full of pleading. I lowered my gaze and said softly: “Go, Ethan. Those fish are her livelihood.” Relief washed over him. He didn’t even manage a goodbye before bolting out the door. The moment it slammed shut— the clock on the wall pointed to midnight. The house was silent. As if no one had come home at all. I whispered to myself: “Happy thirtieth birthday, Clara.” “From now on, you’ll be celebrating alone.”

I barely slept that night. My dreams were restless. I dreamed of being little—Mom and Dad gathered around me, a birthday cake glowing with candles, telling me to make a wish. I said I wanted fish on every birthday. I dreamed of our wedding day. My father walking me down the aisle, handing me off to Ethan with tears in his eyes, pleading: “My daughter has one simple love—fish. Promise me you’ll never make her suffer for it.” Ethan promised without hesitation. But when I woke up in the morning, the pillow was soaked with tears. The other side of the bed was cold and empty. Only a message on my computer confirmed that my flight for tomorrow’s onboarding had been booked—reporting instructions attached. I pulled myself together, drafted a resignation letter, and headed to the university where Ethan worked. I’d had better job prospects once. But Ethan said he wanted us to see each other all the time. I couldn’t bear to be apart from him either, so I’d ignored my father’s objections, given it all up. Applied through the university’s spousal employment program, went through the whole hiring process, and settled for an administrative position at the same school. And now look at the wreckage. On the way to the office building, a colleague spotted me and smiled: “Clara! Here so early to see Professor Ethan?” “Didn’t he tell you? Three months ago, he moved all his morning classes to the afternoon.” I froze. Then nodded: “He told me.” He hadn’t told me. Every morning, same as always, he’d said he was going to teach. When really, he’d been getting up at dawn to help Mia gut fish. A man who once refused to drag himself out of bed to pick up a package for me—getting up every single morning to butcher fish for another woman. Laughable. Truly laughable. Not laughing at him. At myself. I walked into the office of the administrator who handled resignations. Placed my letter on his desk. He looked visibly startled: “Clara? You’re leaving?” “Why? Does Professor Ethan know about this?” I nodded, smiling: “He’s well aware.” Despite his suspicion, he stamped the papers. Back at home, someone was cooking in the kitchen. A girl with red-rimmed eyes sat on the living room sofa. Mia. She saw me and jumped to her feet: “Clara—hi, I’m—” I raised my hand. Told her she didn’t need to say any more. I didn’t even want to ask why Ethan had brought her here. I headed for the bedroom to pack. But Ethan, wearing an apron, called after me: “Clara, wait.” I turned and looked at him—every inch the domestic husband. Looked at the pot on the stove, fragrant with fish soup. Three years, and he’d never once cooked for me. I laughed. Shook my head and reached for the bedroom door. He grabbed my arm, frowning: “I told Mia about us.” That surprised me. I stopped and looked at him: “Shouldn’t you have done that a long time ago?” Ethan’s face twisted with shame. Mia walked over, head bowed, tears streaming: “I’m so sorry, Clara. This is all my fault. I had no idea about you two.” “I’ve caused Ethan so much trouble. I’ve… I’ve already broken up with him.” “I won’t bother you again.” I felt nothing. Not a ripple. I turned to Ethan: “The breakup—did you agree to it?” Ethan choked, clearly not expecting me to remain unmoved. He cleared his throat, sidestepped the question, and pulled both me and Mia to the dining table: “Your birthday present.” “Fish soup. I made it myself.” I stared at the pot he set before me for a long time. Ladled out a bowl. Tasted it. It was delicious. Truly delicious. But it was too late. “Well? Is it good, Clara? Let me tell you—” “Ethan, I’ve already signed the divorce papers. They’re right there on the table. Sign whenever you get a chance.” “This home—I’m leaving it to the two of you.” I cut him off bluntly. His face went rigid. I sighed, stood, and stepped away from the table. Mia’s face turned white. She kept gesturing frantically at Ethan. Ethan’s expression blackened. He slammed his palm on the table. “Clara! Don’t push your luck! Don’t act like you’re the victim here—Mia has it worse than you!” “Ethan, stop—” “No! She needs to hear this. She needs to know she has no idea how to be understanding!” I stood still. Turned to face him: “Go ahead, Ethan. What is it this time?” His expression turned vicious. He hurled the words at me: “Mia is carrying my child!” My mouth opened, but nothing came out. All that was left inside me was a cold so sharp it burned. His fury didn’t stop: “And yet she chose to break up with me—for the sake of our marriage!” “She’s going to raise this baby alone! She’s going to be a single mother—can you even imagine how hard that will be?” “Clara, even if I’ve done something wrong, I am your husband and you are my wife. Can’t you show a little understanding? Does it have to come to this?” I looked at Mia’s belly. Paused for a moment. Well. I should have seen this coming. My eyes dimmed. I said quietly: “Then as of right now, I am no longer your wife.” I turned and walked out the door, ignoring the raging shouts behind me. All I took were my documents. Everything else—I didn’t need anymore.

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My husband Derek has been sleeping with my best friend Jade. This time, I called her husband, Shane. Shane almost killed a man over her once. Did eighteen months for it. Later he carries a blade everywhere he goes. And right now, he’s on his way here. Ten minutes ago, I was standing outside Venom Lounge, shaking, listening to a room full of people place bets on whether I’d file for divorce. “Avery would never leave him. Derek makes too much money.” “Honestly, it’s her own fault. If she weren’t so pathetic, Derek wouldn’t have cheated.” “Hey, Derek, tell us. Is your wife gonna make a scene about this or what?” Through the crack in the door, I watch Jade sitting on my husband’s lap. She kisses him, slow and deliberate, like she’s performing. “Avery won’t leave him.” She pulls back with a grin. “She’s a parasite. She wouldn’t dare.” Derek stubs out his cigarette, grabs the back of her neck, and pulls her into a deep kiss. The whole room cheers. They told me to come here on purpose. They want to watch me break. And I’m even more pathetic than they think. I can’t even walk in. That’s when I pulled out my phone. Not to call my mom. Not to call a lawyer. I called Jade’s husband. “Jade’s been drinking too much. She’s at Venom Lounge. You should come get her.” “Who’s she drinking with?” Shane’s voice was already cold. “A bunch of guys. They’re getting handsy. You should hurry.” “On my way.” I hung up and walked away from the door. Now, I’m standing at the front entrance when my phone buzzes. Derek. His voice is lazy, almost amused. “Ave, you’re already here, right?” I don’t answer. “The waitress said you were standing outside for a while. You heard everything?” His voice is soft. Gentle, even. Which makes it so much worse. I manage a quiet “Mm.” Derek laughs. “Pathetic.” Yeah. Everyone knows that’s what I am. I’ve been following Derek around since high school. If he hadn’t protected me back then, I probably wouldn’t have made it to college. “Wait, you didn’t even come inside? You just stood there?” He sounds entertained. “Burying your head in the sand is boring, babe.” I hear people laughing in the background. Loud. Shameless. Then Jade grabs the phone. I can hear the smile in her voice. “If I knew you were this scared of losing him, we wouldn’t have bothered hiding it. But honestly? Sneaking around behind your back was half the fun.” She pauses. Then says again, “Your husband is great in bed, by the way. I’ve been test-driving him for you. Every department checks out. So thanks. I’ll be keeping him.” Someone in the background whistles. “Careful, Jade. She’s gonna cry.” “Yeah Derek, you gonna go comfort her or what?” Derek’s voice cuts through the noise. Serious for once. “Enough. If she starts crying again, I’ll have to deal with it.” A pause. “Ave’s not like you. She’s way easier to handle. Don’t mess with her.” Then he takes the phone back. His voice is clear now, close. “Where are you? I’ll come find you. This place is a nightmare for cabs.” I look down the hallway and see him step out, phone still pressed to his ear. He spots me and hangs up. The look on his face makes my stomach turn. He’s satisfied. Almost entertained, like this whole thing is a game and he just won a round. He walks over and ruffles my hair like I’m a kid. “She’s not you. You’re Mrs. Mercer. The real deal. So why are you crying?” He tilts my chin up. “Relax. I’m not gonna divorce you.” He says it like he’s tossing me a treat. Like I should be grateful. Then Jade stumbles out of the room, clutching her head. She staggers forward and crashes right into Derek. Right in front of me. His hands go straight to her waist. His palms press against the bare skin where her top rides up. She tilts her head onto his chest and peeks at me through half-closed eyes. “Baby, my head is killing me. They kept forcing drinks on me.” She pouts up at him. “Take me home? Avery already knows now anyway. No point hiding it.” She turns to me. “She won’t mind… right, Ave?” Her eyes are pure challenge. My phone buzzes. Shane. [Where’s the bar?] I send him the location.

I look up at Derek after I send the location. “What if I do mind?” Something flickers across Derek’s face. Guilt, maybe. He tries to push Jade off, but she melts into him like she’s boneless. “Oh, come on,” Jade laughs, slapping his chest. “You’ve been sleeping with me how many times now? Don’t play the good husband.” She turns to look at me. “Didn’t you tell me yourself? That Avery just lies there in bed like a dead fish? Zero effort, zero fun?” She’s talking to Derek. But she’s looking straight at me. Derek glances at me nervously. “That was just a joke. I was messing around with her.” My nails dig into my palms. I keep my voice flat. “Oh.” Then I say, “I’ll go with you to drop her off.” “What?” Jade stares at me. I look at both of them. “You said your head hurts, right? Derek and I will take you home together.” I grab Jade’s arm and pull her off him. She has no choice but to lean on me. Derek blinks, then lets out a surprised laugh. He reaches over and taps the tip of my nose. “Well. Finally jealous, huh? Look at you, showing some teeth. I like it.” His voice is warm. Playful. Like nothing happened. My stomach turns. But my face gives away nothing. I’ve had practice. In high school, the school bully’s girlfriend cornered me in the bathroom and shredded my clothes with scissors. I had the same face then. Blank. Calm. Nothing. Derek was the one who found me. He stared at me for a long time, then pulled off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “You should have some fight in you,” he said. That girl never came back to school. Derek thought it was because of him. Because he’d warned her. He didn’t know it was because her dad caught her making out with her boyfriend behind the bleachers. And I’m the one who made sure her dad was there to see it. She got pulled out of school. She never bothered me again. I was happy to let Derek play the hero. So I never told him the truth. “But I booked a hotel room,” Jade’s voice breaks through my thoughts. She bats her eyes, looking smug. “Who said anything about going home?” She looks at Derek. “You want to come, right, baby? But bringing Avery along would be a little awkward.” Derek’s eyes bounce between us. Before he can answer, I speak first. “Derek. Come home with me.” I stare at him and let my voice go soft. Jade wraps her leg around his right there in front of me. Her eyes lock onto him. “That outfit you wanted me to wear? I already sent it to the hotel. If you skip tonight, I’m never putting it on.” Something shifts in his eyes. His jaw tightens, and I can see it. He wants to go. “Ave, go home first.” That’s what he says to me. I stare at him, eyes burning. “You sure?” He nods. Then frowns. “Be good. Unless you want a divorce.” I take a breath. The air feels like a blade going down. Jade scoffs. “What, you want to stay and watch? That’s a little cruel, even for you.”

I don’t respond. But Jade steps closer and whispers in my ear. “You want to know when it started? The first time?” Her breath is warm against my skin. “It was when you had your miscarriage. When you were stuck in the hospital. We did it right there. In your bed.” My whole body goes cold. That was my first baby. Derek’s and mine. I wanted that baby so badly. I was so careful. Did everything right. And I still lost it. When I was in the hospital, Derek said he was swamped with a project. Said he couldn’t be there. I went through the whole thing alone. The bleeding. The silence after. The empty room. And the whole time, he was with her. In my bed. I stare at Jade. “Why? Why would you do that?” She doesn’t even blink. “Derek’s rich, hot, and he knows what he’s doing. Men like him don’t come around twice. You were gonna lose him eventually. I just got there first.” She shrugs. “Besides, Shane? I’ve been wanting to dump him for years.” I check the time. Shane should be about ten minutes out. “You think he’ll just let you leave?” I ask. “You told me yourself he’s got a temper. That he almost killed someone. Doesn’t that scare you?” She waves her hand. “Shane is a dumbass with muscles and no brain. All I have to do is snap my fingers and he’ll do whatever I want. When the time comes, I’ll just trick him into signing the papers. He’s as easy to fool as you are.” She doesn’t care about Shane at all. Not even a little. “What if he finds out you’re cheating?” Fear flashes across her face. Just for a second. Then it’s gone. “He won’t. He’s probably out doing deliveries right now.” She smirks. “I’ve got him trained like a dog. You wouldn’t understand.” I laugh inside. Cold. Quiet. I glance at my phone. Shane’s text: Almost there. Something clicks in my head. I don’t want to let them off easy. I want to watch what happens when the dog slips its leash. So I look up at Derek with the saddest eyes I can manage. “I’ll wait for you in the hotel lobby. When you’re done, come home with me. Okay?” I make myself as small and desperate as I can. Derek stares at me, surprised. “You’re really that… you just can’t live without me?” Jade jumps in right away. “God, Avery. How are you this pathetic? After everything, you’re still begging for scraps. What the hell is wrong with you?” I don’t react. I look at her like she just doesn’t get it. “Derek paid for everything when I was in college. Every single bill. All four years. And after we got married, he’s the one who kept me afloat.” I pause. “Jade, I can’t survive without him. I never could.” And that’s the truth, at least on the surface. Derek is insanely good at making money. He had six figures by twenty. By the time he graduated, he was pulling in millions. Because of him, I never had to worry about rent, tuition, or anything else. I got my master’s. Then my Ph.D. All because I never had to work a day. Jade opens her mouth and nothing comes out. Her face goes dark. Derek shoots Jade a look, irritated. “Don’t talk to her like that.” “I told you from the start. What we have stays between us. It doesn’t touch Avery. And I’m never going to divorce her to marry you.” His eyes narrow. “Unless that’s what you’ve been counting on?” Jade’s expression shifts instantly. She softens her voice, reaches for his arm. “That’s not what I meant, baby. I just didn’t want her to ruin the mood.” I glance at my phone one more time. Shane is two minutes away.

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My pup’s head is already crowning, but my Alpha mate pushes it back inside. Because his dead brother’s widow is having a son next door, and only a male pup inherits in the Blood-Moon Pack. Silas doesn’t even flinch. His hand is soft on mine. His eyes are softer. Nine months of soft. “Hold on, Sera. Just a little longer.” His voice is calm. Sweat runs into my eyes. Blood soaks the bed. Something is wrong. I’ve known since the second contraction hit thirty seconds after the first. The pain is too sharp. Too fast. A nurse walks in with a syringe. I think it’s the numbing shot. Then Silas lets go of my hand. Steps back from the bed. The needle goes in. He checks his watch. “Adjust the dose,” he says. Calm. Like he’s ordering coffee. “She has to wait until Elena births her pup.” The room tilts. “Elena’s crowning any minute,” he tells the nurse. “Buy me two hours.” I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Whatever is in that syringe is already in my blood. My contractions stop mid-clench. Like a hand closed around my womb from the inside. The pain stays. The labor stops. My pup is stuck. I look at him. My mate. The Alpha who put his palm on my belly every night and talked to her through my skin. His face is blank. I don’t cry. I don’t beg. I memorize his face. Exactly like this. And I start counting everything I’m going to take from him. — They wheel me down. Down past the pack infirmary. Down past the healing suites. Down into the basement of the Blood-Moon’s private clinic. Maya is waiting at the door. Silas’s little sister. Twenty-three. Nails freshly done. A scalpel between two fingers like a cigarette. “Don’t blame my brother, sis,” she says, smiling. “Elena’s carrying our dead brother’s son. First male Blood-Moon pup of this generation. You get it.” I get it. I’ve known since the needle went in. But I let my face do what they want. Wet. Weak. Scared. “Even if you popped her out first,” Maya goes on, “she’d still just be a girl. Only male pups inherit the Alpha ring. That’s pack law.” She crouches. Taps my cheek with the flat of the blade. “Get the healer,” I rasp. “Please. She’s coming.” “She’s not coming for three more hours, sweetheart. The drug holds that long. Elena’s already in the birthing suite.” She stands. Brushes off her knees. “Be a good girl. When her son is breathing, you get yours.” To the enforcer at the door: “If she howls, gag her.” The door shuts. One bare bulb. Concrete floor. My dress is already soaked through. They took my phone at the gate. Radiation, Silas said. Bad for the pup. I curl onto my side. In. Out. Counting. Three months ago, Silas’s older brother Damon ran his bike into a rogue ambush on the north border. Left a mate three months pregnant. At the funeral, the Old Alpha gripped Elena’s wrist with both hands and wept into her sleeve. The Blood-Moon bloodline cannot die. Give us this boy. I stood there in black. Twenty-six weeks along. Put my hand on the old wolf’s shoulder. “Alpha, our pup will love you too.” He didn’t look at me. I should have known then. I did know then. I just didn’t want to. Another contraction rips through me. The drug is fighting it. My body is fighting back. I drag myself to the door. Pound on it. “Help me — please — the pup is coming —” A bored voice on the other side. “Shut up. Miss Maya said wait.” “My baby —” “If she dies, she dies. Shouldn’t have been a girl.” I slide down the door. I am not crying. I am making a list.

I don’t know how long I’m down there. Long enough that the blood under me goes warm. Then cold. Then warm again. Long enough that I almost stop fighting the drug. Then the door opens. Not Maya. Not the enforcer. Dr. Reed. The pack healer. He’s been my healer since the first month. He sees me on the floor and goes the color of paper. “Luna? Goddess — the Alpha said you were in the VIP suite —” I can’t speak. I point at my belly. He drops to his knees. His hand goes between my legs. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You’re fully dilated. Your water broke Goddess knows when. We need to move. Now.” He tries to lift me. The second I move, blood pours out of me in a hot rush. He almost drops me. “Help!” he shouts down the hall. “She’s bleeding out —” Nothing. This whole infirmary belongs to the Blood-Moon. Tonight they cleared it for Elena. Every nurse. Every healer. Every apprentice. All on the third floor. Holding her hand while she pushes out the future of the pack. His phone has no signal down here. He hauls me up. “Stay with me, Luna. Stay with me.” The stairwell is endless. Every step jolts the pup further down. And not out. The drug is still in me. Contractions come and go like a stutter. The worst way to have a pup. I can feel her wedged. “Doctor —” My voice is air. “Save the pup. Promise me.” “You’re both walking out of here. Don’t talk.” He kicks open the first-floor birthing suite. We both freeze. The room is empty. Not unstaffed. Empty. The birthing table is gone. The transfusion kits are gone. The herb cart, the emergency kits, the monitors — gone. Bare outlets where the machines used to be. Reed makes a sound like he’s been punched. “I checked this room six hours ago —” Heels on tile. Maya rounds the corner. Two nurses trailing her. “Doctor. What are you doing down here? Elena’s on three.” He points at the empty room. His hand is shaking. “Where is the equipment.” Maya’s face is beautifully innocent. She’s practiced this look. “Moved it up. Elena’s having a hard labor — the pup carries the Alpha bloodline, we need every tool on her. What if something goes wrong? You can’t birth an heir in a regular suite.” Her eyes drift to me. She smiles. “Oh. Is she in labor? She’ll have to wait. Elena isn’t done.” I look up at her. This girl I bought a fifteen-thousand-dollar Chanel bag for last spring. This girl who linked her arm through mine at every pack dinner and called me the best Luna the Blood-Moon ever had. I file her face away with Silas’s. The list is getting longer. — Reed sprints to the healer’s station. Rips open cabinets. Empty. Empty. Empty. “Silver-clamps — anything — gauze —” A nurse whispers, “It’s all upstairs. Alpha’s orders. Everything goes to Miss Elena.” He punches the cabinet. His knuckles split. He turns to me. Crying. “Luna. I’m sorry. I have nothing —” Maya pats his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, doc. She hasn’t delivered yet. When Elena’s done, the tools come back down.” She glances at my belly. “And honestly? Even if the pup doesn’t make it — it’s a girl. The pack loses nothing.” I lift my head off the floor. I look her in the eye. I use the breath I’ve been saving. “You animal.” Her smile drops. She crouches down. Puts her mouth right next to my ear. Lowers her voice so only I hear. “Howl all you want, sis. After tonight you’ll be too weak to lift a glass. Elena’s taking your seat as Luna. My brother keeps you alive as a slave because he’s sentimental. Be grateful.” She straightens up. Beautiful again. Reed can’t take it. “Miss Maya, this is murder —” “Murder?” She laughs. “Doctor. She-wolves die in labor all the time. It’s tragic.” She turns to the enforcers behind her. “Take Dr. Reed somewhere quiet. I’ll watch my sister myself.” They drag him out. He fights them. Twists back to me. Shouting — “Luna — pinch here — hard — above the ankle — it can bring the contractions back — don’t give up —” The door slams. Maya locks it.

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Seven years into our relationship, Lucian always told me he was working so hard for our future—that was why he was constantly busy expanding the family’s reach. He was so busy he forgot my birthday. Forgot the trip we’d planned. Forgot to bring me medicine when I was burning with a hundred-and-four fever. But the moment his adopted sister, Nora, showed up, suddenly he wasn’t busy anymore. He always managed to carve out time to take her to the movies, shopping, on trips. And today, when my grandmother wanted to see him one last time before she died, Lucian turned me down, citing “urgent family business.” Then I saw the latest post on Nora’s Instagram. Successfully dragged Don Moretti to the movies today! That was when it finally dawned on me. It wasn’t that Lucian was busy. It was that his time was never set aside for me. … The heart monitor stretched into one long, unbroken tone. I drew in a slow breath and gently closed my grandmother’s eyes—the eyes she couldn’t bear to close even in death. When I went to sign the death certificate, my hand shook so badly I couldn’t hold the pen steady. The nurse, her face full of concern, asked if she should call another family member to help. I forced a small smile and shook my head. My parents had died in a car crash years ago. My grandmother had raised me on her own. The villagers had all called me a burden, a little runt, good for nothing, and pushed her to marry me off as soon as she could. But she leaned on her cane and chased every one of them away, stubbornly scraping together every penny to put me through school. Even at the very end, the only thing on her mind was me—she just wanted to see whether my boyfriend would take care of me the way she had. Lucian never gave her that chance. In the end, I took three days off work and had my grandmother cremated. The moment I held that small urn in my hands, the loss finally became real, and I broke down sobbing. That was when Lucian’s call came through. “Why did you request leave? What’s the reason?” His tone was hard. I choked the tears back, but my voice still came out hoarse. “I’m just tired. I wanted to rest for a couple of days.” He paused, then spoke hesitantly. “Mia… were you crying?” There was a lump in my throat. I was about to explain when a surprised female voice cut in on his end. “Mia, what’s wrong? You’re not upset because Lucian’s with me, are you?” “Don’t worry, I only think of Lucian as an older brother, that’s all!” It was Nora. She was a child the Moretti family had adopted, and she was very close to Lucian. The old me would have demanded to know why Nora was with him and torn into him over it. But now, I didn’t even have the strength to fight. Sensing my unusual silence, Lucian cut off Nora’s teasing in an offhand, almost breezy tone. “Nora. Don’t talk nonsense.” Half scolding, half indulgent. Then he turned back to me. “Mia, Nora’s young, she doesn’t know any better. Don’t hold it against her.” “So did something happen? I’m free now. If there’s something on your mind, just tell me.” His voice was still soft. But I felt no warmth from it. I mumbled a few empty words and hung up. Once I’d made temporary arrangements for my grandmother, I dragged my exhausted body—three days without proper sleep—back home. The moment I opened the door, I saw Nora curled up in Lucian’s lap. The two of them were tucked into the sofa, watching a movie. My feet stopped dead. For a second I actually thought I’d walked into the wrong house. I had once begged Lucian to watch a movie with me too. He would just pat my head and turn me down in that gentle voice of his. “I’ve still got a project to finish. Next time, okay? Good girl.” Lucian Moretti was the Mafia godfather every man in the Italian underworld feared, presiding over a sprawling business empire with no shortage of things to attend to. So whenever he brushed me off, I understood. I told myself the weight of the entire Moretti family rested on his shoulders, and I shouldn’t be another problem for him. Yet here he was, watching a movie with another woman… Nora heard me come in and looked up first. She was wearing Lucian’s shirt, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs. She came pattering over and handed me a pair of shoe covers. “Oh, Mia, you’re home. Come sit down.” I looked down. She was also wearing my slippers. As though she were the woman of the house. Lucian draped a throw blanket over Nora and warned her not to catch a chill. Only then did he spare me a glance. “Mia, Nora’s going to be interning at my company for a while. She’ll be staying here in the meantime—it’ll be easier for me to drive her to and from work.” “You’ve always been sensible. I know you won’t mind.” Sensible. I’d heard that word too many times. I lifted my swollen, red-rimmed eyes and looked at him. “And what if I do mind?” He froze. I said quietly, “Lucian, let’s break up.”

The air went still for a beat. Lucian’s expression stiffened. It took a moment before he knit his brows together. “What are you talking about?” “Exactly what I said,” I answered softly. “If the two of you want to live together, feel free to get a room at the hotel across the street.” Nora’s eyes reddened instantly. “Mia, you’ve got the wrong idea. Lucian and I aren’t like that. I—I only came to stay here because it was more convenient for work.” “If it upsets you, I’ll leave right now…” She dabbed at the corner of her eye and turned to go, but Lucian caught her wrist and pulled her behind him, shielding her. His face went cold, his eyes dark. “Mia. Watch your mouth.” “If you’ve got something to say, say it to me. What’s the point of going after a young girl?” “How many times have I told you? Nora was adopted by the Morettis. She’s the little sister I grew up with. If I don’t take care of her, who will?” Right. Ditching me to see a movie with Nora. Bringing her home. Fighting with me over her, again and again. That was what he called taking care of her. I let out a bitter laugh. “Fine. Keep taking care of her, then.” “I’ll go stay somewhere else.” I walked straight into the bedroom, dragged out my suitcase, and started packing. Lucian first coaxed the shaken Nora into the bathroom for a hot shower, then, in no particular hurry, drifted over to the bedroom doorway and watched me. “Mia, that’s enough.” “What kind of scene are you making at this hour? Where is a girl like you supposed to stay this late? And you’ve got work tomorrow. Don’t make trouble for yourself, all right?” “I promise you, there’s nothing between me and Nora.” My hands stilled. I looked up and met his eyes. “Lucian. Do you remember the phone call I made to you three days ago?” He blanked for a second. “I got caught up in things and forgot. That’s why I didn’t call you back.” “Caught up in what?” “Work.” He answered quickly—but his eyes couldn’t quite meet mine. I knew it hadn’t been work. He’d been with Nora. Which meant, on that day, he had let my grandmother die with a regret in her heart. I didn’t call him out on it. I just lowered my eyes and kept packing. Seven years, and I didn’t have much—clothes, documents, odds and ends all together didn’t even fill a single twenty-four-inch suitcase. Lucian’s frown deepened. When I finally clicked the case shut and pulled up the handle, he stepped into the doorway to block my way. “Is all this really necessary?” “Just because I didn’t call you back?” “You’re not a child. Running away from home—it’s a bit much. I don’t have the energy to coax you tonight.” I didn’t need coaxing. I moved around him. My eyes drifted to the keys hanging by the door, and for a moment I got lost in the sight of them. When we’d first become official, Lucian had brought me here to show me around, pressed those keys into my palm, and leaned against the doorframe with a smile. “Welcome home, lady of the house.” “Mia, from now on, this villa is our shelter from the world.” I pulled the keys off the hook, meaning to make things clear with him once and for all. But Lucian mistook my daze for reluctance, and let out a soft laugh. “What, having second thoughts?” My face went cold. I tossed the keys straight at his chest, turned, and yanked the door open. Something shifted in Lucian’s face. He took two quick steps forward—only to be stopped by Nora’s voice from the bathroom. Small and pitiful. “Lucian, I forgot my towel. Could you bring me one?” Without a second’s hesitation, Lucian turned on his heel and hurried off, unable to hide the worry on his face. Behind him, Nora didn’t bother lowering her voice. “Lucian, maybe I should just leave. Mia’s already so upset, I don’t want to come between—” Lucian’s tone was dismissive. “Don’t worry about it. She’s not going anywhere.” “Mia just throws these little tantrums now and then. She loves me—she’s putting on a show. She’ll be back in a day or two.” “Stay as long as you want. I’ve got you.” I smiled bitterly. So he knew I loved him. But Lucian, even love gets tired. I dragged my suitcase out and shut the door, sealing every emotion behind it. When I got to the hotel, I opened my laptop and began drafting my resignation letter.

HR didn’t approve my resignation. She called and told me to come to the office the next day to talk it through in person. The next morning, a downpour hit just as I came up from the subway. I didn’t have an umbrella, and I was going to be late. So I just put my head down and ran through the rain. By the time I reached the office, I was soaked through. I was still wringing water out of my clothes when a Bentley pulled up behind me. The door opened. A bodyguard held an umbrella over Lucian, who walked in with Nora cradled in his arms. When he saw me, he paused. His eyes lingered on the water dripping from the ends of my hair, and his brow creased. “Why didn’t you ask me to drive you?” Beside him, Nora covered her mouth in exaggerated surprise. “Mia, looking like that really doesn’t reflect well on the company.” Lucian was still watching me, as though he expected an answer. The truth was, I had asked him. Plenty of times. On more rainy days than I could count, I’d stared helplessly at my Uber app, watching hundreds of people ahead of you on the screen, and asked Lucian if he could pick me up. Lucian would only answer, coldly, “I’ve got a meeting. No time.” “Besides, if I drove you in, people at the company would say I was playing favorites. Figure it out yourself.” After a while, I stopped asking. I lifted my eyes and met his. “Lucian, we’ve already broken up. You never drove me to work before. I’m not going to let you drive me now.” Nora’s face lit with quiet triumph. Lucian’s eyes turned to ice. “Fine.” “Let’s see how long you keep this up.” “Nora, ignore her.” He turned, Nora still in his arms, ignoring every curious look from his subordinates. I looked away and headed back to my desk. Soon after, Ms. Smith, the HR manager, called me into her office. She kept her eyes down, flipping through my paperwork. “The resignation forms are all in order. But, Mia—are you sure about this?” “Back then, you turned down other offers just to come here for Lucian. I always thought that was a shame. You’ve finally worked your way up to team lead. If you’re leaving in a fit of anger over a fight with him, it isn’t worth it.” Ms. Smith had been my senior in college, and was one of the few people who knew about Lucian and me. I gave her a small, helpless smile. “It’s not a fit of anger. We broke up.” “My grandmother passed away. I want to take her back to our hometown. Thank you, though.” She looked genuinely startled, then sighed and told me she was sorry. “All right. I respect your decision.” “But at least see the current project through. It’s years of your work, it’s substantial, and it’ll look good on your résumé.” She was already thinking about my next job for me. I nodded gratefully and agreed. My flight out was booked for the following Wednesday. Wrapping up the project in the days I had left would work out just right. To finish sooner, I stayed at the office late. I didn’t hear Lucian approach until his knuckles rapped against my desk. The assistant behind him held out a cup of coffee. The cup was stamped with a small gold logo—the mark of the Moretti family’s private beverage line. Only five of those shops existed in the world. It didn’t come cheap. “Why aren’t you answering my messages?” he asked. I frowned and finally looked at my phone. Two hours ago. Do you take sugar in your coffee? At that very moment, a new post from Nora popped up on Instagram. I tapped into the photo. There were more than ten drinks lined up on a table—milk tea, whiskey, coffee, everything imaginable. The caption had a coy little pout to it. Lucian is such an idiot. Who orders this many different drinks because he doesn’t know what I like? He’s going to turn me into a piggy! Also spilled one of the coffees. I don’t really drink coffee anyway, but it still made me sad. I stared, silently, at the coffee the assistant had just set in front of me. Up close, there was a smear along the rim. Maybe it was the one that had been knocked over. Expressionless, I pushed the cup into the trash. “Sorry. I’m allergic to caffeine.” Lucian froze. His brow drew tight. “Since when?” “Always.” “Sorry. I’ve been busy. It slipped my mind.” Silence hung between us. I had no intention of continuing the conversation, but Lucian spoke again. “Mia. That project you’ve been leading—let Nora have it, to cut her teeth on.”

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Before the storm surge hit the coast, I secured a placement at the Sector 4 Emergency Refuge. When I arrived, I didn’t expect to run into my ex. Taylor looked at me with that familiar, cutting sneer. “Naomi, even if you’re still obsessed with me, did you really have to follow me here?” “Don’t think I don’t see right through you. You’re just trying to piggyback on my shelter pass.” “How shameless can you get just to save your own skin?” I looked down at the priority executive clearance in my hand, completely baffled. Passes for these high-security bunkers were strictly capped. They didn’t just hand them out to any random civilian. Besides, Taylor had been unemployed for the last year of our relationship, entirely dependent on my paycheck. How could he possibly have secured a spot? … By the time I reached the registration gate, the police were already stringing up the yellow barricade tape. The PA system blared on a relentless loop: “Category 5 storm warning confirmed. Immediate evacuation ordered for all low-lying coastal sectors.” The crowd was a sea of panic, and the security lines were dissolving into chaos. I fought my way through the press of bodies, shoving my ID toward the registrar at the very last second. That was when a familiar voice cut through the noise behind me. “Well, look who it is.” I turned around. My ex, Taylor, was standing right there, blocking the entryway. He had his parents in tow, along with Chloe. The moment Taylor saw me, his face darkened. “Naomi, I swear, I’ve never met anyone as shameless as you,” he said, his voice loud enough to draw looks. “We broke up. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re like a piece of cheap gum stuck to my shoe.” “Can’t you see I’ve moved on? Even if you stripped naked right here, I wouldn’t give you a second glance.” His mother let out a sharp, mocking scoff. She looked at me like I was something she’d swept off her porch. “She’s just here to leech off our family pass,” she muttered. “I thought you had some pride, girl. Turns out you’ll throw away your dignity the second your life is on the line.” Taylor’s father was a retired university lecturer. For the three years I’d known him, he had always played the part of the mild-mannered academic. Now, with the rising water practically at our heels, his civilized veneer cracked. He let out a cold laugh. “I told you she was transactional, Taylor. Always acting so high and mighty, but the moment a real crisis hits, she’s the first one crawling back.” People in line started whispering, turning their heads to watch the drama unfold. I didn’t let myself get angry. I simply laid my executive pass flat on the registration desk. “You’ve got it backwards,” I said, keeping my voice level. “This pass is mine.” I paused, letting my eyes drift over Taylor’s smug face. “And just so we’re clear—I was the one who dumped you. Remember?” The air between us seemed to freeze for a second. Then Taylor burst out laughing, a harsh, ugly sound that shook his shoulders. “Yours? You’re a mid-level corporate drone, Naomi. You think they put average desk workers on the priority manifest? You’re delusional.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Stop embarrassing yourself. I suggest you turn around and run while you still can. When the storm surge breaks the seawall, you won’t make it out of this basin.” Chloe snuggled closer to him, her smile dripping with triumph. “Sweetie, have you still not accepted reality?” she asked, her voice syrupy sweet. “It’s over. Why keep dragging this out? Taylor is different now. He actually has a ticket into the harbor bunker. Do you even understand what that means?” She paused, adding a venomous little postscript. “Oh, and didn’t you throw a fit because he couldn’t afford a ten-thousand-dollar engagement ring? Regretting that now, aren’t you?” I knew Chloe. Rumor had it she had practically auctioned herself off to the highest bidder just to secure a spot in a private shelter. It was just Taylor’s luck—and lack of brains—to think he’d won some prize. Looking at her petty, gloating face, I couldn’t help but smile. “Are you really here because you love Taylor?” I asked softly. “Or did you just climb into bed with him for the reservation list?” Her smile vanished. “What the hell did you just say?” Her voice pitched up an octave, a textbook sign of guilt. Taylor stepped in front of her, his chest puffing out. “Naomi, shut your mouth. You’re just pissed because you’ve always been a gold-gigger.” I rolled my eyes, completely done with him. “Yes, I broke it off,” I said, loud enough for the people nearby to hear. “But it wasn’t because you were broke. It was because you cheated, you emotionally iced me out, and you lived off my credit cards. Oh, and let’s not forget—you were pathetic in bed.” Taylor’s face went instantly crimson. Before I could register his movement, he lunged forward. “Crack.” His palm connected with my cheek. The blow was sharp and stinging. My ears rang, and my skin flared with instant, burning heat. The crowd let out a collective gasp. The PA system crackled to life again, its electronic voice cold and indifferent: “Warning: Storm surge expected to breach the coastal barrier within forty-five minutes. All unregistered personnel must evacuate the harbor district immediately.” I pressed my tongue against the inside of my bruised cheek. I actually wanted to laugh. This coward—this man who had spent three years whining about how the world owed him everything—had actually found the nerve to lay a hand on me. I didn’t hesitate. I threw my arm back and slapped him right back, hard enough to rattle his teeth. For a second, the entire registration lobby fell dead silent. Taylor stumbled back, clutching his cheek, staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes. “You hit me?” he whispered. “You bitch… you actually hit me?” I met his gaze, my voice steady. “You hit me. Why wouldn’t I hit you back? Action, reaction. It’s basic physics.” No one in line spoke, but every eye was locked on us. As the shock wore off, Taylor’s face darkened with rage. He took a step toward me, but his mother beat him to it. “How dare you touch my son!” she shrieked. Her eyes were wild, filled with animal fury. She lunged, clawing at my face. I tried to duck, but her fingernails caught my cheek, leaving a stinging trail of heat. Before I could find my footing, his father joined the fray, shoving me hard. I stumbled backward, my back slamming into the cold iron of the security barricade. A dull, heavy ache shot through my shoulder blades. They pinned me down against the metal rail. “Who do you think you are?” his father hissed, his academic dignity entirely gone. “Apologize. Beg my son for forgiveness, and maybe we’ll show some mercy.” “You don’t want to die out there in the dark, do you?” his mother sneered. I clamped my teeth together, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a sound. Taylor stood over me, looking down with a twisted, triumphant grin. “Still got something smart to say, Naomi?” His mother leaned in close, her breath hot and sour against my face. “Sweetheart, look at where you are,” she whispered, and the sheer malice in her voice made my stomach turn. “What makes you think you’re in any position to negotiate? You want on my son’s ticket? You better start pleasing us.” His father spat on the concrete beside my shoe. “Exactly. Ungrateful girl. Pass holders are allowed to register immediate dependents. We could get you in with a single word. What does pride buy you when the water is ten feet deep?” The siren blared again. “Forty minutes until impact. Unregistered civilians, evacuate the lowlands immediately.” Taylor took a deep breath and knelt down in front of me. His tone softened, taking on the patronizing cadence he used whenever he wanted to play the magnanimous savior. “Naomi, listen to me. I know you still love me. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t. You just want a spot on the boat, right? I see right through you.” I took a slow, steady breath. “I have my own spot, Taylor. I don’t need yours. And like I said, this shelter is for critical personnel. They don’t let just any civilian through that door.” Just then, I heard a frantic cry. “Naomi!” My parents burst through the security barrier. They had just arrived, and when they saw me pinned against the railing, bruised and bleeding, my mother’s eyes filled with instant tears. “Oh my god, what happened? Who did this to you?” She threw herself forward, grabbing my arm, her hands shaking as she touched my face. My father didn’t say a word at first. He walked up beside us, his eyes scanning my bruises, before locking onto Taylor. When my father spoke, his voice possessed a quiet, terrifying authority I had rarely heard. “Did you lay a hand on my daughter?” Taylor hadn’t expected my parents to show up. He blinked, startled, but quickly recovered his arrogant sneer. “Old man, who do you think you’re talking to? Your whole family has looked down on me from day one. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” He spat a laugh. “You thought I was nothing because I didn’t have your fancy degrees or your corporate money. Now look at you. Crawling to me for a pass. Still trying to act like you’re above me.” My father stared at him. “Wait. You think my daughter came here to beg for your spot?” Taylor scoffed. “Why else would she be here? Don’t tell me she actually got a pass herself.” My father placed a heavy hand on Taylor’s shoulder. With each word my father spoke, his hand pressed harder, forcing Taylor to sink slightly under the weight. “You’re mistaken, son. My daughter has her own clearance. In fact, she secured passes for both her mother and me.” Taylor flinched, casting a defensive glance at me. “That’s impossible. She’s lying.” “It’s entirely possible,” my mother said, wiping her tears as she straightened her spine. “My daughter is the Chief Executive of a listed defense logistics firm. This shelter is reserved for top-tier operational assets. Did you really think they’d let a parasite like you in before her?” Taylor’s mother lost her mind. She lunged forward, her voice screeching like rusted metal. “Who do you think you are? So what if we hit her? She started it! She insulted my son! Why aren’t you blaming her?” She reached out, shoving my father hard. My father stumbled back a step, keeping his balance. But Taylor’s father was already moving, grabbing my father by the collar of his coat, shouting curses about how we were elitist snobs and how his son was an educated professional who deserved to be saved. I tried to push past them to separate them. Taylor’s mother blocked me, her fingers digging viciously into my forearms. “You stay right there! You don’t move!” “Let him go!” I screamed. “Not until your daughter gets my son inside!” she yelled back. Suddenly, the PA system’s volume spiked, drowning out our voices with an earsplitting siren. “Emergency broadcast: Storm surge arrival has accelerated. Impact in ten minutes. All non-manifested personnel must evacuate immediately.” Ten minutes. We had ten minutes. I stared at Taylor, at his parents, and at Chloe. “Do you hear that?” I said, my voice cold and hollow. “Ten minutes. If you leave right now, you can still climb to the upper levels of the parking deck. You might live.” Taylor’s father slowly let go of my father’s collar. He didn’t move, but the rage in his eyes began to curdle into something else. Taylor looked at me, his voice dropping into a low, uneasy register. “Naomi… you’re lying to me, aren’t you?” “Lying?” I looked at him, forcing down the bile in my throat. I had no time left for his games. “Look at the monitors yourself, Taylor.” I pointed to the massive LED screen hovering over the security checkpoint. “That’s the official port authority manifest. I don’t run the system. Check if your name is on it.” Taylor’s face went pale. His mother started to mouth off again, but her voice died in her throat. She, too, was looking at the screen. The letters “TAYLOR” were nowhere to be found. Chloe’s eyes scanned the scrolling green text over and over. When she spoke, her voice sounded thin, like paper. “Is that… is that the real list?” Terrified that I was pulling a fast one, she grabbed the sleeve of the nearest security officer. The officer, wearing heavy tactical gear, pushed his glasses up his nose, his expression grim. “It’s the live federal database, ma’am. Fully encrypted. It cannot be altered manually.” “Cannot be altered?” Chloe whispered. The silence that followed was deafening. She turned slowly, her gaze locking onto Taylor with a look of pure horror. “You lied to me,” she breathed. “What?” Taylor swallowed hard, looking wildly around the room. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he couldn’t let his lie unravel here. “It’s a glitch. There’s been a mistake. I have a spot, Chloe, I swear. I confirmed it.” The PA blared again, the alarm pulsing in rapid, frantic bursts. “Eight minutes until impact. Unregistered personnel, evacuate immediately. Evacuate immediately.” I turned back to Taylor. Despite everything, a small, stubborn part of my humanity didn’t want to watch them drown. “The list is right there,” I said. “Your name isn’t on it. I’m not lying to you. You still have eight minutes. Run. Find a high-rise. You can make it if you go now.” Taylor stood frozen, the confident mask finally sliding off his face, revealing the hollow, terrified boy underneath. But his mother couldn’t accept it. “Liars! It’s a fake list!” she screamed, her face contorting. “You’re doing this on purpose! Why does she get to go in and we don’t?” I didn’t look back. I took my parents’ hands and walked straight toward the security terminal. Behind us, the PA issued its final warning: “Five minutes until gate closure. All manifested personnel, proceed to the secure pods immediately.” The heavy steel-reinforced doors began their slow, grinding descent. That was when Taylor went completely wild. “Wait! No! You made a mistake!” He lunged forward, throwing his weight against the thick acrylic security partition, his eyes bloodshot. “Her pass is fake! She’s lying to you!” he screamed at the guards. “That spot belongs to us! It’s mine!” His mother joined him, hammering her fists against the glass. “She’s trying to murder us! Don’t let her in!” Chloe, grasping at her last hope, shrieked, “She was lying! You can’t trust her!” It was absolute madness outside. But the security officers didn’t even blink. One of them pressed the authorization key on the console, then spoke calmly into his lapel mic. “Tier-1 assets secured. Initiate external clearance.”

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Seven years of a secret marriage. Today was supposed to be the day we finally stood before our friends and family to make it real. But Gary was gone. I called him dozens of times. Each attempt went straight to voicemail, that flat, digital voice telling me the subscriber was unavailable. The guests eventually trickled out, leaving an empty, echoey banquet hall filled with half-eaten catering and deflated balloons. He never showed up. I was standing near the exit, my throat tight with a mix of panic and humiliation, when I overheard two of his childhood friends talking near the coat rack. “Did Gary seriously skip his own wedding for Cheryl’s dad’s funeral?” “Well, the living can’t exactly compete with the dead, can they? The guy was basically his father-in-law.” The words felt like a physical blow, a sudden, violent crack to my ribs. I froze, my gaze drifting over to my father, who was still standing by the door, exhaustedly apologizing to the last of the lingering guests. My dad was standing right there. Alive. Well. Whose father-in-law was Gary burying? I didn’t even change. Still wearing the heavy tulle of my wedding dress, I drove straight to the funeral home on the edge of town. Through the glass doors of the chapel, I saw him. Gary. He was standing in the front row, wearing a black suit with a dark mourning band pinned to his lapel, his arm wrapped tightly around Cheryl’s waist. She was practically collapsing against him, weeping into his chest. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, his voice carrying softly through the quiet room: “You still have me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of your mom.” My hands shook so hard I could barely breathe. I stepped forward to storm inside, but a security guard blocked my path at the double doors. “Ma’am, you can’t go in there,” he whispered, looking at my white gown with a mixture of pity and alarm. “Who wears a wedding dress to a funeral? You’re going to cause a scene.” A dry, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. “Who says I’m here for a funeral? I’m here to get married.” … The guard stared at me, his eyes wide. “The man in that casket is dead, ma’am. Who are you marrying?” I stared through the glass at Gary, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw ached. “I’m marrying someone who, to me, is already dead.” I tried to push past him, but he held his ground. “Miss, please. This is a service. I don’t care if you’re marrying a ghost or a corpse, you can’t go in looking like that.” I stared at Gary one last time, tore the delicate tulle veil from my hair, and marched into the nearby restroom. Five minutes later, I walked back out. I had found a discarded navy-blue janitorial jumpsuit in the utility closet, slipping it over my frame and tying the sleeves around my waist over my dress. When I re-entered the chapel, Gary was no longer in the main room. Cheryl stood near the casket, her eyes red and swollen, bowing her head as guests offered their condolences. She caught sight of me and paused. “We don’t need the trash emptied right now…” she murmured, her voice raspy. She thought I was the cleaning staff. I looked down at the rough canvas of the jumpsuit. I opened my mouth to correct her, but standing there in a stolen uniform, no explanation felt right. She waved a dismissive, tired hand. “It’s fine. Thank you for being here. For paying your respects to my father.” I didn’t answer. My eyes drifted past her to the massive floral arrangement beside the casket. At the center of the white lilies was a silk ribbon with gold lettering: “To my beloved father-in-law. Rest in peace. — Your devoted son-in-law, Gary.” Devoted son-in-law. My husband. My legal husband of seven years had abandoned me at the altar, leaving my perfectly healthy father to apologize to our guests, so he could play the grieving son-in-law for another woman. It was a joke. A sick, cruel joke. A hot, suffocating rage flared in my chest, but I forced it down, clamping my jaw shut until I could taste copper. “This is a beautiful service,” I said, my voice eerily calm, sounding like a stranger’s. “The VIP chapel must have cost a fortune. You must have loved him very much.” Cheryl looked around the cavernous, wood-paneled room, fresh tears spilling over her lashes. “My husband handled everything,” she whispered, her voice thick with adoration. “My dad loved elegant things. Gary insisted he go out in style.” I pulled at the rough hem of my jumpsuit sleeve. “Style.” Oh, it was incredibly stylish. This funeral chapel was far more luxurious than the cramped, outdated reception hall Gary had booked for our wedding. “Your husband sounds incredibly generous,” I murmured. Cheryl let out a ragged sob. “When my dad was in the hospital, Gary pulled every string he had. He found the best oncologists in the country. He didn’t even blink when he signed the checks for those experimental treatments—tens of thousands of dollars a week. He bathed him, fed him, cleaned up after him. I wanted to hire a private nurse, but Gary said no. He said family takes care of family.” My fingernails bit into the palms of my hands, drawing blood. Two years ago, when I had my appendix removed, I had begged Gary to take a couple of days off to stay with me at the hospital. “It’s a routine procedure, Isabel,” he had said, not even looking up from his laptop. “Your parents are retired anyway. Why do I need to waste PTO when they have nothing but time? Besides, the office is swamped. I can’t just walk away.” He hadn’t even stayed through the surgery. But he had all the time in the world to wipe the brow of a man who wasn’t his father-in-law. My head spun, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears. He was a master of efficiency, wasn’t he? Last month, Gary told me he had to travel out of state for a crucial thirty-day business trip. He dumped the entirety of the wedding planning onto my shoulders. Every time I called, he was “in meetings.” Even late at night, his phone went straight to voicemail. No matter how busy a person is, they have five minutes to call their wife. I had suspected something. I had even asked him directly. He had snapped at me, his voice sharp with irritation: “I am working myself to the bone for our future, Isabel, and you’re sitting there dissecting my call logs? Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to not be trusted?” I had apologized. I had spent days feeling guilty, telling myself I was paranoid, that I needed to be a better, more supportive partner. Now I knew. He wasn’t working. He was playing hospice nurse for his mistress’s father. Our seven-year marriage had been kept in the shadows, the formal ceremony delayed year after year. It wasn’t until a college reunion last year, when his old friends started teasing him about why he was hiding his wife, that he finally relented. He had booked a cheap, dismal hotel banquet hall that even the decorator sneered at. When I suggested a slightly nicer venue, his face darkened. “Do you think I print money in the basement, Isabel? We’ve been legally married for years. Why waste money on a theatrical show? We should be smart. Save it for a rainy day.” Yes. Save it. Only he wasn’t saving it for our future. He was spending it on the dead. Cheryl collapsed into the arms of a woman beside her, weeping hysterically. “I don’t have a dad anymore… what am I going to do without him?” The friend—a sharp-featured woman in designer black—patted her back. “Oh, honey, don’t say that. You still have Gary. We’ve all seen how devoted he’s been to you these past five years.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “Five years.” For five years, they had been together. And I had been so utterly blind, so desperately trusting, that I never noticed. “Remember when he rented out the entire Grand Plaza Hotel for your wedding?” Tiffany, the friend, whispered consolingly. “He put five million dollars into a trust fund for you, bought you that Porsche… even if he’s swamped with work sometimes, he built a fortress of security for you. You have to stay strong.” My vision blurred. I had to lean against the mahogany wall to keep from falling. Five years. A grand wedding at the Grand Plaza. A five-million-dollar trust. A Porsche. I didn’t even know his company was making that kind of money. The wedding he gave me—the one he skipped—was a joke. No trust fund. No luxury car. Just a cheap, dutiful afterthought. The contrast was a scalpel, slowly carving out my heart. I stood there like a statue, frozen in my stolen janitor jumpsuit, while they talked as if I weren’t even there. “Cheryl, now that your dad is gone, is your mom going to move into the penthouse with you guys?” “Gary said he doesn’t want her living alone,” Cheryl sniffled, wiping her nose with a monogrammed handkerchief. “He wants her to move in next week. We have plenty of room.” “Of course. That place is huge. Over three thousand square feet, right? And with Gary traveling so much, it’ll be nice to have the company.” “Yeah. I get so lonely in that big place by myself.” Another knife to the chest. A penthouse. Three thousand square feet. Everything I had ever whispered about, dreamed about, and hoped we would build together during our lean early years—another woman was living it. She had stepped into the life I had earned with him, while I was left holding a cheap ring and a marriage certificate that felt increasingly like a forged document. “I just wish…” Cheryl choked out, fresh tears falling. “My dad was only fifty-six. He didn’t even get to meet his grandchild.” Tiffany gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Cheryl! You’re pregnant?” Cheryl nodded, a small, fragile smile breaking through her grief. “But… didn’t you say Gary had a low sperm count? How?” “We did IVF. It took three rounds, but it finally worked…” The world tilted. I had to grip the edge of the service table to keep my knees from buckling. I knew about Gary’s fertility issues. We had tried for three years without success. When I suggested IVF, he had brushed me off. “Let’s just let nature take its course, Isabel. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. I don’t want to force it.” He didn’t want to force it with me. He was saving his energy, his money, and his future for her. I took a stumbling step backward, my back hitting the cold drywall. Just then, the double doors of the chapel swung open, and an older couple rushed in, their faces tight with sorrow. My mother-in-law and father-in-law. I shrank back into the shadow of a large floral pillar. They walked straight to Cheryl, their eyes welling with tears. “Cheryl, sweetheart, we are so incredibly sorry,” my mother-in-law sobbed, reaching into her designer bag and pulling out a small, blessed silver medal. “We drove all the way to the cathedral to get this blessed for him, but we were too late…” Cheryl took the medal, weeping openly as my mother-in-law wrapped her in a tight embrace. The chill in my bones spread through my entire body. They knew. Gary’s parents knew about this entire secret life. They had met her. They had accepted her family as their own. And today, when Gary failed to show up at our wedding, they hadn’t panicked. They had made up a lazy excuse about a “sudden corporate crisis” to keep my family quiet. They had spent seven years treating me like a ghost while they played happy family with a mistress. My mother-in-law stroked Cheryl’s hair. “You poor thing, standing on your feet like this when you’re carrying. You need to rest. Where is Gary? The service is about to start.” “My mom had a panic attack,” Cheryl whispered. “He’s upstairs in the private lounge helping her lie down.” My mother-in-law nodded, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Gary mentioned he was planning to give your mother the Whispering Pines estate. The landscape there is beautiful, right on the water.” “Whispering Pines.” The name shattered the last remaining piece of my composure. Two years ago, I told Gary I wanted a quiet place outside the city. A small stone cottage with a yard where I could plant a garden and watch the sunset. He had actually listened. He bought a beautiful piece of land in the northern hills, a historic stone house surrounded by ancient oaks. I had spent two years designing it. I chose every tile, every floorboard, every paint color. It was completed just last month. I hadn’t even spent a single night there. And now, he was turning my dream home into a private memorial estate for his mistress’s family. “It’s a beautiful spot,” my mother-in-law murmured. “The mountain behind it, the water in front… it will bring peace to the family. Once the baby is born, your father will watch over all of you.” I stepped out from behind the pillar, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. I was going to scream. I was going to tear the place apart. But then, the phone in my pocket buzzed. It was Gary. I slid the phone out and answered it, my voice dead and cold. “Isabel,” his voice came through the receiver, laced with calculated exhaustion. “I am so, so sorry about today. A major investor came in unexpectedly, and I had to meet them at the airport. I couldn’t get away.” A lie. A seamless, practiced lie. “What investor is more important than our wedding, Gary?” “You don’t understand how the business world works, Isabel. Opportunities like this don’t wait. We can always have another ceremony. But if I lost this client, the company would take a massive hit.” I let out a soft, sharp laugh. “You’re taking on a lot of new business lately, Gary. Since when did your company start offering funeral services?” The line went dead silent. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of his shallow breathing. “What the hell are you talking about?” he finally muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “Look, I actually have some news. That investor… they fell in love with the Whispering Pines property. I had to transfer the deed to them to close the deal.” I felt a sickening wave of nausea. He was still trying to lie, still trying to cover up the fact that he was giving my dream home to her mother. “You transferred the deed? Without even asking me?” “I did it for us, Isabel. For our future.” “For his future with Cheryl.” “I have to go,” he said, not waiting for a response, and hung up. At that moment, the double doors at the front of the chapel opened. Gary walked in, gently supporting Cheryl’s frail, weeping mother. He looked solemn, his face a mask of dignified grief. He stepped up to the podium, tapping the microphone. “Family, friends,” Gary began, his voice echoing through the chapel. “We are gathered here today with heavy hearts to say goodbye to a wonderful man. A man I was proud to call my father-in-law.” He looked down at Cheryl, his eyes filled with a soft, public devotion. “I promise you, sir, that I will cherish your daughter. I will protect my wife, and I will keep this family safe. Rest in peace, Dad.” A wave of quiet weeping rippled through the pews. I stood up, untying the sleeves of the navy jumpsuit from my waist and letting it drop to the floor. I stood there in my white silk wedding gown, my hair wild, my eyes burning. I walked down the center aisle, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. “Gary,” I called out, my voice cutting through the solemn silence of the chapel. “My dad is standing back at our empty reception hall, perfectly healthy. Who exactly are you burying today, sweetheart?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “533890”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I have always had a quiet, terrible gift: I can see the exact countdown of when someone is going to leave my life. Whenever I looked at the digital numbers floating above my wife’s head, I used to feel a profound, aching sense of relief. I believed I was one of the lucky ones—a man who had married the love of his life, safe in the knowledge that we had forever. Until last month, when she drove over to pick me up from work. I looked up as she pulled to the curb, and a stark, crimson font slashed through the evening gloom: [702 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes]. Less than two years. My heart contracted like a fist squeezing dry. In the weeks that followed, I became a man possessed, desperately searching for the leak in our lives, trying to understand what was draining our time. Then came the afternoon of the torrential storm. We were standing in the lobby of her office building when we ran into her new intern. He was soaked to the bone, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, but he was grinning like a boy without a care in the world. Camille handed him a packet of tissues. Her face was a mask of professional detachment; not a single muscle twitched. But in that exact millisecond, the red numbers above her head violently spun: [327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes]. Over three hundred days vanished in the space of a single breath. And just like that, I knew. I had found my leak. … “You gave him the entire umbrella today,” I said, my voice barely carrying over the steady, rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers. Camille steered the SUV into our underground parking garage and shifted smoothly into Park. “Chase went all the way out to the suburban warehouse to reconcile the inventory for me today,” she said, pulling the key from the ignition without offering me so much as a glance. “You can’t get an Uber out there. He had to run over a mile in the pouring rain.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. The sharp metallic click felt incredibly loud in the cramped, silent cabin. “So you felt sorry for him.” Camille’s hand paused halfway to the door handle. She turned to face me, her brow furrowing with a familiar, low-simmering irritation. “Elliott, don’t twist my words. He’s my assistant. Since when is looking after my staff a crime?” Her tone was perfectly level, dismissive in its calm. I looked up at the space just above her head. There they were, the glowing red letters suspended in the dim air, invisible to everyone but me. [327 days, 4 hours, 30 minutes.] The steady, mocking pulse of the clock felt like a quiet insult to my silence. The only sound in the car was the soft, low hum of the air conditioning. “It isn’t,” I said softly, pushing my door open. The damp, frigid air rushed in to meet me. When we got upstairs, Camille kicked off her heels and went straight into the kitchen. She pulled a knob of ginger from the fridge, slicing it into thin, precise matchsticks, and set a pot of water to boil with dark brown sugar. Her movements were swift, practiced. Within minutes, the sweet, spicy aroma of ginger tea filled the apartment. I sat on the living room sofa, watching her silhouette against the warm kitchen light. My mind drifted back five years. In our second year of marriage, I had stood outside in a freezing downpour for three hours to secure a crucial distributor for her startup. That night, I came home shaking, my skin burning with a sudden, vicious fever. She had stood in that exact same kitchen, still wearing her damp work clothes, frantically brewing ginger tea. When she brought the mug to the bed, her eyes were bloodshot, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Elliott, please don’t ever do that to yourself again,” she had whispered, her voice cracking. “It hurts me too much to see you like this.” Now, she was in the same kitchen, but she wasn’t looking at me. She carefully funneled the steaming tea into a sleek insulated thermos, twisting the cap shut with a tight, satisfying click. Then she pulled out her phone and opened a courier app. Ten minutes later, the buzzer rang. A delivery driver stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his yellow slicker. Camille handed over the thermos, her voice laced with quiet urgency. “The address is in the app. Please hurry. It needs to get there while it’s still hot.” The driver nodded and disappeared back into the wet night. Camille closed the door and turned around, freezing when she caught me watching her. It was as if she had only just remembered I was in the room—and that I had been caught in the rain, too. “You were out in the storm,” I said, my throat feeling dry and coated in dust. “Don’t you want a cup?” “I barely got wet. Chase is the one who took the brunt of it.” She walked over to the island and poured herself a glass of filtered water. “He lives alone in some cramped studio. If he gets sick, there’s no one to take care of him, and he still has to turn in the quarterly projections tomorrow.” “You’re incredibly attentive to his needs.” Camille set her glass down, her expression instantly hardening. “Elliott, what is with the attitude tonight?” “He’s twenty-two,” she continued, her voice taking on that defensive, lecturing edge. “He just graduated. He has no family here, no safety net. It’s hard.” “When I was twenty-two and fresh out of school, I was pulling twelve-hour shifts on construction sites, eating cold takeout on upturned crates,” I said quietly. “Did you think my life was hard back then?” Camille frowned, a flicker of genuine annoyance crossing her face. “That’s entirely different. We were young, we didn’t have anything, and everyone was struggling. Now that I’m in a position to help, why shouldn’t I extend a hand to a young kid who reminds me of where we started?” Above her head, the numbers violently flickered. [326 days, 12 hours, 10 minutes.] A single moment of friction, a minor disagreement, and the clock had stolen a few more hours of our future. I leaned back into the sofa cushions, feeling an exhaustion that reached straight into my bones. “Go ahead then,” I said. “Help him.” At eleven that night, the rain outside turned violent, thrashing against the bedroom windows. Camille emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair smelling of jasmine, wearing her silk slip. She sat at her vanity, turning on the blow dryer. A second later, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up. It was a text from Chase. “Chase: The tea was amazing, Camille. Thank you. But the ceiling in my living room just started pouring water. My landlord isn’t picking up and I honestly don’t know what to do.” Camille switched off the blow dryer immediately. She grabbed the phone, her thumbs flying across the screen. “Camille: How bad is it? Send me a video.” A moment later, a video clip popped up. Camille tapped it. Through the speaker, I heard the loud, rhythmic splat of leaking water and Chase’s pathetic, congested voice: “”My bed is already half-soaked. I don’t think I can sleep here tonight.”” Camille stood up, walking straight toward the closet. “Where are you going?” I asked. The words felt like sandpaper in my throat. “Chase’s ceiling is collapsing. I need to go check on him.” “It’s eleven-thirty at night,” I said, pointing to the digital thermometer on the bedside table. “It’s a torrential storm outside. And I have a fever of nearly a hundred and two.” Camille pulled on a beige trench coat, her movements fluid and entirely uninterrupted by my words. “I know, Elliott. But he’s a kid. He doesn’t know how to handle an emergency. If the water gets into the electrical wiring, it’s incredibly dangerous.” “You could call an emergency plumber for him. Or book him a hotel room.” “An emergency plumber isn’t going to show up at midnight in a flash flood, and he’s an entry-level intern—he doesn’t have the money for a last-minute hotel in the city.” She walked to the foyer, slipping into her loafers and grabbing her car keys. “Go to sleep, Elliott. I’ll be back as soon as this is sorted.” The heavy front door clicked shut behind her. And in that split second, the red numbers above her head took a massive, agonizing leap. [290 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes.] Thirty days gone. Just like that. I sat alone in the dim bedroom, listening to the thunder rattle the glass. I reached over to the nightstand, picked up the glass of water she had left there hours ago, and took a sip. It was ice-cold. “Okay,” I whispered to the empty room. “I’ll go to sleep.” By morning, my fever had spiked to 101.8. I dragged myself to the medicine cabinet, swallowing two Advil with a splash of tap water. The bedroom door pushed open, and Camille walked in, looking immaculate in a tailored cream suit. “You look pale,” she noted, setting her designer handbag down. “Fever,” I croaked. She walked over, brushed the back of her hand against my forehead, and pulled it away almost instantly. “You’re definitely burning up. Have you taken anything?” “Yeah.” “Good. I have to head into the office. We have an urgent executive meeting this morning.” She checked her watch, her mind already miles away. “I thought today was your day off,” I said, watching her back. “Something came up.” She didn’t elaborate. She just grabbed her bag and left. I stayed in bed until noon, my head throbbing with every heartbeat. When I finally opened my phone to order some food, I saw a red notification on Instagram. I tapped it. It was a post from Chase, uploaded five minutes prior. “Blessing in disguise. Officially moved into my new place! Endless thanks to the best boss in the world.” The photo showed a sun-drenched, chic living room. On the marble coffee table sat two cups of espresso and a box of pastel macarons. But it was the furniture that made my stomach turn. I knew that custom leather sofa. It was the mid-century piece Camille had bought for her private studio on Grand Street before we married—a place we had kept as our quiet getaway. I stared at the screen until the pixels blurred, a bitter taste rising in my throat. I dialed Camille’s number. It rang five times before she picked up. “Elliott? Are you okay? Still feeling sick?” In the background, I could hear the murmur of a slide presentation. “Did you let Chase move into the Grand Street condo?” The line went dead silent for two long seconds. “His apartment was completely ruined, Elliott. All his things were soaked. The Grand Street place was just sitting empty anyway. I let him crash there temporarily.” “Sitting empty,” I repeated, my voice dangerously quiet. “That condo holds every single oil painting and sketchbook my mother left behind when she died.” “I know that,” Camille said, her voice rising with a familiar, defensive impatience. “I told him specifically not to touch anything in the study. Elliott, please don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. He’s just staying there for a few days until he finds a new place.” “He posted about it on Instagram,” I said. “He’s twenty-two. He’s excited. Why shouldn’t he post? Look, I’m in the middle of a meeting. We’ll talk about this tonight.” She hung up. I got out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a coat, and ordered a cab to Grand Street. I rang the bell. The door opened to reveal Chase wearing a loose white tee, his hair damp from a shower. When he saw me, his smile didn’t falter; it simply morphed into something patronizingly sweet. “Hey, Elliott. What brings you by?” “I came to get some things,” I said, brushing past him. The living room was a disaster. His damp towels and socks were strewn across our custom leather sofa. Empty takeout boxes and energy drink cans littered the coffee table next to a PlayStation controller. I walked straight to the study and pushed the door open. My mother’s antique drafting table—which I had kept meticulously clean—was covered in grease-stained paper bags and half-empty boba cups. My mother’s final, unfinished landscape—the one she was working on when the cancer took her—was shoved carelessly under the desk. One corner of the linen canvas was smeared with a dark, oily smudge that smelled like cheap takeout. I knelt down, my fingers trembling as I pulled the frame out. The oil stain was dry and hard. “Oh, man, sorry about that,” Chase said, leaning casually against the doorframe with a glass of water in his hand. There was no real apology in his eyes. “I had to move a bunch of stuff in a hurry last night. Camille told me all of this was just old junk anyway, and that I could use the desk for my PC setup.” I stood up, holding the canvas tightly. “Did she really say that?” “She said it was just storage. No one using it. Said I should make myself comfortable.” He smiled, a subtle, venomous glint of triumph in his eyes. “Seriously, don’t be mad at Camille. It’s my fault. I’m just clumsy.” I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo of the stained canvas, and sent it to Camille. “Elliott: ‘Don’t touch anything in the study.’” She didn’t reply. I wrapped the painting carefully in a throw blanket and tucked it under my arm. As I reached the front door, Chase spoke up again. “Elliott? Camille is really amazing to me. I honestly don’t know how I’ll ever repay her.” I paused, my back to him. “You don’t have to,” I said. “Just enjoy the time you have left.” By the time I got back to our apartment, my fever had returned with a vengeance. I spent the evening at an urgent care clinic hooked to an IV, returning home past one in the morning. Camille was still awake, reviewing files at the kitchen island, a mug of warm milk sitting untouched beside her. When she heard the door lock turn, she looked up. “Where have you been?” “The clinic.” I tossed my discharge papers onto the entryway table and started kicking off my shoes. She walked over, glancing down at the paperwork. “Your fever hit 103? Why didn’t you call me?” “You were in meetings,” I said, walking toward the bedroom. “Elliott,” she called out, stopping me in my tracks. “Chase called me today. He said you went to the condo.” I turned around. “And?” “He was terrified. He said you looked furious, and that you took one of the paintings without saying a single word to him.” “He was terrified?” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Good.” “It’s an old painting, Elliott. It has a tiny smudge. You can easily get it cleaned. Was it really necessary to go over there and bully a kid?” Her eyebrows knitted together in deep disapproval. “You’re usually so reasonable. Why are you suddenly being so incredibly petty over an intern?” I looked up at her. In the dim light of the hallway, the glowing red numbers above her head burned like a warning flare. [150 days, 6 hours, 20 minutes.] Another hundred days gone. Because I had upset her precious intern. “That wasn’t just an old painting,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “That was the last thing my mother ever painted. On our first anniversary, when you helped me hang it in that study, you told me we would protect her memory together.” Camille flinched. For a fraction of a second, her gaze flicked away, unable to meet mine. “I… I forgot,” she muttered. “Things have been so chaotic at work lately, I just wasn’t thinking.” She took a step toward me, reaching out to touch my arm. “I’m sorry. I’ll hire a professional restorer tomorrow to fix it. Just stop being mad at me, okay?” I took a step back, letting her hand fall through empty air. “Don’t worry about it.” We barely spoke for the next week. Friday was our seventh wedding anniversary. Six months ago, I had booked a table at “Le Rivage”, the high-end French restaurant overlooking the river. It was the place she had dreamed of going back when we were broke college students eating instant ramen. At five in the afternoon, as I was buttoning my suit jacket, my phone rang. “Elliott, I don’t think I can make it tonight,” Camille said, her voice frantic, drowned out by the background noise of a chaotic office. “Why?” “Chase made a massive error on one of our biggest accounts. The client is downstairs right now threatening to pull their entire portfolio. I have to stay and manage this.” “I put down a five-hundred-dollar non-refundable deposit for this table,” I said. “I know. I’ll Venmo you the money. Go ahead without me, or take a friend.” “Take a friend? To our wedding anniversary?” Silence stretched over the line. “Elliott, please. Try to understand the pressure I’m under. If Chase doesn’t survive this, his career is over before it even starts. He’ll be blacklisted from every agency in the city.” “Right,” I said. “I understand.” I hung up, took off my jacket, and hung it carefully back in the closet. At eight, I sat alone at our dining table, eating a bowl of plain pasta that had gone cold and sticky. A notification popped up on my phone. A charge of $3,800 on my supplementary credit card. The card was in Camille’s possession, but she rarely used it unless she was making a major personal purchase. I opened Instagram and searched Chase’s profile. A new post had been uploaded minutes ago. It was a shot of him from behind, slinging a brand-new designer leather briefcase over his shoulder. In the background was the floor-to-ceiling window of Camille’s corner office, overlooking the glowing city skyline. The caption read: “New armor, new beginnings. Endless gratitude to my mentor for helping me stand tall.” I tapped the heart icon to like the photo. Then I texted Camille: “Did you resolve the crisis?” A few minutes later, she replied: “Yes. Just managed to pacify the client.” “Elliott: Nice bag.” The bubble showing “Camille is typing…” appeared and disappeared for several long minutes. Finally, a text came through. “Camille: You saw that? Look, Chase’s old bag was completely falling apart. The client looked down on him the second he walked in, which is why they were so hostile in the first place. As his boss, I needed to make sure he looked the part. I’ll write it off as a department expense and transfer the money back to your account next month.” “Elliott: You used my personal credit card to pay for a department expense?” “Camille: The reimbursement process through corporate takes weeks. I’ll pay you back, I promise.” I stared at the glowing screen. Our seventh anniversary, and there was no “Happy Anniversary,” no “I love you.” Only an explanation of how she would reimburse me for a luxury gift she bought another man. I looked up at the dark ceiling. “Don’t bother,” I said to the quiet room. By the time November arrived, the city was locked in a bitter frost. In our small courtyard garden, my mother’s potted orchid was finally preparing to bloom. It was a rare, delicate breed she had cultivated, and I had spent seven years keeping it alive through every harsh winter. Camille knew what that plant meant to me. In past years, she had been the one to remind me to wrap the pot in insulating burlap before the first freeze. On Saturday, I was in the study finishing some emails when I heard the front door open. Two sets of footsteps entered the living room. “Just set that box on the coffee table. Is it too heavy?” Camille’s voice was soft, laced with a gentle concern I hadn’t heard directed at me in months. “Nah, I got it. I’m stronger than I look, boss,” Chase replied, chuckling. I opened the study door. Chase was standing in our living room, holding a heavy moving box. He offered me a bright, easy grin. “Hey, Elliott. Hope we’re not interrupting.” Camille stepped beside him. “We just came back to grab some project binders. We have a client pitch this afternoon.” “Fine,” I said, turning toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Oh, shoot—!” A sudden, sharp cry was followed by the loud, wet crash of shattering stoneware. I spun around. Chase was sprawled on the floor near the sliding glass door to the courtyard. My mother’s orchid lay in a ruined heap. The blue-and-white porcelain pot was shattered into dozens of jagged shards. Soil was scattered across the hardwood, and the delicate, pale green buds were crushed beneath the heavy fragments. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. I walked over, my knees trembling. “What did you do?” my voice shook, barely a whisper. Chase was clutching the back of his hand, where a small bead of blood was forming. “Elliott, I am so, so sorry. I just wanted to step out onto the balcony for some fresh air, and I didn’t see the pot in the doorway.” His eyes welled with tears, his voice cracking with performative terror. “I swear it was an accident.” Camille rushed past me, dropping to her knees and grabbing his hand. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding.” She tore several tissues from the box on the table, pressing them firmly against the tiny scratch, her face pale with panic. “It’s a deep cut. Come on, let’s get it washed out.” She guided Chase toward the bathroom, her heels grinding the loose soil into our rug, leaving a trail of dark, ruined footprints. Not once did she look down at the shattered orchid. I stood frozen before the pile of dirt. Seven years of care—the last living thing my mother had touched—reduced to waste on the floor. Camille emerged from the bathroom, holding a box of Band-Aids. “Honestly, Elliott, why would you leave a massive pot right in the middle of a high-traffic walkway?” she complained, unwrapping an adhesive strip for Chase. “He took a terrible fall. What if he had broken his wrist?” I slowly turned to look at her. Above her head, the red numbers were flashing violently, a blinding, blood-red blur. [10 days, 5 hours, 12 minutes.] For a tiny scratch on her intern’s hand, she had decided that our marriage had exactly ten days left. “That was my mother’s orchid,” I said quietly. Camille’s hands paused for a fraction of a second, her expression shifting into something uneasy. “I know. But the pot is already broken, Elliott, and a human being was actually hurt. That’s what matters right now. I’ll go to the nursery this weekend and buy you the exact same one.” “The exact same one.” I stared at her pretty, defensive face and felt a strange, cold urge to laugh. It was fascinating how easily people thought things could be replaced. A plant, a memory, a husband. “Elliott, please don’t be mad at Camille,” Chase said from behind her, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “It’s entirely my fault. Just tell me how much it cost and I’ll pay you back.” I didn’t answer him. I walked to the coat rack, pulled on my jacket, and grabbed my keys. “No need,” I said. I opened the door and walked out into the freezing wind. I spent the afternoon at a family law firm downtown, drafting a divorce petition. I asked for an even split of our liquid assets. She could keep the apartment. I wanted nothing else. I just wanted out. By eight that evening, I returned to the apartment. The place was quiet, the dirt swept away, leaving only a dark, damp stain on the hardwood floor where the wet soil had sat. I walked into the bedroom, pulled my suitcase from the closet, and packed a few changes of clothes and my laptop. I walked over to the vanity and slipped the divorce papers under her bottle of French perfume, leaving a black ink pen resting on top. I wheeled my suitcase to the front door, taking one last look at the home we had built over seven years. I pulled the door shut, heard the lock click into place, and walked away. An hour later, Camille returned home. She walked to the vanity to take off her makeup, her eyes catching the white document. When she read the words “Divorce Agreement”, she froze. Above her head, the countdown—which had dwindled to mere days—suddenly stopped dead. Then, the numbers began to spin backward at a dizzying, blinding speed, climbing higher and higher until they vanished entirely into the air.

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It was day ninety of William’s “radio silence” from the anti-poaching front lines in Kenya. I found him on a wilderness survival livestream. There were no bullets flying, no life-or-death struggles like he’d claimed. Just a crystal-clear feed of William pinning a highly venomous black mamba with one hand, his broad shoulders shielding a young female photographer with his body. “How many times do I have to tell you to stick to me? The predators out here don’t care if you’re just a girl.” The chat section was practically vibrating with heart-eyes. “The rugged captain and his little princess,” they wrote. But nobody in that chat knew that the tactical vest protecting her from the snake’s fangs was something I’d custom-ordered from a specialty manufacturer in Germany. And nobody knew that the day before he vanished, I was curled on our bathroom floor, semi-conscious from a ruptured stomach ulcer. When I managed to dial his number, he didn’t offer comfort. He offered a reprimand. “I’m staring down the barrels of poachers’ rifles every damn day, Chelsea! Can you please grow up and stop using every minor ache to ruin my focus?” Now, I sat alone in our quiet living room, watching him tenderly wipe a streak of mud from another woman’s cheek. Five years. Every single time I had begged to fly to Kenya to see him, he’d shut me down, claiming the area was a war zone and too dangerous for me. But the savannah hadn’t been keeping out danger. It had only been keeping out me. I calmly closed the livestream and booked a one-way ticket to Namibia. If his savannah belonged to someone else, then I’d go find my own cheetahs. … By the time my flight was booked, the livestream was still running in a minimized window on my laptop. The snake crisis had passed. A dusty ranger vehicle had pulled up, and William was carefully lifting a visibly shaken Piper into the passenger seat. I stared at the screen and dialed the number I hadn’t been able to reach for three months. Two seconds later, a satellite ringtone chimed through the stream’s audio feed. William froze. He reached into his tactical pocket and pulled out his phone. The second he saw my name on the caller ID, his brow furrowed into a tight, impatient knot. “William, who is it?” Piper murmured, leaning against his shoulder. “Just a telemarketer.” He hit decline without a second thought and powered the phone down. Turning back to Piper, his voice softened into that familiar, protective rumble. “Don’t worry about it. Your ankle is swelling fast. We need to get you back to the States for proper treatment.” “Beep. Beep. Beep.” I listened to the dial tone, my thumb quietly pressing the power button to lock my screen. “Just a telemarketer.” Four simple words, throwing five years of my devotion onto the pavement to be trampled. I let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh and walked over to the corner of the living room where several large, unopened cardboard boxes sat. Inside were heavy-duty malaria medications, snake antivenom serums, two sets of high-end Arc’teryx shells, and a military-grade night-vision monocular—supplies I’d spent three months pulling favors to source. I had planned to ship them to Kenya tomorrow morning. Clearly, he didn’t need them. I pulled some heavy-duty contractor bags from the kitchen drawer and began stuffing the gear inside, treating thousands of dollars of equipment like household trash. Once the bags were zipped, I shoved them into the entryway closet and didn’t look at them again. Three days later. With only a couple of days left before my flight to Namibia, the sight of those heavy bags in the closet was grating on my nerves. I pulled out my phone and booked an on-demand gear consignment pickup. Just as I hit confirm, the front door’s smart lock beeped. The door swung open. William—who had been entirely missing from my life for ninety days—stepped inside, his arm wrapped around Piper’s waist. The very same photographer he had shielded from the snake. Piper’s right leg was encased in a fresh orthopedic boot, her entire weight slumped against him. Our eyes met. William hesitated slightly at the threshold. There wasn’t a trace of guilt on his face—no acknowledgment of the three months of silence that had kept my stomach in knots. “There was an incident at the reserve a while back,” he said casually, as if he’d just stepped out to grab milk and forgot his keys. “Lost my comms gear. Didn’t have a way to get in touch.” A flimsy, throwaway explanation. He didn’t even wait for me to respond before assuming the matter was settled. His attention immediately snapped back to the girl in his arms, carefully guiding her toward the couch. “Chelsea, don’t just stand there. Go grab the folding wheelchair from the hall closet.” He didn’t look up as he ordered me around, completely ignoring the ninety-day void and the fact that he had hung up on me while I was bleeding internally from a ruptured ulcer. I leaned against the doorframe, a cold smile forming on my lips. “Her leg is broken, William. Are your hands broken too?” William paused, his head snapping up as his forehead creased. “I just walked through the door. Can we not do this right now?” “Piper fractured her ankle trying to get close-ups of a lion pride,” he continued, defensive. “The medical care out there is primitive, so I cleared some emergency leave to bring her back for proper treatment.” I watched them in silence. Piper tugged gently at William’s sleeve, her voice a fragile whisper. “William, please don’t let me come between you and Chelsea.” “It’s my fault,” she sobbed softly, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “If my drone hadn’t gone into the river, you wouldn’t have lost your satellite phone trying to retrieve it from the crocodiles. You wouldn’t have been out of touch for three months…” A sharp laugh escaped my throat. “Lost your satellite phone?” “The cellular infrastructure on the African savannah must be incredible these days. You didn’t have a satellite phone, yet you managed to stream yourself wrestling a black mamba live on the internet.” “What, did the snake come with built-in Wi-Fi?” William’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. His voice rose defensively. “That was an official charity broadcast! The snake was an emergency. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her get bitten!” “We are risking our lives out there every single day, Chelsea. You sit here in the central air, and all you can do is be petty about a broadcast?” As he spoke, he reached over the back of the sofa, grabbing the heavy cashmere throw and draping it over Piper’s lap. “She has chronic joint inflammation. She can’t handle the draft in this place.” I strode over and snatched the throw off Piper’s lap. It was a three-thousand-dollar piece of hand-spun Norwegian cashmere I’d imported through a friend. I barely let myself use it. “Chelsea, what the hell is wrong with you?” William barked, slamming his hands on his knees as he stood up. Without saying a word, I walked into the kitchen and stuffed the blanket deep into the trash can. Right on top of some oily, day-old takeout curry. The yellow grease instantly soaked into the delicate wool. “Are you out of your mind?!” William yelled, cornering me in the kitchen. I turned on the faucet and slowly rinsed my hands. “Someone else touched it. I find it dirty.” “It’s a damn blanket!” William’s finger was practically in my face. “Piper is a guest! She was injured doing conservation work!” “You always pretend to be so understanding, but you’re acting incredibly small-minded right now.” “If I’m too small-minded for you, take your VIP guest to a Hilton.” I grabbed a kitchen towel and dried my fingers. “This is my home. I don’t run a shelter for stray dogs.” I walked past him into the master bedroom, locking the door behind me. No matter how much he pounded on the wood or yelled my name, I didn’t give him a single word back. Two hours later, I was in the middle of packing my bags when I heard a commotion in the living room. I opened the door to find a group of William’s colleagues from the conservation foundation standing in our entryway. Piper was sitting in the wheelchair, handing out fresh fruit from a bowl. “Is Chelsea doing okay? She seemed a bit quiet when we came in,” one of the younger guys asked, looking around uncomfortably. William scoffed from the couch. “Don’t worry about her. She’s just throwing one of her tantrums. I’ve spoiled her too much.” Piper immediately jumped in, her voice dripping with sweet accommodation. “I’m sure Chelsea just isn’t used to the smell of the bush. We’ve been out there so long we probably smell like wild animals.” “Don’t be mad at her, William. City girls are delicate about cleanliness. I’m just used to rolling around in the dirt.” A chorus of chuckles went around the room. The guys started praising Piper for being tough, talking about how she and William had a “bond forged in fire.” I ignored the noise, walked past them, and pulled the front door wide open. Standing in the hallway was the gear consignment courier, pushing a heavy flatbed dolly. I pointed to the four contractor bags piled in the entryway closet. “Everything is in there. Go ahead and inventory it.” The courier unzipped the bags. Inside lay thousands of dollars of pristine, top-tier outdoor gear. The laughter in the living room died instantly. William bolted upright. That was the exact list of supplies he’d texted me before going dark—the equipment he’d begged me to source for his next rotation. “Chelsea, what do you think you’re doing?” William marched over, placing a heavy hand on one of the bags. “Selling scrap,” I said, my voice deadpan. “This is my deployment gear for next month! There is a limit to how far you can push a tantrum!” William lowered his voice, his teeth clenched as he hissed, “You’re trying to humiliate me in front of my team?” “If you need it, buy it yourself.” I brushed his hand off the nylon bag and turned to the courier. “The retail value of this lot is fifteen thousand dollars. The original receipts are in the boxes.” “Everything is completely unused. What’s your cash offer?” The courier looked between me and the hostile crowd in the living room, sweating under the tension. Piper piped up from her wheelchair, her eyes wide with concern. “Chelsea, I know you’re angry with William for bringing me here.” “But that gear is meant to keep him alive out there. You can’t play games with his safety over a personal grudge—” “Shut up,” I snapped, cutting her off cleanly. “Not only did I pay for that fifteen-thousand-dollar pile of gear with my own credit card, but I’ve personally funded every single piece of logistics and equipment he’s used for the last five years.” “Now that I’m stopping, suddenly I’m the one playing games with his safety?” The colleagues exchanged glances, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Nobody dared to make eye contact. They had always assumed William’s expensive gear was funded by foundation grants or his own pocket. The reality was a hard pill to swallow. William’s face went from pale to a dark, humiliated purple. He spat out, “It’s fifteen grand! Fine! I’ll Venmo you right now! Leave the gear!” He pulled out his phone. “Sure.” I opened my Venmo QR code and held it directly in front of his face. “But let’s do some math first. Besides the fifteen thousand for the gear, there’s the custom tactical vest you’re wearing—two thousand five hundred. The custom boots on your feet—one thousand eight hundred. And the specialized recovery supplements I had imported when you broke your ribs last year—four thousand.” I listed the items calmly, like a cashier reading back a receipt. “I’ll give you a discount. Just wire me fifty thousand dollars.” “The second the transfer clears, the gear is yours.” William froze, his thumb hovering over his screen. For years, I believed his stories about donating his entire salary to the conservation reserve. Until I saw the fifteen-thousand-dollar camera Piper was holding in the livestream, the limited-edition mountaineering boots on her feet, and the first-class international tickets William had booked for her without blinking. He didn’t lack money. He just preferred spending it on someone else. I laughed at the sheer embarrassment written across his face and tucked my phone away. I turned back to the courier. “Have you calculated the offer?” “Uh, ma’am… this is highly specialized gear, which makes it hard to liquidate quickly. The absolute best I can do on short notice is four thousand cash.” “Four thousand is fine. Transfer it.” Under the silent, stunned gazes of his entire team, I accepted the four-thousand-dollar transfer. I watched the courier load the bags onto the flatbed and wheel them into the elevator. As the metal doors slid shut, the apartment fell into a suffocating silence. “Chelsea, what the hell do you want from me?” William’s voice cracked, his eyes bloodshot with rage. Sensing the impending explosion, his colleagues began backing toward the exit. “Hey, William, man… we actually have some reports to file back at the office. We’re gonna take off.” Within ten seconds, they had slipped out the door, leaving the three of us alone. William pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Are you happy now? You made sure every guy on my crew thinks I’m some kind of leach! When did you become this malicious, Chelsea?” “If you don’t like the label, send me the fifty thousand.” I leaned back against the wall, watching him coolly. “Pay your debts, and your precious pride will be restored.” Piper’s tears began to flow again. “Chelsea, please… this is all my fault. Don’t squeeze William like this.” “I have savings. I’ll pay you back on his behalf…” Sobbing, she struggled to stand up from the wheelchair. But with her foot in a heavy plaster boot, she couldn’t find her balance. “Ah!” With a sharp gasp, she lost her footing and tumbled forward, crashing hard against the glass coffee table. A crystal water pitcher shattered on impact, sending shards flying across the hardwood floor. One of the larger fragments sliced cleanly across her calf, and bright red blood began to pool on the floor. “Piper!” William roared, diving forward to pull her into his arms. He whipped his head around, his eyes wild and dangerous as he glared at me. “If she scars from this, I swear to God, Chelsea, you’ll pay for it!” “Did I push her?” “If you hadn’t put on this ridiculous show of paying me back, would she have tried to stand?” William, as always, found a way to lay the world’s weight on my shoulders. Piper whimpered in his arms. “William… my ankle… I think the bone shifted again. It hurts so bad…” Panicking, William reached into his pockets for his car keys, only to realize they were in his dirty laundry from the flight. He marched toward me, extending an open palm. “Give me the keys to your Range Rover! Now! I need to get her to the ER!” “That’s my car,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “No.” “An innocent girl is bleeding! Do you have a single shred of humanity left in you?!” William lunged toward the console table, grabbing my leather handbag and dumping its contents onto the floor. “William, get your hands off my things!” I stepped forward to pull the bag from his grip. In the scuffle, William threw his arm back to shake me off. His elbow—solid, heavy, and hardened by years of tactical combat training—slammed directly into the right side of my lower abdomen. Right where my fresh surgical scar from the ruptured ulcer was still healing. An agonizing, white-hot pain exploded in my stomach. The air left my lungs in a strangled gasp. My knees buckled, and I hit the floor, unable to draw enough breath to scream. William stood over me, my car keys gripped in his fist. He paused for a fraction of a second, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes before hardening into familiar disgust. “Are you seriously going to fake an injury right now, Chelsea?” “A laparoscopic stomach procedure is minor surgery. You were discharged days ago.” “Clutching your stomach to compete with a girl who has a shattered ankle? You are pathetic.” Without another glance, he turned, scooped Piper into his arms, and ran out the door. “I’m staying at the hospital tonight. Don’t wait up.” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them. I lay on the cold floor for nearly fifteen minutes before the blinding spasms in my abdomen began to subside. I pulled up my shirt to inspect the area. No blood, but a dark, angry purple bruise was already forming over the incision site. Slowly, I crawled to my phone and booked a ride to the nearest hospital. My flight was tomorrow morning. I needed to know if my body could survive a fifteen-hour journey across the Atlantic. By 9:00 PM, I had completed an emergency ultrasound at the clinic. The doctor confirmed it was just a severe soft-tissue contusion. Nothing had ruptured internally, though she wrote me a prescription for strong painkillers to manage the ache. As I walked down to the first-floor pharmacy to collect the medication, my path took me past the orthopedic emergency wing. Through the glass partition of a private curtained cubicle, I saw William. The man who had slammed his elbow into my fresh surgical wound and called me pathetic. He was on one knee. He held Piper’s foot with infinite gentleness, softly blowing on the shallow cut on her calf. “Does it still hurt? The doctor said the bone is fine, just some minor ligament strain.” “I’m just… I’m really scared, William.” “Don’t be. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice had a tender, soft quality I hadn’t heard in years. Piper clutched his shirt, her eyes watery. “William… do you think Chelsea hates me? When I get discharged, she’s going to kick me out, isn’t she?” “Let her try,” William sneered, his expression darkening. “I put down a chunk of the deposit on that house. If she wants to act like a lunatic, I’ll pack our things and we’ll move out together. We don’t have to take her abuse.” I stood ten feet away, watching them through the glass. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the urge to storm in and slap them. I didn’t even care enough to take out my phone to record them. For five years, I had learned to cook his favorite meals, bought premium life insurance policies to cover him in the wild, and spent countless sleepless nights terrified he’d be shot by poachers. And yet, five years of quiet devotion couldn’t compete with Piper’s practiced fragility. I turned and walked out of the hospital. The cool evening air hit my face, and for the first time in a long time, the heavy weight in my chest began to lift. It was nearly 11:00 PM when I got back to the apartment. I walked into the master bedroom, packed the final items into my silver suitcase, and sat down at my desk. I took out a sheet of paper and drafted a formal property division and relationship termination agreement. The terms were simple: I would retain the property, hire a real estate attorney to sell it at market value, and wire him the exact cash equivalent of his original down-payment contribution. I signed my name at the bottom. Then, I unclasped the cheap, tarnished silver necklace from around my neck—the one I had worn for five years. I laid the necklace and my spare set of house keys directly on top of the paper. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked to the front door. Before stepping out, I took one last look at the space I had spent half a decade building. The throw pillows I’d selected, the potted ferns on the balcony, the framed photos on the console table. It all looked incredibly hollow. I smiled to myself, opened the door, and walked out without looking back. The next morning at 8:00 AM, I stood at the international departures security gate. Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, planes were taxiing under the morning sun. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from William: “Piper needs to stay off her feet today. Simmer some bone broth and bring it to room 302 at the clinic.” “If you show a decent attitude, I’ll overlook the fact that you sold my gear.” I stared at the screen, a dry chuckle escaping me. I blocked his number, removed my SIM card, and turned the phone off completely. Over the PA system, a clear voice announced the boarding call: “Passengers boarding Flight 274 to Windhoek, Namibia, please proceed to Gate 12.” I handed my boarding pass to the gate agent. Let him have his high-stakes savannah romance with his little princess. I was going to the red desert to see my own cheetahs. Goodbye, William. For good.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “533888”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The System found me again just as I was being wheeled into the emergency room, my stomach lining weeping blood. It scanned my progress bar, its mechanical voice buzzing with sudden, frantic static. [How is the progress bar dropping instead of rising?] I lay on the gurney, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping my lips. At the dinner tonight, Jackie had insisted I drink in place of his new assistant, Mandy. “She’s fresh out of college, June. She doesn’t know how to handle these corporate wolves. Drink this for her.” A double shot of pure, ninety-six percent rectified spirit—Everclear—had torn through my empty stomach like liquid fire. When I had doubled over, clutching my abdomen in agony, Jackie had only frowned, his brow pinching with mild annoyance. “Your tolerance is higher than that, June. Don’t make things difficult for the clients. Just finish the rest of Mandy’s rounds so they don’t press her.” The memory made me close my eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights of the corridor. “Maybe I’m just useless,” I whispered in the quiet of my mind. The System responded with absolute, cold-metal certainty. [The female lead I chose, useless? Impossible.] [This is a narrative anomaly. The male lead is corrupted.] [He’s glitched. Let me see if a few high-voltage shocks can reboot his system.] … I had just been wheeled back to the recovery ward, the heavy, numbing fog of the anesthesia still clinging to my limbs, when the heavy door was flung open. Jackie stood in the doorway, his forehead creased, his voice dripping with immediate, sharp irritation. “June, why did you slip out of the dinner without saying a word?” He strode toward the bed, not looking at me, but looking down at his phone. “Do you have any idea what happened after you left? The executives cornered Mandy. She couldn’t navigate her way out of it, had to take a drink, and now she’s in the urgent care wing next door on an IV drip.” I didn’t answer. In my head, the System was already screaming. [Oh my god, he really is broken! You’re literally lying in a hospital bed and he doesn’t even see it? No comfort, no concern, just an interrogation!] [Let’s see if a quick shock helps him focus.] Jackie suddenly let out a strangled gasp, his knees buckling slightly as he gripped the edge of the bedside table. His face paled, beads of sweat breaking out instantly along his hairline. When he finally managed to look up at me, his eyes seemed to adjust, as if the white hospital gown and the clear tube taped to the back of my hand had only just materialized. “June? You… you’re admitted?” I turned my head away, staring at the gray curtain, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my gaze. His eyes drifted to the chart hanging from the foot of my bed. His expression shifted rapidly as he read the words: “Acute Gastric Bleeding.” “Bleeding?” his voice cracked. “But your ulcer hasn’t flared up in years. How could one drink do this? What did the specialist say? Is it severe…?” “Jackie,” I cut him off, my voice barely above a whisper, “do you actually know what was in that glass you made me drink for Mandy?” He blinked, silent. “It was ninety-six percent neutral grain spirit. Straight Everclear.” His jaw tightened, a defensive shield immediately sliding over his features. “That’s impossible. Mandy brought that bottle herself. She said it was just standard party vodka.” “Standard party vodka?” I let out a dry, rattling laugh that made the raw tear in my stomach throb. “How many years have I spent drinking for you at these tables, Jackie? You think I can’t tell the difference between standard alcohol and industrial solvent?” He hesitated, his eyes darting toward the door, already searching for excuses to shield her. “She probably just bought the wrong bottle. She’s young, June. She doesn’t know the difference between proofs.” “An accident.” I closed my eyes, remembering the sharp, triumphantly cold look in Mandy’s eyes when she had handed me the glass. She had leaned in close, her expensive perfume choking my senses, and whispered, “Be careful, June. This one has a real kick.” Then, she had spun around toward Jackie, her voice instantly dissolving into a soft, trembling squeak. “Jackieary, I really can’t drink… I feel so terrible making June do this for me. I’m so sorry.” It hadn’t been an accident. But I didn’t bother explaining that to him. What would be the point? Jackie wouldn’t believe me anyway. He reached out, his hand sliding over mine, his grip softening in a way that used to make my chest ache with warmth. “I’m sorry, June. I didn’t realize. If I had known, I would have never let you touch it.” He squeezed my hand, his voice dropping into that solemn, promising register he used whenever he wanted to sweep his mistakes under the rug. “Our engagement party is next week. I’ll make sure it’s perfect. The grandest, most beautiful night. Just focus on resting. Don’t worry about anything else.” The moment the words left his mouth, his phone began to ring. A specific, delicate acoustic melody cut through the sterile quiet of the room. It was an indie love song by an artist I adored, a song about a first love that survived the winter. I had once believed that ringtone belonged solely to me. Until last month, when I sat in the passenger seat of his car and heard that exact same melody chime as Mandy’s name flashed across his dashboard. When I asked him about it, he had shrugged, not looking up from the wheel. “Mandy heard it and thought it was pretty, so she set it for her contact. I’ll set a different one for you.” Jackie looked at the screen now, his thumb already swiping to accept the call. “Mandy? What’s wrong?” I couldn’t hear her voice, but I watched the transition on his face—the sudden, intense gravity, the softening of his shoulders, the quiet, protective murmur. “Don’t panic. I’m coming right now.” He hung up, looking down at me, his eyes filled with a performative guilt. “Mandy’s alone on her IV. She’s frightened. She’s my old professor’s daughter, June. She doesn’t have anyone else in this city. I can’t just leave her stranded. You understand, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “You’ve dealt with your stomach issues before, so you know the drill. I’ve already messaged the housekeeper to bring over some bone broth later. Rest up. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” The door clicked shut behind him. The System remained quiet for a long moment, processing the data. [When did he rot like this?] It sounded genuinely bewildered, its digital voice spiked with frustration. [Childhood sweethearts, shared struggles, mutual devotion… on paper, this was a guaranteed happy-ending trajectory. What happened while I was away at the central server? How did it become this disgusting?] Yes, how did we become this? There was a time when I believed our love was written into the very fabric of the universe. Years ago, when my health had deteriorated to the point where the hospital issued three consecutive critical condition notices, Jackie—a man who lived by logic and numbers—had walked up the steep, jagged stone steps of a mountain monastery in the dead of winter. He had knelt and bowed his head to the frozen earth at every single step, his forehead bleeding into the snow, praying for a miracle. And perhaps the universe had listened. Shortly after that, my illness began to recede. That was when the System first appeared in my consciousness. [Hello, Host! I’m a rookie system. This setup—the fragile, devoted heroine and the loyal, protective childhood friend—has the highest success rate in the database. I took this contract specifically to guarantee you a happy ending! Once his affection bar is completely full, you’ll receive permanent health and a beautiful life together.] The System had watched our love bar hit ninety-nine percent, declared me its most successful project, and returned to the mainframe to petition for my permanent rewards. It was gone for three years. And those three years were the best of my life. My health stabilized, his company grew from a cramped, two-room startup into a multi-million-dollar enterprise, and we naturally moved toward a shared future. Everyone in our circle called us the golden couple. I thought the story had reached its natural, quiet happily-ever-after. Until his company faced a hostile takeover. I began joining him at dinners, drinking to the point of nausea to secure investments, staying up until dawn revising his pitch decks. He began forgetting my birthdays, his mind consumed by the pressure. I comforted myself—and him. “It’s fine. Once the company goes public, we can breathe.” But on the morning of the IPO, when the bell rang on the exchange floor, the woman standing beside him, her hand tucked possessively into his elbow, was Mandy. Later, he told me she was there on behalf of her father, whose late-stage funding had saved the firm. “June, I know how much you’ve sacrificed,” he had said, brushing a stray hair from my face. “But we don’t need to perform our love for the cameras. You know what we have.” But from that day on, the boundaries began to dissolve. He still couldn’t remember my birthday, but he memorized Mandy’s allergy list. He would go three days without replying to my texts, citing back-to-back board meetings, but he managed to take her to the botanical gardens because she had mentioned feeling stressed. He refused to post photos of us on his public profiles, claiming it was unprofessional, yet his feed was filled with snapshots of her, captioned under the guise of “showing his mentor that she was being cared for.” I had wept. I had screamed. I had lost my dignity in quiet, midnight arguments. At first, he had held me, promising it was just professional obligation. But soon, his patience ran dry. “June, stop being so paranoid. Your parents are still in that private care facility, and those monthly bills aren’t small. Are you really going to throw everything we have away over a little jealousy? Who is going to cover those costs if you leave? Where else are you going to find a life like this?” I had survived in that silent, suffocating trap, watching the man who once bled for me give every ounce of his warmth to someone else. And then came the glass of Everclear. I lay in the hospital bed, the silence of the room pressing down on my chest. “I want to opt-out,” I told the System. “Delete me, or let me fade. I don’t care anymore.” [The female lead I selected, fading? Not on my watch.] [This is a mechanical failure on the male lead’s part. He’s defective.] [Give me a little time. I’ll find a way to dismantle him that doesn’t involve just frying his brain.] The System fell silent, but its words left a small, cold coal of resolve burning in my chest. At least I wasn’t going to die. For the past year, as Jackie’s attention drifted further away, I had quietly started preparing. I had saved money from my consulting work, setting aside enough to cover my parents’ care facility for the next six months and secure a small apartment of my own. The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital, took a cab back to the villa, and prepared to pack my things. But when I opened the front door, I froze on the threshold. In the span of four days, the house had been stripped of its soul. The warm, honey-toned walls I had carefully selected were painted a cold, clinical gray. The colorful knit throws, the collection of small ceramic mugs we’d bought on trips, the plush velvet cushions—all of it was gone, replaced by minimalist, dark-gray decor. It was no longer a home. It was a showroom. Mandy rose from the deep leather sofa, wearing my silk pajamas—the ivory set with the delicate lace trim I had bought last year, the ones Jackie had laughed at, calling them too childish for his taste. Jackie rose right behind her, wearing the matching navy set. The set he had refused to touch. “June? You’re home?” Mandy walked toward me, her posture relaxed, carrying herself with the soft authority of a lady of the house. “Why didn’t you let Jackie know? He would have picked you up.” I swallowed the sudden, sharp metallic taste in my mouth, ignored her entirely, and walked toward the master bedroom. Jackie’s hand shot out, catching my wrist. “June, what is this? Why did you discharge yourself without telling me? Are you even recovered?” His touch felt cold, almost greasy against my skin. I pulled my arm back with a sharp jerk. “I have plenty of experience taking care of myself, Jackie. I didn’t want to interrupt your busy schedule.” “June, don’t do this,” he sighed, his voice dropping into that familiar, exhausted whine. “Mandy’s apartment had a plumbing leak, and she was terrified of staying in a hotel alone while she was sick. I let her stay here for a couple of days. I didn’t want to stress you out while you were in the clinic, so I planned to have her move back before you got out. I was trying to protect you.” “You don’t need to explain anything to me,” I said, my voice dead and flat as I reached for the bedroom door. “June, please don’t be cross with Jackie,” Mandy said, stepping up and lightly taking his arm, her fingers resting against his sleeve. “He only kept it from you because he cares. I’m just occupying the space for a little bit. And… well, I noticed the old decor was looking a bit dated. Since my degree is in design, I thought I’d give the living space a little face-lift. It looks much cleaner now, doesn’t it? I hope you’re not upset.” “Dated.” Every single piece of furniture, every frame on the wall, every rug had been selected by Jackie and me during the years we had nothing but a dream. This house was the physical manifestation of our survival. And he had let her throw it into a dumpster in a weekend. I took a slow, deep breath, forcing the trembling in my hands to stop. “Live here as long as you want. Change whatever you want. I don’t care.” “June!” Jackie’s voice cracked with sharp reprimand. “Stop with the passive-aggressive attitude. She was only trying to help.” “Passive-aggressive?” I turned to face him, my eyes steady. “If my indifference sounds like an attitude to you, Jackie, maybe it’s because your own conscience is keeping you awake.” I turned the brass knob of the master bedroom and pushed the door open. A thick, cloying wall of fragrance hit me instantly. Lilies. I am severely allergic to lily pollen. The heavy, sweet scent instantly locked my throat, my lungs seizing as my airway began to restrict. I slammed the door shut, stumbled back against the wall, and began to cough violently, my ribs aching as I struggled to draw breath. Jackie looked at me, a brief flash of discomfort crossing his face before it was replaced by irritation. “The mattress in the guest room was too firm for Mandy’s back, so I let her use the master bedroom. She’s been having terrible nightmares, and she finds the scent of fresh lilies soothing. I was going to have them removed before you came home, but you just showed up without warning…” He was blaming me for my own allergy. I stopped coughing, leaning against the cool wall, looking at him. His eyes, his hair, his mouth—they were the exact same features of the boy who had wept on the stone steps of a temple, swearing to the heavens that he would protect me from the world. But that boy was dead. The man standing in front of me was a hollow, rotting imitation. The last thread of my devotion snapped in the scent of those white flowers. “Jackie,” I said, my voice quiet, “we’re—” Before the word “done” could leave my mouth, Jackie let out a sharp, guttural groan. He doubled over, his hands slamming against his temples as his face drained of all color. The veins in his neck bulged, turning a dark, bruised purple as he fell to his knees on the carpet, panting in agony. “Jackie!” Mandy screamed, reaching down to grab his shoulders, but the moment her fingers brushed his shirt, he violently recoiled, screaming in pain. In the center of my mind, the System’s voice chimed, bright and clear. [This imposter really thought he could play the lead.] [I signed up for pure romance, not this trash. If he won’t look at you, he doesn’t need to look at anything else.]

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